~ The Bunker ~
"So, where were you?"
Lucifer spoke with the utmost calm, but each accusatory word dripped with venom. He slowly paged through a book he found in the library, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of having his full attention.
A few feet away, God watched him carefully, his arms crossed. "That's a... a long story. How do you feel? I healed you."
"Mm, yeah, didn't ask you to," Lucifer muttered. He kept his eyes trained on the book, though he really didn't know why he was reading it. Inconsequential things written by inconsequential people.
"Son, be reasonable."
Reasonable? Oh, now there's a joke. Lucifer sat down on the steps and turned a page. "One cosmic band-aid on my knee, and what, you think that we're—we're even now?" He looked up at God for the first time, his expression twisted in mockery. "Is it time for us to go play catch in the yard?"
God sighed.
"Screw you," Lucifer finished. He turned back to the book.
Just then, the bunker doors swung open, and the Winchesters returned.
"Hey, how's it going in here?" Sam called down.
Both celestial beings ignored him. The Winchesters set their things down on the table and stopped to watch the conversation.
"Listen, I know I've been gone for a while," God said quietly. "I missed a few million birthdays."
"Yeah, and then the second your apes send a distress flare—Boom!—Daddy's home." Lucifer tried to sound as flippant as possible, but he couldn't help but feel that God really did care more about his precious humans than his own son. Apparently, your child being tortured by a cosmic entity of destruction doesn't count as a reason to come home.
"No, that's not what happened," God defended.
"Hey, these apes saved your ass," Dean interjected, eyes narrowed.
Lucifer fixed him with a glare. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, ready to blow Dean into oblivion, but nothing happened. Both Winchesters flinched at the action.
"He can't hurt you," God explained to them.
"Oh, so you're controlling me now," Lucifer snapped.
"No, it's just a safeguard." God smiled a bit, like he was talking to a dull five-year-old. Lucifer's glare intensified.
"Hey guys, um, Chuck... Lucifer, Dean," Sam said, noting the rising tension between them. Dean seemed offended at being grouped in with Lucifer and God. "Think we can try and focus here, you know? End of the world, common enemy, all that."
Lucifer closed the book with a snap. He rose to his feet. "Enemy of my enemy is my friend." He stepped onto level ground, and found that, much to his delight, Castiel's vessel was a good deal taller than God's. "Go Amara. Team Amara."
"You don't mean that."
They were mere inches apart now. If Lucifer was talking to anyone less powerful than God, he could reach out and strangle him, power or no power. But he didn't. He only stared down at his father, waiting for the words he knew he was foolish to hope for.
"You're really not gonna say it," Lucifer whispered.
God lifted his chin and met Lucifer's stare with one of his own. Fury welled up inside Lucifer. If God wasn't tampering with his grace, every light bulb in this bunker would have exploded by now.
"He's not gonna say what?" Sam asked, confused.
"Screw you," Lucifer hissed. He stepped away from his father, turned to the Winchesters, and snapped, "screw all of you." And with that, he stormed past everyone he hated the most and vanished in the labyrinth of bunker hallways.
The brothers watched him go. Chuck let out a long sigh.
"Kids, huh?" he remarked.
"Lucifer!"
The steady, ridiculously loud beat of rock music drowned out Sam's voice, filling the bunker with noise. The Winchesters stood in front of Sam's door, banging on the wood as hard as they could to make themselves heard.
"You know, at some point in time, you're gonna have to come out and—and talk to... God!" Sam yelled.
"This is like the worst episode of 'Full House' ever," Dean commented.
Suddenly, the music cut off. The brothers leaned close to listen.
"If Dad has something to say to me, I'll hear it from him!" Lucifer shouted, sounding very much like a petulant child. "Until then, I'll be in my room."
"It's not your room," Dean said.
"It's my room," Sam said.
The rock music started back up again, somehow even louder than before.
Dean knocked one last time before giving up. "Whatever."
~ Hell ~
"We can do this. Lucifer stole the throne. His authority weakens the longer he's M.I.A. The time is ripe for a coup. That's why I brought you here. Together, we can reclaim the throne. Together, we can make Hell great again."
Crowley held out his arms, waiting for the applause, the cheers, whatever. He'd spent too long cooped up in those kennels. Time to reinstate his strong leadership. Hell sure as hell needed it.
But instead of enthusiasm, he was met with chuckling and shaking shoulders. Were his demons... laughing at him?
He decided to continue. "Of course, I'll need your help recruiting others. When the numbers are in our favor, we'll strike, and each and every one of you will have earned a place at my side." A good deal, a tempting deal.
The demons at the table dissolved into quiet laughter once more, bowing their heads to hide their grins.
"Told you he'd do this," one demon said to the others.
"'He'?" Crowley questioned. "Do what?"
"What you always do," the demon replied. "Promise a return to Hell's former glory—promises you never make good on. How about a rundown of your recent rule? First, you were Rowena's bitch."
"Then Dean Winchester's," another chimed in.
"Then Amara's," the first demon continued, "then Lucifer's. A few weeks ago, you were cleaning these floors... with your tongue."
The group laughed amongst themselves. Crowley looked away. Then the demons rose to their feet, abandoning their paperwork as another mess for Crowley to clean up. They ambled out of the throne room, still chuckling and shaking their heads at him.
"We could retake Hell, but why bother?" the first demon said, getting to his feet. "The world's ending, and this time... Hell's ending with it." He paused before exiting to glance back at Crowley. "Unless you've got a plan to defeat the Darkness."
Crowley tightened his jaw.
"Well, then this is just more of the same." The demon swept into a comedic bow, arms flourished grandly to match his insulting tone. "King Crowley's bad dinner theater."
"If that's the way you feel, why did you show?" Crowley asked, still clinging to the belief that his demons still respected him, even a little.
"We wanted to watch the monkey dance..." The demon flashed his teeth in a way that was more of a snarl than a grin. "... one last time."
~ The Bunker ~
"Talk to him," Sam urged.
"Won't do any good," Chuck replied. He was spooning pancake batter onto a pan while the Winchesters sat at the kitchen counter behind him.
"Why not?"
"'Cause I can't give him what he wants."
"And what's that?" Dean asked.
"What everyone wants—my sister, my children, you humans—an apology. A big, wet, 'I'm sorry'."
"So give it to him," Dean said. "It's not like he's asking for a weapon or for Hell, or for Heaven. He's asking for words."
Chuck turned around to face them. "I can't say I'm sorry if I'm not." He set two plates of pancakes in front of them. "What he wants an apology for, I did it for humanity. For the world." Seeing their incredulous looks, he raised a mug of coffee to his lips and said, "look, Lucifer wants what everybody wants—Amara gone. Okay? Let's just... give him a little time to cool off."
"Okay, well, I don't know if you've noticed," Dean said, "but a little time is not something we have. The end is freakin' nigh."
~ Grand Isle, Louisiana ~
In the middle of a swamp, a small, scrappy cabin was nestled in the trees. A pile of firewood was piled outside, along with a murky lake nearby. The damp scent of petrichor permeated the air. Smoke drifted upwards from the chimney.
Inside, a witch sat at her table, flipping through tarot cards. Every candle was lit, and her body was adorned in all sorts of protection. Long beads and other enchanted jewelry was looped around her neck. Her wrists boasted thick pearls and bracelets.
As she mused over the cards, a presence drifted somewhere above her. Sharp eyes peered down at her, searching for something. She looked up.
"Rowena," she called. The presence shrank away. "Door not locked."
The door clicked and swung open. Rowena stepped inside with all the dignity in the world, spine straight and lips pursed. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders in curls, her eyes lined with dark kohl. A sleek blue dress hugged her slim frame, sparkling in the candlelight.
"What all that astral projection bull for?" the witch at the table questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"We're hardly on the best terms, Clea," Rowena replied. Her crisp Scottish accent contrasted sharply with Clea's. "Before barging in, I just wanted to check for hex bags or a—" Clea pulled a long rifle out from under the table and aimed it at Rowena. "—that," Rowena finished, lip curling in distaste.
"What you want?" Clea asked.
"I'm working on a spell. It required a second."
The hand clutching the gun never wavered. Clea dipped her head, chuckling dryly. "A second? Well, why don't you ask Charisse? Or Melodie, or Thomasin? Oh yeah, you torched them all, in one of your impetuous little fits."
"The world's ending, Clea," Rowena said.
"Well, duh." Clea gestured at her tarot cards, lined out on the table. All showed death. She tucked her gun away and watched as Rowena took a seat at her table. "The end times shouldn't bother you though, Ro. You a rat. Find your way off any sinking ship."
Rowena smirked. "Damn right. The spell I'm working on is Book of the Damned magic, and it can get us back. We can buy ourselves a few more centuries of life. Turn back the clock for us... before the world inevitably goes bye-bye."
Frowning, Clea noted, "you're scared."
"Aye," Rowena admitted begrudgingly. Her tone became grave. "I came face-to-face with the Darkness. The apocalypse bell's been rung a few times in our day, but when I looked inside her, I saw it. Not just the end of the world, Heaven and Hell—the end of magic."
There was a moment of consideration, then Clea said, "Greek antiquity, or no deal."
"Middle ages," Rowena countered. "I know, not the best time to be a witch."
"Or a black woman."
"And the Greek age was better?"
"I'm a fan of the classics. I'll make it work."
"Deal."
~ The Bunker ~
To say that Lucifer was less than pleased with this arrangement would be a gross understatement. The Winchesters had somehow coaxed him out of Sam's room and into another area he couldn't be bothered to know the name of. He sat down in one of the chairs, across from God.
"One of you is gonna have to, uh, go first," Sam told them. "You know what? Uh, Lucifer, y-you, uh... you agreed to have a sit-down if—if God would show, so..."
"And, Chuck, you did say you'd talk," Dean added.
Silence. Lucifer quickly realized that his father wanted to do this about as much as Lucifer did. Which meant that Lucifer was going to have to start the conversation.
"Him first," he said, gesturing at God. He crossed one leg over the other. "I'm the one who's owed an explanation."
God only sighed heavily.
"Okay, let's—let's try 'I feel' statements," Dean suggested. At Sam's look, he explained quietly, "Dr. Phil."
The Winchesters retreated to the steps of the observatory, leaving them to talk it out.
Lucifer hated them dearly in that moment.
After a pause, God said slowly, "I am sorry... that you feel... that I betrayed you. That I acted without cause. I'm sorry that you can't see you gave me no choice." He glanced over at the brothers, who were shaking their heads and giving Lucifer wary looks. "I'm good."
Lucifer scowled. He, too, turned to the Winchesters. "You heard that, right?"
"W-We all know that you are God," Sam started cautiously, "um, but.. maybe could you be a little less... lordly?"
God blinked. "But I am—I'm the Lord."
Throwing his hands up, Lucifer muttered, "wow. There he goes."
"I did what I had to do!" God exclaimed. "To create the world, I had to lock Amara away. And when the Mark corrupted you, and I saw that you posed a threat to humankind, I did the same with you."
"No, you betrayed me," Lucifer snapped. "You gave me the Mark to lock her away, and when it changed me, when it did what the Mark inevitably does—you threw me away."
"No, son. The Mark—" God stopped and rephrased. "You always cast a jaundiced glance at humans. The Mark didn't change you. It just made you more of what you already were."
The nerve. The sheer audacity. To insinuate that Lucifer was a jealous, conniving, monster before he was given the Mark? That was too far.
"What I was was your son," Lucifer spat, "your child."
"Why should I put you first above all others?"
Lucifer leaned back in his seat. His smile was anything but amused. "Do you have any idea what it's like to argue with your father when your father is God?" If he didn't know any better, he would think that the Winchesters were almost... sympathetic? No. He turned back to God. "Everything is a tautology with you. Everything is 'Because I told you so.' Everything is 'It had to be done.'"
"Pretty sure that's all fathers," Dean muttered. Sam elbowed him.
"Okay. Fine." Lucifer shifted in his seat. "Big picture, as God, you did what you had to do. But little picture?" His lips twisted into a sneer. "You sucked at being a dad."
"Maybe I didn't handle everything perfectly," God ceded, nodding a bit. "But tell me... could I have kept humankind safe with you on the board? I know about your little bid to replace me with the angels. Okay, 'New God' what would you have done about you?"
"That is not the point!" Lucifer snarled, nearly shouting now.
A pause. "I-I can't believe I'm actually about to say this," Sam said, rubbing his hands together. His next words came out like a question rather than a statement. "But, uh... Lucifer is right."
Both God and Lucifer turned to look at him, confused.
"A-All he wants is an apology, and you're too concerned about being right to give him one. But apologies aren't always about being right. Sometimes, they're just about apologizing."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "And the great thing about apologies is you don't have to mean 'em. You know, I-I lie and tell Sam I'm sorry all the time."
Sam shot him a look that screamed 'not helping'.
"Sorry," Dean said. He grinned. "See? That's—"
"Okay, enough from the peanut gallery." God waved his hand, and suddenly the Winchesters were gone, transported somewhere else in the bunker.
There was a long beat of silence before God spoke again.
"What? What would you have done?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter," Lucifer replied quietly. He didn't have it in him to be angry anymore. There was just... hurt. "You were my father and you forsook me."
God bowed his head and gathered himself. "I did."
Lucifer blinked in surprise.
"I was supposed to love all creation equally," God murmured. "I wasn't supposed to have favorites. But you... you were mine. I gave you the Mark because I loved you the most. Because I thought you were strong enough to bear it."
Lucifer almost apologized for being such a huge disappointment, but he held his tongue. He tried to listen instead of dissect God's words for any hint of scorn. He tried to believe the sincerity instead of finding holes in God's apology.
"And when I saw that I was wrong..." God took in a shaky breath. His voice trembled. "When I watched my choice devour my... most cherished son... I hated myself. And so I punished you."
Lucifer waited, as always, for the final blow to land. Perhaps it would be a scoff of disdain, or an accusation.
It never came.
"And I am so sorry," God whispered.
Lucifer exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. His stiff posture relaxed. It was like heavy weights had been taken away from him after bearing them for so long.
It felt freeing.
When finally they walked out of the room, they walked together, side by side.
The Winchesters peered down at them from the balcony.
"Hey," Sam said.
"So, are we good?" Dean asked.
Lucifer glanced at his dad and smiled. They both nodded.
"So what now?" Sam asked.
"We trap Amara," God replied. "Put her back in the box."
Eyebrows furrowed, Dean said, "wait, what?"
"Well, you were right. She needs to be destroyed. But I won't kill her."
"Why not?"
"Amara's been caged for billions of years, but..." God trailed off. "You know, she was always there. She had to be there—yin and yang, uh, dark and light."
"English, Chuck," Dean said.
God sighed. He waved his hand, and then the Winchesters were on ground level. The brothers both stumbled in surprise, and Dean clutched his stomach.
"There's a harmony," God explained, "a balance in the universe. Light needs Dark, Dark needs Light. If you blow one of them up, then, I mean..."
"It wouldn't be a good thing," Lucifer finished.
"It'd be really not a good thing," God agreed. "Like, end of reality not good."
"Okay, so we gift-wrap Amara," Sam said. "I mean, we got the team back together, so—"
"Not quite. We're still a few members short of the original lineup."
"Yeah," Lucifer said. "First time, it took the combined strength of me and my brothers to weaken Amara before..." He bumped God's shoulder, and they shared a smile. "Daddy-o finished her off."
"Even then, it was close," God added. "No, with just the two of us, we'll lose."
"Okay, so what? We'll need more group therapy between you and the archangels if we wanna have a shot?" Dean asked.
"Well, Michael's in no condition to fight," God replied. Lucifer winced. "And it's outside of my power to bring Gabriel and Raphael back."
"But you restored Castiel," Sam said.
"Archangels are different. They're the stuff of primordial creation. Rebuilding them, it's—it's time we don't have."
"So what do you need to win?"
"What do you got?" God walked past them, thinking. "So, what do we bring to the table to make up for archangel power?"
"We could try to find more Hands of God," Sam said.
"A little redundant," God replied, holding up his hands.
"Well, what about Crowley?" Dean said. "Big demon power, former King of Hell. He was a player in his day."
Lucifer pulled out a seat and propped his legs up on the table. "We have the angels."
"Rowena," Sam suggested. "I mean, she's a snake, but she's a powerful witch. And she's got the Book of the Damned." Once everyone was in agreement about who they needed to talk to, Sam said, "getting these groups to enlist and then work together, it's not gonna be easy."
"Couldn't you just compel them?" Dean asked God.
"I invented free will for a reason," God replied, shaking his head.
"So we're tying our hands on principle?"
"No—You can't make an effective soldier by force. They have to choose this fight."
"But they're gonna want to know they're backing a winner."
Lucifer gestured to God. "So..."
Sam chuckled. "So..."
~ Hell ~
"Stealing my moves, Dean?" Crowley called out to the empty throne room. He took a sip from his glass of probably very strong alcohol.
Dean stepped around the corner.
"Let me guess—you got Lucifer back in the fold. He snapped you here."
"No, it wasn't Lucifer," Dean replied. He snatched Crowley's drink away before he could take another swig. Frowning, Dean emptied the contents on the floor. "It's time to sober up. You smell like a dumpster outside the Liquor Barn."
"What's this? Concern for me?" Crowley scoffed. Too late, Winchester. "I appreciate your attempts at bro-mantic rekindling. But I think we both agree that ship has sailed."
"That's not what this is about."
Crowley peered up at him curiously.
"We need your help."
~ Heaven ~
"And here I thought I had made real inroads with you guys," Lucifer remarked. He walked leisurely through the halls of Heaven, several angels with blades crowding behind him. He was sure they'd like to believe they had any power over him, so he let the illusion continue.
"You thought wrong, Serpent," one angel—Eremiel—snapped.
"Serpent?" Lucifer rolled his eyes. He still didn't know where that myth came from.
"We loathe you. We'll always loathe you."
"Welp..." Lucifer raised his arms then dropped them again, stopping as more angels poured into the hallway from ahead. "I came here to ask a good-faith favor of you folks, but as you are..." He held up his hands as the angels pointed their blades at him. "... clearly less than kindly disposed, perhaps you'll, uh, lend an ear to my very own Jiminy Cricket? Hm?"
Although leaving himself so vulnerable in front of the angels was something he hated to do, he knew that they were never going to listen to him. Cons of being the Devil.
Lucifer closed his eyes and retreated into his vessel. He found Castiel practically hiding behind him.
They hate me, Castiel protested.
They hate me too, Lucifer countered. Help a brother out, wouldja?
Reluctantly, Castiel's grace shifted in front of Lucifer's and took control. Cas let out a breath, wiggling his fingers, not used to having full possession of a vessel. He surveyed his siblings, taking note of their suspicious looks.
"Hello, brothers," he managed. "Sisters."
"Castiel?" one angel gasped, her eyes wide.
"It's me," he assured them.
"Do you think we see any daylight between you and the Adversary?" Eremiel demanded.
Castiel lowered his eyes. Lucifer tsked.
~ Grand Isle, Louisiana ~
"We've got the owl feather and the yarrow root," Rowena said, organizing the items on the table.
"Check and check," Clea confirmed.
"A jaw of pig?"
"Check," Sam said.
Both witches whirled around to see him, spinning the bone in his hands.
"What are you doing here, giant?" Rowena hissed. "Give it!"
Sam smiled slightly. "Not 'til we've talked."
"You walked right into a powerful coven!" Rowena told him, drawing herself up like a bird of paradise fluffing its wings.
"Uh, takes three for a coven," Clea interjected.
"Witch's den," Rowena corrected through gritted teeth. "Without a weapon. I'll turn you into a moose. An actual moose."
"You can't," Sam replied.
"Read his aura," Clea said. "He under some potent protection. Never seen that before. Hear the man out."
"Well?" Rowena sneered.
"We need you." Unlike before, Sam was dead serious. "We're gonna play the God card."
Rowena dissolved into incredulous chuckles. "God's back," she scoffed. "You've tricked me before, Samuel. Why would I believe a word you say?"
"It would explain that aura of protection," Clea said. "Not no regular magic."
"Clea, dear, is this how it's going to be with us in Crete?" Clea rolled her eyes and Rowena spun back around to face Sam. "Even if God's back, why would I care? Hello, pagan here. I serve magic, not God. Sorry," she finished, sounding not sorry at all as she snatched the pig jaw out of his hands. "Not interested."
"I am." Clea's lip quirked upwards at Rowena's glare. "What? I can't serve both?" She picked out one of her many necklaces and held up a silver cross.
"No!" Rowena cried.
"Ro, you brought me a plan to escape. This here's an opportunity to fight and win."
"She's right," Sam said.
"Nobody's talking to you, big and tall," Rowena told him.
"I can enlist others," Clea offered. "Sister witches."
"You're mad. We don't stand a chance against Amara!"
"Rowena, honey?" Clea held up her stack of tarot cards, revealing the top one. The Sun. "There is a chance."
Back in Heaven, the angels stared challengingly at Castiel. Eremiel pointed to the ceiling.
"Let's hear it from Him."
"In good time," Cas said. "Do I have your support?"
"I can't even look at you, Castiel," Eremiel snapped. "You befouled yourself with the Deceiver."
Cas paused. He fixed his gaze on the ground. "You know, every second that I've spent subordinating myself to Lucifer—it's been a torment. It's destroying me, it's burning through my vessel. But I would do it all over again, because through me, he and God, they will defeat the Darkness. That's my role in this fight. It's God's fight. You can play a part in that fight too... if you join me."
Inside his head, Lucifer cheered him on. Laying it a little thick with the holier-than-thou stuff, but overall pretty good. I'm not that bad though, am I?
Of course not, I wouldn't want to harm that very large, very bloated, very fragile ego of yours.
Hey!
Down in Hell, Crowley was busy lamenting his sorrows to an uninterested Dean Winchester.
"Game of thrones," Crowley said, "it's musical chairs. Still... I wanted it. To go out with the crown on my head!"
"And that's what you offered them?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. "A chance to stroke your ego? And you wonder why they said no. Well, we've got something better—a plan." He leaned back against the conference table. "Now, you can sit on the sidelines and watch the world die... or you can fight."
Crowley watched him, still not convinced but interested.
"You know, to be king again, maybe you need to remember how to be a soldier."
A pause. "What's the plan?"
A couple hours ago, at the bunker:
"We assemble our band of brothers," Sam said, "hit Amara with everything we've got. Then, when she's weak..."
"I finish her off," God supplied.
"So, a page from the original playbook. This time, with witches and demons subbing for archangels."
"Exactly," Lucifer said.
"I still don't like it," Dean spoke up. He had been pacing around the table for a good thirty minutes, only pausing to change direction. "But why trap her when you can kill her, you know? I-I mean, you gotta admit, there's a lot less room for error if you shoot to kill."
"I explained why," God said.
"Right, but why keep her in play? So she can escape and we can go through this all over again?"
"Dean, what is this about?" Sam asked.
"I—nothing!" Dean spluttered. "Am I the only one thinking rational here?"
"It's about her," Lucifer chimed in. He was reclined back in a chair, feet propped up on another chair, spinning some toy in his fingers. "Sam, it's about his girlfriend."
"Okay." Dean pinned him with a glare. "Shut up."
"I mean, think about it," Lucifer continued, instead of shutting up as Dean advised. "Dean Winchester meets the biggest evil in the universe, and he takes a pass? Come on. Now he wants Daddy to do what he couldn't."
"Is he right?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean.
"Oh, I'm not getting into it with him," Dean muttered. "Not gonna happen."
And Lucifer kept talking, despite Dean's warning glare quickly turning into a murderous one. "Hey, Dean. Come on, what's good for the goose is good for the gander. We opened up a vein for you two."
"I tried to kill her," Dean snapped. He remembered the blade shattering to pieces in his hands, breaking impossibly against Amara's skin. "And it didn't work."
There was a long stretch of silence. Lucifer turned back to the toy he was messing with. Seemed like everyone tried to kill Amara. The numbers kept on a climbin'.
"Maybe it didn't work because you didn't want it to work," God tried. Dean's eyes flicked to him. "Maybe you didn't want to kill her."
"You want God to kill Amara," Sam said slowly, eyebrows pinched in confusion, "because you don't want Amara to be killed?"
"Maybe there's a part of me that just can't hurt her," Dean confessed quietly. "But if she's already dead—"
"—then she's already dead," Sam finished. "Right."
"Well, that got weird," Lucifer remarked, tapping his chin. Dean pushed away from the table, shoulders tense.
"Dean." Sam scoffed a little. "We always sweat this stuff, these choices. But for once, we have God on our side. I mean, for once, we can actually just do things his way."
At the head of the table, God flourished his hands.
Heaven-
"That's..." Eremiel trailed off.
"That's a very simple plan," another angel finished.
"Yes," Castiel agreed.
Earth-
"Simple," Rowena mused, "bordering on insane."
"Still in?" Sam asked.
Hell-
"It's suicide," Crowley said.
"Let's go," Dean replied.
~ Donatello's House ~
Amara waved her hand. Donatello went flying with a shout of terror, slamming into the bookcase and collapsing to the floor. He coughed up blood. As he rolled onto his back, still coughing, Amara advanced on him, black dress swaying around her ankles.
"Please!" Donatello cried. "I don't know anything. I've only been a prophet for three days!"
"But you know where he is," Amara said, her voice soft yet commanding. She sank into a kneel before him.
"I won't tell you."
"You won't have to." Then she reached out, cupping his face with both hands. Donatello's eyes went wide as he started choking, his whole body trembling with the force of it. Then a wispy strand of blue slipped from his mouth and into Amara's. His soul.
She devoured it; everything that made him human, everything a soul gives to a mind. Knowledge, morals, memories. She consumed it all.
Amara noted faintly that prophets tasted different than normal humans. Richer.
A smile curved her lips as the location rose to her mind.
"Kansas."
Now, breaking into the Men of Letters bunker was not the easiest thing Amara had done. It was filled with potent warding that actually made her take a step back to evaluate what she was dealing with. There were traces of Light everywhere, strengthening the human-drawn sigils. Traces of God everywhere. She shredded through His protection, meager compared to what she knew He was capable of.
She appeared atop a table. There was a map set into it, an angel tracker of sorts. There was no one in sight.
As she was glancing around, feeling for Dean's soul or her nephew's grace, she noticed a mug sitting on the table.
'WORLD'S GREATEST DAD' it read.
It shattered against the wall, launched by her vicious kick. She was confident Lucifer would approve.
The bunker's halls were empty. She took off into one dimly lit corridor.
Even after all this, her brother was just out of her reach.
It made her furious.
~ An abandoned factory ~
"... I don't hold grudges," Crowley was saying when Rowena strolled inside. "Besides, that dog collar was a lovely touch, really made my eyes pop. Almost wore it here today."
"Oh, I'm glad you're such a good sport," Lucifer replied condescendingly. Unfortunately, Castiel's vessel was the same height as Crowley, so he had to actually look that scum in the eyes. When he saw Rowena step into view, his face broke into a winning smile. "Hey, red. Looking gorgeous as ever." Rowena pressed her lips together. "Hey, I think a little apology is in order."
"You think you're the first man to try and kill me?" Rowena said, smirking.
Crowley rolled his eyes. Lucifer winked.
"Hello, Fergus," Rowena said, spitting out his name with utter disdain.
"Mother," Crowley replied.
Then bright light illuminated the factory, blinding them for a moment, then faded to a faint gleam. God stood on top of a raised platform, looking down at them. Lucifer sighed. And people call him dramatic.
"Hello, my children," God spoke.
Crowley regarded him, confused. He glanced to the Winchesters. "Him?"
"Rowena," God greeted. "Crowley. It's good to finally meet you in person."
"Sorry about, well, everything I've ever done in my life," Rowena said. She stepped forward, wringing her hands. "Really, y-you can't have been a fan."
"Oh, yeah," God agreed. "I've been quietly rooting against you both for some time now. Although, I can't deny—you're one of my guilty pleasures."
Rowena laughed bashfully. "Oh, God."
"Oh, God," Crowley muttered in disgust.
"Alright, no flirting," Dean asserted. "And no fighting."
"Yeah, and no deals," Sam added. "No talks about who is owed what if we survive this."
Basically tag-teaming, Dean continued, "nobody likes each other. It doesn't matter."
"We only have the fight ahead."
A pause, and then God said, "Amara's looking for me. But I'm warded against her, for now. The second I drop the warding, she'll show. She'll be expecting a fight, and we'll give it to her. Shock and awe. Shock and awe." He gestured to the three supernatural beings standing in uncomfortable proximity to one another. "You have your troops in position?"
Rowena raised her hand like an eager schoolgirl. God coughed.
"Yes, Rowena?"
"Fabulous plan... God," she started, "but doesn't this strategy strike anyone as a wee bit un-strategic? Shouldn't we at least try to catch her off guard?"
"Is that sequence set in stone?" Crowley asked. "Demon, angel, witch power? Seems to me that the first response should come from the most disposable force."
"Right," Lucifer agreed mockingly. "Good argument, doggie. Demons first it is!"
"The weakest should go first," Crowley said, ignoring the jab. "Naturally, that means the witches."
"Enough," Sam interrupted.
"After that, it's Lucifer's turn," God said, as if the bickering had never happened. "Physical attack, one-on-one."
"What about Cas?" Dean questioned.
Before God could reply, Lucifer said, "oh, don't worry. Your pet's safety is my highest concern." It was not Dean's deadly glare that made him sober up, but Castiel's gentle yet firm reprimand about playing nice with the Winchesters. "Trust me, he's on board."
"Once she's been weakened," God continued, "I will take the Mark back from Amara and use it to seal her away. You ready?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
Dean swiveled, looking between them. "Wait, what?"
"God and I talked about this," Sam told him quietly. "Someone needs to bear the Mark."
Lucifer frowned a bit, but didn't comment.
"Well, it should be me," Dean argued. "I-I've had it before. I'm damaged goods."
"Exactly," God said. "You've already been tainted. I can't transfer it to you. Sam volunteered."
Dean grabbed Sam's sleeve and dragged him off to the side, well out of earshot from the squabbling witch/demon/archangel. "First Cas is making kamikaze side plans, and now you? You couldn't've talked to me?"
"We did talk," Sam replied.
"And what happens when the Mark turns you psycho? Then what?"
"You... lock me up, where I can't hurt anyone. And you throw away the key."
"Sam, no."
"Dean, you told me you couldn't beat Amara, that it would have to be me. Well, this is it—me."
A few feet away, Lucifer was telling them, "I'm just saying, angels can hurt her. It's worked before."
"If you call giving Amara a mild case of the pukes working," Crowley shot back.
"We're trying to disorientate her as much as hurt her," Rowena said, taking no sides as usual. "You underestimate witchcraft, Fergus, always have."
"If anything," Crowley continued, ignoring his mother, "she's inoculated. Full-scale demon attack. That's our 'X' factor."
Lucifer dissolved into incredulous laughter. Rowena scoffed.
Back off to the side, Sam said, "we talked about this. It's time to do the smart thing."
"So what am I supposed to do, just sit by and watch?"
"No. We're both in this fight. You're leading this army."
"Oh, you mean babysitting the bad guys?" Dean snapped. Sam didn't refute him. His voice turned soft. "Okay, Sam. Okay. God's plan."
~ The Bunker ~
Amara knelt down in Dean's room and opened a chest by his bed. She rifled through the contents, careful to leave everything in perfect condition. One framed photo in particular caught her eye. She lifted it out of the chest.
A picture of what must have been a young Dean Winchester, with a smiling blonde hugging him. His mother, Mary Winchester. Dean looked happy. He didn't look happy now.
As she traced her fingers over Dean's smile, a suddenly presence in the doorway drew her attention. Then a smug voice with a distinct Scottish lilt reached her ears.
Hello, Amara.
"Hello, witch," Amara called out, unsettled by how quietly Rowena's astral form snuck up on her. "How did you find me?"
Been inside your head once before. Easy enough to find my way back. Take it you're still looking for God? Well, I'm with him right now.
Rowena snapped back into her body. She glanced up at God and smiled.
The door creaked as Rowena stepped outside. Looked like Fergus got his wish after all. Witches first.
She surveyed the empty lot warily. No Amara yet.
Then—
A powerful rush of darkness, an utter destructive presence so strong that Rowena fought to keep her footing. Amara appeared several feet away. Her voice was frosty.
"He's here."
"Yes," Rowena replied hurriedly. "Right inside." Both approached each other, Rowena on unsteady legs. She forced an expectant smile. "Our deal holds? Safe passage back in time? I went out on a limb for you—betrayed God, of all people."
"You didn't betray God," Amara said. "You betrayed me."
Rowena felt a sudden prodding in her mind. Amara's darkness combed easily through her recent memories, seeing God look down on her.
"I knew this was a trap the moment you called," Amara continued, smiling coldly. She began to slowly circle Rowena, like a bird of prey circles a mouse. "I didn't care. All I've ever wanted is a one-on-one with my brother. And you've just given it to me. The question is... how am I going to repay you?"
The words were anything but gratuitous. Rowena gathered her magic, flung out her hands, and shouted, "attenuare!"
Purple lightning exploded from her hands and slammed into Amara, crackling over her skin harmlessly. The lightning died away. Amara scoffed.
"That tickles," she commented, smirking. "Do you really think the power of one witch can hurt me?"
"I'm not just one witch." This time, when Rowena summoned her magic, she felt the tingle of four other witches behind her, driving their magic with hers and casting the spell together, supported in a way she'd never been before. "Attenuare!"
The supercharged weakening spell exploded from her fingertips, pulsing white-hot, fueled by the power of her sister witches. The purple lightning collided with Amara once more, causing her to stumble from the vicious blow.
"Enough," Amara growled. She raised her hand and hurled Rowena's magic back at her, sending her flying and crashing into the ground.
She felt the spell—with Amara's own power mixed in—flow through her and electrocute the witches on the other end, killing them instantly. She collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Though Amara's skin was scorched in some places, as she glowered down at Rowena, her glare had not lessened. "Points for trying," she sneered.
And then thunder crashed. Rowena breathed a sigh of relief.
In the dark sky, the clouds began to gather in a swirling vortex above them, a white glow lighting up the center. The angels were preparing to attack.
Amara stepped away from Rowena and held her arms out, head tipped to the sky. She grinned up at the sky.
The angels summoned the full might of the Holy Host and struck, launching down a powerful blast of pure divinity, their graces joined together with searing light. Rowena shielded her eyes.
As soon as it came, it vanished, and in its stead, roaring black funnels of smoke swooped down from above. The demons.
Amara knelt in the center of a smoking black crater, still reeling from the angel smiting, but she managed to stagger to her feet anyway. Every demon from Hell descended upon her, spinning around her in dizzying patterns. She swatted at them like a cornered cat batting away a fish. One lamppost shattered; then another.
The demons began to lift her off the ground, sneaking in hits when she was distracted, only further serving to piss her off. Amara lashed out at them, her darkness viciously clawing at them, but they were creatures of evil too, and they resisted her power better than most.
From inside the warehouse, Crowley opened the door. He looked up at his troops fighting Amara, and something like pride flashed in his eyes. He brandished his arms and fled his vessel in a mass of crimson smoke. Racing to join the legions of Hell, he landed the final blow, smacking into Amara so hard she slammed into a car and instantly shattered all the windows, crumpling the metal. She collapsed into the pavement.
Crowley was not stupid enough to think they had defeated her. He flew off with the rest of his army, knowing he would come back when she was gone, or he would die if she wasn't.
The factory doors crashed open. Amara stumbled inside, covered in all sorts of wounds—from demon-made cuts, to witch bruises, to angel burns. She lurched forward, gripping the railing for balance. Seeing them, her lips curled into a snarl. Dean took a step forward at the sight of her, but Sam held him back.
"Hello, brother," she forced out, panting heavily. "You cheated... again. But—"
Lucifer plunged his weapon into her back, the tip shoving through the other side. Amara let out a terrible gasp. Lucifer yanked the lance out, and Amara fell to her knees, groaning. He moved to finish her off.
"Ah!" God yelled, stopping Lucifer before he killed her. "Son."
There was a moment of tension when Lucifer almost didn't listen, the lance still poised to strike, but at God's desperate expression, Lucifer reluctantly backed off, obeying his father for the first time in millions of years. He lowered the weapon and stepped back.
"I'm sorry," God told Amara. "For this, for everything."
"An apology at last," Amara managed, shoulders heaving with exertion. She raised her stare to meet his. "What's 'sorry' to me? I spent millions of years crammed into that cage... alone... and afraid, wishing—begging for death, because of you!"
Dean closed his eyes, pained. Sam looked sympathetic.
"And what was my crime, brother?" Amara cried.
"The world needed to be born!" God urged, trying to make her understand. He lowered himself to her level. "And you wouldn't let me! Amara, you gave me no choice."
"That's your story. Not mine. The real reason you banished me, why I couldn't be allowed to exist... you couldn't stand it." She glanced over at the Winchesters. "No, we were equals. We weren't great or powerful, because we stood only relation to each other. You think you made the archangels to bring light? No. You made them to create lesser beings—"
At this, Lucifer frowned. He looked to his father as if waiting for him to refute it, to dispel the blasphemous claim.
"—to make you large, to make you Lord," Amara continued. She staggered to her feet, now towering over God. "It was ego! You wanted to be big!"
God barely paused before admitting, "that's true." He, too, stood to his full height. "But it isn't the whole truth. There's a value, a glory in creation... that's greater and truer than my pride or my ego. Call it grace, call it being! Whatever it is, it didn't come from my hands. It was there... waiting to be born. It just is, and you and I just were. Since you've been freed, I know that you've seen it." God glanced over at Dean. He nodded. "Felt it."
Amara followed his gaze. She looked at Dean for only a moment, then began to shake her head, eyebrows furrowed in incredulity. "It didn't have to be like this. I loved you, brother." She pressed her lips together and scoffed loudly. "Well... you've won again. Finish it." She tipped her head back, voice filled with exhaustion. "Kill me."
God's throat bobbed. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
A low crackling noise reached their ears. Amara quickly looked down at the Mark on her collarbone. "No." It was glowing bright red. "No. No!"
Off to the side, Sam groaned and clutched his arm, where a faint outline of the Mark was beginning to burn into his skin.
"I'm so sorry," God told her.
"No!" Amara gasped, "not again!" She lashed out and wrapped her hands around God's neck, suffocating him with her darkness. "NOT EVER AGAIN!" With her power, she lifted him into the air, fingers curled like claws.
Crying out, Lucifer lunged, lance held high, but Amara flicked her other wrist and he slammed into a nearby pillar, head smacking against the metal.
"Goodbye, nephew," she snarled.
Lucifer screamed, his eyes lighting up white as she ripped him from his vessel and banished him. Castiel slumped back, head lolling.
"Cas!" Dean cried. He moved for Amara, but she hurled him into a metal rack, uncaring of his wellbeing for the first time.
"I'd die a million times, and murder you a million more before going back there!" Amara shouted. The Mark faded from Sam's skin and returned to her. "Tell me... if you won't change, why should I?"
"Amara, no!" Dean pleaded.
Black swelled up from the ground, rising in smoky funnels as they surrounded God. Then one of them struck him, his skin glowing white where the darkness made contact. Another stabbed him, then another, and then there was darkness all around him, his light weakly trying to fend them off, but Amara's rage was too strong. A low ringing sound—like an angel's true voice—began to fill the space.
"Sorry, brother," Amara said. Her voice lacked any of the same sincerity as God's.
White light engulfed him as he tipped back his head and screamed, the noise joining with the sharply increasing ringing. On the floor, the Winchesters covered their eyes from the blinding light.
And then it all went dark.
God collapsed to the ground, where he lay still.
"Amara, what have you done?" Dean choked out. He stared at God's body.
"He's dead," Sam whispered. "God's dead."
"No," Amara said, spinning around to glare at them. Her numerous injuries were gone, healed by the outburst of divinity. "He's dying. My brother will dim... and fade away into nothing. But not until he sees what comes next. Not until he watches this world—everything he created, everything he loves—turn to ash."
Outside, Rowena sucked in a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering open. She slowly sat up, rolling the aches out of her shoulders. The scorched ground from the angel smiting smoked just a few feet away. She pushed herself to her feet, then raised her gaze to the crimson sky. She shielded her eyes from the dying sun.
Inside the factory, Amara's eyes seemed to glow with bitter triumph.
In a voice cold as ice, she said, "Welcome to the end."