Well, would you look at that! I'm AWOL for seven months and then I post two chapters in five days! I may even have another chapter to deliver Friday.
Thanks so much to Souless666, Ciel Tombe, scootersmom, and Pie Love Luci for your reviews! They make me very, very happy. Happier than ice cream sandwiches. Which is saying something.
I blame 'Good Omens' for this chapter. Watching that gave me the idea to read through Revelations at 1 am. This was the result. Enjoy!
Dean almost didn't hear the phone over the blasting chords of Led Zeppelin. He turned down the music and picked up the phone.
"Dean, I thought you were returning to Bobby's. He says you are going to Wisconsin. I think we should speak with Lindsey Kangas instead."
"Yeah, Cas, I'm sorry, but after what he told me, I have to go and try to get him. Bobby thinks he'll be in La Crosse because of demon activity there."
"I am also concerned about these latest developments… Would you like me to go and assess the situation? I gather you are still far away?"
"I'm probably about three hours out. Sure, go, and if you find him, stop at nothing to bring him back!"
"I will do my best." The angel ended the call and Dean turned the volume back up, his mind entirely focused on rescuing Sam from his plight.
Tim and Reggie traveled to La Crosse following a significant uptick in demonic omens in the area. The city of 51,277 was too small to have that much activity for normal demon business. But it was just large enough that they didn't want to search it by foot. Luckily for the hunters, they had a way around that inconvenience. They'd discovered that one of the expanded powers their black-eyed freak had gained was the ability to sense the exact location of nearby demons. In some ways, it seemed more like a literal bloodlust: he would sniff the air and set his features in a determined snarl towards the direction his quarry lurked. Attempts to draw him anywhere but closer to his next taste of unholy power resulted in extreme violence from both sides. The hunters were now well prepared for this.
In an empty parking lot, with a retaining wall to their backs, they opened the trunk. They pulled a blanket off the crate, revealing heavily warded bars and a rug with a stitched devil's trap beneath it. Ever since his time with Creedy, their captive had become much more of a pet: when sober, he didn't fight, didn't cry out, was obedient, and always made himself small and out of the way. Creedy wouldn't tell them what he'd done, claiming 'client confidentiality', but they were grateful for the new-found acquiescence.
"Get over here, bitch," Tim ordered. The creature rolled over and crawled forward, carefully positioning his right arm towards the hunters. Reggie drew up a substantial volume of blood and delivered it via the IV port in his arm. His head tucked down and he curled in on himself slightly. The change was nearly instantaneous so they stepped back and waited for a moment. "Find them."
The midnight black that that rose up to meet their gaze rarely failed to startle them. He grinned ferally. "There's nine of them." He inhaled and smelled the air, his eyes closing with anticipation. He tilted his head, as if listening in on a quiet conversation. "I know exactly where they are. They're at the City Brewing Company plant."
"Good job. You're such a good boy. Yeah, you're a good boy," Tim cooed mockingly as he tossed a dog treat into the kennel and slammed the trunk closed. He smiled at the muffled, indignant cursing from behind the door. Taunting the wicked thing never got old.
Castiel landed on the Minnesota side of the Mississippi River bluffs, overlooking La Crosse, allowing his energy to be drawn towards a similar wavelength.
An objectively beautiful vessel of Iranian descent was standing next to him, also admiring the view. Her hair was in an elegant braid and she wore a pale blue flowing dress tied around her midsection with a gold cord that ended in tassels. The soft breeze danced ripples into her dress.
"Apsinthion, what are you doing here?" Castiel asked, shocked the angel was on Earth.
"I made my delivery, as instructed by Michael."
Castiel grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him. "No! Why would you do such a thing! That is prophesied to poison a third of Earth's waters! Millions, maybe even billions, will die!"
"I was merely following orders." The angel seemed unperturbed by the information, though maybe a little confused by Castiel's emotional outburst.
Castiel searched her face frantically. "Where did you deposit it?"
"Originally, I was going to put it in the Mississippi River, so it could spread through America's heartland before reaching the sea and spreading from there. But a group of demons made me change my mind."
Castiel would have felt his stomach drop had he been aware of such simple human physiological reactions. "Dare I ask how they did that?"
"They explained that putting it in the water would mean children would be exposed, innocents! I cannot abide by that. They suggested adding it to a sinful human beverage, beer, which leads humans to behave in despicable, vile ways. They knew of a place where this immoral substance was made and distributed. I did not want to set foot in such a dirty place so I gave it to them."
Castiel turned and stepped away, his hand scrubbing down his face. "Apsinthion… I…" He paused and took a deep breath, spinning to face the naïve angel. "Do you know exactly where they took it?"
"No, but I know they are somewhere in La Crosse. I thought it was a fitting name. I was tracking their movement but not too long ago, their auras became obscured. They are still nearby, but I cannot pinpoint a location."
"We have to stop them. I have no doubt they will do as they say, but we cannot let this plague spread."
"But it is written. It must occur."
"No, it doesn't. Trust me, the Apocalypse can be averted. If you truly care about the lives of innocents, then you should help me. If Michael and Lucifer have their way, billions, if not all of them, will die. Surely not every human deserves death?"
The other angel turned away and crossed her arms, pondering. "I'm not sure how comfortable I am with forsaking the Word. Why would I do that?"
"Because the Word was written down and translated by Man! So few of us were actually there when the Lord spoke. Do you know everything He said? I don't! We cannot blindly trust that this is God's will. Angels were meant to protect humans, not smite them. Can't you see this is wrong? Please, Apsinthion, help me search for the demons."
She sighed and frowned, unconvinced. "Explain to me again why this matters?"
Castiel suppressed a frustrated groan, hoping he would still have time to reverse the angel's actions after he had educated her in the ways of Team Free Will.
Except for the number of demons, the hunters weren't at all concerned about their latest job. Sure, nine demons would be a new record for the freak, but they'd given him more than enough blood to handle them. Breaking into the plant wasn't difficult, nor was finding the demons. What they hadn't accounted for was what the demons might be doing.
From the shadows, they watched the demons carefully unpack a vial from an ornate box of silk and mirrors. The vial contained a liquid that seemed to be boiling within the glass, the grey viscous substance swirling and bubbling as if under its own power. One demon, an attractive Hispanic man with pierced ears, took the vial in his hands and held it up to the light.
"Now!" Tim murmured urgently and pushed their little demon spawn out onto the floor.
Instantly, the demons all stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him, but it was too late. His hand was up and he seized them all with his power, lifting them up in the air. The demons started shouting angrily so he twisted his hand slightly, a whiplash of pain quickly communicating that he was in charge.
Tim and Reggie stepped out and approached the floating vermin. He plucked the vial from the demon's hand and inspected it. "What is this?"
The demon smirked even though it was trapped. "I'm not saying a damn word."
"Alright, your loss." Tim flicked his hand towards the demon and debilitating pain encircled its body. Unseen by the hunters, blades of white-hot energy emanated from the human with black eyes, spearing the demon from the feet up, forcing it to evacuate the body. Once out in the open, the black smoke was trapped in a net of hissing sparks and dragged to the floor, immolating on contact with the dirty cement. The human dropped to the ground limply, obviously already dead.
The cocky looks fell from the other demons' faces. Tim approached the nearest demon, a brown-haired white man in his thirties with a tribal tattoo exhibited prominently on his neck. "You wanna tell me what this is? I'll even be generous and offer you a deal. You spill, and he'll just exorcise you instead of kill you."
"L-look, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Yeah?" Reggie questioned, pulling out a flask of holy water and splashing the demon with it. "And why not?"
"You two read your Bibles growing up?" it hissed through the pain.
"We've had time to catch up a bit the past few months," Tim answered.
"You read about Wormwood?"
The two hunters looked mystified but a familiar voice spoke up behind them. "Revelations 8:10-11: 'The third angel sounded his trumpet, and a great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water – the name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters turned bitter, and many people died from the waters that had become bitter.' You're saying that's Wormwood?"
The demon nodded as the two hunters looked at each other in confusion. "Nicked it off some dumbass angel. Convinced her not to dump it in the Mississippi, let us handle it instead."
Reggie narrowed his eyes. "Why would she agree to that? And what's it to you?" he asked.
"We told her putting it in the water would kill kids, innocents. Putting it in the beer would only kill 'sinners'. She liked that. We care 'cause we can just tell our side to avoid Sam Adams."
"Hmph," Tim emitted, thinking through what was being said. "Well, looks like that's another demon plan botched," Tim said happily. He handed Reggie the vial and was about to turn when the demon started to laugh.
"Fucking hunters. You think you know everything, but you meddle in things you don't understand."
Tim frowned and looked at the freak. He nodded then returned his gaze to the taunting hellspawn.
Truth was, he didn't need Tim's instruction to punish the demon. Pumped up on demon blood or not, he still resented the vile creatures. Having a demon act so smug, like it was superior, was even more of an affront. His hand closed into a fist as he drove daggers of energy into the demon's essence. It's throaty howl was all he needed to earn a thrill of satisfaction.
"Give it a chance," Tim ordered and he relaxed his hand. "What do you mean? What don't we know?"
"Like… I'd fucking… tell you…" the demon panted out. Tim nodded again and the screaming resumed. About a minute passed before Tim silently commanded a pause with a raised hand. "Okay… okay… please, no more…" he begged. "I'll tell you, please, just make him stop…"
"Fine," Tim spat and lowered his hand to his side.
The demon dropped to the floor and hunched in on himself. "The Wormwood. It's not a simple poison… More like a living thing. You can't just throw it out. It won't stop until it encounters a human soul. One atom per soul. That's the only way to neutralize it."
"Why don't I just give it to you?"
"All our meatsuits are already dead, so no soul left. Won't work."
Tim grumbled and turned to look at Reggie, who surreptitiously glanced over to their pet. He smirked and faced the demon. Confident the evil being wouldn't dare try anything with the freak binding him, Tim got in close. "Will it work if we give it to him?" he whispered.
The demon glanced at the black-eyed monster preventing his escape then back to the hunter. "I honestly don't know, but probably. And if you try, I'd suggest you get the fuck out of here once you do."
"Why's that?"
"That stuff is supposed to kill like 3 billion people. No knowing what will happen when it's all given to one person! A divine poison mixed with a human-demon hybrid? No way that shit is safe!"
Secretly, the demon was hoping two things: 1) The hunters would leave on his warning and his compatriots, or maybe at least he himself, could escape. 2) There was a more than fair chance that the sheer amount of angelic Wormwood could flat out kill the Boy King, and then they wouldn't have to worry about him. Sure, his sire would be down a perfect vessel, but at this rate, there wouldn't be any demons left to command the way the boy was cutting down his brethren.
Tim mused on the demon's words and decided the pain in his eyes meant he was being honest. "Kill the demons," he said loudly as he stepped back.
"But we had a deal! I told you the truth!" the demon cried, trying to stand and failing.
The blonde hunter shrugged. "Sucks to be you." He spun to face his partner. "Reggie, give him the Wormwood."
The demons started to scream at their forced eviction until their pet saw Reggie walking towards him and realized Tim had been referring to him. His eyes got wide and his hold over the demons faltered. The other seven fell to the ground as his concentration disintegrated in the face of fear. His usually angry voice wilted in panic, understanding this could be permanently fatal. And with demon blood dirtying his veins, there was no way he wasn't going to Hell. "No, don't," he plead, "You don't know what it will do! It might actually kill me! Don't do this!" He backed up, trying to outpace Reggie. He flinched when he hit a wall.
"If it does, it does. We've gotten an excellent return on you," Tim said nonchalantly, following two steps behind. "Now open up, you demonic freak!"
He turned his head and tried to pull on his power, but it was too scattered, weakened by holding the demons in place. Reggie clamped his hand around his jaw and squeezed, Tim held his nose closed, and faster than he liked to admit, he submitted.
He heard the vial pop open over his mouth and then the churning grey liquid hit his tongue. Bitterness like he had never before experienced, worse than the purest coffee extract, the saltiest olive juice, or the hoppiest beer, washed through his mouth. He could feel it surge down his throat, to his stomach, to his blood, to his fingertips, his brain, his feet. He was vaguely aware of hands releasing him, but he was no match for the chaos that ignited in him the very next second.
In a manner he could not and would never understand, he felt the very unraveling of everything that made him him. His skin peeled off his muscles, the fibers of which began to fray like cut rope. Inch by inch, his bones disintegrated into powder. His organs tore themselves apart, cell by cell, death by 42 trillion microscopic catastrophes. His brain short-circuited one neuron at a time, his memories and his person extinguished at a racing pace. It was an agony he'd couldn't comprehend, every molecule of his being obliterated as the divine substance closed in on its prey: his soul.
He had a fraction of an instant to appreciate the unparalleled sensation of nuclear fission occurring in every atom in his body before he stopped existing.
Or so he thought.
On the brink of absolute annihilation, something flared up in his defense. A wisp of power he didn't even know was there, a strand of something ancient and foreign.
Unbeknownst to him, from his first drop of demon blood when he was six months old to the hit injected just before they came to this factory, an essence had been collecting in his soul, slowly accumulating. For in every demon, there was a speck of its maker, warped and diseased, spun into grotesque forms by hate and malevolent intent. These infinitesimal fragments coalesced into a thread braided around the soul providing them shelter, bestowing inexplicable powers in return, and connecting its new home with its origin, albeit only in dreams. But now, at the moment of its looming oblivion, the glowing gossamer tore through the rippling fabric of time and space, calling out to its celestial source for deliverance. The very existence of the vessel himself was at stake, so the sliver of grace residing within him made a desperate plea to its angel.
608 miles to the south in Carthage, Missouri, Lucifer was finishing his summoning spell for Death. Everything was going to plan. Well, everything except Sam Winchester.
While the delay certainly irritated him, he found that he respected the human's tenacity. In fact, he saw a lot of himself in the young man. Righteous, fierce, not afraid to make himself heard, consequences be damned. He couldn't fault Sam for holding on to what he believed. He just wished they could come to some sort of agreement. The poor thing was suffering beyond what Lucifer had thought a human could endure. Apparently, Sam Winchester existed to prove him wrong.
He sighed and inhaled to begin the final incantation when the familiar twinge fluttered through his being: his vessel was in mortal danger, again. He almost rolled his eyes when a piercing snap of energy swept through him. Instantly alert, he blotted out the external world and concentrated on the screaming, frenzied vibrations of his errant grace. Through the cacophony, he delved into the thin, delicate connection he shared with the human's unconscious mind, following the tenuous threads of grace, and realized all his plans were suddenly in danger. This wasn't any human-derived death, this was something new, something which could very well spell the end of his vessel.
Loathe to interrupt the demanding ritual but completely unwilling to lose his perfect vessel, Lucifer flew towards the existential threat assaulting the agonized human. With no time to waste, he poured his divine essence into the disintegrating body, its soul far too distracted with its complete obliteration to deny him entry.
The vessel hadn't been prepared, and as such, bright light burst from his eyes, his mouth, and even his skin. Huge wings shadowed upon the wall, Lucifer's grace spilling out into the very air around him. The angelic essence tunneled through Sam's body at the quantum level, purging the Wormwood and repairing the fatally wounded molecules.
"How dare you try to destroy my vessel!" he shouted, his voice a mix of Sam's and his own angelic Enochian roar. "How dare you try and steal my most valuable weapon! You shall pay with your lives for eternity!"
Sam's body began to glow unbearably brightly and the eyes of the demons burned out, along with some of their clothes and skin. Lucifer's rage unappeased, fires ignited on anything flammable as the sheer amount of energy spilling from his body started to melt everything around him, even brick and steel.
For all of Lucifer's power and foresight, he had overlooked one crucial detail, and it would be his undoing. As his grace repaired the vessel, as it had done a thousand times before, it also repaired the numerous sigils irrevocably scarring the man's skin. In a split second, Lucifer went from raining down unholy vengeance upon traitors to banished from the body allowing him control of his power. The expulsion was apocalyptic, a burst of energy radiating out from the epicenter with a flash of blinding light like a nuclear detonation. Lucifer was cast far from his vessel, as were two lower angels who had just arrived to save the day, only to be caught in the blast wave.
Tim and Reggie had run the moment the freak's skin started to peel away. Whatever was about to go down, it couldn't be good. They'd made it outside to the street when the explosion happened. A metal loading door caught them and hurled them across the road. Severely winded, battered, and likely concussed, they pulled themselves up, realizing they had to make their getaway, and fast.
Tim looked back to the crumbling, burning building and began limping towards it.
"Just leave him!" Reggie cried out.
"If I turn around, you better be following me," Tim shouted back, marching into the hellhole. It wasn't hard to find their freak; he was in the center on a clean patch of floor surrounded by chaos. They quickly picked their way through the wreckage. His hazel eyes were open and lifeless, his hands ice cold as they each grabbed one. Despite literally dragging him through the fire that raged around them, his body remained freezing to the point of being painful to touch. But they couldn't worry about that now, they had to escape. They could puzzle over their demonic weapon later, far from this shitshow.
By the time Dean arrived in La Crosse, he could tell some kind of disaster awaited him. He had seen the tower of smoke and steam billowing into the sky from miles away. He knew in his gut it had to be related to his brother. He stopped on the side of the road and changed into his Fed suit, suspecting that was the only way he'd be able to get close to the scene, and hopefully, to Sam.
He followed the main thoroughfare into town until he was stopped by a police cordon. Several officers were bustling about, turning people away. He parked Baby in a discrete location and tried calling Castiel again, for the fourth time, but to no avail. He angrily shoved his phone in his suit pocket and approached the yellow tape.
As he looked down the street, he could see the origin of the smoke and steam about two blocks away: a large crater surrounded by fallen building façades and what looked like the largest cans of beer he'd ever seen.
He caught the attention of one of the cops with his badge. "Hi there, Agent Mullen, FBI. Heard about quite the disturbance on the scanner. Mind telling me what's going on?"
The young cop nodded and lifted the tape for Dean to cross under. "Best we can tell, there was some kind of explosion inside the plant. We haven't found any evidence of fuel or accelerant, so we're not sure if this was intentional or not. Explosion destroyed most of the canning infrastructure and completely took out four of the brewing vessels. The contents were partially vaporized by the blast. Foreman says they were brewing Sam Adams Utopias beer."
Dean shook his head. "Such a shame to lose that much booze. Any casualties?"
The officer frowned and nodded, his face blanching slightly. "So far we've pulled eight bodies from the rubble."
Dean's step faltered and he coughed to mask his worry. "Been able to ID the victims?"
"No. Foreman doesn't think they were any of his employees, but, it's uh, a little hard to tell…"
"Why's that?"
"Looks like someone or something gouged their eyes out with a hot poker or something. Their eye sockets were all burned."
Dean felt his throat close a bit and he accelerated his pace. "Let me look at the bodies. I've seen this before."
"You have?" The man struggled to keep up with him.
"Been in the business a long time. I've just about seen it all." He hurried down to the corner where a row of tarps was laid out on the asphalt. He looked up quickly to survey the wreckage. The crater was primarily localized to a single block, but the explosion had done severe structural damage to all the surrounding buildings. Whatever had done this was immensely powerful. As the cop had mentioned, four huge brewing vessels, painted to look like giant beer cans, were strewn around like paper cups. The other two were tilted precariously, giant ruptures near the base explaining the hundreds of gallons of beer now sloshing underfoot.
The coroner noticed Dean's perplexed gaze. "'World's largest six pack'," she explained with air quotes.
"Oh, huh," Dean replied noncommittally.
"You must be a Fed," the woman observed, peeling off a glove and holding her hand out. "Dr. Hind, La Crosse County coroner."
Dean shook her hand. "Agent Mullen, FBI. How'd you know I was a Fed?"
"I mean, besides the suit and lack of surprise on your face, the fact that you didn't know about one of La Crosse's major landmarks tells me you're not from around here."
"Fair enough," Dean commented. "One of the uniforms told me the victims had something weird done to their eyes. I may have encountered something similar. Can you show me their faces?"
Dr. Hind nodded and put on a new glove. She crouched and Dean held his breath as she pulled back the tarp from the nearest body. Relief trickled in as he saw it wasn't Sam, but it was quickly supplanted by the confirmation of angelic mojo. The eyes were burned out in a way that only an angel could achieve. The rest of the man's skin and hair were in various stages of burn trauma. These were probably the demons causing all the omens. Demon infestation meant Sam had been or was still here. Hopefully not among the dead. He swallowed hard. "Can I see the rest?"
She replaced the tarp then showed him each body, all of them marked by the same burns except for one which lacked the burnt-out eyes. None of them were his brother. He suppressed his soul-deep sigh of relief and looked at the coroner. "Thanks. I don't know any of them, but I do recognize the injuries."
"What the hell causes them?
"They're uh—" C'mon, think of something, quick! "They're a type of magnesium micro-explosive some gangs in Chicago have started using. Blinds the victim, usually kills them. Can make 'em hard to ID."
"Oh. Nasty business. Well, I'll be sure to pass that along, and you should probably speak to our PD."
He nodded. "Will do. I haven't done much on the case myself, but I can certainly put your people in touch with my colleagues and they can—"
"We got a live one!" someone shouted and a small herd of people flew into action. Firefighters, EMTs, and police officers rushed towards the voice. So intent on rescue, none of them noticed Dean at their side. His long legs and lack of equipment allowed him to outpace the others as he splashed through puddles of fermenting liquid.
He knelt beside the firefighter frantically pulling away bricks and broken slats from the slightly shaking body. "Help… me…" a weak voice rasped, sounding tiny and afraid. Dean's imagination filled in where knowledge could not and he saw his brother there, pinned under the rubble, dying even as they desperately tried to save him.
Chocolate brown hair peeked through and Dean went into overdrive, tearing at the hot stones with bare hands. Finally enough were removed and with the help of the firefighter and a newly arrived EMT, they yanked the body out of the wreckage. Severe burns covered the body, patches of long hair missing. Dean fell to his knees and turned the head towards him, first seeing the gaping nothingness of the victim's eyes. The second thing to register, after what had to be a lethal jolt of adrenaline, was that this wasn't Sammy. He put a finger to the man's carotid artery. A weak pulse thumped beneath a barely visible tribal tattoo on the man's neck.
"What did this?" Dean asked quietly, cradling the head in his hands as the other two prepared a stretcher.
The man's arm shot up and dragged Dean down, his lips against Dean's ear. "Lucifer," the man gasped, and then his head slipped to the side as his arm fell away.
Dean jolted back and moved out of the way as the victim was placed on a stretcher and an oxygen mask placed on his face. But Dean knew it was too late. The man, most likely a demon, was gone.
He gulped in fear and prayed to whoever was listening that Sam had managed to escape both the explosion and Lucifer. He didn't want to think about the alternatives.
Call for creative help: I plan for Sam to have some additional ability due to the whole Wormwood/Lucifer power-up thing, but I can't for the life of me decide what it should be! It can't be anything so powerful as to negate later plot development, but shouldn't be lame either. Leave your ideas in a review or PM please! My muse needs you!