Come On, Baby (Don't Fear the Reaper)
By Waywardgirl222
Come on, baby (don't fear the reaper)
Baby, take my hand (don't fear the reaper)
We'll be able to fly (don't fear the reaper)
Baby, I'm your man
Don't Fear the Reaper
Blue Oysters Cult
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
This SPN Fanfiction short story was inspired by the artwork by the artist Sockii on Instagram. It depicts Castiel as the New Empty sitting on his throne. His New Right Hand Man, His Reaper, is none other than Dean Winchester, former hunter extraoenaire. Paired together, they're the New Tag Team, taking names and kicking ass. They reap humans, angels, and demons alike bringing some to the Empty for their afterlife. Humans go to heaven or hell, angels and demons get to sleep forever. The song by Blue Oyster Cult is it's soundtrack. In my story, The Empty has a heart of gold. He always lets his favorite Reaper take a little annual sabbatical to go see his Baby.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It's quite a climb to get up to Horsetheif Canyon, it's escarpments used to be a must-see for cave-loving enthusiasts and spelunkers alike. It was the jewel of Kenopolis State Park. It got it's infamous name from horse thieves that hid their stolen equine throughout the maze of caverns. That was long ago. In more modern times, tourists would bring their cameras to catch the views from the many scenic hiking trails. The views from the caves were breathtaking and extraordinary.
Getting to the state park was pretty much a straight shot west of Lawrence via I-70 West, a 350 mile, five hour drive. It was even a shorter route if you were coming down from Lebenon via US-36 West and then US-36 South. Then it was only 195 miles. You could easily make it there in three hours without a break.
Once you arrived to Kenopolis State Park, it's trails would take you through various prairies and wooded areas. There, you could walk through fields of endless wildflowers. You could also view it's lovely lake and it's breathtaking views of all the various rock formations. Reaching the summit took awhile. Some of the canyons more hidden caves were upwards of 141 feet. One could truly admire why people chose these caverns to hide their ill-gotten goods.
Today's visitor wasn't a horse thief nor a tourist. He'd once been a son, a brother, a hunter of things that went bump in the night. In his younger years, he had been called a delinquent, a renegade, and a law-breaking fugitive. Many women called him a heartbreaker. A handful of women called him friend and lover. He was a restless man who never stayed past his welcome, never forming relationships that lasted very long. Whether it was his harsh upbringing or the siren call of the road, he saw himself as drifter, always drifting to something unknown. He really didn't see himself as someone special, although many had called him by various special names. He had been called the Righteous Man, the Michael Sword, Humanity, a Man of Letters… a Legacy. Now he had another name.
The man fiddles with his elaborately carved sterling silver ring. There's a square mother-of-pearl stone at it's center. With a weary hand, he puts his scythe down on the dirt at the entrance of the cavern. He takes out his pocket knife and carves away part of a sigil on the wall of the cave. He enters slowly, stopping when he reaches the center of the cavern. He finally sees the object of his quest. Then, ever so gently, he removes the moss, the tangled branches with their dried leaves and finally the weathered tarp. He does this procedure with the reverence it deserves. For underneath, lies an almost holy object near and dear to his heart.
A lopsided grin forms on his face as his green eyes smile with crinkles on the sides.
"Hi, there, Baby. Miss me?"
He runs a steady, calloused hand down her chassis, once the darkest black of midnight, now a dull mix of black and rust. He remembers the time his rag-tag family of three was hunting a vamp's nest, the time his father had callously rebuked him for the state of her condition. He wonders if John would rebuke him now.
"Hey, Dean, why don't you touch up your car before it gets rust? I wouldn't have given you the damned thing if I thought you were going to ruin it."
At the time, those words were hurtful. They'd cut deep. No one ever said John Winchester was a warm-hearted kind of guy. He might have been—- once, once before his beloved Mary died. Then, he'd been an abusive man bent on revenge. Dean took those words to heart and decided to do something useful with them instead of letting them fester deep into his soul. From that day forward, he washed, waxed, and polished his Baby till she gleamed. He would spend hours on the internet trying to find the best chrome cleaners that would protect from the elements. Sadly, now, her chrome is dull and lifeless. He sighs.
He begins his ritual, walking around her until he's back in front of her.
"Ready for me, Baby?"
Waiting for an answer that he knows isn't coming, her engine's purring had long been silent, he fishes his keys from his well-worn jeans. He walks towards the driver's side door and opens it, pops the latch to her hood. He stands before her and reverently opens her hood. His eyes wander back and forth taking in the beauty of her 327 V8 Turbo-Power engine with 275 horsepower. He knows ever part underneath her hood like the back of his hand. He remembers fondly how he fixed every part, how he thought his younger brother, Sam how to fix every part when he thought he was doomed for the pit. These days, he can't stand to look at her engine for too long. She needs a total engine rebuild and her parts are obsolete. He rubs a wayward tear from his eye with the back of his hand and closes the hood.
Then he does the next step in his ritual, he opens the car door and sits in the driver's seat. He inhales. The smell of well-worn leather, whiskey and gunpowder are still there ever so faintly. The front bench seat of the Impala is no longer covered in supple black leather upholstery. Now it's covered with an old army blanket. That blanket covers all the stains and rips and tears of said upholstery. He has to sit on it carefully now, the springs on the old bench seat threatening to tear him a new one. He runs his hands over her large steering wheel. Then, he does his metal checklist. He pulls out the ashtray. Yeppers, the little green army man that Sammy wedged in so long ago is still there. He checks the vents. The red, green, blue, and yellow Legos are still stuck inside. He smiles proudly. He did that. To this day, he can remember them rattling whenever they put the heater on. He opens the glove box with it's dozen or so burner phones. They look so ancient now. The small box containing fake ID badges… yup, still there. He puts his hand underneath the driver's seat and pulls out a badly deteriorated cardboard box held together by wads of duck tape. In it are the precious contents of the metal gods—- Led Zep, Metallica, AC/DC, Motörhead, Dio, Kansas, and yes, Bon Jovi on occasion. The tapes inside that box were the best 'Mullet Rock' had to offer. Now they were a pitiful lump of broken plastic and ferris oxide or chromium dioxide magnetic tape. He chuckles. The joke was on him as usual. Modern music had moved on digitally. He puts the box back with the reverence it still deserves. He pats the passenger's seat lovingly. That's where his Sammy rode shotgun. He pulls his hand away quickly as if burned by the memory.
He exits the car abruptly. His mind now preoccupied with the back seat.
He opens the back door and gets into his Baby. There are so many memories associated with this seat—- the many times he held his baby brother when the back seat was their bedroom as their father relentlessly rode the Impala down the backroads. Later on, the back and front seats had also become the brother's' bedroom whenever they were short on cash for motel rooms. He remembers the horror of finding out that he was conceived in that same back seat. Their mother, Mary had been returned to them as a gift from the Darkness herself, Amara. Mary had instantly recognized the sleek beauty, drawn to the back seat with a twinkle in her eye. Mary then looked at him and winked. She didn't have to draw Dean a diagram for him to figure out what had happened. He still blushes about that whenever it comes to mind.
He'd had fond memories of midnight conquests of his own. He'd be embarrassed to admit he didn't remember the names and faces of the countless women he bedded there. After awhile, they just got all jumbled together. Although, there were a few notable ones like Cassie, Anna, and Lisa. Then, there was sweet Carmen, but she had only been an illusion caused by a Djinn. Then there were the happier times with Cas. He has no regrets about that.
Sammy had his one night stand with Piper the waitress back there, too. Dean doesn't want to linger on that. Truth be said, he has a hard time with anything his brother is doing these days. Dean had surely raised him better, taught him better and still… That pill had been a hard one to swallow. Whatever decisions the Winchester brothers made, they always thought they were doing the best for all concerned. This time, Dean had failed his brother, failed to show him that his path was the wrong one. He shakes his head then lovingly pats the avocado green ice chest and exits the back seat. The door closes with a creak and a thud.
Time to finish his ritual. He walks towards the trunk of the car and opens it. Inside the trunk's false bottom, there's a mass of weaponry that had been modified and crafted to suit the brothers Winchester on their quest to save people, hunt things, … accomplish the family business. There were guns and bullets of all caliber. Many of the bullets were made of many different metals. There was Samuel Colt's demon killing gun. The bullets had run out a long time ago. There were knives of all sorts, including the demon killing one. There were bags of salt, flasks of Holy Water, crucifixes, rosary beads, and jars of dead man's blood long congealed. There was an ancient amphorae of Holy Oil. Then, there was standard fare—- shovels, machetes, rope, chains, spray paint, and flashlights with dead batteries. He gently removes something from the pocket of his field jacket. It's John Winchester's journal. The pages inside have become worn and yellowed with age, it's contents disintegrating and unreadable. Dean has no need for it now, much like the amulet Sammy gave him so long ago. It's become a useless Momento Mori, an albatross weighing heavily around his neck. He tosses it into the trunk. As he tosses it, there's a small gust of wind that disintegrates the last faded feathers of the dreamcatcher that hung on the lid of the trunk.
He's about to close the lid on this time capsule of weaponry when he hears the rustling of leaves on the ground. He smiles instinctively. The Empty has joined him.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean turns his head toward the gravelly voice. "Hiya, Cas."
Castiel, the Empty cocks his head to the side like an ancient bird of old. "Are you done with the ritual, Dean?"
Dean chuckles. "Yeah, I'm done with the ritual if by that you mean my pathetic excuse of walking down memory lane."
Castiel frowns. "It isn't a pathetic excuse. This particular automobile meant a great deal to you in your past. You treasured her like a family member. She gave you her all and that was very important in our endeavors." Castiel hated whenever Dean downplayed something so important to him.
Dean looked at the trunk one last time. "Yeah, Cas. You're right. Baby gave us her all and then some. Didn't you, girl?"
Castiel walks towards Dean and peers into the trunk. "I'm sorry to cut your time short. The war at the front is escalating. Your brother has been very busy as of late. There are souls to gather."
Dean sighs. He never likes to hear of Sam's ruthlessness. "Yeah, I know. I'm done here, had my fill. Don't think I'll be coming back here for a long, long time."
They both look at the amphorae of Holy Oil.
Cas grins. "Remember when you last used that on me?"
Dean chuckles. "Yeah, wouldn't do any good now. Actually, none of this stuff is useful anymore. I don't even need it. Anyways, we've got work to do."
Dean closes the trunk of the Impala with a loud bang. The finality of it echoes throughout the cavern.
"Ready whenever you are, Cas."
Cas walks towards the entrance of the cavern and picks up Dean's scythe. He then walks towards Dean and hands it to him. "Never thought Death would be wearing jeans, flannel and a field jacket."
Dean takes up his scythe and smirks. "Never thought the big Empty world be awake and wearing a trench coat."
Cas smiles as he sucks in air through gritted teeth. "I'm afraid you and I make quite a pair, Dean Winchester."
Dean snaps his fingers and points Cas. "That, my friend, is the truth and nothing but the truth. We best get going, Cas."
The Empty takes his queue and exits the cavern. Dean will join him soon. They don't need cars the way they travel.
Dean covers his Baby with the remnants of the tattered tarp, the branches and the moss. Then he carves a new protective sigil that will hide the cave and it's precious contents. Perhaps he'll find the courage to come visit it in the future. That might not be possible for a very long time. He has no need for Baby anymore or the contents within her. In total, he had completely rebuilt his Baby four times. She was intimately his, ingrained in him as much as he was in her. There was a time when he and his Baby were inseparable. That time had passed. Now, she was a time capsule of everything Winchester when being a Winchester was something to be proud of. John and Mary Winchester were gone. Cas had assured him that his mother was in heaven with the Angels regardless of her errant choices. John was there, too, forgiven of his many sins. Dean wasn't sure what happened to their half-brother, Adam. The war raged on. He'd find out soon enough if Adam was still the chosen vessel of the Archangel Michael. That was yet to be seen. Dean doesn't know if there's hope for Sam. Everyone has a choice. He just chose badly.
And, Dean…
Well, he's now the Empty's Right Hand Man—-
Just don't fear the Reaper, Baby, he's your Man.
FIN
