Chapter 13 As It Has Been Foretold
West Keep, Kansas
Looking down at the plans spread over the long table, Maurice wondered if their defences would be enough. The gun towers and mines were one thing, he thought, but the actual protection for the population was going to be entirely different.
"Frank, what artillery do we have on the towers?" he asked the grizzled soldier, looking across the table.
"We picked up fifteen Howies," Franklin said, leaning across to the tap the map. "We got 'em mounted on every tower and every fort. Along with that, we got two mortars per tower."
"And they're firing what?" Ellen looked across from the desk.
"Modified shells," Franklin answered shortly.
His apprentice, Tony, nodded enthusiastically. "We smelted the pig iron with salt and cast shrapnel, every piece is engraved with that symbol that'll bind whatever it hits into its meatsuit."
Elias looked over at him, one brow lifted. "Every piece? What's the load?"
"They're the size of nickels," Franklin said with a cold grin. "But not round. They'll scatter effectively."
"Once the demon is bound, anything that can destroy the mobility of the meatsuit will keep them out of the action," Dean said, raising his voice a little so that everyone could hear him. "That's not the problem," he added, looking over the map. "Crowley knows where our guns are, and where the mines have been laid."
"We've added a strip to each of the woods surrounding the keeps," Franklin told him. "If they avoid the roads and fields, they'll still get hit and those were all repacked as well."
"Chuck wrote that the army spread around the keeps," Father Emilio said. "He didn't give an estimate and it's impossible to know how many survivors the demon could have possibly found, but in the subsequent descriptions of the way the surrounding countryside was trampled, I believe we're probably facing more than a thousand."
"We got two hundred pretty well trained spread over the five keeps here," Franklin pointed out tersely to the priest. "And another five hundred per keep who're under their orders. This is going to be siege, not an assault, and the forts'll keep 'em off the farmlands we can't protect in person."
Father Emilio nodded, his expression apologetic. "I understand that, Franklin, I'm more concerned about what they're coming to here find."
"The tablet, gun and Chuck are tucked away in the order safehold," Dean said, frowning at him. "That's protected against the nephilim and the safe is in the stone trap."
"If they decide they want leverage against you, Dean, who will they attempt to take to force you into giving up the tablet? Not Chuck." The Jesuit looked expressionlessly at him and he looked back at the map.
"Sam'll be with Chuck," Dean replied tightly. "Alex, Ben and Ellen'll be here, in the medical offices." He looked back at Father Emilio. "There's protection against the nephilim on the floor and walls and door and we set the second stone in the doorway."
Rufus watched the priest shrug, apparently somewhat satisfied. "We've got a couple of weeks before they can move, and that's the earliest prediction based on the GOES information," he said, clearing his throat as he looked at Dean. "Just 'cause they know some of what we got, doesn't mean they'll get through it any easier."
Dean straightened up, his face cold as he stared at the preparations.
"Now, that's defence," Franklin said, turning to Mitch. "We also got communications up."
Looking around at the hard-faced men and women who filled the room and were all staring at him, Mitch swallowed.
"Uh, yeah," he started, gesturing to the woman standing a little behind him. "This is Deidre, and we've, uh, been rerouting the phone lines and using the older style PABX key stations. Because most of the line is still intact, we've connected all five keeps, although not everyone has a private line. We're trying to get a routed plan for communications with Michigan but that's gonna take longer."
"We got phones?" Bobby asked, brows shooting up beneath the brim of his cap. "Since when?"
"Since about three hours ago," Deirdre told him, her expression impatient . "We ran the first successful tests out to Crows Nest with an exchange transfer to Ghost Valley."
She was in her late-forties, small and bone-thin, dark hair cut very short and bright blue eyes. "We've also had a successful non-recorded dry run on the digital video cameras set up at the outer defences."
"What we need is personnel," Mitch continued, looking from Rufus to Dean. "Strategically, if we can keep comms open no matter what's going on, we're in a better position to change tactics on the fly."
Franklin nodded. "Anson's already training three more to take six-hour shifts here, but we'll need at least those hunters and trainees who are going to be seconded to the defence lines as well. Twelve altogether for all the stations."
Dean shrugged, glancing at Rufus and Bobby. "No problem, grab who you want."
The older hunters nodded. "What are the lines available?" Bobby asked.
"There're open sockets in the offices of every keep, for strict use by the leaders of the keeps. Here, we've got four open sockets – this office," he paused as heads turned expectantly to the desk, looking for a handset. It sat discreetly next to the lamp, looking so ordinary that no one had realised they hadn't had seen one for the last three and a half years. "We installed a line in Kim's office for medical emergencies and there's one in your quarters," Mitch said, looking at Dean, then turning to Rufus. "And yours. Just in case anyone needs to get hold of you fast."
"What about the exchange and monitors?" Rufus growled, liking the idea of being called in his private time less and less as he remembered the tyranny of the telephone.
"The main exchange is here, in the store-rooms on the second basement level," Deirdre told him. "The order has an exchange plugged into their existing comms. The others are passive." She took a breath, gesturing vaguely. "This is all hard-wired, you understand? We had to plug it all in manually."
"I don't suppose you managed to hook into a satellite that'll give us the army's exact position in the last three days?" Nate asked her dryly.
"You didn't give us enough time to check that," Deirdre fired back at him without blinking. Dean ducked his head to hide his grin.
"How much warning do the cameras give us?" he asked.
"Fifteen minutes," she told him, glancing at Mitch for confirmation. The teenager nodded.
"Not much," Bobby said heavily.
"It's enough," Dean countered. The keeps were about a mile from each other. Even getting people from one to the other could be managed in that time frame, if everyone was on the ball. And it would certainly be enough time to get the guns ready, prepped, locked and loaded. Once they were firing, everyone would know that it had started, comms or not.
The re-introduction of a phone system had been the highlight of the meeting. It would make a huge difference to be able to talk to people straight away instead of using runners, Dean thought as he walked down the hall toward the keep doors. Alex was still over at the order and he still needed an update on the latest tablet findings.
The Jesuit knew where to hit. The people he loved were as protected as he could make them, and the thing he hadn't said out loud in the room was that he'd be there, with them, between them and the enemy. It'd still hit him, the thought of them being used, hurt or threatened to force him into handing over the tablet and the gun. Crowley would certainly have noticed it missing by now.
Litteris Hominae, Kansas
Sam looked at the reams of paper sitting in the overflowing trays beside Marla. She'd taken four hours break, Oliver filling her place and typing non-stop as Chuck had kept writing, and looking at her hands, he was surprised she could keep going, the knuckles were swelling a little from the constant movement.
On the other side of the long table, Alex was reading, her pen skittering down the page as she stared at the words, making corrections and writing out the less understandable phrases above the prophet's roughly scratched sentences. She re-read the paragraph she'd just corrected for sense and looked up at Sam.
"Sam, I think this might be referring to the gates."
He ran a hand back through his hair, leaning across the table as she passed him the sheet, her hand already reaching for the next when he took it.
Skimming over the words, he saw the section she meant near the bottom.
For when Adam's sons and daughter have grown to their potential, there will be no need for the realm of punishment. Only one will be able to close the plane. Only one will purified in the completion of the trials. Only one will be tested unto death.
He stared at the notes, feeling a trickle of sweat zigzag down the back of his neck.
"Alex, are you sure about this last bit?" he asked her, holding out the page. She looked over at it and nodded.
"That's what he wrote," she said. "Chuck might be able to clarify these when he stops?"
He saw the fear at the back of her eyes, heard the slight tremor that was almost but not quite hidden in her voice. For a moment they stared at each other, their minds filled with the same, single thought.
"Maybe," he said, blinking and looking away. "Is that all?"
"No, there's more," she told him, looking back at the page in front of her and reading to the end, the sound of the pen on the paper loud in the room. Oliver had left the laptop, and Sam looked around, belatedly hearing the young man's footsteps behind him as he crossed the situation room floor and began to climb the stairs.
"Here." She passed him the next page and he started to read, his face screwed up as he concentrated on every single word, not hearing the door open or the bootsteps coming back down the stairs.
"Making progress?" Dean asked as he walked up the steps to the room. Alex nodded without looking up, Sam didn't move at all. "Don't all answer at once."
Sam grunted and looked up at him. "Chuck seems to have hit the bit about closing the gates."
Dean looked at him, seeing the worry in his brother's face. "Good news, right? What's the downside?"
"Sit down," Sam said, passing him the two sheets.
Taking them, Dean dropped into the chair opposite Alex, reading them aloud under his breath.
"For when Adam's sons and daughter have grown to their potential, there will be no need for the realm of punishment. Only one will be able to close the plane. Only one will purified in the completion of the trials. Only one will be tested unto death." He felt Sam's gaze on him, and kept reading.
"The contender will complete the trials or perish. A new contender may not begin until the contract has been broken. The contract begins when the first trial has been completed."
Looking up, he shrugged. "So once I've started, I can't back out, that's fair."
Sam's brow creased up, his face pained. "Keep reading."
"The accursed plane is guarded by the infernal wolf." Cerberus, he thought fleetingly. "The wolf must be destroyed before the contract can be made."
He put the paper down, his memory of the dog pacing along the river bank looming into his mind's eye. With the medallion, he'd be able to get close enough, he knew. Killing the sonofabitch was a more demanding task. Would the demon knife do it? Would it even get through the thick fur and muscle of the creature, he wondered? It didn't have a long blade. He didn't think, visible or not, that Cerberus would let him stand there and stab at him until he found a fatal spot.
"That it?" he asked Sam, glancing at Alex. She was still reading, brows drawn together in a frown of concentration.
Sam snorted disbelievingly and nodded. "The tablet isn't written in a linear progression," he said, his gaze going to Alex as well. "It's all mixed together."
"First job, kill Cerberus then," Dean said, getting up. "That's do-able."
"Maybe," Sam allowed. "But Dean –"
He knew the sticking point his brother was trying to bring up. "Sam, bottom-line, if Hell is shut down, that's half our problems solved for good, right?"
Alex looked up at him, her expression neutral. "It might not be that simple."
"Nothing ever is," he agreed, looking at her.
"This tablet, these … instructions … were designed to be used at the time humanity had evolved enough not to need Hell or Heaven any longer," she said, ignoring his flippancy. "They're not just about shutting the gates to keep the demons in."
"And?"
"No souls will go to Hell either, Dean," Sam explained shortly. "The whole plane would be closed."
"Problem with that?"
"Humanity hasn't evolved," Alex said dryly. "You might be exchanging one problem for another."
He looked from her to his brother, the implications sinking in. "Huh."
"There're some references to shutting the gates without closing Hell completely," she continued, gesturing at the piles beside Marla. "We haven't collated all of that yet, Katherine and Jasper are working on it."
He nodded. He hadn't thought much about the process of the other planes, other than to curse their constant fucking around with his world. But the souls of those who deliberately committed evil were sent to Hell for a reason. Having them unable to move on from this world would present an interesting increase in work for the hunters – or create no-go zones for the population if the bones couldn't be found and burned.
West Keep, Kansas
The question lay unasked between them. He'd heard it in the deep silence on the way back. Had tasted it in the unspoken grief of her kiss. Felt it in the lingering poignancy of her caresses, a bitter edge to the pleasure that immersed them, an unfulfilled yearning ache left behind in their sated bodies and senses.
Unasked and unanswered.
She would never ask, he knew. Would never put herself between him and what he thought was the best thing to do. Whatever choice he made would be his alone.
She was facing away from him, and Dean inched closer, his arms curving around her, warm skin to skin down the length of their bodies. Would he? Give this up, sacrifice everything he'd gained, everything he wanted? Everything he'd ever wanted?
Test unto death, the tablet said, and that didn't seem all that ambiguous. An act of faith? Or just an offering, the life of one for the good of the many? He wasn't sure. Six months ago, a year ago, he'd've made that decision without reflection, sure that it was a worthwhile trade. Up until now, that was all he'd done, made the sacrifices to ensure that the fight was won, that people could live their lives in safety, as tenuous as that had been, in peace.
And it hadn't been much of a sacrifice, had it? He hadn't had anything he'd really wanted, anything that tested his choice between life and death.
He could feel her ribs, rising and falling shallowly under his arm, could hear her breath, softly whispering. Now, he had everything to lose.
There is a right and a wrong here and you know it! He remembered yelling at the angel when it had become apparent that Heaven was doing everything in its considerable power to effect the rising of the devil. To save his brother, to save the world, he'd been prepared to go into a battle he'd been sure he couldn't win. And, he knew, if it were solely about saving the people here, saving his family, he would feel the same way. But it wasn't, was it? It was about giving up his life to an abstract. To the possibility, not the certainty, of saving them.
And didn't he get to have what he wanted, he wondered bleakly. Ever? Because that was the price as well. Leaving his family unprotected. Turning his back on what he needed. To save a world that had, to date, shown precious little gratitude?
I'll do whatever I have to do, I'll storm fucking Hell if that's what's needed, but only if you bring her back.
His words echoed back to him and he dragged in a deep breath. A lifetime of making deals without thinking what they meant haunted him. He'd lived with an almost impervious sense of his own mortality, never quite believing he'd die, no matter how thoroughly he tried to convince himself that he could. But … going into the fight knowing for sure, that was different, wasn't it? Knowing that he would have to give up to win. Knowing that she would be alone, raising his kids on her own. Knowing that he would never see them.
This was his father's legacy to him, he thought uncomfortably. The fierce and unyielding protection of family. John Winchester wouldn't have walked into the fire willingly if he and Sam had still needed him, still needed his strength, he knew that too. He'd done it because they'd been men and he couldn't face living with one of them dead.
Crowley wanted to control everything. Meg had told him that the demon wouldn't stop. And Father McConnaughey had told him of the messenger – the angel – he'd encountered. The gates had to be closed before Crowley could get any further, before the archdemons could get loose. That was a warning he couldn't ignore.
His breath slid out in a long, feathering exhale, mingling with the scent of her skin under his cheek.
She loved him. Not in the abstract and not knowing what he'd done, and felt and who he was. She knew everything, right down to where he lived, and the peace that filled him right now, wrapped around her and breathing in the scent of her, of her skin, of her hair, musky still with their lovemaking, the certainty he had in those feelings was something he couldn't give up. Didn't want to give up.
He was acutely aware that if he told her he would do it, she wouldn't argue, wouldn't try and make him change his mind, wouldn't even hold it against him in any way. A part of him wished that wasn't the case, wished for anger and a chance to fight it out.
It was, he thought sourly, typical of every decision he'd been forced into. Brought back to health by a reaper who'd killed another in his place. His father cheating Death with the deal with Azazel. The deal to save Sam's life. Giving up the part of himself he'd believed in to ease the pain only to find the cost had been much higher than he'd suspected, the cost had been breaking the first seal. Forcing himself into a cock-eyed understanding of Ruby and Sam's need for her, right up until the moment that he'd known they'd both been suckered. If he gave up his life to protect them, to lock up the demon king and every other hellspawn, who the fuck would be there when something else raised its ugly head and came looking for Winchester line?
No.
Not this time, he thought, a slow burning fury at the forces that had been manipulating him and his brother since before they'd been born rising through him. He wasn't giving up everything he wanted and leaving them without anyone to make sure they were safe. He wasn't going to keep repeating the mistakes of the past. Not this time.
"No," he said aloud, a whisper against her neck. He felt her tense slightly against him, moving back a little as she rolled over in his arms.
She didn't ask him what he meant, just looked up at him, her eyes searching his. He smiled into them, brushing his mouth over her lips, the light touch flooding him with heat, answered in her as her hands slid up over his chest, wound around his neck. The sadness had gone from her touch and he was abruptly, fiercely, glad for that.
She drew back from him a little. "Are you sure? Crowley –"
He knew she'd gone over everything as he had, gone over it all with the knowledge of how he would feel if it was the wrong call. He shook his head slightly.
"I'll figure out another way," he said quietly. "There'll be another way."
"But –"
He kissed her, stopping the words and the doubts decisively. He'd never been so certain of a decision, he realised in bemusement. Never felt such a lift of the weight that habitually crushed him with a choice made. It was the right thing – the only thing – to do.
It was different again. The thought, as thick as molasses in January, barely touched him through the clamour of sensation that spread and flowed and trembled in every muscle.
Only this time, he knew why.
He tried to draw in a breath and couldn't, hips arching up as the muscles of his back and legs contracted sharply. Tried to hold on, sharp pulses around him robbing him of any conscious decision. Every rippling burst amplified feeling and he lost the division between them, lost who he was, lost everything as she clenched around him, vibration in his chest and against the inside of his lips dragged out of him before he was aware of it, the almost-unbearable ache exploding into release that shook through him, reaching every fibre, every cell.
The aftershocks dissipated slowly, small catherine wheels of pleasure fizzing out along sensitised nerve-endings. He could breathe again, could hear and see again, the images he hadn't known he'd seen replaying randomly against the blackness of his closed eyelids, drawing the dissolution of sensation out that little bit longer.
He'd let go completely, surrendered himself without the slightest thought or desire for self-protection, had put his trust in her without reservation, as nakedly vulnerable as it was possible for him to be. His lips found her temple, tasting the faint salty sheen of perspiration over her skin, listening to the soft whisper of her breath, feeling it along his skin. Nothing was going to stop him from having this, he thought. Not heaven and not hell.
Chambre d'ombres, France
"She's moving again," Michel said, staring at the situation table in the centre of the room. The green flash that was designated to the dark goddess was moving slowly across China, angling north as it headed for the eastern coast.
Alain walked over and looked at its progress. "Does she walk over the water?"
"Not that I've seen," Michel said. "At least not across the oceans."
"So she's heading for the Bering Strait?"
Michel nodded. "That's where she crossed before."
"Do we have any data for the northern latitudes, Michel?" Francesca asked, joining them at the table.
"Not a lot," Michel admitted. "The satellite's orbit is elliptical; I get a little with each pass but more in the lower latitudes. Why?"
"This winter," she said slowly, her gaze fixed on the map. "And the last three … the snow did not melt until late in the year. I am wondering if the albedo would have an effect on the patterns."
"Of course, but we haven't seen a fluctuation beyond the normal range," he told her.
She nodded. "Just wondering."
"Can we let Jerome know that Nintu is return to Alaska?" Alain asked, his gaze shifting from the enigmatic legacy to the table. "Peter and Elena will probably be another couple of weeks, but they should prepare for a place to intercept her?"
"Yes," Michel agreed, focussing on the goddess' movement. "By the time they can move around easily, she will be back in the US."
West Keep, Kansas
Bobby leaned against the side of the window frame, looking out over the patchy snow that was very slowly melting and turning into icy slush through the bailey. The whole countryside would be saturated and boggy in another week, he wasn't sure if that was going to help or hinder them with Crowley's army.
"Did Boze say anything about the airforce base in Ohio?" Dean asked Rufus, leaning back in the chair behind the desk, his boots propped on the edge of the desk. Sam sat in the chair near the fire, head tipped back and eyes closed. He'd been working around the clock on Chuck's transcripts.
"Nada," Rufus said, shaking his head. "They checked it out thoroughly, everything that could be eaten, was."
Something had changed in Dean, Bobby thought, eyes narrowing very slightly in the shadow of the brim of his cap. Something had shifted for the younger man and he couldn't pinpoint what it was. He was crackling with energy again, radiating a confidence that seemed to have no visible or easily imagined source. They were still going to be attacked by thousands of demons, under the control of the King of Hell and the fallen who'd served with Lucifer. But it didn't seem to worry the hunter at all.
"Not that we have time to go grab a couple of planes, even if they'd found any intact," he added his comment sourly, dragging his thoughts back to the discussion.
"The pilots are still there," Dean countered, looking at him with a lop-sided grin. "If we find anything we can drop bombs from, it'd give us an edge."
The papers on the desk fluttered suddenly and they looked at the angel standing in the centre of the room. Castiel's face was screwed up with anxiety.
"Dean, Raphael is here," he blurted out, staring at the man. "On this plane."
"Okay," Dean said slowly, lifting his feet from the desk and getting up. "And?"
"And I need your help," Cas said, glancing from him to Sam. "We can trap him, force him into surrender – but I can't do it alone!"
"Where exactly is he, Cas?" Sam asked, rising as well and walking to stand beside his brother.
"Illinois, possibly to meet with the Grigori."
"Illinois's two states over, Cas," Dean said, gesturing vaguely to the east. "We got things we have to do here. And I'm not sure how much help we can be when it comes to trapping an archangel?"
"Dean, if Raphael surrenders to Michael now, then I will be able to convince him to bring the Host to your aid," Cas said, his voice dropping.
Dean felt the attention of Sam, Rufus and Bobby sharpen on him at the words of the angel. Michael turning up with a few thousand angels would certainly change the dynamics of things.
"How long will it take?"
"Not long, we could be back before midnight," Cas said, looking from the others back to him. "This is our one chance –"
He nodded brusquely. "Yeah, you said that."
Looking at Sam, he lifted a brow. "Well?"
"We've got time," Sam said, glancing at the older hunters for confirmation. Both Rufus and Bobby shrugged.
"Alright, but we have to be back here before morning," Dean warned the angel. For a moment, as Cas looked at him, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. The angel's eyes … looked different somehow.
Cas nodded and the moment of disorientation passed, the gravelly voice commanding as he stepped close to the Winchesters and his hands reached out to grip their shoulders. "We will."
They disappeared, the beat of wings echoing around the room and the papers fluttering on the desk as the air rushed in to fill the spaces they'd been.
"Think Michael will honour that?" Rufus turned and asked Bobby curiously.
The old man pushed back his cap, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "No idea," he said, brows drawing together a little. There'd been something off about the angel, but he wasn't sure if it just the urgency of the situation or something else. Castiel was usually pretty damned circumspect about promising Heaven's help.
Litteris Hominae, Kansas
Marla stared at the page beside her, her fingers sore, hitting the keys steadily. She didn't notice Chuck's hands slip off the stone to her left, or hear the small thud as it hit the table. Or see his eyes open wide.
He gasped and she stopped, staring at him. Three days he'd been sitting there, not eating or drinking or sleeping, just writing and the hollows in his thin face were pronounced, the purple and grey-tinged shadows that filled his eyesockets dark and deep. The blue eyes were staring at her, she thought at first, her heart leaping into her throat, settling as she realised he was staring through her, not at her.
"Chuck?"
"The army," he said, his voice cracked and raw. "They're crossing the river."
"Which river, Chuck?" Jerome asked sharply, Marla registering the soft burr of the wheelchair's tyres over the hardwood floors belatedly as he came up behind her.
"Columbia," Chuck said, blinking rapidly as he looked down at the pen in his hand, the loose piles of paper surrounding him. "Keyboard!"
Marla stood and cleared the notes around him, pushing the laptop in front of him, his gaze focussing on the backlit screen as he typed.
"The army is crossing the Missouri River," he muttered furiously, the images still playing out behind his open eyes. "Over two thousand, walking beside the trucks and trailers."
Jerome's head snapped around to the slender woman standing beside him. "Call the keep, get hold of Dean or Rufus and tell them." He looked back at Chuck. "How long till they get here, Chuck?"
"Days, a few days," Chuck murmured, the visions transferring from his mind to the screen without volition. "The fallen are pushing them hard, no rest, no stops, the demons ride all of them and force them faster."
The legacy nodded, swivelling the chair and pushing himself across to the hall. "Mitch!"
He heard the footsteps of the young man thudding in the hall, realised he'd been sleeping when he burst through the doorway, hair sticking out in all directions.
"Chuck's back, he's having a vision – a more normal vision," he amended, wondering if that term could even be applied anymore. "Take care of him."
Mitch nodded and walked to Chuck's side, his face tightening as he read the words over the prophet's shoulder.
Turning again, Jerome went down the ramp as Marla put the handset down. "You get through?"
She nodded. "Dean wasn't there, but I spoke to Rufus."
"Good," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Good. Can you tell Aaron and Jasper that we need them, please?"
She nodded, striding across the room for the hall and the stairs.
Olney, Illinois
The clearing still held the last of the light, the sky overhead shading from rose to palatinate blue along the horizon, the first stars visible in the darkening east.
"Cas?" Sam said, looking around. "What's going on?"
Dean turned, seeing the angel's mouth quirk up to one side. It was an expression he'd never seen Castiel use, a slightly derogatory smile that came close to a sneer. In the clear light, he realised that the angel's eyes weren't the right colour. Jimmy Novak's eyes were blue, but when the angel was in possession they deepened to the colour of the open ocean, a dark, clear blue. Looking at them in the luminous dusk, they were neither Novak's nor Castiel's.
"You're not Cas, are you?" he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and taking a step away from his brother.
"No," the angel agreed readily. "Not even close."
"How is it you're in Jimmy?" Sam asked, catching up quickly and seeing what Dean was intending.
"Oh, Cas has been detained," the angel said, glancing heavenward. "And most vessels are compatible with a few of us."
"That's funny, not what we heard." Dean stared at him.
"Oh, well, you two, you're different," the angel said, smiling humourlessly at him. "But even for Lucifer and Michael, they have suitable substitutes, as you know."
"So what's the plan? Raff wants to kill us?" Dean asked, wondering what the hell they were going to do about that.
"That's about it," the angel confirmed cheerfully. "Get rid of the Winchesters and the lines will return to their original paths, Paradise on earth, all you can eat."
"You sure of that?" Sam asked casually, moving a few steps to one side. "With Hell and the fallen all jockeying for a take?"
Jimmy's eyes narrowed as the angel stared at him. "You think they'll withstand the Host?"
"Host is commanded by Michael … isn't it?" Dean asked, his expression guileless as he took another step away from his brother.
"Michael will be dead!"
"Oh, who gets that job?" Dean took a couple more steps to the right of the angel.
"Stop moving! I'd be glad to kill you myself," the angel snarled, twisting to look at him, Sam now almost behind him.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Dean told him, shifting abruptly to the right, the angel following him automatically and Sam hitting him from behind, not even trying for an incapacitating hit, just shoving with all his weight and sending the vessel sprawling into the soggy leaf fall that covered the ground.
"Go!" Dean yelled at him, aiming a fast kick at the vessel's head, seeing the jaw snap back with the force of it as he turned to follow Sam.
The angel shook his head and rolled to his knees, arms upraised. Both men were stopped in their tracks, held by a force that was crushing them, squeezing flesh against bone and the air from their lungs. Dean saw his shadow leap out ahead of him, the trunks of the trees brightening as light filled the clearing behind them.
"RELEASE THEM!"
It wasn't the high-pitched, piercing noise that had nearly melted his brain the first time he'd met Cas, Dean thought, falling forward as the force holding him vanished. And it wasn't Jimmy's voice. There was an element of both in it, though, and he rolled onto his back, eyes slitted against the white light that bled every colour from the woods.
Jimmy stood silhouetted by it, one arm protectively across his eyes, the other held out. Beyond him was the shape of a man, barely visible through the glare. Sort of a man, Dean amended, lifting his arm to shade his eyes. Taller. Broader. And the wings that extended up and out from behind him were massive, filling the clearing from side to side, and definitely not human.
It took a single stride to Jimmy's vessel, ignoring the outthrust hand and slammed its palm over his head. The light flared brightly, a miniature super-nova that seared the clearing. Dean screwed his eyes shut against it, rolling to his knees and staggering away, hearing Sam doing the same, several feet to his right.
"Dean, wait," the not-quite-Castiel voice called. He stopped, opening an eye as the light faded away, his pupil expanding rapidly in the dim glow of the slowly rising moon.
"Cas?"
"Yes," the angel said. "Raphael is coming –"
Turning, the brothers looked at the form of the angel, eyes widening in unison. Like the voice, there were aspects of the angel in front of them that were undoubtedly Castiel. Jimmy lay on the ground at the angel's feet, trenchcoat scrunched up where he'd fallen on it.
"Your pal told us," Dean snapped. "We have to get back –"
"That wasn't my friend," Castiel cut him off. "I am sorry you were deceived but it was not of my doing. I was imprisoned, when Isophiel took my vessel."
"What – is that the real you?" Sam asked, taking a step closer as he stared at the wings that were folded against Cas' back.
"No, not really," Cas said impatiently. "It's a construct. It's the closest I can come to being visible without destroying your minds."
"Get us out of here, Cas," Dean said, looking around the clearing uneasily. "Take us back to Lebanon."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," the angel said sorrowfully, walking toward him.
"Why the fuck not!?"
"Raphael is here."
Lightning encased the clearing in glowing blue tendrils, the sharp smell of burning wood as the bolts spat and crackled from trunk to trunk, throwing their shadows across the ground and each other, an acrid scent of ozone overwhelming the charred smell as the bolts grew thicker, longer and converged into the centre of the open space.
The form that materialised there was, like Castiel, humanoid in shape. Taller than the angel, broader across shoulders and chest, the unearthly and beautiful face lifted as the lightning retreated back to the tree line, forming a cage around them.
Raphael, Sam thought dazedly. Guardian of the North, Lord of Air and Light. The archangel the priests called on to make the way clear for the souls that were passing on after their last rites. He was beautiful, with a perfection that somehow hurt the mind to see. But there was no compassion on that face, no humour or caring. He stared at the two men and the angel with a look of chilling disdain, the wide, full mouth curling up in an unlovely sneer as his eyes narrowed on Castiel.
"You escaped?"
"As you see," Castiel said, taking a small step closer to the archangel.
"Michael is having doubts, I suppose?" Raphael asked coolly, his gaze flicking to Sam and then to Dean.
"Many of them."
"When these … men … are gone, it will all be as it was supposed to be," Raphael said, his golden eyes staring intently at the older Winchester.
"No," Castiel disagreed. "It won't. That time has gone. We need to be united now, more than ever before against –"
"Stop," Raphael said, his voice bored. "Get out of the way, my brother."
"No."
"Then you can die with them."
He lifted his hands, holding them apart and between the palms electricity crackled and burned. Dean tensed, watching the small bolt of tame lightning, purple edged in white, jump from hand to hand. The archangel swung his arm back and whipped it forward and the tiny bolt elongated, thickening and brightening and sizzling at came for him.
Castiel spun around, seizing both men and dragging them close to him, his wings stretching out to enclose them as the lightning struck him. Dean smelled the burning flesh and feathers, saw the angel's face crumple in agony as the current crawled over him, seeking its target. It dissipated in a series of pops and crackles and Castiel looked over his shoulder, his face grim.
"You will not harm them!"
"Watch me," Raphael drawled, drawing his arm back again.
The lightning in his hand died and vanished as darkness filled the clearing, pulling the energy from the electrical cage around them, from the archangel himself. Dean glanced at Cas, seeing the angel's eyes widen slightly as in the centre of the clearing an amorphous dimness took shape.
"Rafe, really."
The voice deepened a little as the charcoal cloud folded in and about itself, solidifying into a form, tall and black and winged.
"Gabriel, you have been out of this fight from the beginning," Raphael warned his brother, his shoulders pushing back, his wings rising. "Do not become involved now!"
"It's a shame, I'll give you that, but the time for sitting on the sidelines and hoping it would all get better has come and gone," Gabriel said, a little sadly. "You have pushed and pulled at the world until you left me no choice."
"Did Michael send you?"
"No," Gabriel said. He lifted his hand and Sam saw a long, golden horn held in it. "No, this is business, Rafe. My business."
"Cover your ears," Castiel said frantically to the men, wings drawing in close around them again. "Hide your faces! Do not listen! Do not look!"
They reached for each other, standing close with their hands pressed hard over the sides of their heads, the angel's wings curved protectively around them, the scents of flowers and feathers filling noses and mouths as they ducked their heads and closed their eyes tightly.
Distantly, Dean heard the perfect notes of the horn, felt them oscillate in his bones, through the spaces in his skull. He had the feeling that if the angel's wings had not been over them, those beautiful, aching notes could have disintegrated him in a flash.
Behind them, Raphael stared as his brother's construct morphed into the form he was best known for. The slight, slender frame grew taller and broadened, pale gold and tawny feathers darkened to grey and then to black as feathers grew down the length of his arms to his wrists, shining black, raven's feathers … crow feathers. The warm, hazel eyes darkened as well, changing to indigo, the round pupils becoming vertical slits and the weak face strengthened, cheekbones widening and lifting, brows become black and winged outward. The Angel of Death stood in front of Raphael and lifted the horn, blowing into it.
Raphael felt his construct peel away, his mouth falling open in a soundless scream as the notes stripped him, first of flesh, then of the components of his energy, finally of all vestiges of the electrons and photons and neutrons that had made up his mass, his consciousness and being, scattering them outward at a speed greater than light could travel.
The electricity that the archangel had called and controlled was gone. Overhead, the moon sailed in a cloudless sky, its light dappling the grassy ground through the bare branches of the trees, the faint smell of charred wood remaining. On the ground in front of Gabriel, a long, silver sword lay, gleaming softly in the white light.
Castiel lowered his wings, turning to face Gabriel. The archangel was still in his truest visible form, and Dean dropped his gaze as Gabriel's eyes met his. How he'd had the balls to argue with him when he'd delivered Death's message, he couldn't now recall.
Sam walked past Cas and bent toward the sword, and both Gabriel and Cas reached out and held him back.
"What?"
"To touch the sword of an angel that is not attuned to you is death," Gabriel said gently, dropping a thick silk cloth over the sword and bundling it within the folds.
"What?" Sam asked Cas, glancing at Dean.
"Raphael's sword resonates at a frequency that you cannot tolerate," the angel explained, looking around impatiently. "Neither of you," he added, turning to Dean. "You could touch Michael's sword, although no other could and live."
"Because of the vessel thing?" Dean asked, not sure he got what the angel meant.
"Yes, you and Michael alone, not even Adam would be able to hold it for more than a few minutes."
"Cas, you gotta get us back to the keep," Dean said, shoving the thought of angel swords aside.
"I will –"
"Castiel, Michael is looking for you," Gabriel said abruptly, his head tilted to one side as if he was listening to something none of them could hear.
Dean's neck prickled. "No, Cas, we gotta –"
The rush of beating wings filled the clearing and stirred the branches in the trees around them.
"NO!"
Dean spun around, staring hopelessly at the empty space. Beside him, Sam knelt next to Jimmy's body, two fingers lying lightly over the artery at the side of his neck.
"He's alive."
"Fuck!" Dean yelled at the indifferent sky. "We're fucking well stuck here!"
Looking around the clearing, the moonlight shading everything including themselves in black and white and grey, Sam suddenly realised that this what Chuck had seen – or a part of it anyway. He saw Dean stop moving, head dipping as his shoulders slumped and realised that his brother realised that too.
They'd never had any luck with outrunning or out-manoeuvring the prophet's visions. He found he wasn't surprised now that this time had turned out to be the same.
I-70 W, Kansas
The interstate was cracked and buckled but not so severely that the army vehicles couldn't get through. Walking ahead of the trucks and soldiers, the two children moved fast, covering the miles as their power cleared the way, and the battalions moved through clouds of steam and over the shining, wet concrete at a pace that exceeded the capabilities of the human vessels they occupied.
They would reach the northern road in a day, Baeder thought, and divide up there. The last intelligence the demon had received had been a week and a half ago. The humans were not stupid and the defences would have been strengthened, possibly extended further out. The army would hit them from three sides, south, east and west, settling into position at the range of the guns they had dragged along.
The attack was merely a diversion. Once engaged, the nephilim and cambion would be able to approach the keeps and would find their targets. It was only the order's safehold that had not been pinpointed accurately, Crowley's men being unable to get a fix on it. And that would be where they kept their prophet, and the tablet.
Someone would talk. He had no doubt about it. He had been in Europe and in Africa. In Asia and in South America. He knew how to get information.
Litteris Hominae, Kansas
The contract between the penitent and God begins from the successful completion of the first ordeal. Only death will sever the contract once begun. The destruction of the infernal wolf opens the way to the accursed realm and the second ordeal will be to retrieve an artefact from the depths. The penitent will complete the trials alone. None may accompany him for only the contract will strengthen the contender.
Rubbing her eyes, Alex looked up and set her pen down beside the completed page. Chuck had been sleeping for the past thirty-six hours and there was still no word or sign from Dean or Sam.
The trials – the ordeals – revealed on the tablet had been shoe-horned in amongst the other information, given in drips rather than as a single, linear narrative. She wasn't sure why that was the case but the little Chuck had said after he'd stopped translating and had gone into his vision suggested that the tablet was supposed to be studied as a whole before it could be analysed for its contents. They didn't have time for that, she thought, looking at the reams of paper stacked around the library. Everyone there was reading, making notes, trying to get the pieces to fit together. Jerome, Katherine and Davis, Jasper and Felix and Aaron, Marla and Oliver and Frances. As each typed transcription had been finished Jerome and Jasper had scanned the information into the database and sent it to the other chapters, and those scholars were studying the information as well.
There were discrete sections, she thought. The weapons and the lists and the histories. Even the trials were clearly apart from the rest, set out with little ambiguity. Why then was the delivery of the information stirred and presented in such confusion? The way God spoke? The angel, Metatron, had taken down the Word from God Himself, Jasper had said of the legends surrounding the tablets that they'd been able to find. Perhaps it was just the way God gave information.
She glanced into the cup beside her and picked it up, face screwing up a little as she downed the cold coffee in it. She would make another pot later.
The next section was a detailed description of the methods of transporting demons and moving around the levels of Hell in the various forms. Alex began to skim over the text, then stopped, her pen tip lifting from the paper. In fact, this was vital information to the second ordeal, she realised abruptly.
The accursed plane behaved differently according to the parameters of the being that entered. Souls were directed in a single downward spiral, they could not deviate from the course between the starting point and their final destination. The demons who were souls were likewise bound to a single route between levels and within those levels. Only the upper hierarchies had the power to change their directions and only when they formed a physical construct for their existence. If they remained as tainted souls, no matter how powerful, they could not rise once they had descended. Flesh and blood and breath saw a different layout altogether and travelled between the actual levels of Hell and the corresponding, ghost levels of its echoes in the material plane.
She stared at the stacks on the other side of the room unseeingly. In Chitaqua, Castiel had told her of the raising of Dean's soul from the seventh level. The Host of angels had been in constructs and the layouts of the plane had remained fixed and tangible. They had seen the souls and the demons and had fought on the upper levels, while he had taken a unit deeper. Even Dean had been in the construct he'd created involuntarily, the memories of his body as his soul had perceived it. It'd only been when the angel had taken his consciousness of himself that he'd returned to the intangible form of a soul.
Guiding points were required for negotiating Hell in mortal form. Strong memories or strong images that the plane could recognise would move the halls and caverns and stairs and levels around a living being. How then would a contender find the artefact, without knowing what it was? Without seeing it?
It would be in there, somewhere, she thought, looking back at the page. But she needed to make sure that the details that seemed randomly thrown together were separated and included with the details of the ordeals. They weren't random, they were all essential to the successful completion of the trials, to the final stage that would enable the closing of the gates.
The bombs. The binding sigils for projectiles – the tablet had specified arrowheads and spear tips, but Franklin and his apprentices had already used them on every shell, bullet and piece of shrapnel he'd designed for the defence of the population – they were all to allow a mortal through the halls of Hell.
The archdemons are nine in number. Each one rules a level of the accursed plane. No weapon save the divine will wound or kill them. They are the Fallen. Those angels who in their loyalty to their rebellion leader chose to share his punishment. Each one was a powerful seraph in Heaven. Each one endured the wrath of the Morning Star for a thousand years. Each one is deadly to anyone within their sphere of influence. Asmodeus, ruler of the first level. Pythius, ruler of the second level. Merihem, ruler of the third level. Belphigor, ruler of the fourth level. Mammon, ruler of the demons of the abyss and the dividing point between the upper and lower levels. Astaroth, ruler of the fifth level. Belial, ruler of the sixth level, the Lake of Fire. Moloch, ruler of the seventh level. No ruler lives or minds the Wastelands that is the eighth level. Baal is the ruler of the ninth level and the Keeper of the Cage.
No weapon save the divine, she thought, underlining the phrase in frustration. What did that mean? That only an angel could kill them? If they were deadly to anyone who came near them, how was the contender supposed to get past them? Were they like the angels and the half-breeds and the fallen, that only removing the heart would destroy them?
He wasn't going to do it. He'd told her he wouldn't give up what he had. She believed him, believed that he wanted to live, but an insidious sense, a creeping feeling that lived cold in her heart, suggested that he may not have a choice in the matter. He'd never had a choice before.
The ninth level is a labyrinth of ice. At the centre is the Cage. The penitent will enter the Cage and take the sword of the Most Unclean from him. The sword is brought back and the trial is completed with the renewal of the contract with God.
She stared at the words, skimming frantically down the page. There was nothing further there about the second trial. Just get into Hell, get down to the ninth, past the archdemons who can't be killed but who can kill without a touch, grab the sword of Lucifer and bring it back up. Shaking her head, she re-read the page twice more before conceding that so far as instructions were concerned, that was it.
It was possible that there was more, buried in the writings on the stone that Chuck hadn't yet deciphered. It was possible that somewhere, on the tablet, in the prophet's mind, in God's narrative, there was a detailed set of instructions to killing the archdemons. But it wasn't here.
She pushed back from the table and got up, walking fast to the kitchen with her empty cup. Caffeine. Strong. Lots of it. And a few deep breaths to dispel the fear and anxiety and doubt along the way.
Lightning Oak Ridge, Kansas
The bright shrill ring of the phone was at once so ordinary, yet so unfamiliar after four years without, that both Bobby and Ellen sat and stared at the handset for some moments before Ellen rocketed out of her chair and reached for it, snatching it up and holding it to her ear.
"Hello?"
The conventions remained the same, Bobby thought, passing her a paper and pen as she gestured wildly at him. He looked down as she wrote, brows drawing together.
"Thanks, we've got it," Ellen said crisply, putting the handset down in the cradle and looking at him. "Well, we're in it now. The monitors picked them up coming in on 150 W, School Avenue from the east and up the 281. They're going to hit us on three fronts."
Bobby nodded. "Time to go," he said shortly. "They'll hit the hot zone in five minutes after passing the cameras."
"Bobby, I'm still –" Ellen started to say.
"No arguments, Ellen," Bobby cut her off. "Get in the truck."
Belleville, Illinois
"What the fuck?" Dean said as they climbed up on the off ramp to the wide concrete road.
In both directions, the interstate was clear, the surface lumpy and cracked and fissured, but no snow, no water, no cars or junk heaps, or even a fallen leaf as far as they could see east or west.
Behind them, Jimmy staggered up the incline, stopping as he looked curiously in both directions. "What?"
"Road's clear," Sam said, flicking a glance at him. Cas' vessel had had a hard time. He'd woken unwillingly, starving hungry, tired and thirsty and hadn't wanted to hear about what had been going on since the last time he'd been left by the angel.
"So?"
"So, the last time we came through here, it wasn't," Dean snapped impatiently at him.
"This is the way they came," Sam said to his brother quietly. Dean nodded.
However they'd done it, this was the most direct route to Kansas, and with the ability to clear it, it would also be the best surface for their vehicles and personnel, he thought. They were ahead, probably a long way ahead by now.
"Come on," he said brusquely, not looking at either of the men behind him. "We'll get off at St Louis, might find a vehicle there."
It was possible. Unlikely, but possible. Fury simmered in him and he ignored the protest of muscles that had been walking solidly for two days now, ignored the growling in his stomach at the lack of food, ignored the graininess in his eyes from lack of sleep. Chuck had been right and they weren't there, and the army would be before they could get home.
Walking behind him, Sam didn't argue. They needed food and they would need to sleep sometime soon, but he knew full well that Dean was not stopping until he dropped, and no amount of rational talk would change that.
"Why can't we stop?" Jimmy said, struggling to keep up with Sam's longer stride.
"There's an army heading for our home," Sam said, glancing at him. "We're probably going to be too late anyway."
"We can't walk to Kansas!"
Sam's smile was completely devoid of humour. "Sure we can," he told the man sourly. "And if we don't find a working vehicle of some sort soon, that's exactly what we'll be doing."
"Dean, slow down," Sam called as the faint noise registered again. Twice now, he'd heard it, unable to pinpoint the direction or what it could be, but it wasn't natural and it wasn't that far off. And he thought it was getting closer.
"What?"
"Can you hear that?" Sam stopped and held an arm to stop Jimmy as well. Dean scowled at him but half-closed his eyes, concentrating on listening.
The low hum wasn't far at all, Sam thought. A car? A truck? He let his eyes close and turned slowly on the road, stopping when he thought it was loudest.
"Car," Dean said shortly, facing the same direction.
"Get off or stay on?"
Looking down the open and empty straight stretch in front of them, Dean shrugged. "Stay on," he decided. "There's three of us. We'll try and take it if they're not friendly." His fingers slipped around to the back of his hip, resting lightly on the bone-handled knife.
The vehicle appeared fifteen minutes later, the wide, boxy shape instantly identifiable. Sam sucked in a breath, wondering if it was a straggler from the main force.
"Sam! Dean!"
The voice was familiar and both men turned to look as the humvee drew up beside them, Peter's face visible in the open driver's window, smeared with dirt and blood.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Woodland Keep, Kansas
Through the high magnification of the glasses, Vince could see the entire field, and the details of the demon-possessed soldiers crossing it. He watched them advance, several long lines, loosely spread out, and waited until the first tracked light tanks had crossed the boundary marked at one end by the lightning-struck tree, and at the other by a leaning boulder above the narrow stream. Then he nodded.
Behind him, Joseph hit the switches on the simply wired panel, sending radio signals sequentially across the field. The mines exploded, five lines right across the bare and ploughed up field, sending car-sized chunks of half-frozen ground twisting into the air, thousands of razor-edged pre-packed metal shards through the flesh and blood of the demon's measuits and at the rear, the larger charges, packed with iron pellets in a thick suspension of blessed saline solution, the salt concentration so heavy the liquid was almost a paste.
Looking through the glasses, Vince smiled as he viewed the carnage. "I do believe we got their attention, Joe," he said contentedly.
White Stream Keep, Kansas
"Nate."
The dark-haired hunter looked around slowly, following Danielle's eyeline to the woods. He could see them now, their desert camouflage not quite blending in with the leafless branches and patches of snow still humped into drifts and piles against the iron-grey trunks of the trees.
"Ready?"
She nodded, tucked down below the crenellated lip of the square tower's roof. He shifted his position and nodded, and they hit the line of switches in front of them.
BOOM! Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!
The mines buried through the thin forest went off one after the other in a cannonade, trees falling and men screaming and fire licking at the damp undergrowth and the dry, fallen timber.
They watched the demons staggering out through the trees and settled themselves behind the guns, strafing the open ground and the outermost line of the woodland edge, engraved rounds punching into the meatsuits and expanding immediately, gouging gaping holes through organs and bone and muscle and remaining in the incapacitated bodies as they fell.
"How many?"
"No more than a hundred here," Nate growled as he released the trigger, gaze scanning the field and woods for movement. "They're breaking into smaller units, hoping we'll waste our ammo."
She nodded, glancing down at the metal cases that lined the low parapet in rows two and three deep. "Don't know Franklin, do they?"
West Keep, Kansas
The shrill whistle of projectiles, the concussive thunder of the explosions as they found a target, the sharp chatter of gunfire, incoming and returned, found their way even through the thick walls of the keep and Alex found herself listening for the sounds, and for any difference in them, as she moved through the halls with Merrin, triaging the men and women lying on cots along the walls around Kim's offices.
"Alex."
Looking down, she saw Rudy, upper arm and shoulder roughly dressed and seeping blood.
"Rudy, has anyone looked at you?" she asked, stopping and leaning over him to lift the edge of his jacket aside. "Do you have any other injuries?"
He shook his head. "No, we were in the south court when a part of the wall came down."
She lifted her bag to the edge of the cot and began to unwind the sodden dressings.
"Have you seen Michael?" he asked her, trying to lever himself upright. "I thought I saw him come in."
"He might be with Kim," she said, laying a light hand on his shoulder. "Just stay still until I get this cleaned up." She drew in a breath as the damage became visible. "Can you make a fist, Rudy?"
He closed his hand and tightened it, face twisting up in pain. "Sort of."
"Alright, I'm going to have to clean this out," she muttered. "What's going on out there?"
"They've got artillery on both sides, but they're concentrating on the walls," he said, leaning back as the colour drained from his face. "Uh … Maurice said that they don't want to bring the towers down."
"Not yet," she murmured under her breath. "How many, do you think?"
He gave her a pained grin. "No idea. My first war."
"Make sure you stay alive to have a second," she said to him, flushing the wounds out.
"Tryin'." He tensed as she picked out the debris. "We haven't seen Dean."
"He's not here, right now," she told him, drawing the torn flesh together. "I can't stitch this, Rudy, there're no edges." He nodded and she spread the creamy paste that Oliver had brought with them over the pulped muscle, keeping it together with a gauze pad as she wound a clean bandage around the upper arm.
"I heard that Lightning Oak was knocked down," he said, his eyes closing as the pain got worse.
"When did you hear that?" she asked worriedly, finishing the shoulder bandage and tying it off.
"About an hour ago, Maurice cleared a path …"
"Rudy," she said, looking down at him. Overloading, she thought. She found the antibiotic shot in the bag and gave it to him, then the morphine, pinning a small yellow tag on the corner of the bandage.
Looking at her watch, she saw it was past six. It would be dark outside now, and there was no way to get across the country to the other keep with the demons massing around them. Ellen had told her about Cas coming and getting Dean and Sam. The older woman now thought it must have been a trap for them. They were supposed to have returned the same night. She tried not to think about what kind of a trap the angels had set for them.
Making her way along the corridor, she headed for the stairs, climbing the flights to the roof. The noise was a thousand times worse as she came out of the doorway to the top of the keep tower, the night brilliant with the fires that burned all around the keeps, in the woods between them and in the baileys below. Keeping to the high tower that ran halfway around the roof, she saw more flames leaping to the north and east, muzzle flashes from the forts that were squat black shadows in the darkness and the occasional red-painted sparkling fall of Franklin's scatter bombs as they diverted the enemy's heat or laser-tracked missiles.
Ghost Valley Farm, Kansas
Riley lay full length along the barn roof, invisible in the shadow from the gable. He could see them moving across the fields now, emboldened by the covering darkness that prevented the closest fort from strafing them. Well, they'd get a surprise when they hit the woods that ran along the lane, he thought with a dry satisfaction.
In the two houses that were on either side of the interlocking farmyards below him, their people were already evacuating through the narrow tunnels that led out to the north-west. Dean had been right, he thought absently. They weren't interested in the people, unless they could provide leverage against the leaders for what they'd come for. They needed people. Hard to be potentate of the world without slaves, after all. No different from any other tinpot dictator the world had seen since the beginning.
His concentration narrowed as he saw the first flicker of movement at the edge of the woods. Give 'em time, he told himself calmly, thumb resting on the radio control. Everyone should enjoy the fun.
When he was sure that they were all within the tree line he pressed the trigger and watched the mines go up.
Blue Springs, Missouri
The car leapt over the lifted section of concrete and the passengers, crowded tightly together inside, ducked their heads and braced their hands against the roof as they hit the concrete surface on landing, the hard suspension rattling their teeth with the impact.
Sam flicked a sideways glance at his brother. Dean's gaze was fixed forward, hands tight around the wheel as his eyes scanned over the lit road in front of them, the boxy vehicle swerving to avoid wider fissures and the worst sections of the fractured interstate. Trying to give his brother as much elbow room as possible to drive, Sam was pressed against Elena and Peter in the front seat, Jimmy and the three Qaddiysh squashed together in the rear seat.
Dean'd been driving for eighteen hours straight now, and despite Peter's occasional suggestions that they swap, which the hunter ignored, he was obviously going to take them all the way. The last sign still standing by the side of the road had advised that Kansas City was twenty miles ahead.
"We have to stop, Dean," he said in a low mutter. "We have to eat."
He saw his brother's mouth thin out, the jaw muscle bunch and sighed. "I know you can keep going, but we can't. Jimmy can't."
"Just an hour," he tried again.
To his surprise, Dean nodded abruptly, his gaze unwavering in front of him. "Alright, we'll eat."
Hearing Sam's soft exhale, Dean realised that Sam was wondering how close to the edge he was. He flexed his fingers around the big, vinyl-covered wheel, loosening the tension in them.
Pretty damned close, he thought acidly. They'd played him perfectly, as always, and he'd swallowed it, hook, line and sinker, trusting in Cas and never even thinking that it could've been a trap, despite the timing being so close to what the demon was doing.
In the back, the Qaddiysh had the box, the one that could capture the wandering creators and lock them away, and he could not have given a rat's about it. He'd promised himself that Chuck would be wrong this time, that he would be there, and that Crowley and the Grigori would fucking well die on the fields surrounding the keep. The gun could've done it, he knew. They were not immune to Colt's bullets. And destiny – or Heaven – or the prophet or the Word or whatever the hell it was that manipulated the events surrounding him and Sam, had won again. He wasn't going to make it back in time. He knew it.
They'll be fine, he told himself, unaware that his knuckles had whitened again. They're protected even from the cambion, even from the dark half-breed. They'd be there.
The interstate had been cleared. He didn't know how. The cambion had enormous power when they were young, both Jasper and the angel had told them that. The power to change reality. The power to make reality. Or to unmake it. Pushing the thoughts aside, he focussed on the next exit. Sam was right. He could run on his nerves, could run on the adrenalin surging through him but when he got there, he'd be useless and so would the others. They would stop and eat and then go on.
West Keep, Kansas
"Don't tell me what I know!" Crowley screamed at the demon cringing in front of him. He snapped his fingers and the demon and meatsuit disintegrated, a puff of ash floating away on the slight breeze.
"Crowley, you are reducing our numbers," Dietrich said mildly, flicking the ash from his sleeve. "Calm down."
"The walls are holding!" the demon spat at him, eyes red with fury. "How the hell are we supposed to get in there if they're holding?"
"That is not the concern," Baeder told him, his voice clipped with impatience. "Draxler, have you located the chapter house?"
"We have it narrowed to an area, slightly east of north of the town," the half-breed said expressionlessly. "It is protected by illusions we cannot penetrate at a distance."
"Then quarter the area with men, inch by inch," Baeder order him. The cambion shrugged and turned away.
"Hang on a minute," Crowley snapped, staring at Baeder. "Since when are you running this battle?"
The Grigori turned to look at him, firelight reflecting in the pale remaining eye. He gestured once, abruptly, and the demon stiffened, his arms clamped tight to his sides as he was lifted from the ground.
"Since I have decided that you are too emotional to make rational decisions," Baeder said coolly, lifting his head slightly. He turned away and the demon king fell to the ground, sucking in huge mouthfuls of air, his face twisted in anger.
"There are many things you are useful for, Crowley," Baeder continued conversationally. "But you are no longer in charge. Am I making myself understood?"
He turned back as Crowley got to his feet, hands searching frantically over his body.
The fallen angel smiled. "Yes, but you will not find on your person. This spell has lodged deeper."
Dietrich looked from one to the other. "What are you talking about, Baeder?"
The misshapen face turned toward him. "Insurance, my brother. A little insurance."
He looked across the burning woods toward the farms in the distance. "Have we taken any prisoners?"
"A few," Dietrich admitted. "We intercepted a group moving from the destroyed keep."
"Bring me one; the spell will need fresh blood."
Dietrich nodded.
Draxler stood in the shadows of great wall, looking down at the children in front of him.
"When you get in, you must find these people," he told Jesse, handing him the list of names. "The soldiers will take you to them. Take hold and bring them out, back to me here."
Jesse nodded seriously, reaching out to take Alison's hand. The children vanished and the cambion moved back against the wall, knowing he was invisible under the cover of the shadows, hearing the fusillade from the opposite side of the keep as the army moved closer and redoubled the attack along the wall.
Jesse stood in the bailey, eyes wide as he watched people running across the enormous courtyard, the thick curtain wall shaking as the bombs exploded against it. He drew Alison back toward the tall tower as cracks began to appear in the concrete, the shuddering growing more pronounced.
"Hey!" The man's voice was right behind them and they turned together, looking at him. "What the hell are you two kids doing out here?!"
"We were looking –" Alison's thin, light voice was drowned beneath the roaring fall of the concrete and stone behind them.
"Christ!" The soldier said, grabbing her shoulder and dragging both to the keep steps as the wall crumbled, blocks of stone and concrete and the heavy fill sending clouds of dust and smoke rolling into the bailey. "Inside, now!"
They ran past him through the doors, dodging the men and women racing through the big hall, glancing curiously around.
"Herb!" The soldier shouted at a tall, thin man running past. "Got a couple of lost kids here, get 'em somewhere safe!" He looked down at them as the man skidded to a halt and turned toward them. "Go with him, he'll help you find your family, okay?"
They nodded and watched the soldier go back out through the heavy iron doors.
"Who are you kids with?" Herb leaned down and looked at them. Jesse felt the paper slip from his hand as Alison looked at it behind his back.
"Alex and Ellen," the little girl said, pushing the list back into Jesse's closing hand. "They know where our – family is."
"Alright, they're down in medical," Herb said, glancing at the doors. "We'll get you over there right away."
They followed him through a number of rooms filled with people loading weapons, cleaning minor wounds, eating and drinking, into a longer, quieter corridor. He glanced back over his shoulder, making sure they were keeping up as he strode along. With the wall breached, they were firing through the gaps now, the demons unable to advance into the keep but the inner buildings more at risk.
"Here we are," Herb said as he reached the hall, heart sinking slightly as he saw that the number of cots along the walls had increased in the last two hours. "Come on."
Jesse looked at the sigils and wards painted along the walls and over the floors and ceilings. The demons could not enter here, he thought distractedly, nor the fallen. Not even the nephilim could cross the circle that spanned the corridor. These people, whoever they were, knew the guards that kept almost everything out. But not him, he thought. Not him and Alison.
"Ellen!" Herb called and slowed as the woman appeared in the doorway, thick, dark gold hair drawn back from her face as she looked around questioningly. Herb opened his mouth to tell her about the children when the shell hit the side of the keep tower and the building shuddered, rock falling from cracks that were skating along the walls. Alison darted past him as Ellen flinched back, her arm going over her head. Only Jesse saw the little girl enter the circle in front of the office door, enter it and disappear in an eyeblink flash of light. He stared at the circle disbelievingly.
"Ellen, these kids asked –" Herb said, ducking out of the way as a chunk of concrete dropped from the ceiling.
"Where are they?" Ellen stepped back through the doorway, looking down the hall at the little boy who stood behind the hunter. "You looking for me, hon?"
He nodded. "And Alex? My mother said –"
Another few pieces dropped from the rapidly shattering concrete and Ellen glanced up and over to Herb. "Get these people out of here, grab whoever's still standing, we need to move them to a more stable area," she yelled at him, turning to look behind her. "Alex? Kim? Okay in there?"
Jesse watched as a younger woman came out, a cut on one cheek and dust covering her hair and face as she coughed. "Yeah, we got the concussion and lost the power but Kim and Merrin are fine."
Stepping a little closer he stared at them. There was another name from the list. "My sister – she was hurt bad," he said to them, gesturing vaguely behind him. "Can you help?"
"Kim!" Ellen turned back into the room as a slender dark-haired woman ran out. "Got an injury out here."
"Injuries everywhere," Kim snapped, her expression softening a little as she looked at the boy. "Where?"
The three women were in the corridor now, on the other side of the trap that had taken Alison and Jesse took a long stride toward them. He couldn't think about Alison now, he knew. He had a job to do. He lifted his hands as the dark-haired woman put her hand on his face, reaching out to the other two. He touched them.
And disappeared.