A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for returning to this fic after so long. I am terribly sorry for the amount of time that has passed, but I have had a horrible case of writers block on this fic and my life has been hectic. In any case, please R&R, believe it or not your reviews really encourage me to write.

Ncsupnatfan: Thanks. It really was hard to figure out how and where to end this storyline. I have enjoyed writing the boys interacting with themselves, but unfortunately it eventually has to end. Anyway, hopefully I'll be updating more frequently. Enjoy this chapter in any case.

I do not own Supernatural or it's characters.


Chapter 41: Cleanup


"You're not Mary."

She shook her head, "Does it matter? It's what you think." She laughed slightly, "You hate yourself, John. I know. I can see what's in your mind, and it's a mess up there. It's almost sad looking at you. Well," She shrugged, "At least you won't have to worry about it much longer."

John struggled against the force pinning him to the tree, staring miserably at the thing that looked like his wife. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that could fix this. Nothing came to mind; he didn't even know what this thing was, let alone how to stop it.

He still had questions though. There were odd discrepancies in the case, particularly if a ghost was meant to be the culprit. Like how in the hell a ghost made tornadoes.

"Mary" was still walking forward menacingly, fixated entirely on him. As she got close she lifted her hand in front of his face, an odd smile playing about her lips. "You escaped that night; left me to burn. How do you think that made me feel?"

Flames played about her fingers as her hand danced inches from his face; yet more confirmation that the thing in front of him wasn't Mary, even if it had her form. His eyes followed the hand's languid movements as he spoke. "I'm… sorry. You're right." He took a shaky, emotional breath. This was too close to home for him to handle. "I should have burned that night, not you. I would give anything, anything to trade places but I was too late." He managed to force his hand away from the tree to caress her cheek. His next words were barely audible, "I'm so sorry, Mary. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

The hand shot to his chest and John screamed as an ember-red light emanated from her touch, spreading, glowing under his skin through his shirt.

"STOP!" Bobby yelled across the clearing, struggling but helpless in his own invisible restraints. For a moment she glanced over, and Bobby gasped as her face changed momentarily to Karen's.

She smiled thinly, cruelly. "Don't worry. Your turn will come. But for now this one dies the death he deserves." Her attention returned to John, her face to Mary's; the screaming resumed.

John didn't notice a man emerge from the trees, to all appearances a rough-looking hunter with a straggly brown beard and a stake in his hand. He was too focused on the horrific, unending pain. It consumed him until he could think of nothing else; even his thoughts of his sons and what on earth they would do without him were pushed aside, pushed back into nonexistence by the flames slowly eating him from the inside out. He was glowing now, his entire body nearly filled with the creature's power.

Suddenly there was a sickening squelch, the light died from the thing's eyes and John's body and both dropped to the ground, limp.

Bobby also dropped, released from the tree he ran to his friend. He carefully skirted the mangled corpse of what was now clearly a tall man, a long stake sticking horribly from his back, and rushed to where the hunter appeared to be checking John over.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby spoke as he dropped to his knees beside them.

"Hades" the stranger replied. "He generally goes after people who feel guilt over a loved one's death. He lures them with the person's face and voice, then kills them in the same way the other died." He paused, then spoke again. "He isn't good. Do you have any water in your camp?"

The other man gazed down at John, who was far too pale and had yet to regain consciousness. He almost looked dead. Bobby finally nodded, conceding to the other, clearly more experienced, hunter. "I'll check."

With Bobby momentarily distracted Gabriel quickly got to work. John was going to die without extraordinary measures, and he was fairly certain Michael wanted the man alive. The disguised archangel placed his fingers on the man's forehead, healing him of his wounds though he remained unconscious. He thanked Bobby as he returned with a plastic bottle, then poured it down John's throat to revive him. He could have used his grace for this too, but he needed a reason for requesting the water.

John coughed, sputtered, and suddenly opened his eyes. Gabriel spoke again as Bobby helped the injured man to his feet.

"Careful. He'll be okay, but he's still weak."

Supported by Bobby, John sized up the unfamiliar hunter, wondering who the man was and what he was doing here. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his chest as he moved a little too quickly.

"You're lucky I was around." The stranger said. "You seem a little out of your depth."

"Who are you?" John's tone revealed a demand, not a question.

The stranger shook his head slightly. "That doesn't matter. You won't ever see me again." He sighed, "The important thing is it's over now. You can go home."

John yelled after him as he walked away, once more demanding an explanation.

At the sound Gabriel looked back at them sadly. The Righteous Man. How much suffering was in his future, in his children's future? Paradise would be obtained on the backs of this family, for he was certain Paradise was his brothers' goal. The dark-haired pillar of fury and pain before him would break the First Seal, then his sons would serve as vessels for Armageddon. They were nothing but pawns for the fools in heaven. It made Gabriel sick.

"This is why I left." He thought.

Still silent, he walked away, and the black shadows of the forest swallowed him up.


Michael sat in a seedy motel room, watching the two peacefully sleeping boys on the bed. He smiled slightly, satisfied by his work. They were safe now, and a quick memory wipe would ensure that whatever they had seen would be forgotten. If remembered at all, it would be a hazy dream, just bits and pieces they would never put together. He hoped Gabriel had gotten his messages; played his role. Michael had tried to contact him, but there had been no message in return, no acknowledgement, nothing. He could only hope that Gabriel had caused a distraction to keep the father out of the way, and that now he was allowing the man to return.

He sighed, and the chair was suddenly empty. The children would be awake in a few hours, John would hopefully be back soon after. Everything had been dealt with and he needed to return his vessel before the man burned out.


Meanwhile, in Heaven, Ezekiel stood awkwardly in an office, waiting to be noticed by the bureaucrat at the desk.

"You wished to see me?"

Naomi looked up, smiling wolfishly at the angel currently standing awkwardly in front of her, "Ezekiel. Yes. Please take a seat."

He eyed the medical-style chair dubiously, but finally walked over and sat down.

"I trust there was no difficulty returning your vessel."

She was making small talk. He realized that. It was never a good thing when heavenly bureaucrats wanted to make small talk, "No. She was damaged in the mission, but it was not major and easily mended. I wiped her memory and left her at her home."

Naomi nodded, "Good."

Two angels came up behind Ezekiel, carrying an odd-looking metal headpiece, "What is that for?" He was growing increasingly nervous.

Naomi continued to smile, "You made an unauthorized trip forward in the timeline."

"I was ordered to locate the vessels and retrieve them."

"Yes. You were, weren't you. That mission has, however, been terminated. Which gives us something of a difficulty."

"What?"

"You have been into the future. This means that, while the timeline is constantly in flux and any future is and must be purely theoretical, you may have seen things that could negatively influence your judgement."

He stared at her, now distinctly alarmed.

She spoke again, "You do understand that nothing there had any bearing on actual events."

Ezekiel spoke cautiously, all too aware of where this was likely going. "Of course."

"Good. I am glad to hear that you understand this. Still, it is a mess, and it must be cleaned up."

His mind raced, every word Sam Winchester had spoken playing back through his head like a broken record, over and over and over. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Oh, nothing important. You'll be fine. It's just… We cannot allow you to retain these memories. They are dangerous, Ezekiel, to yourself and to others. This is for your own good."

"I understand."

"We do have some questions first, however. We would like to know exactly what-"

"No."

"-state you found the world in and what the future versions of the vessels… what?"

He couldn't do much. He couldn't lead an uprising in the garrison, or kill creatures like Naomi, in a few minutes he wouldn't even want to rebel. But for now he felt a spark, the fire of free will and courage burning in his breast, and he looked the thing in front of him, the thing he could now see was rotten to the core, right in the eye and spoke, a strength and surety in his voice that he had not felt for a thousand years. "I said. No."

She gave him a condescendingly frustrated expression, "Ezekiel…"

"Do to me what you wish, but I will not help you. There is something rotten in heaven, and I tell you now, whatever you do, however you try, it will come to an end. God will bring it to an end. I may not live to see it, but it will come. And on that day, Naomi, I can only give you one piece of advice. Run. You and every angel like you."

She raised her hand in a silent signal.

The two angels placed the device on Ezekiel's head, and he sat, silent and stone-faced as they adjusted it and prepared him for his fate.

Naomi approached him, lifting a long, thick needle off the table nearby. He brought his eyes up to hers, "I mean it. Every angel you hurt will be searching for you. Think about that, Naomi. Every. Single. One."

She leaned in close to him, a calm fury to her voice, "We shall see."

His true voice rang out in an anguished scream as the needle pushed through the headpiece into him.