Heaven was about to raise hell.
The entire garrison of angels had gathered together at the round marble table that was used only once every few thousands of years. The entirety of heaven seemed to hold their breath, figuratively speaking of course, as the last angel to join sat down in his chair.
"We cannot let them have their freedom," the angel Uriel spoke from the table that seated his brothers and sisters.
"My dear Uriel, that is the exact behavior we want to encourage." Metatron, the angel that was sitting to his right, replied.
"I am afraid I do not follow, sir," Uriel looked up at his superior.
"Freedom," Metatron paused while he lifted his hands and let them flow mid-air in a big gesture. "Is what the humans think they possess, and it is our job to help them believe this is true. For example; when a hairless ape chooses between left or right, we let them think both result in a different outcome, when in fact, we know that everything is already set in stone."
A sly grin appeared on Uriel's face while he nodded in agreement. His superior Metatron was a wise angel, he was right to say that it was time to take action against those pitiful ants. Ever since their father (God) had disappeared, things had been a colossal mess down on earth. The humans had proclaimed the planet as theirs, it was truly a despicable thing to witness. They started their own wars, started to chip away at the planet, and worst of all, they lost their respect for God. All of heaven had been waiting for their father, God himself, to return. Years had gone by and none of his brothers and sisters had ever come across a sign. Eventually, the four elders stepped up and began to rule in their father's name. It was the only plausible solution at the time but they lacked a certain quality. They were too busy trying to please their father, too busy to see that their control over earth was slowly slipping out of their very own hands.
"But how will we make the humans listen?" An angel called Hannah asked from the other end of the large, white marble table. She was the first to speak after Metatron had called Uriel to gather the garrison.
Metatron turned to her, his head tilted slightly and an eerie smile spread across his face. "We play," he paused again, causing a stir of confusion amongst the other angels at the table.
"They want us to acknowledge their pain; the apes think that we exist to fulfill their needs, make their miserable little lives meaningful. So we play the part and they will trust us like the blind-"
"You want us to lie?" Hannah interrupted Metatron, she spoke a little louder this time.
"No, no, not lie." The sly grin that he wore so well spread across Metatron's face again. "We grant them those little favors, earn their trust and we show them the way. See, there is no lie."
"So you're suggesting we become their slaves?" an angel by the name of Gadreel asked, disgust clearly visible on his face. More angels at the table began to express their discontentment mutually.
"I'm not saying it is all going to be a delight served on a silver platter," Metatron replied with a nearly childish tone, he didn't appear faced by their comments at all. "I'm saying that we should earn their trust before we can successfully apply our new rules…"
The room was silent, some angels nodded in agreement while others seemed displeased with this new idea.
"With our brother, archangel Michael, locked away downstairs, someone will have to step up while the others look for him," Uriel spoke, encouraging those who were still reflecting on Metatron's words.
"And that someone should be you?" Another angel had appeared out of thin air, just a few steps from Metatron's seat.
Everyone looked up in surprise at his arrival, everyone except Metatron.
"Ah, Gabriel. How nice of you to join us," said Metatron as if he meant every word.
"So you're planning on taking over daddy's job then?" Gabriel said, mockery thick in his voice.
"Well if you insist on putting it like that… yes," Metatron replied calmly.
"And obviously you know what I think, right?" Gabriel stepped closer to Metatron with every word.
"You think I'm making a big mistake," Metatron said without blinking.
"I think you're in over your head," Gabriel said, closing the distance between him and Metatron's seat. "Though I admit, up close it's quite a big head."
There was a tense silence around the table.
"Now come on Gabriel, do you really want to do this here?" Metatron smiled, but his eyes were deadly. "Why not come over to my office later so we can discuss this privately?"
"No thanks, you're not really my type." Gabriel was known to be immature, and almost none of the angels could appreciate this quality.
Metatron's face turned into a wide smile and slowly an eerie laugh started to fill the room. No one said anything, not even Gabriel.
"My dear Gabriel, if there was even the smallest chance that you could take over his job I would bow down to you at this very moment. But let's be honest here, you can't even take care of your brothers without sending them to hell."
There was a small gasp coming from the table, but it went unnoticed. Gabriel's own smile faded and his expression became ardent.
"Just you wait," he hissed at Metatron before he disappeared again.
"Wonderful," Metatron replied as his smile grew even wider.
The news had spread faster than wildfire. The hunters had caught one today, still alive even. And not only had they caught one of their most vicious enemies, but they also had their leader; the archangel Michael. When they brought the angel in, everyone at Hunter's City's basecamp was exhilarated. This was a victory. Sure, it was true that no one knew how many of the angels were out there, but now they had their hands on their enemy's powerful leader. Things were finally starting to look up for the people in Hunter's City.
The archangel was locked away in their highest security cell, with hunters stationed on guard duty at every door and window. The other hunters came together to celebrate their victory at Harvelle's Roadhouse, where a disagreement was also taking place.
The Roadhouse was a crowded bar, full of smoke and the lighting was dim but to most hunters, it was like home.
"We just executed the spell and it worked like a charm. The archangel didn't know what hit him." commander Barnes barked out, followed by laughter which was joined in by the others.
"The suckers didn't expect us to have some kick," Rufus shouted while lifting his beer bottle up in the air.
"This will teach 'em not to mess with us again!" another hunter cheered.
"Idiots," A gruff voice interrupted the victory cheers. Everyone in the room turned around to find the man to whom it belonged; a scruffy man with a beard and a worn out baseball cap.
"There something you wanna share, Singer?" Commander Barnes said, agitation clear in his voice.
"Bobby, don't…" Rufus tried to warn his friend.
"Y'all think some strange guy just happens to have all the right answers to our problems and don't want nothing in return?" Bobby's skepticism was met with both protest and agreement from the crowd of hunters.
"Sometimes you don't need to look a gift horse in the mouth, he probably wanted those suckers gone just as much as we do." A hunter named Carl cut in.
"We know nothing about this damn guy, no one has ever even seen him around here. For all we know he could be working with those bastards." Bobby objected.
"Singer, that's enough!" Barnes yelled.
"This is bull, don't say I never warned y'all." Bobby grunted under his breath.
"I said that's enough!" Commander Barnes slammed his fist on the wooden bar.
"We do not want to cause a scene brother, not today." Rufus had made his way next to Bobby and put his hand on the angry man's shoulder.
"Fine," and with that Bobby turned and walked out of the bar, leaving a mumbling crowd behind him.
At the back of the bar someone was taking note of all the commotion. His shoulder was leaning casually against the wall. He watched as an angry Bobby Singer stormed through the crowd and out of the door. But he didn't join in with the gossiping crowd as the door fell closed again. No, he thoughtfully sipped his beer while his mind wandered off to an old memory. A memory of something that happened nearly 14 years ago.
"Ya know ya shouldn't be eavesdropping, boy." A hand landed on Dean Winchester's shoulder, startling him. There was no point in lying, so he didn't.
"But I could fight with them, uncle Bobby," Dean argued.
"The field is no place for a young boy, Dean."
"I'm not that young," Dean protested as his arms folded over each other.
"We'll have this talk again when you can at least grow some facial hair," Bobby laughed.
"It's not fair. Dad was only twelve when he went on his first mission. Why can't I go?" Dean said, ignoring Bobby's comment.
"Because those were different times and the city was under attack while there was a lack of hunters. But like I told ya, I'm done having this conversation."
"You suck, you're just like all the other grown-ups," Dean said.
"Well boohoo, what are you going to do about it?" Bobby said before walking away.
Dean had tried to explain it so many times, but neither his uncle nor his dad would listen to him. They would tell him that the hunter's army was no place for a ten-year-old boy. However, Dean knew the risks, he was mature for his age and he knew he would be able to handle it. He always showed up to his training on the weekends, he even practiced until late in the evenings, and when everyone at school was reading about history, Dean was trying to memorize every single weapon in the hunter's arsenal. His favorite weapon was the Colt M1877, he had even gotten to fire it once. He had sneaked out and practiced for over an hour. Obviously once his dad figured out what was happening, he got so furious that he sent Dean away to live with aunt Ellen for over 2 weeks.
There was nothing wrong with aunt Ellen or his cousin Jo, but they were just so extremely ordinary. This was probably why his younger brother Sam, or Sammy as Dean and his dad called him (much to Sam's dislike), loved spending time with them. They would read all day long and talk about folklore and the history of the world. Sometimes, however, Jo would sneak off with Dean to shoot empty jars and bottles with their homemade slingshots and it was the only time they got away from all the chores Ellen would make them do.
The memory faded as a hand tapped on Dean's left shoulder. It was his aunt, Ellen, telling him to help her out at the bar. He knew she was doing this to distract him from what had just happened, he also knew that there wasn't a chance in hell he could refuse her order. So he walked over to the bar, cursing under his breath until he received a death glare from Ellen. Dean quickly occupied himself with pouring beers for his fellow hunters.
Aunt Ellen and his uncle Bobby weren't actually his real family. It was just common for hunters to have little to no family members so most of them stuck together within the walls of the city. Hunters refer to close friends as family, or as Bobby often put it; "Family don't end with blood." Though whenever Dean asked about the meaning behind that, Bobby would usually hurry to change the subject or brush it off. Of course, not everyone inside the wall got along nicely so they were divided into families about the same size as families outside the walls would be.
The hunter's community hadn't always been around either. Before the war hunters lived scattered all around the country, most of them even preferred to hunt alone. But when the world fell at war with the worst enemy they could have ever imagined, there was a drastic need for change. A big city was rebuilt to live up to the hunter's necessities and basic needs. In the middle of the city, they stationed the base camp, with enough to foresee about a thousand hunters. The basecamp consisted of an armory, a hospital, a training center for people over 18, food storage, barracks, bunkers, and the biggest building; the command center, which also held a prison.
Within the outskirts, schools were built, just as libraries, supermarkets, gas stations, and even a few shops. And what would Hunter's city be without its bars and dining cafe's? Dean had mostly been to one, in particular, The Roadhouse, owned by his aunt Ellen. The weekends Dean got to spend at the bar were always his favorite. Hunters from all over the city would come together and get drunk, which in itself wasn't very charming or interesting, but Dean had come to the conclusion that drunk hunters seemed to forget they couldn't talk about their hunting trips in front of children. He would listen to them talk for hours, usually until Ellen would scold him for eavesdropping and send him to bed.
Dean had joined the hunter's army at the age of 17 due to his poor grades at school, but great devotion when it came to training. He was 19 years old when he defeated his first werewolf on a hunting job outside the city. And right after his 21st birthday, he was involved in an important mission to capture and interrogate a demon.
Sam on the other hand, was quite the opposite of his older brother. He got outstanding grades in school, and while his training skills weren't bad, they couldn't compare to his brother's. Though that could be explained by the differences in their personalities.
All the hunters aged 19-60 had training five days a week. And when they weren't at war, everyone got to go home during the weekend. People who didn't fit the age category, or weren't capable of fighting lived in the outer circle. Because of the city's size, the outer circle was divided into zones; Alpha, Beta, Charlie, Delta, and Echo. Each zone held a watchtower which was all connected by a tall, brick barrier wall. Unknown to most, an intentional pattern, made out of pure iron, ran from all five towers across each other, forming a giant pentagram. While this sounds like a nice little touch of decoration, it actually served a purpose. Because what most outsiders didn't know was that the real meaning behind their city's name; Hunter's City, was exactly what it sounds like, a city full of hunters. But the hunters didn't chase after deer, they were not after animals at all for that matter. They protected the people from the real evil out in the world. The evil that some people might speak of as the boogeyman in children's books. Apart from the fact that these monsters didn't (normally) live in other people's closets, most of them did actually roam the earth freely. Demons, werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, wendigo's, witches, and well, the list goes on. Though that was nothing compared to their current enemy, the enemy that no one could have foreseen. An enemy that history had spoken of greatly in holy books. An enemy that humans had built places for, to worship their power. And while their existence had been contemplated, their loyalty had never been questioned before. But how wrong humans were.
Four months passed without much news from outside the walls and there was no progress in extracting information from Michael. Dean remembered learning about the angel Micheal in school. He was one of the four archangels and the leader of all other angels, he was said to be one of the most powerful.
So four months since they locked Michael away in the angel-proofed prison. "How exactly do you capture an archangel?" had been Sam's first question, followed by Dean's question "Where exactly do we keep him?" Sadly none of the hunters they had spoken with had been on the mission that night, none except... their dad. But the chances of Dean capturing an angel all by himself were bigger than getting John Winchester to talk about his missions. Not that he even got much of a chance to ask because their dad was always at the command center.
When they were younger Sam and Dean used to live with their uncle Bobby during the week. He was an older grumpy man who always seemed to smell of alcohol and rarely took off his worn-out baseball cap. However they had grown fond of Bobby because underneath all the snappy remarks and his scruffy beard, he had a big heart. Bobby cared for them as if they were his own sons. Dean often heard Bobby and his dad fighting; usually about them. According to Bobby their dad was too (damn) obsessed with hunting and didn't spend enough time with his children.
Dean Winchester didn't perceive it that way though. After all, he got to spend some time with his dad while he taught him about hunting. And whenever his dad wasn't around, he would practice on his own or take care of his younger brother. Sometimes he felt bad for Sam, as he didn't like hunting the way Dean did, and therefore he didn't get to spend as much time with their dad. But Sam had their aunt Ellen, who was always there for them too.
On the weekends they would be at home with their dad but even then Dean and John would have training from 9 am till 3 pm leaving Sam at home alone. Sam didn't have hunters training with Dean as he was four years younger than him. Dean always felt guilty about leaving Sam at home, but Sam always told him he didn't mind as long as Dean promised that they would watch tv together when he'd get back.
Hunter's training was held in the Echo zone, in an old modified gym. A big field of plain grass next to it was used for the outside training. Boys aged twelve to eighteen were all asked to participate from 9 am to 3 pm during the week. It meant studying all urban legends around angels and attending classes like 'weaponry' and 'first aid'. But the most boring class, at least according to Dean, was 'angel warding'. They were taught how to protect their homes with weird scribbles, and how to draw sigils that could send angels to another part of the world or even back to heaven.
Indoor classes were scheduled until 12pm. That's when they would move on to Dean's favorite part: the actual training. Even though stealth training was quite lame, fighting
and shooting (fake) guns made up for that. They also learned how to load a gun, take it apart, and put it back together again.
When Dean would get home his dad usually left the house within an hour, to meet other hunters at the bar. Leaving Dean to take care of his brother, which meant making dinner, watching TV together, and tucking him in at night.
After that Dean would wait up for his dad who often got home around midnight.
Hunters in the city were mostly men, with a few exceptions. Female hunters weren't necessarily unheard of, it was just less common. Much to Ellen's dislike, Jo always talked about joining the hunter's army. After Dean had shared the local bar stories with her, she slowly started to get into hunting as well. Which ended up getting Dean into a lot of trouble with Ellen, who was practically stating Jo couldn't become a hunter even if it came to a rabid dog.
Jo was Sam's age, so even if her mom would let her join the hunters training, it would take another two years.
Another memory crept up on him without warning. Before Dean knew it he was fourteen again.
The cold had frozen the ground, so most of the hunters' training was held inside. On days where they had weapon training, Dean always called home to let his little brother know he would be home late. There were no rules against practicing after training, so that was exactly what he would do.
After working on his aim he trained his stamina out on the frozen field. With icy toes and fingers, he left the field after 2 hours of practice. Dean didn't like the thought of being out of shape so it was worth his free time.
Since the bus provided by the training center had already left, he had to walk 25 minutes to Charlie's bus station. He tucked his chin into his coat and buried his hands deep into his pockets. Luckily his body was still warm from the physical exercise, but it wasn't long until the December cold got to him. With chattering teeth, he followed the asphalt road leading to Charlie, lit by the yellow street lanterns. As he came closer he could see the enormous, lit-up watchtower of zone C.
Dean looked down at his watch, an old one of Bobby's he had gotten for his 12th birthday. The brown leather strap was clearly worn and the clock itself was missing the second-hand thingy, but Dean loved it nonetheless. It was 5:20, if he hurried up he would be able to make the hourly bus of 5:30. He tried to shrug off the cold as he got both hands out of his pockets. His stamina was good enough for him to make the distance in time if he jogged there.
He couldn't have been running for more than five minutes when something startled him. A bright light appeared out of nowhere. He turned his head to look towards the bright light source. But the roads were covered in a thick layer of December frost, and in the process, Dean lost his footing. One foot slipped in front of the other and before he knew it he was nearing the concrete fast. He stretched out his arms as a reflex, but because he had lost his balance his entire weight shifted onto his right hand. A loud, sickening crack filled the air. His wrist had collapsed under his weight and with nothing to hold him up his head hit the concrete. Sharp flashes of pain filled his forehead. Dean lay on the ground, he was vaguely aware of the warm liquid that had started streaming down his forehead. However, he was focused on the possible danger that was in front of him. The bright light was becoming extremely painful to look at, but for some reason it had Dean mesmerized. If he would have been able to feel any emotion underneath all of the adrenaline, he would have felt surprised. Because when the light faded a tall figure was standing in its exact place. Part of him wanted to shout and call for help, but it was as if sound didn't exist around them. It was dead quiet, not even a single owl hoot or distant car engine. It felt oddly suffocating. Dean let out a small gasp of air, the vibration of his breath made his head throb even worse.
The figure was slowly moving closer to him until it stood right in front of him. Dean's heart was nearly beating out of his chest and complete silence had never felt more intimidating. Dean couldn't be sure but it looked as if the figure was tilting its head ever so slightly. After what felt like the longest minutes of Dean's life, the figure knelt down next to him. It lifted its human-like hand just as slowly as if it was afraid that its movements would cause Dean to run away. And while Dean had never been afraid of much in his life, he wouldn't disagree with the thought. The hand hesitantly reached closer to him. The throbbing in Dean's head was making it hard for him to concentrate on the figure, but it seemed as if it was reaching for Dean's head. Strangely enough, the figure resembled a human just as much as a blurry figure could. Dean screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for whatever was about to come. The moment Dean felt its hand connect with his forehead, a warm, glowing feeling spread through his body just before every sense shut off.
Dean had woken up safe and sound in his bed. He had healed completely from his fall, and it would have looked as if it never happened if it wasn't for a small white scar that marked his right eyebrow.