We'll Always Have Kansas: Chapter 7 by asesina
A/n: Things pick up in this chapter as Sam and Dean head to the site of their final battle: Cheyenne, WY. Who or what will they find there?
Please let me know if anything about the ghost-hunting or angels is untrue to the show and I will fix it. I am a relatively new fan so I want to make sure that the story is true to the series! Thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Eric Kripke and the CW do.
Enjoy!
"There's blood in the streets, it's up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, it's up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of Chicago
Blood on the rise, it's following me"
-The Doors, "Peace Frog"
It was just past 8:30 am when Dean pulled onto I-80 W and started heading towards Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Dean exhaled shakily and turned on the radio to try to find a decent station. Much to his dismay, most of the songs were twangy bluegrass or synthesizer pop from the 80s. He sighed in frustration and pushed the radio dial to its limit, hoping against all odds that the would find something decent for the long drive ahead of them.
Dean settled for "My Generation" by the Who. He gritted his teeth and tightened his hands on the wheel as he accelerated up to 80 miles an hour.
His concentration was shattered when a soft voice came from the passenger's side of the car.
"Dean, do you really think that you should be driving?" Sam asked suddenly.
Dean almost jumped. He had been so intent on heading to Cheyenne that he had completely forgotten about his oft-silent brother in the passenger's seat.
"Huh? I'm fine, Sam," Dean said through gritted teeth. Sam noticed the perspiration that was beginning to bead on Dean's pale forehead.
"You look terrible, Dean. Did you even sleep last night?" he asked with concern.
"I slept enough," Dean said with a frown. He swerved into the left lane and gunned it as he zoomed past the Passat that used to be in front of them.
"Learn to drive, jackass!" Dean shouted as he switched back into the center lane and glanced up at the street sign.
They were just crossing into Wyoming, he noted.
Only about 400 miles to go.
"Sammy, I need you to punch some coordinates into the cellphone's GPS," Dean instructed. He motioned towards the black phone that sparkled like camouflaged obsidian between the dark seats of the Impala.
"Put in Cheyenne as the destination," Dean added hurriedly.
Sam noted a distinct tension in his voice, and it worried him.
Sam pursed his lips and grabbed the phone. He quickly keyed in the coordinates and waited for the arrow to appear on the screen.
"Dean, there's no way that you're driving for 6 hours straight," he said softly.
"I've gotta, Sam. We have to start pickin' off these spirits one by one," Dean said determinedly as he sped down the highway.
Even though Dean's antics were consistently worrying, Sam couldn't help but be impressed by his brother's determination. Dean really wanted to help him down this road, but Sam wasn't sure whose plan was ideal at this point.
"Dean, we can't just pick up where we left off," Sam replied.
"What do you mean, Sammy?" Dean asked, shooting Sam a quick look as he raised an eyebrow.
"Well, you're just rushing into this with your guns blazing. You're not really considering what we've—I've done," Sam began.
"Sammy, I thought we already went through this. I know that we pretty much ended the world, but we've got to make it right. If the angels and demons shit didn't work out, why not go back to what we're used to?" he questioned, turning down the radio a bit so he could hear Sam's reply.
"Dean, you know what I mean. I've changed. You pretty much saved the world. I was the one who destroyed it," Sam said quietly.
"Yeah, and for whatever reason, we both survived. We've gotta work together to clean it up, Sam," Dean said assuredly.
"That's not the point, Dean. I made a promise to Lydia, and I don't intend to break it once we get there," Sam replied.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked out the window.
If they weren't speeding past the surrounding area at 80 miles an hour, he might have enjoyed looking at the rolling, grassy flatlands and the impossibly blue Midwestern sky.
They had seen so much of America, but so much of it was a blur.
Sam had a feeling that they would never settle down.
Dean had not responded in a few minutes. Sam looked back over at his brother and saw that Dean's mouth was set in a firm line. His eyes were steely and unblinking, and something about his expression troubled Sam deeply.
"No," Dean said simply.
"What?" Sam asked, startled by Dean's sudden reply.
"I won't lose you to hell or heaven again, Sammy," Dean said in a firm voice.
"Dean, this is my mission now. I have to suffer for what I've done," Sam said resignedly.
He dreaded the punishment that awaited him, but he continually told himself that this was the right path, that this was what he had to do.
Sam just wished that he could convince Dean to see his point of view.
"Sam, I remember," Dean began coldly.
"What is it, Dean?" Sam probed gently.
"I remember when you said yes, and I remember when I did," he said mysteriously.
Sam dreaded what he was about to hear. He exhaled through his nose and drew in a sharp breath right after.
"I'm ready, Dean. You can tell me," Sam said cautiously.
Dean cleared his throat and swallowed hard as he searched for the words to describe the heartache that had occurred only days before.
"Well, Sam, you left me in Omaha without a word. You didn't even look back," Dean said bitterly. Sam could hear the vitriol in his voice, and his heart broke as he too began to remember that fateful day.
"You started out slow, Sam. I tracked you for a few days. At first, it was small stuff. You called up a small army of demons and used a few guys as meatsuits to test your abilities. After that, you got confident really quickly," Dean said ominously. He avoided Sam's gaze.
"You- sorry, Lucifer, was one sick bastard," Dean recalled.
"He made you decapitate children in front of their parents and husbands in front of their wives," Dean said.
Sam's eyes widened as bits and pieces of his reign as Lucifer floated to his conscious mind.
"There was no real pattern to the destruction. Lucifer wanted to reclaim the earth city by city, state by state. Millions of people were annihilated, and even more became meatsuits for his demon army. The worst part was when he used one guy's meatsuit to attack his own family. It was some sick shit," Dean said, shivering slightly as he recalled the evil that seemed to drip from Sam's crooked grin when he was Lucifer's host.
"I gave into Michael after a few days, Sam. I knew that you weren't in there anymore, or at least I thought you weren't. I had to, man. I couldn't let the world end. I knew that no one else was going to step in, especially after seeing how helpful the angels have been in the past," Dean said, rolling his eyes in disgust.
"Dean, I- I don't know what to say," Sam said quietly. His eyes were downcast and his entire posture was slumped, broken…
Defeated.
"Sammy, I'm sorry you had to hear all of that, but it was just eating away at me, man. I don't want to see you go through any more of that shit, and I'm not letting you give into this angel that you keep talking about," Dean said dangerously. He shifted his attention back to the road and gave into the mesmerizing blur of asphalt and prairie as they headed towards their destination.
Sam began to nod off by noon. He was out like a light for the next few hours as Dean struggled to stay awake as they approached Cheyenne.
By 3:50 pm, they were just a few miles from the city limits. The cheery "Welcome to Cheyenne" roadsign was both a boon and a curse for Dean's eyes.
Dean pulled into the parking lot of Day's Inn at 4:15 pm. He reached over and shook Sam's shoulder gently.
"Sam, wake up," Dean said loudly.
"We're here," he said in a voice that barely concealed his fear.
Sam blinked the sleep from his eyes as he opened his car door and swung his legs over the side of the cramped seat.
"Where are we supposed to begin?" Sam asked apprehensively as Dean began to rummage through the back seat for the rock salt gun and their other supplies.
"I think the motel is a good start," Dean said as he procured the vial of holy water and the EMF scanner from the junkpile of items in the Impala's back seat.
"We really have to clean the Impala," Sam muttered as he also grabbed a rock salt gun and a glock.
"What do you want? It was the freakin' apocalypse, Sam. I had to jam shit in my backseat while I was chasing Lucifer from town to town," Dean said with a smirk as he locked up the car and stowed the keys in his pocket.
"Yeah, whatever you say," Sam said as they headed towards the reception desk of them motel.
Dean approached the desk first. He was surprised to see that no one was there, and he impatiently tapped the bell for service.
When no one showed up after a minute, Dean stalked down the hallway and began to knock on the doors.
"Anyone in here?" he called loudly.
The motel was eerily calm. The cold November wind whistled in through the open door, but the place was desolate. Dean pulled the EMF meter from his pocket and was shocked to see the needle twisting and writhing like they were lost in the Bermuda Triangle.
"Sam, this place is pretty fuckin' haunted," Dean said quietly.
Sam nodded matter-of-factly and tightened his grip on the rock salt gun.
"I think that's the reason why," Sam said suddenly.
He pointed to a large, yawning hole at the end of the hallway. It looked like the entire wall had been smashed with a wrecking ball, and the wood was singed around the edges of the splintered hole.
"Lucifer must've hit up this place," Dean said quietly.
"Look outside, Dean," Sam replied in a thin voice.
Dean's eyes widened as he looked beyond the walls of the motel and surveyed the fate that had befallen Cheyenne.
The streets were strewn with bodies and the sidewalks were missing chunks of asphalt. Entire building faces were scorched or destroyed, and overturned cars were everywhere.
And, worst of all, the rotting carcasses of the dead had formed a putrid, murky river of blood and human remains that settled in the cracks of the sidewalk and the sewers that lined the main street.
"It's all gone," Sam breathed. He headed towards the front door of the motel.
"Sam, wait!" Dean called. He chased his brother down the corridor, but Sam was already at the Impala.
"Dean, I can't stand this," Sam said in a tiny voice. He was pale and visibly shaking, and Dean thought that his skin had almost taken on a greenish tinge.
"Sammy, it's okay. You stay here for now," Dean instructed.
He flipped open the trunk and pulled out a gallon of gasoline.
"What the hell are you doing, Dean?" Sam cried incredulously.
"I see a city full of dead, stinking bodies that could use a good cremation," Dean said with a grin.
"Dean, I killed them. I'm supposed to commune with all of them before we can send them off," Sam said breathlessly.
"Sam, let's just try this, okay? We don't have to do this for all of the bodies, but there's no way what I'm letting some Dawn of the Dead-style fuglies come after you," Dean said firmly.
"Now get the salt," Dean added as he motioned for Sam to follow him down the road towards city hall.
"This place smells like a bitch," Dean commented as he began to salt the pile of corpses nearest to his feet.
"Dean," Sam said quietly. Dean looked up and saw the tears shining in Sam's eyes.
"Don't get all chick flick on me now," Dean said with a groan. He doused the first pile of bodies with gasoline as he felt for a pack of matches that he usually carried in his front pocket.
"Dean, I remember this guy," Sam said. He looked down at the unmoving face in front of him and sniffed a little as he fought back the impending tears that threatened to fall at any second.
"Yeah, and you're helping his spirit by doing this," Dean replied.
He dropped a match unceremoniously on the man's head and stepped away as the body began to blaze brightly in the dimming light.
"We won't get all of this done by nightfall, Sammy. We'd need a flamethrower or maybe the tower from the Wicker Man or something," Dean mused as he moved on to the next body.
Sam's eyes drifted across the carnage in front of him. He was overcome with a wave of nausea as he realized that there were at least 120 bodies in the main thoroughfare of the city alone.
This would take days to clean up.
Sam stepped away from the refuse and vomited audibly into a nearby bush. Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned to look at Sam.
"You all right, Sammy? You don't have to watch this if you don't want to," he called over the quiet crackling of the flames.
"Dean, something just doesn't feel right about this," Sam yelled back.
"I know, Sam. It's freakin' disgusting," he said with a grimace as he stepped over a body and doused another corpse with salt and gasoline.
"No, I mean that I have this foreboding sense of doom that I can't shake off, Dean," Sam admitted. His rested his hand on the gun holster at his hip as he turned around cautiously to face an unknown foe.
"Dean, we should get back to the motel," Sam said nervously.
Dean snorted and prepared to burn another body.
"You worry too much, Sammy! We still have about 10 minutes of daylight. That's at least 10 more bodies!" Dean yelled.
"He seems so confident," Sam thought as he glanced at his watch and looked over at Dean.
Dean was leaning over a body to light another match when a blindingly bright light appeared from the right corner of Sam's vision.
"Dean," Sam called out in warning.
In an instant, the light shot directly at Dean, who was promptly thrown through the air and onto a splintered wooden bench.
"Dean!" Sam yelled again as he rushed to his brother's side. He helped up the bewildered older Winchester as they both looked up in fear as the light approached them again.
"Well, Sam, I never expected you to take the easy way out," whispered a soft, musical voice that reverberated through the increasingly claustrophobic town square.
"Lydia," Sam said quietly.
Dean watched in shock as the white light dimmed and a tall, attractive blonde stepped forward from the shadows.
Two brilliantly bright wings sprouted from her back before fading into the twilight with the rest of her heavenly aura.
"You're doing this the wrong way, Sam," Lydia spat angrily as she held up a hand and immobilized Sam and Dean with a flick of her wrist.
"Let me show you how," she said in a disturbingly mellifluous voice as she beckoned towards an unseen accomplice in the darkness.
TBC…
A/n: Let me know what you thought!