Chapter 35

The key for the bunker hadn't been changed so when Sam and Gabriel got back, they walked into the bunker like they weren't plaid wrapped interlopers from another time. As tricky as it might be to explain to a little Bobby who they were, she was much less likely to kill them than a sky full of Hellions. With only a single knife between the, Dean wasn't willing to risk Cas and Sammy's life on avoiding awkwardness.

"Bobby!" He called, he clenched his teeth. Personally he would be less nervous to fight the hellions. A tiny form skidded around the corner, sliding on socks of her cupcake patterned footie pajamas. Her muddy brown hair was tied up in pigtails and she squealed when she saw him.

"Daddy!" She shouted in a tiny squeaking voice, she launched herself at him without hesitation and he only barely had time to catch her. Immediately she buried her face in his shoulder and poked her head up, so she could just see out behind him.

She whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Daddy, who's those guys?"

"Uh-" Dean said, "Well, you know Cas, and the uh- The little one is his brother Gabriel and the tall guy is..uh.." he wasn't really sure how to say 'This is your uncle Sammy, you know the one I talk about being dead sometimes, look how cute he is alive.' So he fell back on instinct and lied, "The tall guy is a buddy of mine named Sam." He glanced over his shoulder at Sam and made an apologetic half smile.

She peeked her hand up from his shoulder and wiggled her fingers at them in a shy wave, "Hi Uncle Cassy. Hi, his brother Gabriel. Hi, Daddy's friend Sam."

Gabriel was enraptured, "Hello, babycakes!" he said, grinning from ear to ear and producing a candy for her. She reached out her hand to snatch it but at the last instant stopped and looked beseechingly at Dean.

Dean furrowed his brow and finally she said, exasperation evident in her voice, "Can I, Daddy?"

He shrugged and said, "Sure."

Without a second's more hesitation she took the candy and devoured it.

Gabriel hand out his hand and she took it, her little fingers only big enough to grasp a quarter of his, "Nice to meet you, Bobby Winchester," he said with playful dignity.

"Yeah." she responded happily.

Gabriel stepped back and popped three candies into his own mouth, "Well, boys, this has been real fun, a little too easy if you ask me, though, you must be slowing down." He wiggled his fingers at them, "You fellas just stay here and try not to break everything."

Then, with a sad little grin at Bobby, he waggled his eyebrows, clicked his fingers, and was gone.

Sam bolted to the door and heaved against it, "It's locked."

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They spent the next few hours slamming crowbars and shoulders into the door and not even Cas could get out. Bobby seemed mostly unconcerned throughout, reading just far enough away to not get under their feet, concentratedly coloring just within eyeshot, and bringing them half baked cupcakes from an Easy Bake Oven.

As the day wore on, Dean dropped his crowbar to the floor, "Alright, Sammy, this ain't workin'. How 'bout you buckle down in the library and see if they ever wrote about a way out and I'll rustle up some lunch."

Sam scrunched up his nose, "We're trapped in the bunker and you're cooking?"

Dean shrugged, "Kid's gotta eat, Sammy, anyway, I bet I got this kitchen stocked up with Spaghettios and I know how much you love them."

Dean turned away and scooped up Bobby from the floor, where she was drawing a pink and very glittery wendigo. "Come on, kid, help your old man make some macaroni?"

She squealed in delight and clambered onto his shoulders, holding his hair for balance.

XXXXX

By night time they had still made no headway on discovering a way out. But Bobby had worn herself out stalking around the library and leaping out at them at random intervals, bearing her little teeth and telling them that she was a werewolf.

Now, eyes tired from reading the old logs the Men of Letters had left behind about the bunker, Dean sat in front of the fireplace, embers still sparking, sipping a beer and holding a sleeping Bobby on his lap. Her face was still sticky from unskillfully eaten s'mores and the feet of her pj's were sort of dirty.

Dean had a sudden rush of longing to have Bobby Singer alive, and his mother, and Ellen and Jo. Have this kid and a whole big family that wasn't dead. And he could teach her how to shoot and fix up cars and punch boys in the face who looked at her wrong, or whistled at her, or were Crowley.

Grampa Bobby would teach her Latin and she'd go to school and have friends. He'd do something special on her birthdays.

He reached over carefully and set his beer on a nearby table and pulled the journal from his jacket. He tucked one arm around the girl and flipped it open.

XXXXX

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

My armor was still hot from the fires while Crowley and I lay, breathing hard, on the dirt. I looked over at him, "You alive?"

He passed his hand over his eyes and groaned, "No."

I heaved myself up, using my spear as a crutch, "You got your knife?"

He pushed himself up after me and grimaced, "Yes."

I started to untether myself from my armor, letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground. My heart burned. Hell was lost. My kingdom fallen into ruin. I wrenched my helmet from my head and let it drop to the ground, the crown across the top broke when I did, spikes laying askew in the dirt.

The rest of my armor followed, I ripped through the clasps, tearing it from my body.

"What are you doing?"

I laughed harshly at him. So you just let all of your children die? Is that supposed to comfort me! Ethan was shrieking again, I chucked a bracer at him, which did nothing.

"You'd better get rid of that crown, Crow, we're going into hiding."

"You think they'll hunt us down?"

"Wouldn't you?"

He took the crown from his head and looked at it sadly, then broke it in half. He dropped the pieces to the ground and helped to free me from the last of my armor, "Where did you go?" he asked, untying the clasps on my greaves.

"What do you mean?"

He scoffed, "You know very well, we were halfway through escaping and you disappeared for nearly an hour. I thought I was going to have to leave you."

"Don't you trust me, Crow?"

He stared at me without speaking.

I changed it to a request, "Trust me, Crow. Now we have to go." I slung my spear over my shoulder and pushed passed John and Uncle Bobby, who were yelling at me about something. The adrenaline from the escape was still keeping me high enough to ignore them.

Stripped of my crown and my armor I started walking North, Crowley brusquely following.

XXXXX

Gilgash pulled at his chains uncomfortably and glowered at Crowley. "Does it wound you to know that she has servants who love her when we have not heard her commands in an eon and if you fell your servants would disavow you before you grew cold?"

Crowley snarled, "Why has she ever deserved so much loyalty!? I have read her journal, I have met her! Why has she-"

Gilgash's laughter cut him off and he peered proudly up at Crowley, "She loved us, King." He set his face in a steady grimace, "I do not need to ask you why you claimed the throne, power hungry beast. I could smell that 10,000 years ago as capably as I can smell it now. She led us to a home. She built the Underworld to house us and she ruled us because she loved us. When she fought, it was not for glory but to guard her home. She did not start wars of conquest. She fought for her home and for her people.

"Since her fall Hell has been a cesspool of hatred and hurt. It has a people who cannot unite, who squabble and snarl under equally self absorbed leadership. Lucifer hated the dead. Scorned humans and demons alike. Lillith used us a tool. Abaddon hungers for blood and you hunger for power.

"And you must ask why I would die for her, thousands of years after she disappeared?"

Crowley wrenched his face up by the chin, nearly crushing it in his grasp, "She does not fight for you now! She let you burn! She let you be twisted into a demon!"

Gilgash's face cleared and he smiled softly, "Did she, Hades?"

Crowley struck him, "Tell. me. about. the. battle."

Gilgash settled back, relaxing into his chains, "Sure." He heaved a heavy breath and began.

XXXXX

Gilgash's Story

Now, in this era the people of the Underworld had the form they had when they were people of the earth, although often ailments, such as blindness or crippled limbs were made whole. Similarly, heaven did not yet have enough power for it's angles to be cosmic energy but were, while in the land of the dead, pressed into the form of the humans they were built by their god to look like, although I believe on earth they still required a stolen body.

The angels flew in in tight formation. They were divided into sixteen legions of fifty, the archangel Michael stood as their general, commanding a legion in the center of their formation. Lucifer commanded the left flank, Raphael the right.

They were arranged in straight lines across, laterally. However, the left flank coming forward and striking first, uneven with the remainder of the army. It was a unique formation. Particularly because, being angels, they were able to fly and could thus arrange themselves vertically as well as laterally. This provided an excellent advantage against our walls. Vertically, they were positioned not straight but in a curve, wherein those angels at the lowest row were followed by a rising curve of angels who flew slightly above each successive row before them.

I had thought, when I first saw their formation, two things. First, that they would perhaps be able to simply fly over our walls, second that a single flank attacking first greatly weakened their entire arrangement and thought that perhaps this Lucifer was a poor commander.

Each angel was outfitted uniformly, in golden armor that covered them from head to foot and crafted with expert precision. The commanders of the lower order had short plumes of purple color and those of higher order, such as Lucifer and Raphael, had longer plumes of red. Michael's plume came to a tail that flowed behind him in a long braid and was a shining gold.

The only unarmored aspect of the angels, and their only mark of individuality were their feathered wings which could not be armored without hampering their flight. These wings were in a multitude of colors, Michael's a wondrous white, Raphael's a speckled tan, Lucifer's dark, nearly black. Others were manilla, or nearly golden. A particular female's were the most beautiful red, this matched her hair, which spilled unorthodoxly from her helmet.

Each angel was armed with long spears, tipped with gleaming silver tips, more resplendent than any metal I had yet seen. They had also a short sword of this same material.

Our defenses were arranged as follows, the walls providing a barrier with a third of our hellhounds beyond it's protection. We had archers placed in three rows atop the walls. They were arranged with one row standing to shoot and the other two crouching. As the standing row shot, they fell in their turn to a crouch and the row behind them would stand. In this way we were able to supply a neverending barrage against our enemy.

Now in those days, the Earth was a more treacherous place for young that it is today and the Land of the Dead was greatly inhabited by infants and the young. These were not helpless as their living counterparts but could cry and scream waves that crippled and knocked angels from the sky. These soldiers had climbed to the walls and clung to the parapets. Their screams, lashed the skies and pressed the angels back.

Thus arranged were our first lines of defenses. Our infantry lurked below. Our high guard were outfitted in dark armor, emblazoned with the golden flowers of our Queen. We were armed also with spears and swords, though not uniformly and some of our number prefered a mace or morning star for their close combat weapon. As a commander, along with my dear Enkit and brave Achilles, the cape that fell to my ankles in a heavy fabric was golden, while those of my soldiers was dark.

For this enemy, we had made a small alteration. Our normally long spears were made shorter and attached to a length of thin, strong cord.

Our mighty Queen Persephone, Lady of the Dead, Mother of Ghosts, She Who Led Us to Salvation, She Who Called Us Each by Name, Warrior Who Beset the Dark and was Beset by It, Light in Death, stood in the middle of the courtyard. Her armor, crafted in the fires of the Underworld and formed by the hands of her dead, two warrior's V's crossed upon her chest. She stood in her mighty chariot, her hellhound snapping it's mighty maw. The cryptic symbols across the chariot's sides that warned her arrival. Her hair, now long and dark, tucked safely into her helmet.

Circling behind her were thirteen of our most precious warriors. They would fight, but their orders were to protect her at all costs. We had not forgiven ourselves for allowing her capture by the monster Zeus. I will say the greatest thing Hades did was cast him to the lost forest, where slain beasts might beset him.

Thus were the armies arranged.

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Crowley interrupted him harshly, "We don't have another 9000 years for you to tell this story, for Hell's sake!"

Gilgash sneered, "Have you no patience for military precision, my king? Is that why you're losing the war with Abaddon?"

Crowley rolled his eyes and took a long drink, "Why would I fight a war with Abaddon? Winning Hell is a battle of hearts and minds."

Gilgash tilted his head, his silky black hair tipping onto one bare shoulder, "Why, yes, Hades. It is." His lips turned up in a grin and laughter bubbled out of his throat.

"What are you possibly snickering at."

"Thus the song shalt rise from blackest games and behold it shall echo too low for living ears and fires shall be quenched and the flowers bloom."

Crowley surged forward and struck him in the mouth. Blood blossomed across his teeth and dripped down his chin. Gilgash smiled through the blood. "Thus said the Sibyl of the Dead. The last command of the Queen shall be fulfilled."

XXXXX

Dean put the book down, momentarily and stood, lifting the girl in his arms. In her sleep she curled into him. How was this little thing, sticky with marshmallow in cupcake pajamas going to become the Queen of Hell?

She barely woke up when he set her on the counter in the bathroom and washed off the marshmallow from her face with a warm rag. Then he carried her to her bedroom, which only took a few minutes to find, and tucked her into the little bed. She hadn't been lying in her journal, the walls really were covered in pink sigils.

He returned to his chair by the cold fireplace and sat for a moment, holding the journal but not reading it. Finally he stood and took the journal back to her room. He took a seat on a chair not far from her bed, beneath a warm lamp, he watched her for a moment, sleeping undisturbed by nightmares. He looked down at the journal she would write as the once Queen of the Dead and wife of Crowley, before dying in a battle to save the world, and read on.

XXXXX

The next few thousand years were ours. We spent a hundred years captaining a pirate ship. We were friends artists who would fill up museums and musicians who would be taught to students for the rest of time. We spent decades in a cabin on a Mediterranean beach. I could tell you what you were going to say before you even thought it. You kissed me like you had been designed to kiss me. I want to write more, Crowley, I want to tell you about being caught in a the rain with you. I want to tell you about the ring that you stole from the Queen of England for me. I want to tell you about losing the stone when we swam in the Spanish Sea. I want to tell you that if I was destined to spend ten thousand years hunting beasts who would end the world, to spend four million nights quaking at the ghosts who brought the dark and made me gag with fear, to know how I would die with every breath, I am glad to have spent them with you. And, my love, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

But there is so little time left. And I would never want to ruin the surprise. There are only two more things I have to tell you. These last two stories are for you, Crowley.

We did hunt them. You and I. We danced against them, you and I. I with my spear, holding ground before their wicked wings and snarling teeth, baiting them and wounding them as they bore down before me. You circling behind with that knife, slicing them through the heart. In these fights I had a single prerogative. It was your job to kill the Hellions, it was my job to keep you undamaged. I knew the curse of bearing a scar from a Hellion. I knew how deeply it would wound you. The pain bore me down with every breath. I took their claws and their teeth and afterward you burned them closed.

If I met a crossroad's demon, I couldn't trade this soul for a finger of whiskey.

But there is only one battle I want to recount for you.

It was 1348, in England. You and I lived in a castle nestled high on a rocky outcropping. We were lying on the floor of the library. The sun was streaming through a window in a warm ray and were were lying at the center of it. Your arm was tucked around me and my head was on your chest.

You kissed my hair, "You know we only have one Hellion left."

I tilted my head back and kissed you, "Yeah, I've been keeping track."

"We can retire."

"Retire? You mean you don't want to retake Hell? I thought you would. Once a King, always King. You know."

You laughed, "I'm tired, Bobby."

I put my head back down on your chest. You sounded tired, a soul deep weariness I had not accounted for before. Four million nights of watching me thrash in horror I suppose. Had that made you as bone dead as it had made me to endure? Were you as jealous of the victims of the Hellions who were given eternal nothing as I was?

"We can retire," I said, "That beach in Greece, do you think?"

"Oh, no," you responded, tangling your fingers through my hair, "The castile in Spain on the sea. You looked so beautiful in the golden sand."

"Spain then, we will retire to Spain," I sat up and looked at you, smiling, "Oh, did I tell you? Gabriel wrote."

You sat up smiled warmly, you were so much warmer than before, human, nearly. "What did he say?" You asked me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"He's got a girlfriend, Kali, says she reminds him of me a little. Also says she's 'handsy.'"

You opened your mouth to reply, the sun was glinting in your eyes and your shirt was rumpled uncharacteristically from lounging on the carpet. You smelled like old books and your sulfur. You were smiling. Before you could speak, the window was blasted in, showering us in glass. I rolled to my feet and you frantically pushed yourself backwards, trying to rise.

Castiel, wings outstretched, teeth bared, stood in the window, the sun shining around him.

I pulled you up and we fled from the room, me pushing you before me. He launched himself from the sill, crashing after us, screeching, "YOU KILLED THEM ALL! You HELL BEASTS! You think you can slaughter my brothers and LIVE! I WILL DEVOUR YOU WHOLE!"

I slammed the heavy wooden door on him. It bought us about ten seconds to get up the hall. "Crow, we need our weapons."

"The bedroom." You said, unnecessarily. I knew as well as you did where they were. We tore through the castle, Castiel's vicious wing beats herding us forward.

We reached the bedroom door you hurtled through it, I followed and closed is after us, barring it. You tossed me my spear and snatched up your knife.

We had, perhaps a minute before Castiel would make it through the door. I reached out and took your hand, "If we get through this, it's just Spanish beaches for us, Crow."

You gripped my hand so hard, I continued, voice shaking, "I live you live, right?" We hadn't said that is millennia, since we were under those cars in Uncle Bobby's old yard.

"I can agree to those terms," you said, still holding my hand.

My voice almost breaking, I said, "Is that how you seal your deals?" Unlike the other Hellions, Castiel was my father dying, Ethan dying, driving me to what I had become. This fight was different.

In a rush you pulled me to you and crushed my lips to yours, it was needy and desperate. You gripped me my the hair and my lungs filled with your sulfur and I held you fiercely. "Deal," you rasped, between kisses, "If you promise to live, I will live too."

The door cracked and we turned away from each other, facing our oncoming enemy. You, not looking away from the splintering wood, said, in your cheekiest, most King of the Crossroad's voice, "I love you, Bobs."

I did not have a chance to respond. The door cracked apart and Castiel roared in, claws leading. I stabbed out with my spear. He twisted in midair and avoided me. I sidestepped in front of you and spun my spear laterally, catching Castiel's oncoming claws and turning them aside.

You darted to the side under Castiel's wing, trying to get behind him. Too quick, Castiel lashed down at you. I shouted and leapt forward, knocking into Castiel and keeping him away from you. We grappled, me keeping his claws from my flesh desperately, but he was so strong. He seized me by the shirt, claws nicking my chest as he got his grip. I screamed and dizziness overcame me.

Pulling me with him he dragged me out of the room by the shirt and flung me down the hallway. I scrambled up, Castiel had not followed but rounded on you. You were not there.

Knowing on instinct your plan, I fled down the hall. This hall had exits on both ends, and both led to the same place. Twin spiraling staircases that ended in our antechamber. And across the antechamber's long and high ceilinged expanse were the grand doors. We could flee and choose a time to fight Castiel with armor and a plan.

I slid down the stairs on the bannister. You were there, waiting for me on the other side of the antechamber for me. I breathed a sigh of relief. I leapt the last ten feet of the bannisters. The leap was long and I hung in the air. Claws caught me from above moments before my feet touched down. I stabbed upwards at Castiel, screams falling out of me. I could barely see straight.

I felt Zeus' fingers sliding roughly up my skin and my father stood below me, armed and attacking. Mary dragging me down.

Castiel loosed me, but I barely felt the crunch of stone under my body as I slammed into the wall. My ghosts surround me, pummelling me full of pain. Ethan ripped at my hair, Mary tore at my eyes, John kicked and kicked and kicked at my ribs. My father shooting me again and again.

I tried to push them back and saw Castiel looming above me, teeth bared. I shuddered. I didn't have my spear. I could do nothing. I waited for death.

Castiel lunged downward and then there you were. Your knife glinting in the sunlight. And Castiel's claws found you. He caught your wrist in his hand, your knife immobilized. I heard a crack as he broke your wrist and your knife tumbled to the ground.

I shouted and I tried to rise, but my soul was leaking from my body and the ground with spinning.

Castiel looked over your shoulder at me and smiled. And then he sliced his claws into your heart and sank his fangs into your throat.

I screamed. There was so much blood. Ethan was shrieking. John was shouting. Dad was shooting, I was screaming. You just fell. And Castiel looked at me for a long time. Then his teeth were bared in a wide smile. He hissed at me through his fangs, "Enjoy the next few hundred years, with nothing to keep you sane." And he left.

I fell upon you. You were supposed to have a few breaths left. I was supposed to be able to hold your head in my lap and tell you I loved you, that I have always loved you. That you were my beacon in the dark. I was supposed to be with you when you slipped into the dark. But you were gone.

I felt so crushingly alone. I screamed at you, "CROWLEY WAKE UP!" My body was heaving and I could hardly remain kneeling upright, I clung to you, your body cold. "You promised, Crow, you promised! I'm alive, you have to be alive too! You PROMISED. We" I sobbed, pressing my ear to your torn chest, silence echoing back at me, "We had a deal. We had a deal. We had a deal."

AN: We are nearing the end guys! Only a few more chapters left! Hope you enjoyed it.