"Chrys," Dean hissed, horrified.
His honorary sister-in-law didn't budge. "Come on, then," her voice was like a whip through the warehouse. "You're God now, make me bow down. Force me to worship you. You cool with me kneeling? Or will forehead to the carpet be more your gig?"
Cass tilted his head, and far from being the kind of quasi-cute angle it normally was, it was terrifying. "What a brave little ant you are. You truly believe that I cannot break you of this disobedience."
"I'd like to see you try," Chrys sneered.
"Cass, come on," Dean said, keeping his voice low and nonthreatening. "This isn't you."
Cass turned that icy blue gaze to Dean, and he felt the chills take an iron grip on his spine. "The Castiel you knew is gone."
Dean frowned. "What are you, then?"
"I'm God." Cass' eyes were boring holes in Dean's, but the hunter couldn't bring himself to break eye contact first. "And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down."
Cass turned to look at Sam, which made Dean's heart ache fiercely. "Not doing so well, are you, Sam?"
Sam, who was clearly not doing well, swallowed hard. "I'm, uh. I'm…" He cleared his throat harshly. "I'm fine."
Chrys was staring daggers at Cass, and the fury there made Dean momentarily very glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of that look. "You said you'd fix it," she whispered, venom dripping from every syllable. "You promised, even."
"If you stood down, which you hardly did. Be thankful for my mercy." Cass raised his eyebrows. "I could have cast you back into the pit."
"Oh, fuck you-" Chrys started to growl.
"Cass," Dean interrupted, desperate to keep bloodshed at bay, "Come on, this is nuts! You can turn this around, please."
"I hope for your sake this is the last you see me."
"One, two, three, now."
Chrys pushed her legs as hard as she could to straighten them. Dean's ass was against hers, the heels of his feet pressed against hers, pushing as well. There was a screech of rending metal, and the roof of the Impala slowly moved back to as close as the original shape as was possible without tools.
Chrys groaned and rolled herself out of the car, wincing when her legs trembled. Dean was glaring at the roof like it was responsible for everything they'd gone through so far.
"So," Bobby said from behind Chrys. "You fixin' her or primal screamin'?"
Chrys took the offered beer with a smile. "Thanks, Bobby."
Dean accepted his own bottle. "How's Sam?"
"Still under. But alive."
"What about God two-point-oh?" Chrys asked softly, a little nervous about the answer.
Bobby shrugged. "I got all kinds of feelers out. So far, diddly."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "And what exactly are you looking for?"
Another shrug. "Exactly. What? Miracles, mass visions, trench coat on a tortilla? I don't know what I'm lookin' for."
Dean shrugged. "Ah, well, he'll surface."
Chrys frowned. "Why are we even looking, again? There's nothing we could do to stop him, even if we did find him."
"Convince him to fix Sammy," Dean snarled.
Chrys rolled her eyes. "Dean, he's not going to fix a damn thing. He had a chance, and he ignored it. Look, I mean, I'm not saying we give up on Cass completely, but there's no point in trying to find him. He'll come back."
"I don't even know what books to hit for this, boy," Bobby said, as gently as Bobby ever said anything.
"Well, figure it out!" Dean shouted. At Bobby's raised eyebrows and Chrys's fierce scowl, he relented. "I'm sorry. This ain't in no book. If you stick your neck out, Cass steps on it. So you know what I'm gonna do?"
Chrys rolled her eyes as Bobby took the bait. "What?"
"I'm gonna fix this car. Because that's what I can do. I can work on her 'til she's mint. And when Sam wakes up, no matter what shape he's in, we'll glue him back together too. We owe him that."
The last part tugged at Chrys's heart. "We're with you, Dean."
Chrys was keeping a close eye on Sam, who she knew was lying to her, and to all of them. He kept insisting that he was fine, just a residual headache from having hell released in his skull. Chrys didn't know why Sam thought they were all stupid, but it irritated her.
Fucking Sam and his fucking martyr complex-
A news announcer's voice interrupted her internal rant.
"The sudden deaths of some two hundred religious leaders are currently under investigation. The Vatican has yet to issue a statement, but some are already calling this an act of God."
The screen filled with the image of a woman being interviewed, quite literally clutching her pearls. "We all saw him. No beard, no robe. He was young, and… And… Sexy. He had a raincoat."
Chrys snickered. "Get some, Cass."
Dean reached forward and turned the TV off.
"Believed to be target hits high up in white supremacy organizations. The FBI now believes the Ku Klux Klan has been forced to disband."
Dean paused in his work on Baby long enough to snort a little. "Can't argue with that one."
Chrys followed Sam outside, unwilling to let him out of her sight for very long. They found Dean under the Impala's hood, paused while he listened to the radio.
"A freak lightning strike on the heels of the fire that burned down the Center for Vibrational Enlightenment earlier today. Said a spokesman, 'This tragedy represents the largest loss in New Age motivational speaker history.'"
She heard the frown in Sam's voice. "Motivational speakers?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm not sure new Cass gets irony any better than old Cass." He turned back to his work. "Of course, old Cass wouldn't smite Madison Square Garden just to prove a point. He is off the deep end of the deep end. And there's no slowing down."
Sam sighed. "So, what? Try to talk to him again?"
Dean cut him a look. "Sam."
"Dean, all we can do is talk to the guy."
"He's not a guy," Dean snarled, finally turning to face them. "He's God. And he's pissed. And when God gets righteous, you get the hell out of the way. Haven't you read the Bible?"
Chrys scoffed. "Please."
"I guess…" Sam said hesitantly.
"Cas is never coming back. He's lied to us, he used us, he cracked your gourd like it was nothing. No more talk; we have spent enough on him."
"Hey now," Chrys interrupted. "That's not how we do things."
Dean pointed at her. "Fuck you, Summers. You're just as angry as I am."
She narrowed her eyes and stepped up so they were inches apart. "I'm angry, but we're not done with him." Before he could protest, she went on. "Cass bit off more than he could chew, trying to fix a problem that no one else was seeing as a problem. You're really telling me that neither of you can relate?" She looked back at Sam, who looked contrite, then at Dean again, who still just looked angry. "Well?"
Dean turned back to the car. "Hand me that socket wrench."
Chrys did so with a smile. Game, set, match.
Sam lay with Chrys' head on his chest, running his hand through her hair. He kind of missed the length it used to have, but he had to admit that this was easier to do now that it was short.
"So, are we gonna talk about it?"
He frowned up at the ceiling. "Talk about what?"
"About how you're not okay."
He froze, and immediately tried to relax himself, but he knew she'd felt it, and knew that it was as good as an admission of guilt. "I'm-"
"I swear to God, Sam," Chrys said vehemently, "if the next word out of your mouth is 'fine,' I'll hurt you."
He sighed. "I'm… Working on it."
She finally looked up at him, and he lost himself in her big blue eyes with relief. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He grinned. "Since when do you want to talk about anything?"
She glared. "Never, asshat, but you won't talk about it to Bobby or Dean, and I just…" She took a deep breath. "I want to make sure you're all right."
He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to her still frowning forehead. "I will be, I'll figure it out."
She looked unconvinced. "Whatever you say, handsome."
Sam led Chrys down the stairs by her hand, savoring the way her soft skin grounded him against the hallucinations that constantly threatened to overwhelm him. When Lucifer was around the same time as Chrys, he tended to just stare at her. Even though Sam knew it wasn't real, it was just in his head, it was disconcerting as hell.
As they approached the garage, Dean's upset, strained voice halted Sam in his tracks, and he ignored Chrys's irritated grumbling to listen in.
"No," Dean was snarling. "You wanna know why? Because we never catch a break. So why would we this time? I just..." A scratchy noise, which meant his brother was scraping a hand down his face. "Just this one thing. You know? But I'm not dumb. I'm not going to get my hopes up just to get kicked in the daddy-pills again."
Sam winced, pain constricting his entire chest. Fuck. Dean was talking about him, about if he was all right, he knew it. He decided to keep the hallucinations to himself. Dean had enough to deal with, what with his best friend deciding to eat all the souls he could get his grubby, angelic hands on, and subsequently deciding to be God, with a capital "G."
Yeah, Sam's problems could wait.
He strode into the garage, startling both Dean and Bobby. "Hey."
"Hey," Bobby returned cautiously. "How are you feelin', sport?"
Sam plastered the most sincere smile possible on his face. It helped that Chrys had moved to stand next to him, and had pushed her hand up under his shirts so she could rub comforting circles onto her lower back. He'd never loved her more. "Can't complain."
"Great. What's the word?"
Sam nodded, his mind returning to the reason he'd come to the garage. "Well, a publishing house literally exploded about an hour ago. The guy has a body count that's really getting up there. We gotta do something."
Bobby huffed. "What we've got to do is hunt the son of bitch. Unfortunately, I lost my God guns."
"Well, I mean is there some kind of heavenly weapon? Maybe something out of that angel arsenal that Balthazar stole? There has to be something that can hurt him." Sam really hated talking about Cass like that, but something had to be done.
"He's God, Sam." Dean looked thoughtful, though. "There's nothing, but there might be someone."
"Can I just say, again, how stupid this is?"
Chrys glared at Dean as he rolled his eyes. "Yes, we get it, you think the plan is stupid."
"Not just stupid, you're not giving yourself enough credit. I think it's colossally, intensely stupid." She smiled sweetly. "Just so we're clear."
"Fuck off, Summers."
She decided to ignore him, and turned to the wealthy couple they had tied up and gagged in their own living room, which, rude. "I am so sorry," she said softly, sincerely. "I just… I assure you we're not here to hurt you."
"Yeah," Dean said jovially. "Chrys only cuts with her words."
Chrys rolled her eyes and flipped him off, only to hide it quickly when Bobby came in the room.
He scowled at both of them. "Can we just do this, please?"
"Fried pickle chip? They're the best in the state."
Chrys had known this was a bad fucking idea.
Death stared at Dean impassively. "That easy to soothe me, you think? This is about Sam's hallucinations, I assume?"
Dean blanched. "What?"
Death ignored him to look at the taller Winchester. "Sorry, Sam. One wall per customer. Now unbind me."
"We can't. Y-yet," Sam stammered.
"This isn't going to end well." Death intoned. Chrys agreed.
"We need you to kill God."
That brought Death up short. "Pardon?"
"Kill God, you heard right," Bobby said gruffly. "Your… Honor?"
"What makes you think I can do that?"
Dean frowned. "You told me."
Death cocked an eyebrow, and Chrys had a feeling they were all going to die and Cass was going to burn the world down. Fuck.
"Because… We said so? And we're the boss of you?"
"Jesus, Winchester," Chrys groaned. "Are you trying to get us smote?"
"I mean…" he stuttered. "Respectfully."
"Amazing."
Chrys whirled to see Castiel standing behind them, a blank look on his face. "Cass," she breathed out, panic bubbling up inside her.
"I didn't want to kill you, but now…"
Dean shook his head. "You can't kill us."
"You've erased any nostalgia I had for you, Dean." Chrys winced at the angel's words. Ouch.
"Death is our bitch. We ain't gonna die, even if God pulls the trigger."
Death sighed heavily and met Castiel's eyes. "Annoying little protozoa, aren't they?" At the ensuing silence, he tilted his head. "'God?' You look awfully like a mutated angel to me. Your vessel's melting. You're going to explode." Chrys' eyebrows rose.
"No, I'm not. When I've finished my work, I'll repair myself."
Death chuckled, and Chrys had never been more terrified of a sound in her life. Well, almost.
"You think you can because you think you're simply under the weight of all those souls, yes? But that's not the worst problem. There are things much older than souls in purgatory, and you gulped those in, too."
Cass shook his head dismissively. "Irrelevant. I control them."
"For the moment."
Chrys was frowning. "Older things?"
Death nodded, and there was approval in his eyes when he looked at her. "Very good, Chrys, yes. Long before God created angels and man, he made the first beasts." A pregnant pause. "The Leviathans."
The word sent more chills up and down Chrys' spine. "Leviathans?"
Death shrugged. "I personally found them entertaining, but he was concerned they'd chomp the entire petri dish, so he locked them away. Why do you think he created purgatory? To keep those clever, poisonous things out. Now Castiel has swallowed them. He's the one thin membrane between the old ones and your home."
"Well, fuck." She couldn't sum it up any other way.
"Enough," Castiel snapped.
Death seemed amused. "Stupid little soldier, you are."
"Why? Because I dared open a door that he shut? Where is he? I did a service, taking his place."
"Service? Settling petty vendettas?"
"No. I'm cleaning up one mess after another. Selflessly."
Chrys snorted at the same time that Death shook his head. "Quite the humanitarian."
"And how would you know?" Cass sneered. "What are you, really? A flyswatter?"
"Destined to swat you, I think." Death was definitely enjoying this conversation more than Chrys was strictly comfortable with. She met Sam's wide eyes, and saw her fear reflected there, too.
"Unless I take you first."
Death outright chuckled. "Really bought his own press, this one. Please, Cass. I know God, and you, sir, are no God."
Dean had had enough, apparently. "All right, put your junk away, both of you." He looked at Death. "Look, call him what you want. Just kill him now!"
Death stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably about a second. "All right. Fine."
Cass snapped his fingers, and the binding was gone. Death was free. He smiled at the angel. "Thank you. Shall we kickbox now?" When Castiel just stared at him, another chilling smile crossed Death's face. "I had a tingle I'd be reaping someone very, very soon."
Dean started to back away, reaching a hand out to grab Chrys' and drag her with him.
"Don't worry, not you." Death started to eat the pickle chips, and Chrys wondered what her life had become.
Without warning, Castiel disappeared. Death didn't even flinch. "Well, he was in a hurry."
That… Did not go to plan.
**I don't have an excuse for the wait. I'm sorry.
**Feedback gives me the warm fuzzies and keeps me going.
