Dean closed his eyes slowly, blotting his vision of Lisa and the gun and everything around him. Seemed fitting in a way, to die on the battlefield. All he could really do was hope against hope that after killing him, she found the peace she was looking for and let Sam go.
But the bullet never came. He heard his name called out and his eyes snapped open at the last second.
Sam had charged Lisa just before her trigger pulled. His chains didn't break from it, nor did he unlink from Jessica or the ground. He had just enough space to body slam her to the ground. She fired the gun on impulse and the bullet grazed through Dean's right cheek with where a long line of blood began to bead through his skin leaving red trails where it had touched. She hadn't been lying. There was some kind of poison in those bullets...and maybe he wasn't a demon, but he could feel that sting.
"Sam!" Dean called and he pulled himself and Balthazar forward with the latter falling face first while he lunged as well, but he was not in range.
Lisa wrestled with Sam on the ground, grasped the gun that had fallen a few inches away from her finger tips just as he tried to pin her down on one side. But she elbowed him right in the jaw knocking him on his front.
And maybe it was instinct. Maybe she wanted to.
But he'd never forget what happened next. Clicking the hammer back for a second time, Lisa leaned her upper body and with precision she fired again...and this time, she didn't miss.
Everything slowed down in that moment...and it really wasn't Dean's imagination or perhaps because it was all in perfect detail and Dean pulled it all in at once. He remembered looking at Sam's face, only at Sam. Not at Jess still in the process of recovering behind him. Just Sam. Only Sam. He remembered Sam looking his way too. The split second that was exchanged between them could have lasted an eternity. Both of their expressions mirrored growing shock before the bullet passed through his chest.
Sam collapsed, half his body still atop Lisa's legs, his hands curled under his chest. A puddle of red began to form underneath his bleeding chest and the longer Dean stared at it, the more it seemed to encompass the wood floor, seeping downward. He imagined it slipping down through the cracks, pooling down floor by floor, an endless stream.
"Sammy," He knew the word came out of his mouth almost automated. Lifeless as the brother he once had. Maybe it sounded like a question. To test it, to get some kind of response that he wouldn't get. That he wouldn't attain ever again.
Because Sam was dead.
He barely registered that Lisa had pulled away almost disgusted. But he saw the reflection of horror on her face. She was all talk. As much as she boasted about killing people and demons before...Demons maybe...but not people. She had never taken an innocent life...and Sam's action was a defensive response to Dean's life being in danger.
"Sam...Sam...," Jessica was crying. Real tears. Real sobs racking her body as she choked on them, her body spasming. She pulled Sam onto her lap and held him there, blood staining her lap as it continued to trickle out of the hole in the back of his head.
He watched as she turned Sam over, his eyes were wide and unseeing. He wished he could move closer towards him...close his brother's eyes...
But the hole inside of him was too great. He couldn't cry. He couldn't move.
Dean was not numb...Numbness was the absence of pain as a whole. He felt the pain, felt it wash over him as though he had been soaking in it.
No, not numb at all. He was burning.
As he rose his gaze to find the witch, he felt the fire of a thousand suns scar his soul.
Do you not know, Dean? These chains are of your own making.
The voice. That terrible voice that spoke deep inside of him. It was a voice borne of darkness and hatred. A voice that Dean felt curl inside him like a beast.
The chains cut when his wrists bled, dispersed into nothing, all of them free from the restraints.
She didn't know he was free, still focused on Sam's body, on recovering from the after shock of what she had done and maybe how she could have achieved it. She didn't see, with her back turned to him when he stood upright.
She didn't see until too late, barely turning towards him when he charged her in one move, caught her by the throat and slammed her against the coffee table where it cracked underneath her weight. Her gun went flying into the air where it fell somewhere far away, out of her reach.
His grip was strong and unyielding, fingernails digging into skin until he could see red. Because that's all that lined up in his vision. That's all he felt.
"Please," She managed to choke. "Please..."
But Dean had already taken a grip of her forehead with his other hand and in one quick wrench, he snapped her neck, killing her instantly.
"You think this wise, Queen?" Metatron asked, not raising her own weapon in response to Carmen's very clear challenge. "Crossing blades with an Archangel?'
"I am what I was made from," said Carmen easily. "You backing out?"
"I don't back out," said Metatron. She nodded off to the angels behind her who took a hold of Michael yet again. "Escort our former High Commander back to Heaven and lock him up tight."
"I contest that," Carmen interjected. "I'd like Michael right where he is, if you don't mind. Come on now, he's technically the big big daddy, you know what I mean?"
"You don't get to make that call," Metatron replied coldly. She nodded back at her two men to proceed.
"Carmen," Michael fought the hold. "She's beyond your capability...beyond anyone's...She's a master of all elements. Turn back. Turn back while you still can. She's much stronger than anything you could imagine."
Carmen snapped her fingers. The two angels surrounding Michael exploded in flames. Michael jumped away in time to keep from getting burned, covering his face at the brightness of it before watching the angels fall to the ground, their bright, burning Grace slowly traveling to Carmen and seeping into her body where it joined with her power level, magnifying it. However, it was still nothing to Metatron's.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Carmen countered.
Metatron didn't look in the least bit concerned. Not for herself, not for the fact that she lost two soldiers to a fire spell, that their bodies were at Michael's feet. Michael even showed more care for that then she. He clearly didn't relish the idea of his brothers being killed in any circumstance.
But Metatron was a born General in a different way than Michael. Everything was a strategy, a game board to her. She slowly turned her gaze to Carmen, raised her hand and and curled it into a fist. Carmen expected a spell, and she got one, but she didn't expect it to come from the ground.
Carmen caught the briefest glimpse of a celestial symbol burning on the ground before it exploded like a landmine. Carmen jumped to the side in time, but more "landmines" exploded from the celestial fire spell, chasing her, keeping barely an inch away from her heels every time one went off. She was barely dodging them, barely making an escape and the celestial fire was much different than hell fire. Each one harmed the opposition differently...and it was just as deadly.
"That's how you use fire," said Metatron, and then she snapped her fingers and a formation of crystallized ice stopped in front of Carmen and knocked her back right into one of Metatron's landmines. Metatron wasted no second and jumped up, sword drawn out from her waist.
Michael wasn't joking. Metatron was an expert with that blade whereas Carmen was hardly considered experienced. She barely managed to block each strike before Metatron struck again like a viper, each slash made with precision and the aim to kill or destroy. She flipped, spun and forced Carmen to keep up. It wasn't long before the demon was out of breath, nearly losing a balance and keeping a strike away from her throat where she caught the Archangel in a lock, seizing her elbow on point.
Metatron was not one to be restrained. She broke free of the lock and elbowed Carmen in the face. Her bone felt like it was made of steel, sending blood flying out of her mouth. Metatron casually...too casually took a few steps towards Carmen, her eyes burning with a strange sort of fire.
"Your involvement in this is all irrelevant, Your Majesty. It's not something I wish to indulge for much longer," said Metatron.
"Have you reached your quota of patience for the day? Oh, I'm so sorry!" Carmen retorted furiously. And she charged her, again. But Metatron obviously did reach some sort of quota. Her hand reached out for Carmen upon approach and she spun the demon around fast. Already her blade was also up and striking again, coming up hard where she slashed through Carmen's cape, marking skin with a long diagonal gash running from her waist up to her shoulder.
She released Carmen just as the demon staggered, holding a hand to her shoulder, not quite able to reach any part of the wound except a bit. She tentatively touched there and found a hand full of blood.
"Carmen!" Michael's eyes were not on her. Where Metatron had slashed, the blood had splashed the altar. The white orb turned crimson. The last symbol on the ground reading "Mind" glowed bright.
And yet he was the only one paying attention to that. His eyes flew to the fight, which continued. Enraged, Carmen had charged again, but the fight didn't last long. Again, Metatron spun the demon around by a hard clamp on the arm, bending her at an extreme backwards angle, where she plunged the blade into her lower back. Michael's eyes widened just as Metatron released the demon and let her go.
Carmen's fall was slow. Taking her time. Her green eyes were wide over the wound in her stomach where Metatron's blade had broken through. She fell to her knees, her hands automatically reaching for the wound where it bled through her fingers. Michael rushed for her, caught her before she fell and cradled her in his arms. Blood pooled inside her mouth and she caught Michael's gaze without really seeing him. Her eyes...Same as his. Same as Dean's. He could see the brightness beginning to fade. He could see the light that came from Dean, the fire that burned through both of them and made them both stand tall as royalty...he could see that die.
Metatron had already turned away, sheathing her weapon. But it was then that her gaze shot towards the activation pillar which immediately turned bright and orange, shooting up towards the night sky. At the same time, a small wisp of green unchained itself from its lock around Michael and joined the orange beacon.
"It's active...," Metatron said in the closest intonation she could get to shock. Michael saw the Archangel's face go pale as she backed away from it. The entire ground was shaking. The bloodied white orb rose high and the light that broke through the heavens was different from before. Once the clouds parted, the light turned gold.
A fission ran through the city. Lights flashing on and off and car alarms simultaneously going off at the same time. Even from this height, they could hear the startled calls of the citizens below.
"Carmen...Carmen, wake up," Michael started shaking her. "Carmen, please."
But the demon wasn't moving. Her eyes were closed as though she was sleeping, expression locked in complete serenity. Her skin still felt hot to him, which meant nothing for a demon. Even as Michael held her, she seemed to grow hotter and it wouldn't be long before she was nothing but dust in his hands.
He didn't allow it to happen. He placed a hand over the gaping wound on her chest and began to close it through sheer force of Will. She had lost too much blood and there was no chance to...but he didn't care. He locked the soul inside and froze the body with a blood freezing spell.
Metatron paid no attention to him. She pressed a finger to her temple and established a link to every celestial she had command over. "This is the High Commander. Priority Order. I want all ground forces to fall back effective immediately. I repeat. FALL BACK."
She dropped her hand and faced Michael. "By order of the celestial court, I place you under arrest for high treason and conspiracy."
"Do what you will with me," said Michael slowly, looking up to meet her stony gaze, as he felt the immobilization spell creep its way back inside him. "I wouldn't concern myself with me...I'm not the one you should be worried about...I'd be more worried about the fire."
Dean wrenched away from Lisa's body and collapsed on the floor on his knees. He didn't know what triggered it. Shock or trauma or what have you...but it felt like his own body was giving up on him. The weight of Sam's death...and the realization that he had taken a life, no matter how much the bitch deserved it. His last view was Balthazar making for him. Maybe he was passing out...Maybe he was going to die too. Both options sounded pretty good right about now. Dean hit the ground on his side, away from Balthazar's reach.
Balthazar hadn't moved an inch towards him when the door to the loft broke open. In walked an angel with almost no hair and an older disposition, and yet this didn't seem to matter when it came to angels. How they looked on the outside didn't truly determine age. He wore a black suit and would have looked completely normal except that he was twirling a small silver blade through his fingers.
His eyes swept over all of them. The dead body on the collapsed coffee table of the girl. The young man cradled in the arms of the mourning girlfriend. Blood underneath him. Blood all around them. But his eyes gleamed horribly triumphant when they came to a rest on the unmoving form of Dean.
It was Balthazar who addressed him first. "Zachariah...I should have known. I could smell the stench of a rat all over this."
"Hello Commander," said Zachariah pleasantly. "Don't you look nice and...mortal. It's a good color on you."
"Don't smart mouth. It's only good when I do it," Balthazar snapped.
Zachariah ignored the remark, eyeing them all. "Pity about Lisa, eh? Well, at least she fulfilled her end of the deal. I didn't think she'd have it in her to go through with it, you see. She was really just meant to be the distraction before I came in...I was pretty sure I was going to have to do the cleanup...but she did pretty good for a human...Pretty damn good."
He looked at Jessica then. "Did you like the act? I think she did fairly well. The sympathetic best friend...It was perfect. Isn't it funny, Jessica Moore? How false your life really has been? The love of your life a vessel turned demon turned human...and his brother the king himself...and now your best friend a vengeful demon hunter."
"Why...Why have you done all this?" Jessica's eyes were bloodshot and red, and she cradled Sam closer to herself as though protectively. "Why...Why did you take Sam away from me?"
"Human beings are incredibly selfish. I'll never understand the appeal," said Zachariah, rolling his eyes. He reached down and pulled her cheek in mock fondness. She wrenched herself away, earning a red spot on flesh where he had pinched. "It's not about you. It's really...not about any of you."
He sighed exasperatedly and stood upright, approaching Dean's body. Balthazar moved to lunge and Zachariah swatted the air in his direction as if swatting an irksome fly. Balthazar was thrown back, sliding across the wood floor and coming to a stop in front of the angel statue where his head cracked painfully with the stone.
"It's not even about him all that much. He's just an...unfortunate...unfortunate accident. And Heaven...we take responsibility," said Zachariah.
"Zachariah...I don't know whose orders you're following...But nothing we do...Nothing we have done can condone the loss of an innocent life," said Balthazar, breathing hard. "Please. I beg you, brother. Don't do this."
"I'm sorry, Commander," said Zachariah softly. He raised his hand and Dean's body levitating to a standing position, his feet hovering a few inches off the ground where Zachariah took a hold of his shirt.
"But...You're angels...Both of you...," said Jessica, casting a look from Balthazar to Zachariah. "How can you do this? How can you kill...How can you kill...people?"
"I don't kill people. I employ others to do that for me, princess. Just look at dear Lisa Braeden for example...In a minute, this place will be swarming with demons for cleanup. See, I don't kill people," said Zachariah cheerfully. He yanked Dean with him towards the balcony where the doors burst open for him. "Former demons, however...especially ones as vile as this one...well, I'll make an exception."
"Zachariah, please," Balthazar pleaded. He didn't know what made him do it. He never liked Dean. But maybe some part of him believed Castiel's way of thinking...that he was human now and he didn't deserve to die. Not again. And maybe he was accepting the truth. Dean may have cast himself into Treachery for Castiel and Castiel alone, but nothing changed that he saved the world from a greater evil in the process.
"Sorry, Commander. Politics stain our hands with blood. Heaven can't afford his survival," said Zachariah. But he didn't sound sorry. He sounded positively gleeful. Happiness at being involved or being of some importance. Zachariah was never important to anyone. He was high in rank, even higher than Balthazar but his duties weren't for battle, he had been an ambassador, a seraphim. His occupation was pretty much the equivalent of a desk job.
Whoever promoted him was an idiot.
"Dean," Balthazar's voice came from a long distance, across the room, soft so that a human couldn't catch it at all. And yet he whispered it anyway as if a secret passed between friends. "Open your eyes."
Time went down for a moment and Zachariah held him over the balcony. He turned slow to look at Balthazar and Jessica before he released the body and Dean fell down...down...Down twenty stories to the city below where the unmistakable sound of a car being torn through from the impact was heard.
Everything went white.
And the final piece finally fell away. Dean's mind's eye took him back to that first moment in the S prefecture. He saw what he had believed to be real too...It was like he was seeing double. One memory through one eye, another memory through the other. The hospital. The first time his four year old self was passed an infant Sam compared to a less blurry version on the other side. Eleven years ago when he held the hand of a young child, a prodigy and promised him his life.
Eleven years ago when he first encountered the angel. Not the Fallen he knew now. Not the badboy. The soldier. The soldier, who for a long time, looked upon him with disdain.
And then the two memories began to blend together, one overlapping the other.
The father. John's face, superimposed with the face of an angel. The most beautiful being to walk the planet.
The Devil.
The mocking face. That arrogant Fallen. The memories of being thrown around by bullies in various schools traveled through hunts past morphed into an arena where he bled, sweat and trained his body and mind to adapt to survive and rose above the crowds wearing the the bloodstains of his enemies proudly. The crowd cheered his victories. Grotesque faces through a sea of red, chanting his name...or a name while the Fallen he saw before watched him with pride.
And Dean continued that slow fall to his own demise on the outside. How tragic. Someone called his name, but he couldn't see them. It was not from above but from below, laced with despair. He couldn't see through any of it. Dean saw his own face reflected a thousand times in all the memories that broke through the floodgates. It was not the face that he had been led to believe. It should have hurt, the pain, the overwhelming despair each and every memory was filled with. But it didn't hurt...because he had learned long ago how to cope with his own mind.
Usually...when you died...Maybe it went all black instead. There was nothing left. Being someone who had went through it before, Dean remembered that.
He remembered falling. Regaining consciousness mid-flight. He remembered being somewhat awake inside his own dying body that had stilled and collapsed through the onslaught of memory. He could not move. He could not say a word. He remembered every word the angel said before dropping him. And he remembered Balthazar...screaming his name, screaming in pain and anguish for him. The only person present who could have mourned...and he didn't even like that damn celestial that much.
Dean opened his eyes as if seeing for the first time. He expected nothing but the white abyss, but he was not alone here. There was someone else. Taller than him and towering, wearing such a bright suit that he blended too easily with the surroundings. But Dean could make out his face and his hands. The second color that demanded his attention was the single red rose he held in his hand, pressing it to his nose where he sniffed affectionately.
"Been a while," Lucifer remarked, pulling the rose away from his face to examine it delicately between his fingers.
"Father,"
"You remember now," said Lucifer approvingly.
"You're dead," said Dean with a dismissive look away. He wasn't in the mood nor did he have the time to indulge Lucifer of all people right now. "I felt you die in Treachery. I don't have time for you."
It was amazing how easy that hositility he harbored for Lucifer had not waned. Whatever illusion this was, whatever projection, the sight of Lucifer was still enough to irk him. He had long since strayed from the path that Lucifer had wanted him to be on. He had failed two Fathers, it looked like. Michael and Lucifer...and yet he never harbored a guilty thought for betraying Lucifer's ideals. They were insane and selfish. As he always was.
"I'm not dead. I'm never dead. Not while you're alive. Did you forget, Prince? You're a part of me. Just as much as I...am a part of you," said Lucifer coolly, face smug with satisfaction.
"And did you forget...How much I hate you?" Dean snapped his eyes back to him. "I hate you. I always have. These...memories. How blissful it was to be without them. And now...Now I remember just how much I despise you."
Dean didn't wait for an answer, strolling past Lucifer. It took him a moment to register a sound aside from the two of them. The steady drip drip of liquid hitting solid floor. He looked down and saw that there was blood on his jeans. Fresh and wet, slowly sliding from his clothes, not from his skin...He didn't feel any pain.
As he looked he found the source on his chest where a hole had been made as though he was run through multiple times with a sword. He pressed a hand to it, tried to stem the blood but it kept bleeding through, coming out between his fingers.
"You may forsake me and everything tied to me. It doesn't matter. I'm dead. Ask yourself instead why you're seeing me in your final moments. I'm just a memory, reconstructed by your mind. You chose me. You did that. Not Michael. Not Gabriel. Not even your beloved Fallen. You chose me. You see? I'm part of you. No matter what you say out loud, no matter what you...think you believe," said Lucifer to Dean's back.
"Why am I...?" Dean whirled around to look at him. And now he felt it. Truly felt the pain of his wound. It was enough to bring him to his knees and he felt the blood leave his face, gush out of him like a river run red.
"You feel it, don't you? You feel...the stench and decay of death. You know it well. You were born in death, you know. You were born at the cost of your own mother's life. You feel the weight of death inside you. Of Gabriel. Of Sam...and now...what you feel... It squirms inside of you like a worm, and despite all the times you have felt it...The pain never truly leaves. You feel this death as if it were your own. "
"Carmen, " Dean managed to gasp as he began to sprawl in front of Lucifer. There was a puddle beginning to form underneath him, staining his clothes further...Sam's blood splatter and Carmen's wound mirroring inside of him. "No...No...No, baby no..."
Lucifer knelt in front of Dean, placed a gentle hand on his back which felt cold, always so disturbingly cold. His voice was quiet...The only thing he could hear over the sound of his own essence beginning to leave him. "Listen to me. Dean Winchester. What you're feeling right now, is not death. It's life; a new kind of life. A life you're more familiar with then...this tapestry that Michael built inside your mind. In that life, you're just a hunter. You're worthless to everyone, including the ones you call family. Your emotions are jaded and restrained..but even Michael could not suppress who you are. Who you truly are."
"There's always been a piece. Always a fragment. It is not of Memory and it is not of Law. It is of the darkness that's weaved into every cell...every curve. You're not Michael's son and you never have been. Michael abandoned you, just like he abandoned you here to your fate. You're my son. And there are things that Michael can't suppress with his righteous hand...no matter how hard he may try," Lucifer slowly began to smile. "There are things that I have taught you that can never be forgotten...You're no hunter. You're no human...there is no humanity in a demon such as you. Because you're not a normal demon...You're a King..and what have I always taught you on the road to rule?...When a King is faced with the reality of his own demise, and with the fall of his kingdom, there really is only one thing you have to do..What is that, Dean? Do you remember?"
"Kill. Them. All."
"We have to move! I saw him fall!" Castiel shouted, pushing through a crowd that had gathered. Humans. Everywhere. He never wanted to blast through all of them more than he did now. They were curious. Curious as to why the sky was bleeding orange. Curious why the electricity was turning off and on and no sign of inclement weather or storm clouds and nothing on the news indicating why except vague answers.
But there was a new crowd just outside Castiel's loft that was drawn to something else entirely. Castiel didn't look to see who dropped him, didn't care for that. He heard the glass breaking from the balcony from miles away. In his eyes, he knew the reflection of Dean's fall was mirrored through both pupils.
"DEAN!" He cried. "NO!"
He made to fly, to extend his wings again and take off, but it was Dante who caught him roughly around the chest from behind and held him down with a firm grip around his shoulders. His own wings had extended, larger and much stronger than Castiel's wrapping around him to keep him grounded.
"Let go of me! I SAID, LET GO OF ME, NOW!" Now they'd have storm clouds. Crimson lightning struck the clouds directly above Castiel and there was a faint sound of thunder in the distance.
"We have to get out of here," Dante hissed in his ear. "Do you understand me, Castiel? There is no time. We have to move now. This place is about to-"
"I DON'T CARE! I'm not leaving without Dean!" Castiel roared. "Let go! Let go of me, or I swear I'll kill you!"
"Remember what I told you? The cure to the mortality curse...is death," Dante breathed heavy in his ear, struggling with all his might to keep Castiel from breaking free of his grip. People around them stopped to watch, backing away in obvious anticipation for a fight. "Death is what it takes. Your premonition was never just a dream, I told you...it was real."
"NO!" And Castiel screamed it this time and with the scream, the lightning broke from the sky and struck Dante on the back. That cut through Dante's wing, singed it with a burning hole that immediately made him release Castiel and stagger back on instinct.
Castiel didn't hesitate to part the ground through sheer force of Will. They didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. If all of them were stuck by the fuel of his power, then that was fine by him too. He made a beeline for it. The wreckage where people were still gathering in awe. It was only then where Castiel began to slow his walk, and yet his feet automatically took him towards the site. His appearance was fearsome enough that he didn't quite need to part the crowd this time.
But he didn't find what he was looking for. He found a wrecked car with a collapsed roof and shattered windshields. Glass and blood was everywhere and there was strips of black and white plaid strips hanging off the exterior and interior shards. There was a pool of more blood on the ground...and yet there was no body.
"Dean..?" Castiel tentatively reached for the wreckage, then slowly, he lifted his gaze up to the loft balcony. "No...I don't...I don't understand. A man shouldn't be able to survive...Where...?...I should have. I should have felt this. I'm his Guardian. I should have...felt his passing. Where could he have gone?"
"You're absolutely right," said a voice that made Castiel turn to his left. He expected Dante...but it was not Dante. It was Crowley. The sight of the demon made Castiel's skin crawl and it was everything not to smite him on the spot. He remembered his deal with Dante...if only just. But Crowley continued, as if he could detect no hostility from Castiel. "...A man shouldn't be able to survive."
Castiel was visibly shaking. "Where did you take him?"
Crowley ignored the question. "I was surprised you were able to break through the barrier...but then again...You did have the backing of my maker." His gaze shifted past Castiel and Castiel both felt and heard Dante stop to stand just behind him to his right.
"You've grown quite ambitious, Crowley," said Dante smoothly, equaling Crowley's tone.
"Dante. Shadowalker. Unshackled from your chains in Hell," Crowley replied politely. "I would lie and say it's not good to see you...but it'd be..heh...a lie, after all. It is good to see you. I'm..pleased. I'm sorry of your involvement in this."
"No, I'm quite proud. I raised you well. People tend to lose their children these day so easily," said Dante.
"Where is Dean, Crowley? Deal or no deal, Shadowalker. If Dean is dead, then you'll be joining him along with your pathetic demon," Castiel snarled, drawing out his sword and pointing it in Crowley's direction. "And don't think I don't follow through on my threats."
Crowley remained calm. "You didn't feel anything through that debt you made to him is because he wills it so. If he doesn't want you to feel him, you won't. That is the power of Law. I didn't kill Dean, Retribution. I helped set him free. You should be thanking me."
"What are you talking about?"
"I said...You should be thanking me for all of my efforts...Like keeping Heaven in the dark the exact details of that mortality curse. It takes death to break it, you understand? It takes the death of a life. Any mortal life taken at the hands of the victim of the curse will trigger the transition. And in this case...the transition back. Shadowalker and I may not see eye to eye on all of our methods...But we do see the endgame better than anyone else," Crowley told him and he nodded off towards Dante. "I share his mind, you see. I knew...Michael was cursed first...and his transition back to being the Archangel in all it's glory was a mystery to Heaven and Hell until now. He had involved himself, you see in the life of a young girl and stole her heart. Given her a son before her untimely death. Just by being there, Michael basically dealt the killing stroke himself on Mary Winchester's life. It was her death that triggered his return...likewise the young girl, Lisa Braeden was the trigger here."
"Trigger. To. What," Castiel enunciated slowly, still not lowering the blade.
"Heaven wants a war," said Dante, stepping forward. "As I knew they would. They want us all dead. We're not meant to exist on the same plane, Castiel. It's...heh...catastrophic, you could say. We're Dominion's fragments...You are Compassion and Retribution. Dean is Memory and Law...and I am what I've always been...Havoc...and Despair..."Dante paused and it took Castiel a minute to realize that he was quite right. There had always been one fragment unaccounted for. Despair. It made sense that if they each got two...then surely Dante was no different in attaining "Despair." The question was...Where was his Despair rooted from? But he continued as though he did not admit to such a thing. "...and despite Michael's initial attempts in creating the Scripture to bring balance...We're all beings of chaos. We're going to fight for our very existence for a fate none of us chose. And if it comes to that...Then we needn't let one succumb to weakness. We should all be at...our full power, wouldn't you agree?"
"Dante...Crowley...," Castiel looked from one to the other slowly. "You're saying you've been working together? How? You were bound Dante..."
"More like...we're in sync," said Crowley, tapping his temple "If you actually bothered to bond with Sam when you had him as your demon, you'd understand. Pity."
"And now you're saying Dean is...," Castiel trailed off. The crowd was not paying attention to any of them, there was a dark swarm worming it's way through. The demons. Tarana demons all chanting his name as "Ta-Ra-Na" like a slow hymn, steady approaching the three of them like the walk of the dead.
Zachariah watched the body plummet. He ignored Balthazar's cries behind him, clasping his hands together. Yes, he felt fulfilled in his duty. Metatron would surely reward him for this foresight.
His eyes went to the window which he began to close when he caught sight of a bright orange light penetrating the sky like a beacon, growing in energy. It was not there when he entered the complex. And now he could feel it with all of his other senses, building and expanding, feeding the sky with some unknown...almost sinister power.
"That shouldn't be there," Zachariah stared at the beacon in confusion, backing away from the window. He frowned, pressed two fingers to his forehead. "Where's that damn demon when you need him? You can't rely on them for anything...Worst scum in the universe."
"Tell me about it,"
"I mean I try," Zachariah went on. "To carry out my first mission in the field successfully...and at the behest of others I decide to put my reliance on a demon of all beings to choose from...I won't be making that mistake again any time soon, I can tell you that."
"No, I gather you won't,"
This time Zachariah gained his wit. He whirled on the sound of the voice and found him. His eyes went wide, eyebrows shooting to a receding hairline.
There he was. As if he had always been there. Dean Winchester. And not the Dean Winchester he just saw. Not the weak human that he plucked off the floor in all his pitiful state. Not the Dean Winchester that had fallen twenty stories to ground zero in what should have been a mangled and disfigured state.
It was Dean Winchester with blood stained clothes in tatters and no wounds underneath the holes and strips. It was Dean Winchester with bright green eyes...too bright to be human. It was Dean Winchester with a much taller, older looking form with darker hair and a very prominent scar on his cheek. It was not the same bullet gash that Lisa Braeden had made with her pistol. It was the scar of a battle past, and only a celestial blade could make a permanent mark on a demon like that.
And he was standing there with his side leaned casually against the angel statue where Balthazar had laid as if he had been there the whole time. And his gaze never left Zachariah.
Yet something was off. Zachariah had never personally seen Dean Winchester before this night. Human or not. He had never beheld him and known his personality. But something was definitely not right with the demon. He stepped out of partial shadow with some light from the beacon breaking through the window behind Zachariah shining on his face. There was a faint but discernible tracery of black and dead veins running down his throat into his bloody shirt.
All eyes were on him. Shock and wonder. And yet Dean stepped closer to Zachariah and his gaze never left him. Never wavered. It was like a predator was closing on prey and Zachariah took an involuntary step back.
"It can't be...You...You-You fell. I saw you fall," Zachariah stammered. His fingers seemed to twist into his temple, but before he could utter a word, he heard Metatron's voice clear as a bell inside his mind through a Link.
This is the High Commander. Priority Order. I want all ground forces to fall back effective immediately. I repeat. FALL BACK.
"Don't stop your venting on my account, celestial. I daresay Heaven's not paying well for your hard work," said Dean, and that voice. Not human. It screamed not human. It came out as words, clear and intoned. But it was like a beast spoke with him. Animalistic and guttural.
"Your Majest-"
Zachariah cut off with Dean's hand around his throat in a tight grip. The demon was taller then him. He wasn't a moment before. He was close, and those black veins were as prominent as ever, seeming to move the longer Zachariah watched, stretch up one cheek into his left eye.
"Bleed for me," was all Dean said before he twisted Zachariah's head. All the way around. The celestial's scream of terror and pain never left his mouth, choked off with a pathetic sound before Dean let him drop. He snapped his fingers and the body of the angel was consumed in red flames. Jessica screamed at the sight, gasping in shock, cradling Sam's body closer to herself as though she could protect him from the sight.
A shimmer of white began to appear from Zachariah, power attempting to meld with Dean that he caught at his chest as though catching a blade, curling into a ball and seemed to solidify inside what looked like a clear glass orb that he tossed towards Balthazar, allowing it to roll to his feet.
"Thank me later," said Dean without looking at him. Very smooth, as though in a dance, he turned towards Jessica, who was looking up at him in shock.
"It's true...It's all true...What they've been saying...You died...You...You're a demon," said Jessica through several pants and hysterics.
"Don't use that condescending title upon me, girl. I'm more than anything you could ever comprehend...And demon just doesn't cut it anymore. Plain and simple," said Dean coldly. That horrible intonation joining what could have been a human voice was still there.
"Dean...," Balthazar hadn't moved to grab what Dean had thrown at him, but he sat up as if to get a better look, barely believing what he was seeing. But he, a being who knew perfectly well what Dean was before...and how he had been as a human, knew that something was wrong. It was the same exact intuition that Zachariah had before his demise. "What happened to you."
Dean barely acknowledged the question, still turned towards Jessica where he stood before them. His eyes cast down from Jessica to Sam. Those eyes were still bright and green, but there was something in them that looked...dead.
Jessica followed his gaze. "Please...If there's anything you can do...Please...If you can bring him back...Please."
Dean's lips pressed together as he looked at her. He kicked aside a tiny pile of ash that was once Zachariah and stepped closer.
"You're going with Balthazar. I never want to see you again. Take Sam...Find somewhere safe ...and don't...look back." said Dean.
"Yes...Please...Please, I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just bring him back," Jessica begged.
"I don't want your fickle promise. I want your word. And I want security. You want me to bring him back. Human. You want to make a deal with the devil, then I waive my normal stipulation for your kind from ten years to: don't fucking break the deal and come back," Dean nearly growled in her face. And she couldn't help the shiver. The look in his eyes was terrifying.
"I promise," said Jessica, nodding meekly. "No, I swear."
Dean's expression didn't change, but quicker than she could catch, he took a hold of a handful of her hair behind her and pulled Jessica close, crushing their lips together. She felt brief resistance and an immediate impulse to wrench away, but she could feel something tingle all around. Heat in his lips like he was running a high fever. There was no romantic intonation there. He was sealing a deal in the demonic way. She felt like something was sealed, lock and key.
He pulled away and she immediately looked down at Sam, expecting to find the body return to life instantly.
But he remained unchanged. And she looked up, opening her mouth to speak when she caught sight of what he was doing. He had stood up again and an empty vial was clutched in his hand which immediately began to fill with a bright white-blueish substance that he held out to her.
"Give that to him. Lay him down. Press it to his lips and make sure all of it goes down. It's angelic grace. He was killed by human means...he can be brought back human. With all of his...memory," said Dean slowly. "Now go."
Dean turned from her. "Balthazar. Take the celestial's grace. See to it that the two of them exit the city safely."
"Dean," Balthazar stood up and slowly approached his back, carrying the glass sphere with him. It felt very cold to the touch. "What's wrong with you...You're not...You're not the same."
Dean had no patience. He turned to Balthazar at the same time gripping his wrist and pressing the sphere to Balthazar's chest with enough force that it broke and automatically, the seams of light became wisps that attached to Balthazar. He let out a small cry of what felt like real pain before he felt wings extend from his back and the power of Heaven restore itself inside of him at full capacity. There was a brief flash of familiar silver armor adorning around his body before it dispersed at the command of his Will.
"I'm not asking," said Dean, turning from him. "You don't want to be here for the fireworks. Get Sam and Jessica out of here."
"Dean-" Balthazar began.
"NOW!" Dean shouted and the room seemed to quake, quite literally. The walls cracked in certain places, the floor shook and Balthazar was barely balanced enough to stand. "I command you."
Balthazar was about to open his mouth and say that a command from a demon would not fall upon an angel with much worth. But he ate his words as Dean's order gripped him. He felt the gravity of the words like a suggestion planted inside of his mind that he could not ignore. He pursed his lips and turned away from Dean with great reluctance, proceeding to kneel down in front of Jessica and Sam, helping her to her feet while he took Sam up to standing position and wrapped his heavy arm around him while taking his waist in a hard grip. His free arm reached for Jessica who wrapped her arms around his neck. Without much effort, he headed for the window. One long look back at Dean, concerned...surely...but there was also something else. Understanding.
He wasn't stupid. Dean had never believed him to be. He may not have understood it all, but he understood enough that whatever was coming was not something he would wish to be apart of.
"Hold on tight," said Balthazar before he took off through the balcony, his newly returned wings extended for flight.
The manual way was the worst. But so much energy produced from ground zero where the Tarana Demons were gathered that extending for flight was impossible. Once the gathered humans saw the zombie-like state of the Tarana demons, they did not linger long. The orange beacon, the demons...yeah, I think that was the quota for terrifying in a city. There were so many of them. Thousands. Filling the streets, occupying every corner...Just waiting.
Castiel knew what for, and he didn't want to face it. When he made it to the floor of his loft, he smelled smoke.
And he smelled blood.
And he smelled death.
But it didn't stop him. Nothing ever could. Smoke filled his lungs and he made for the loft door regardless which had been left open.
Fire was everywhere. All of Castiel's belongings, every single one of them was burning with red fire. Fire forged and made in hell through the fury of the monarch. There wasn't an element on the planet that could stop it.
And he saw through the flames, saw him.
His back was to Castiel, his arms crossed. And despite it all, Castiel's mind took him back to his premonition. Despite what Dante had said. Despite what he could clearly see as a live body in front of him. He remembered the dream of the human he had grown attached to in the last few days burning alive.
"Dean," Castiel murmured when he was close enough. "We have to go. We have to get out of here."
Dean didn't answer immediately, but he was sure he sensed him coming. Castiel could sense his power through every inch of these flames. He could sense it coming off in waves and waves.
"Fire doesn't die...It consumes," said Dean after a long moment. Castiel heard him perfectly through the sound of the crackling flames. As if they were just having this conversation and they weren't about to burn, as if it was just the two of them.
"Dean...I'm so sorry," said Castiel, he turned himself to face Dean fully and a slight shock hit him at the sight. He should have expected it. Expected the face of the demon looking back at him, not the human. Black blood vessels had consumed Dean's entire body where skin was exposed. On his arms, to his elbows...his hands...his face. Corruption. Taint.
Despite everything. Despite what he looked like. Castiel wrapped his arms around him. "I'm sorry, Dean. I failed. I failed to protect you. I'm so sorry."
It took an age for Dean to respond to him. And then finally, he felt Dean return his embrace, hold him back. And yet there was something remote in the gesture. Dean's chin on his shoulder was light.
And he didn't see what he should have. Maybe it would have changed things later on. Maybe.
He didn't see the black veins run a tracery up to those green eyes he loved so much, consume them and pool into a gleaming onyx as the demon's lips stretched into an empty smile.
-To Be Continued.
A/N:
HI.
I know there are a lot of things to be resolved...and explained. I always planned for a trilogy with the Raison D'etre. So there will be...at least *one* more story to wrap everything in this series up. I may or may not do outtakes for Coup D'etat. And I'm considering writing up a codex to explain *all* terminology and references that are in this story for better reference.
Once again, thank you for reading. You all are awesome possums.
:D