(no subject)
Title: Dreams of Fallen Worth
Authour: dwn1s0ul
Pairings: (pre-slash) Sam/Gabriel, (hinted) Dean/Castiel
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13, Spoilers up to and including 5.19 "Hammer of the Gods"
Word Count: 6, 736
Summary: "Guard this with your life..." Held a lot more meaner than it seemed.
Notes: References to another show, which like Supernatural, I do not own. ;)
Unfortunately, 5.19 has left me needing to write things. It's almost like Plot-Bunny-Murder. \D Rushed stuff, too. Sorry.
Dreams of Fallen Worth
When Sam and Dean slam the laptop close the blond babe disintegrates into nothing, and Gabriel crumples into the bed. He muffles a groan into the too-fluffy pillow.
He's glad they hadn't kept watching. There was only so long he could keep up the raunchy act when his body was screaming out in pain (and not passion).
It'd been so long since Gabriel had accessed his Grace, since he'd peeled away the layers of the Trickster. To think his first act as the returning role of an archangel would've been to rip out a pair of his wings (he had six hundred, and figured he could spare a couple), stuff them in a fake body, and hide himself away in Porno Land. Dad would be proud.
Or really, really, disappointed.
Lying on his stomach, face smothered into the pillow, Gabriel's lips twitched. He couldn't believe he'd actually pulled that off. Yeah, he'd been to the future and seen how it was all going to go down, but to actually have been able to trick his brother? Damn, that felt good. (There's a few tricks you didn't teach me, Luci.)
Watching his brother kill him so tastelessly, though, hadn't been all that great.
He hoped the Winchesters were smart enough to actually keep their copy of Casa Erotica. That Dean didn't translate 'Guard this with your life' into 'Lets ditch this in the nearest trash bin'.
He also kind of hoped they didn't turn it back on. He was too exhausted to even attempt a rerun of the opening sequence, let alone conjure up the blond babe again to get all hot and heavy. (Absently, he wondered, which of the two brothers was more likely to turn it back on anyway. Which of them was more kinky than he pegged them for?)
As his body started to succumb to the pull of sleep, for the first time in millenias, Gabriel prayed to his Father.
'Hey Dad, if you've got any love for us left, keep the world's chocolate safe, kay?'
For the first time in his existence, Gabriel dreamed.
***
In the end Casa Erotica was kept safe because Sam never removed it from his laptop. After the first viewing of Gabriel's last message to them (where he'd seen a little more than he wanted to, thank you) they'd closed it and stuffed it back in Sam's bag. Where it laid mostly forgotten as the Winchesters began their quest to track down the remaining Horsemen.
Pestilence turned out to be easier to catch than a cold. He turned up one day in a city the Winchesters had been passing through, sneezing and hacking up a disgusting trail to follow. They didn't need Bobby's intel on omens to show them the way when the guy all but stumbled into their way.
Dean had smirked, slow and steady. "Hey there," he said, knife gripped in his right hand. "You must be Sneezy."
The Horseman inhaled in a loud stream of gruesome, mucus-scrubbing, sound. There were flies all around the room, crawling over the walls, buzzing annoyance in the background.
Sam shifted where he stood on the opposite side of the room, their Horseman prey caught between the two brothers.
Pestilence didn't talk much, just offered the Winchesters a front row seat to the dribble of mucus and a wet cough before flies flooded the room and made vision a pointless sense.
Through the sea of moving black bodies, and biting insects, the three battled.
***
It was strange, dreaming. Kind of like being caught in his own TV Land but without the ability to change the channel when the show got boring, or took a twist down weirdo avenue. His first dreams had been a mix of memories (his first time wearing the guise of Loki, his best tricks, his memories of the First War) and fiction. Strange contaminated strings of events that just didn't make sense.
Like now. Where his dream had shifted to a tropical island where his brother Lucifer was stuck with War, and bizarrely, it was Lucifer acting as the prison guard for War.
"I can't let you leave." Lucifer was saying, where he sat next to War perched on a fallen tree. There was an old bottle of wine clasped in his hands.
"Can't or won't?" War asked, a strange smile pulling at his visage. "One of these days I'm going to find a way to kill you. And then I'm going to get out, and the world is going to burn."
Lucifer studied him, a hard determined line to his eyes. "I won't let that happen."
"You're just going to stay trapped here with me for eternity?"
"If I have to." Lucifer smiled thinly.
Gabriel stared long and hard at the scene. Wondered if his subconscious was really that screwed up, and then laughed at the idea of someone actually screwing with the world enough to make it real. Lucifer keeping War prisoner -- irony.
Somewhere in the middle of watching Lucifer hand the wine off to War, and then watching War break the glass open, Gabriel noticed something.
A thin, barely there, string of silver light. It flashed at the edge of his senses, barely visible except when he didn't look immediately at it.
Intrigued, Gabriel reached out for it, his fingers touching against the cold thread.
It was solid and real in his hand. Gabriel tugged, found it had no give, and decided to see where it led.
***
Sam's ribs were bruised and cracked. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to sit. It hurt to lay down.
It hurt to do anything.
Especially ride in the impala, where the uneven roads caused him to be jostled around like a bobblehead. He groaned as Dean managed (impossibly) to hit every bump and pothole on the road.
Dean said nothing, throwing a quick look at him. He was playing the part of concerned Older Brother that seemed to be his default setting for most of his life. With his own bruises, and the thick cut still bleeding on his left cheek, Dean didn't look well enough to play that part. He also still looked a bit bitter about the whole Sam-Almost-Slicing-His-Face-Open ordeal.
Flies were surprisingly hard to see through when they were attempting to crawl into your eye sockets.
Sam couldn't help it if during his blind attempts at cutting Pestilence he'd actually ended up cutting Dean's face instead.
"Sorry," he said around the throbbing pain of his ribs. Voice more of a rasp than anything.
Dean was silent for a long moment. Then he grunted. "Whatever. It's done. We've got the ring." And they had gotten it, miraculously been able to grab onto Pestilence under the threat of being eaten by flies, and chopped all his fingers off until the flies finally - finally - dissipated. They'd both been ready to leave and never see anymore flies or sick people after that.
Sam guessed it was worth the pain.
His ribs disagreed with him.
***
That night Sam was dreaming of Lucifer again. Or was it Lucifer was dreaming of Sam? He didn't really like to think about how the fallen archangel got into his dreams. Made him feel too embittered and ill when he remembered that first dream, where Lucifer was wearing the guise of Jess.
Tonight he was lounging in a chair in the middle of a wheat field. A surprisingly pleasant, blue-skied field that didn't have flesh eating scarecrows or dead bodies lying around. It was a change from the last dream Lucifer had been in, where the archangel had started to turn violent and show him scenes of Dean and Bobby and Castiel being mutilated.
Sam liked the change.
He didn't like the company.
"Sam," Lucifer smiled, his decaying flesh pulled too tight around the edges. Like his body was getting paper thin and almost to the point where it was just going to fall away. "Glad you could make it." He motioned to the empty lounge chair next to him. "Take a seat."
"Go to hell." Sam intoned in the same way he always did. Get the fuck out of my dreams, was always his follow-up.
Lucifer's expression didn't change. He kept that easy, flawless, apathy in check. "Sam. Must you always be this way? I'm trying to be nice to you."
"You don't do nice." He kept the space between himself, the chairs, and Lucifer as far apart as he could. The illusion of safety was all he had to cling to. He hated how, even in his own dreams, he wasn't in control.
"I'm sure you'll find if you just talk to me, I can be a very well mannered individual." Lucifer was watching him with dull, deadened, eyes that were too sharp and focused on a rotting corpse of a vessel. "Unless you'd prefer to go back to our usual scene? Where'd we leave off last time.... oh, yes. I was just about to tear Dean's arms off."
Sam swallowed. Tried not to remember. "Get the fuck out of my dreams."
Lucifer's expression shuttered off even more than naturally possible. "Sam," he drawled. "This is your last chance to talk to me civilly. Don't squander it."
Bristling, Sam whipped out his special Lucifer Bitchface. It said, without words, 'Fuck Off'.
In one motion Lucifer was standing in front of Sam, the chairs were gone, and the wheat field was burning.
***
Gabriel followed the silver thread until it led into a blood splattered sanctuary. One that didn't look familiar to his dreamscape eyes, but had the whisperings of some long-forgotten memory. It took him a moment to place it as a temple he'd once visited in the Bronze Age. The walls weren't quite as he remembered them, and the tapestries hanging from the sandstone walls were too new and fresh.
"Gabriel," a feminine voice cut through the silence. He turned at it, took in the sight of Kali in her true form standing under the archways of blood stained halls. Covered in the severed heads of kings, Kali looked like the deadly, murderous, deity she was. "I'm glad you found your way here, finally."
"Didn't know I was supposed to be looking for it." Gabriel moved towards her, his shoes silent as they crossed the dust littered floor. He flashed a grin. "I'm touched you've been waiting for me. Always knew you still had a soft spot burning for me under that desire to kill me."
Her expression betrayed nothing. "I tried to bring you back," her words sounded like a growl. "With the blood I took from you, I attempted to do something nice. It was sickening."
"Aw," Gabriel was still grinning. "I'm touched. It's love, right?"
"He killed you," she continued. "I felt it when he did. But when I tried to bring you back, I felt you somewhere else. You were never there, were you? It was all just a trick."
"I'm not the Trickster for nothing," he said. Sensing the serious undertones bubbling beneath her exterior, he took a step forward. Dared to tempt fate. "I was there in spirit. Kind of. Like I said, I saw how this road ended. And I couldn't let it go that way, again."
Kali stood her ground, but her eyes were glaring the threat of death at him should he take anohter step closer. "I want to kill you. I want to see you die and rot for what you've done, what you've let happen. But you saved my life." She was scowling darkly. "And I owe you for that."
One of her four pairs of arms dug into the shawl over her shoulders, slipping beneath the blood soaked material. When it reemerged Kali was holding three glass vials in her hand. She looked Gabriel squarely in the eyes.
"You can have these back," her words were strained, like she didn't really want to give the blood magic away, but was forced to against her will.
The vials were a cold weight in Gabriel's palm. His brows furrowed, and he looked back at Kali. "Why?"
"I can't help stop this," she growled. "I'm useless in this fight. But they're not. And you're not." She closed the space between them, grabbing Gabriel by the front of his jacket and almost causing him to drop the blood. Before he could react she was kissing him, tasting him, relinquishing her mark upon him. "I've seen the future too," she said as she pulled away, seperating them when Gabriel was still recovering from his surprise. "You're not with me in it."
She was gone before the words had fully taken form, leaving Gabriel alone in an ancient temple whispering of easy days now long lost.
The blood vials were heavy beneath the weight of so many new questions. What had Kali seen? What was he supposed to do now? Was this really a favour from her?
As Gabriel looked at the glass containers of his and the Winchester's blood, he felt a lot like Atlas. Like he was carrying the proverbial weight of the world on his shoulders (shoulders which still ached with the pain of a torn pair of sacrificed wings).
He turned the vials around, hazel eyes staring deep into the red depths.
His first thought was 'I could have some fun with this'. His second thought was 'Damn. She couldn't just have given me a kiss, and left it at that?'
Kali really was the destroyer.
***
Sam was burning as he ran through the field of fire. Pain was flaring up all over his body, as blisters and burns spread across his skin. Running into the fire probably hadn't been the best of ideas, but it was either that or keep standing within reach of Lucifer. He'd hightailed it out of there the minute the flames had appeared, rushing blindly for an escape.
This was his dream, damn it! Where the hell was the emergency escape when it was needed?
"Sam," Lucifer was calling, voice carried over the roar of flames and pain. "Sam, Sam, Sam..."
Sam toppled back, landing on his abused back with an escaped scream of anguish. Lucifer was towering over him, leaning down and closing the space between them.
"Where you going to go?" He was smiling in that twisted, I'm-A-Psycho-Killer-Angel way. "You can't run from me."
Lucifer's touch burned hotter and more fiercely than any fire did.
***
Dean woke up to the sounds of his brother screaming in his sleep. He leaped out of his own bed, shedding scratchy sheets like a second skin, and grappled for his brother's shoulders. "SAM!" He hollered, trying to steady the flailing limbs. "SAM! Wake up!"
Sam didn't wake up.
"SAM!"
***
Gabriel hadn't really been expecting the blood vials to take him into someone else's dreams. Especially not someone's dreams where it looked like hell was burning on earth. He had to purse his lips in distaste at the sight, wondering what kind of freak actually dreamed about burning the world down. (His mind reminded him he knew a great number of former Pagan Gods that did just that. He pointedly ignored it.)
The fire rose up and around him, licking at his form with hot lashes of heat. He supposed if he'd been anyone else that, yes, that fire could probably kill him. It was surprisingly realistic, but thankfully, not burning Holy Oil.
His eyes glossed over the perimeter of burning fields, and he shook his head.
"Chocolate, sex and candies are things of dreams," he muttered. "Kids and brothers these days... Screwing it all up."
He heard a shout that could've been a scream, turned towards it. Squinted at the boundary of fire red and rising ash, where two bodies were barely visible through the haze.
He couldn't recognize them at first, so he moved a bit closer; swimming through the fire like it was warm, wafting red, tendrils of hot air.
***
Sam was struggling to breathe as Lucifer's grip threatened to break his neck in two. The angel's impossible strength was holding him victim, keeping him still and preventing him from fighting back as death began to encroach on his vision.
"I can kill you Sam," Lucifer leaned closer to his right ear, until the stubble and flaking skin was scratching against Sam's face. "Kill you and bring you back as many times as it takes to break you. I'll do it different ways, keep you guessing, and gasping for mercy. I can have patience for this. Or you could stop trying to fight this, and just say 'Yes'. Just one Yes, and all this will be over."
Blood was gathering in his throat, seeking to choke his airpipe in the small space Lucifer hadn't crushed yet. He gurgled, glared, and refused.
Lucifer tsked. "You've brought this on yourself Sam," his grip tightened. Started to finish the job of crushing Sam's neck. Then the grip stilled, and an odd expression washed over Lucifer's face. He let his crushing hold relax as he leaned back, brushing stubble crudely in his wake.
He said something Sam couldn't hear, rose from his body, and surged forward as if to strike out at someone else--
The fire vanished. Burns and bruises healed. Sam could breathe again, and the world wasn't spotted with black.
The wheat field was unblemished around him.
For the first time, it felt safe. Really safe.
***
Sam woke up to his brother having a breakdown. And more pain in his ribs and body than he'd gone to sleep with.
"Dean," he croaked.
Dean gathered him in a crushing hug. "God, Sammy, I didn't think you were going to wake up this time-"
"Dean," he croaked again. Flailed uselessly with his limbs. "Ribs."
Dean let go.
***
He was slouched over the drink, something called Tequila, that he found he liked even though he still couldn't understand what the salt and lemons were for. It was soothing as it rushed down his throat, leaving a trail of bliss that fogged over the pain and memories. He didn't want to think about them, or anything, and was content to let himself be lost to the dimness of alcohol.
There was nothing to fight for anymore. No reason to leave, or stop drinking.
His Father had let him down. Dean had let him down. Dean, who he had given up every damn thing for. That betrayal stung more than his own Father's silence had.
The bar tender gave him a pitying look, refilled his shot glass. Mumbled something about things getting better, and then swept off to serve the other customers in the aging pub.
A woman, petite with long stands of dark hair pulled back behind her ears, slid into the seat next to him. She was wearing a simple, clean, jean jacket and black jeans with a red undershirt. Her eyeliner was so dark and severe that it made her gray eyes look unnatural.
He didn't give her reflection in the mirror across from them much mind. Just took another sip of blissful forgetting.
She ordered herself a drink. A whiskey on the rocks. Sat there in silence until it was served, and she wrapped her hand with the perfectly manicured nails around it. "Rough night?" She asked.
He ignored her. Swallowed back some more alcohol. Wondered why he didn't enjoy it more often, if everything hadn't been worth it.
Her lips, painted dark red against her tan features, rose upwards in something like understanding. She shifted in her seat, body curving towards him. "I can make it better," she whispered into his ear, her hot breath tickling his senses. "I can help take away the pain, and make it all worth it."
His blue eyes closed, his grip on his shot glass tightened. No one could make this better.
She brushed her lips against his ear, lipstick leaving remnants behind. "I can make it worth it," she repeated, then slid even further into his personal space. Her hand settled around his bicep, rifling through the tattered tan coat. "Castiel."
His attempt to flinch out of her grasp only sent the seat next to him scattering to the floor.
She smiled, all teeth, no grace.
***
When they reached Bobby's he was waiting on the porch outside for them. A thin line of concern now a permanent fixture on his face whenever he watched the Winchesters drive into his yard. He waited until they got out of the impala before he wheeled back inside. Sam and Dean followed, passing the Devil's Traps and wards.
"How'd it go?" Bobby asked gruffly.
"Got the ring," Dean replied. "Took the bastard for all he was worth." The cut on his cheek was healing badly, but then, all of their cuts and scrapes with Pestilence didn't seem to be healing nicely. Sam made a note to search Bobby's supplies for antiseptic later. Made another note to pray that they weren't going to end up coming down with the Croatoan virus.
"Find anything on Death?" Sam hesitated to ask, knowing how Bobby felt about that particular horseman. He wasn't surprised by the dark cloud that passed over Bobby's face.
"Not a damn thing." He grunted. "Death's covering his tracks too damn well."
"He can't hide," Dean swore. "Not from us." He rolled Pestilence's ring out of his pocket, and between his fingers. "None of 'em can now."
Sam nodded in grim agreement.
Bobby was silent a moment. Then he turned in his chair, picked up the beer bottle perched on the table next to him, and took a swig. He let it settle in his stomach before branching the next topic. "Did find some interesting omens over in Bismarck, though." He paused, let them digest that. "Reports of fires that can't be put out, people going missing, and more murders than usual this time of year."
"It's the apocalypse," Dean said. "World's going to hell all over the place."
"Yeah," Sam wrapped an arm around his bruised, and tightly wrapped, ribcage. "There's a lot of places suffering the effects of armageddon."
Bobby gave them a look like they were 'idjits'. He grimaced around his next words. "Guy fitting the description of Castiel was reported among the missing."
Dean's eyes snapped into focus. He took a startled step forward, as if just by saying Castiel's name the angel was in their presence again. "Damn it Bobby, you should've just said that!"
He gave Dean a flat look. "I was trying to appeal to your need to protect innocents." He frowned disaprovingly. "Didn't think I'd have to pull out the Cas card. Idjit."
Dean didn't seem to notice the slight against him. Instead he pressed Bobby for more information, asking him when and where all these reports had come from. Grappled for information like he was a thirsty man who had just been given directions to a spring.
Sam shook his head, wondering when Dean had come to care so much for Castiel, and when he'd begin admitting to himself that Cas was more than just a friend.
***
That night they were stuck at Bobby's, much to Dean's chagrin. He wanted to take off the moment Cas' name had been dropped, but Bobby put his foot (er, well, wheelchair) down and told them to stop being idjits and rest for the night. Sam's ribs were grateful for the chance to rest and stab him with pain when he tried to relax, even if Dean wasn't pleased about it.
Sam ignored the offer of caffeine from his brother, knowing Dean didn't want Sam to slip into a comatose sleep again, but unwilling to keep downing the stale coffee. He slipped into the living room, and sprawled out as comfortably as he could across the ratty couch Bobby kept around.
After all these years, it was somehow more comfortable than a bed.
***
Sam was suspicious when his dream landed him in a lush forest that wasn't burning, or riddled with decaying ruins of the world. He looked around, expecting to see Lucifer perched somewhere, but found himself alone. The forest was quiet except for the faint sound of rushing water and the billow of wind through the trees.
It was actually kind of peaceful. A tranquil stretch of land.
Sam started to run, and he didn't quite know why. He lost control of his body like he usually did in regular dreams, and found himself along for the ride in a story that weaved together in a mess of nonsense. He went from running through the forest with empty hands, to running through the forest with the colt. He was chasing after something, and other hunters were peeling out of the shadows of the trees to run beside him.
They were all carrying the colt.
Sam tried to make sense of that, but couldn't.
He ran along with his dreamself, watched as he and the rest of the hunters began shooting demons down left and right. They'd fall from the trees, spring from the ground, or just appear out of nowhere. All to be blown to bits and shredded by dozens of colts being fired into them.
They never ran out of ammo. The colts were always ready to be fired, and their aim was always perfect.
Soon the hunters around him began to branch away on their own solo hunts, and then it was just Sam again. Alone, and running through a forest and up a hillside that led to a cliff. A cliffside that held the forms of familiar faces, of friends and allies Sam had known - and lost - over the years. The sight should of been sobering and sad, but instead Sam felt something like happiness humming through his veins.
He started up that hill, seeking, needing, to get closer to them. To get closer to Jo and Ellen, to his Dad who wasn't looking at him with disappointment, to his Mom who was cradled to his Dad's side, to Jess who was standing in the center of the gathering with her arms extended welcomingly to him. They were all smiling, beseeching him to come closer, to be with them.
The cliffside began to crumble.
Sam cried out.
Watched in horror as all of them fell, one by one, down with the rubble. Each still smiling pleasantly, even as they fell over the edge and to their (repeated) deaths. Sam couldn't stop running until he reached the edge, the colt no longer in his hands, and he was reaching down trying to grab at them -- any of them -- but they were gone.
It was just empty space.
"Huh," he heard a voice. Familiar, yet not something that should be familiar in Sam's head. "Sorry, kiddo. Didn't know your angst was going to... you know..."
Sam woke up as he was turning around.
***
Dean drove way too damn fast for it to be safe in any measure of the world. But it got them to Bismarck, North Dakota, in little time at all. As usual the Brothers looked into newspapers for recent events, scoped out the town, and declared themselves FBI agents to the local law enforcement. It turned out that Bobby was right, that there had been a large number of unusual things transpiring around the place. Reckless, brutal, murders where the victims were left in pieces on hotel room floors. Fires that were still burning even though the firefighters had been trying to put them out for days, and they shouldn't be able to burn when there was nothing left to burn.
And people had been going missing like it was the fourth of July.
They tracked down the last places all the missing persons were seen, found out they'd mostly been hanging around bars and nightclubs before they weren't seen again. Sam remarked it sounded like a usual hunt, and it was time to hit the bar scene.
Dean didn't look as thrilled as usual.
They bar crawled for most of the night, looking for anything suspicious and asked around for sightings of Castiel. It wasn't until they reached their last bar of the night, some run down privately owned streetside pub, that they got their first lead.
"That guy?" The bartender was a man in his mid-forties, with thinning hair and a beer gut. He'd be the stereotypical baretender if his shirt wasn't actually pristine clean. "Yeah, he was in 'ere a few nights back. Sad wreck of a fellow, he'd been coming in every night since he hit town. Never got his name, though. Two nights ago was the first time I'd ever seen him interact with anyone besides me, too. Left with a pretty little thing."
Any hint of anticipation was cut down to a simmering, burning, distaste. "He did, huh?" Dean was scowling inwardly. Thinking, damn it Castiel, I told you not to trust the ladies. "What'd this girl look like?"
The bartender shrugged. "Didn't get her name either, but she comes in here sometimes. Think she's one of those bar predators you always see in the movies. She always leaves with some guy, then comes back alone. Small, brunette. Always rims her eyes like a raccoon on steroids."
Dean shot a look to Sam. Sam deciphered it as 'We're waiting for this bitch to show.'
They waited there until they were forced to go home for the night, promising to return tomorrow (and, probably, for as long as it would take until the bitch appeared).
***
Sam dreamed of sunsets and rainbows, and flying through the clouds.
***
She was sitting at one of the tables at the back of the room when they arrived. Sam spotted her first, nudged Dean in his (unbruised) ribs, and settled himself at an empty table. Dean ordered them both drinks, and studied the woman from the corner of his eye. She fit the bartender's discription perfectly. Small build, thickly lined eyes, and long dark hair.
A month ago she would've been Dean's type. His idea of a good roll in the sheets.
He took a calculated swallow of his beer, noticed her watching him, and offered an inviting grin. He didn't feel sleazy about it when she returned it. Didn't hesitate to rise from his seat, abandon his brother, and take the offered stool next to the bitch.
"Hey you," she smiled coyly. "Enjoying the night?"
Dean's grin was easy to fake. He'd had lots of practice over the years. "I am now."
Her eyelids lowered, hooding her gray eyes in a frame of black. Her hand slid across the table, fingers touching against his teasingly. "How about you enjoy it a little more with me?"
This is too easy. Dean thought, flipping his lips up in a smirk of interest. "How can I say no to that?"
From his seat, Sam rolled his eyes. He watched as his brother slipped out the door, then made to follow.
***
Dean's back was pressed between the wall and warmth of a woman's body. He was smirking down at her, letting her take the lead in whatever this was, waiting for the right moment. Her fingers were ghosting over his chest, feeling his toned muscled through his layers of clothing.
"My, my," she purred. "Someone works out."
"Gotta keep my figure," Dean replied.
"Mm, yes. And it's a figure worth keeping." Her fingers dug in just a little too roughly, and Dean was pressed into the door of his hotel room. It was locked, a sturdy wall behind him.
She reached out for the doorknob, eyes sharp on his own. "You have the key?"
"Of course," he grinned, digging it out of his pocket and offering it to her in a show of trust. She slid it into the lock, clicked it open, then shoved Dean through the doorway. He staggered back, stumbling for balance, and watched as the petite brunette changed from a lady in red to a murderous minx.
"You hunters are really starting to piss me off," she announced. "I've already burned six of you - you'd think your kind would learn from that kind of warning. But, no, you have to-"
Sam slid the knife into her back, and it was long enough to actually protrude through the green cloth of her shirt on the otherside.
She looked down at the knife sticking out of her chest with a detached sort of wonder. Then promptly laughed, shoved her elbow back, and sent Sam flying into the wall. He hit it with enough force that consciousness fell away before he slid to the floor.
"I got to say," she turned her focus to Dean, who was watching her with wary eyes. He'd pulled Ruby's knife out of his jacket. "I was kind of expecting you to try and take me alive, and not to try and kill me."
Dean said nothing.
"I mean," she continued. "I do have your friend, kept like a little trophy, in my main hall. Thought you would've wanted to question me on his whereabouts. But I guess not... Guess he was right about you not being worth it."
Dean lunged.
***
It wasn't so much a dream as it was forced blackness. Bleak, stretching, and impossible to see through.
"Sammy," that voice from before tsked. "What do you boys do to get yourselves into these kinds of messes?"
Sam tried to reply, found his voice lacking, and settled for just exuding annoyance.
Arms wrapped carefully around him. Something soft and light brushed against his forearms.
Feathers? He wondered.
"Wake up, Sammy."
***
Sam's eyes rolled opened, and he groaned against the blinding assault of light and senses. His ears were ringing. His ribs were hurting (again). And his body was tied to a wooden column.
"Sam," Dean's voice from behind him. Tied to the otherside of the column, that was apparently, as Sam's eyes adjusted, part of an old church. One that hadn't been spared the mercy of time. It was full of fallen rows, desecrated carvings, and two crucifixes that were burning on an alter. "Sam!"
"'m awake, Dean." Sam's vision swam. "What happened?"
"You were taken hostage." Not-Dean's voice replied, and Sam's eyes rolled to find the source of the familiar low tones. Castiel was strung up on a crucifix in the middle of what was, once, the center aisle of the church. Dressed in the remains of his clothes (sans trenchcoat and tie), with silver spikes driven through his arms and legs in a blasphemous display. "As was I."
"Yeah," Dean said. "But we found you, Cas."
"I would hardly call this finding me, Dean." Castiel didn't sound pleased. "But I am glad it was you, and not Michael, who did."
Dean winced. Threw an apologetic grin at the angel. There were so many things he wanted to say, truths he wanted to expose, and forgiveness he wanted to beg for. He couldn't quite find the right words.
"This is touching," the bitch said. She appeared in the hall of the abandoned church, dressed immaculately in clothing better fit for working at a desk. "The great reunion of the Brothers Winchester, and their fallen angel toy."
"I am not Fallen." Castiel said, like he'd been saying it many times and was growing annoyed at repeating himself.
She grinned indulgently at him. "Kid yourself all you want Castiel, but you are Fallen." Her attention drifted back to the brothers, and then she was right there next to them. "I'm afraid I didn't have a chance to introduce myself properly before you stabbed me." There was a knife in her hands. She let it sink into Sam's shoulder with a little more force than necessary. Smiled at his pain, and the feel of warm blood between her fingers.
"They call me Xaphan," she stepped back, leaving the knife plunged in Sam.
Dean swore at her and struggled against his bindings. "I'm going to fucking kill you. In so many ways Bitch."
Her expression wavered close to something like crestfallen. "You don't know me?" She frowned. "Really? What is this, only Lucifer gets the glory at the end of the world ?"
"Guess you're not worth knowing," Sam gritted out.
Xaphan's fury was tangible. The shadows of wings, broken and burning, flashed across the church. "I'll burn you like I couldn't burn Heaven. Then we'll see who wasn't worth knowing."
The only one who noticed the figure that flickered into the church, behind the burning crucifixes, was Castiel.
Xaphan gasped out in surprise, as something silver and sharp cut her down -- and the room exploded white.
***
Castiel slumped to the ground, blue eyes wide as he took in the sight of Xaphan's dead vessel. Fallen on the ground, surrounded by the scorched remains of wings, she was - at last - paying for her sins. It didn't matter, though, the sight wasn't pleasing. Even after days of being strung up on a cross, Castiel wondered if she had been right.
"Our Father doesn't care. Nobody cares. The world's not worth anything, anymore. You really think he's going to care about any of this after the world is saved? Even if it survives being burned, you really think any of this will have been worth it? Castiel, you fool. Nothing on this earth is worth any of it." She forced the silver stake through his palm. "When Dad doesn't care. It's okay to stop caring, too."
Looking at Dean, still struggling to be free of his bonds, Castiel stopped wondering.
No. Castiel thought bitterly to the memory of a Fallen. It's not okay to stop. Dean said No.
He didn't let me down.
***
"I'm getting real tired of this shit." Dean was muttering as he peeled away Sam's blood-soaked clothes so he could stitch up the shoulder wound. "First it's Zachariah and Michael and Lucifer, now it's petty little Fallen angels who are trying to make a mark on the world."
Sam winced as his brother cleaned off the blood, lacking his usual careful finesse.
"Any other left-wingers we should know about?" He threw over at Castiel, who was bandaged and lying unmoving on Dean's mattress.
"There are many Fallen," Castiel informed them. "Whether we will meet any more of them or not..." He let the words trail off.
"Couldn't just be Lucifer gunning around with burning wings," Dean grumbled.
Sam wanted to comment that Lucifer had dragged a fair number of angels down with him, including a couple archangels, but thought his brother's bad mood didn't need to be plunged any further than it already was.
***
That night, when Sam dreamed, it was comfort and safety on a beach he'd never been to. Gabriel was curled up on the sand next to him, his arms resting on his knees, and eyes hanging on the horizon. It was the first time Sam had seen him since Casa Erotica.
"I thought you died," Sam's mouth was strangely dry as he said those words.
Gabriel listened to the crash of waves upon the sand. "I kind of did." A small, amused, smile turned up the corners of his lips. "And good old Luci won't be happy it didn't stick. Guy has no sense of humour. Hates the pranks."
Sam turned to him, noticing that the archangel was sitting a lot closer than he had assumed. He was close enough to touch, if Sam wanted to. "You're going to help us?"
Gabriel shrugged, and Sam felt the heavy movement of air and.... feathers, again. He glanced over the shorter man's shoulders in wonder, but saw nothing but empty space.
Silence lingered between them. Sam shifted just a little closer.
"That was you, wasn't it?" Sam thought back. "At the church."
"Yeah," Gabriel didn't sound happy about the reminder. Probably didn't like to think about killing one of his siblings to save another.
Shifting until there was no space left between them, Sam let his hand linger over Gabriel's shoulder. "Thanks," he let it settle. "For giving us hope back."
"That used to be my job," Gabriel commented, not seeming at all bothered by Sam's close proximity and physical contact. "Spreading messages of hope."
"Does it feel good, to be doing it again?"
Gabriel turned so he was facing Sam. "Almost as good as chocolate and Casa Erotica."
Sam laughed. "You know, that porno has scarred Dean for life..."
"Just Dean?" Gabriel's eyebrows rose in question. "That mean you liked it, Sammy-boy?"
Mouth dry again, Sam choked on his immediate rebuttal.
"Hmm," Gabriel leaned in close. "I guess I do kind of owe you for keeping that DVD safe... And not rewatching it more than once..."
Sam was caught somewhere between a blanch of embarassment, and something else he couldn't quite name.
He didn't move away when Gabriel invaded all of his personal space.
He should've been scared, or horrorfied.
He wasn't.
***
That morning Dean kept giving him strange looks, but between his concern for Castiel and their need to get back to the hunt for Death, he didn't ask any questions.
Sam appreciated that.
Especially after he fished Casa Erotica out of the laptop and placed it in his pocket. Although Dean's look did linger, and his eyes quite clearly asked 'What the hell, Sam?!'.
Sam just sort of shrugged.
---
fin
Authour: dwn1s0ul
Pairings: (pre-slash) Sam/Gabriel, (hinted) Dean/Castiel
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13, Spoilers up to and including 5.19 "Hammer of the Gods"
Word Count: 6, 736
Summary: "Guard this with your life..." Held a lot more meaner than it seemed.
Notes: References to another show, which like Supernatural, I do not own. ;)
Unfortunately, 5.19 has left me needing to write things. It's almost like Plot-Bunny-Murder. \D Rushed stuff, too. Sorry.
Dreams of Fallen Worth
When Sam and Dean slam the laptop close the blond babe disintegrates into nothing, and Gabriel crumples into the bed. He muffles a groan into the too-fluffy pillow.
He's glad they hadn't kept watching. There was only so long he could keep up the raunchy act when his body was screaming out in pain (and not passion).
It'd been so long since Gabriel had accessed his Grace, since he'd peeled away the layers of the Trickster. To think his first act as the returning role of an archangel would've been to rip out a pair of his wings (he had six hundred, and figured he could spare a couple), stuff them in a fake body, and hide himself away in Porno Land. Dad would be proud.
Or really, really, disappointed.
Lying on his stomach, face smothered into the pillow, Gabriel's lips twitched. He couldn't believe he'd actually pulled that off. Yeah, he'd been to the future and seen how it was all going to go down, but to actually have been able to trick his brother? Damn, that felt good. (There's a few tricks you didn't teach me, Luci.)
Watching his brother kill him so tastelessly, though, hadn't been all that great.
He hoped the Winchesters were smart enough to actually keep their copy of Casa Erotica. That Dean didn't translate 'Guard this with your life' into 'Lets ditch this in the nearest trash bin'.
He also kind of hoped they didn't turn it back on. He was too exhausted to even attempt a rerun of the opening sequence, let alone conjure up the blond babe again to get all hot and heavy. (Absently, he wondered, which of the two brothers was more likely to turn it back on anyway. Which of them was more kinky than he pegged them for?)
As his body started to succumb to the pull of sleep, for the first time in millenias, Gabriel prayed to his Father.
'Hey Dad, if you've got any love for us left, keep the world's chocolate safe, kay?'
For the first time in his existence, Gabriel dreamed.
***
In the end Casa Erotica was kept safe because Sam never removed it from his laptop. After the first viewing of Gabriel's last message to them (where he'd seen a little more than he wanted to, thank you) they'd closed it and stuffed it back in Sam's bag. Where it laid mostly forgotten as the Winchesters began their quest to track down the remaining Horsemen.
Pestilence turned out to be easier to catch than a cold. He turned up one day in a city the Winchesters had been passing through, sneezing and hacking up a disgusting trail to follow. They didn't need Bobby's intel on omens to show them the way when the guy all but stumbled into their way.
Dean had smirked, slow and steady. "Hey there," he said, knife gripped in his right hand. "You must be Sneezy."
The Horseman inhaled in a loud stream of gruesome, mucus-scrubbing, sound. There were flies all around the room, crawling over the walls, buzzing annoyance in the background.
Sam shifted where he stood on the opposite side of the room, their Horseman prey caught between the two brothers.
Pestilence didn't talk much, just offered the Winchesters a front row seat to the dribble of mucus and a wet cough before flies flooded the room and made vision a pointless sense.
Through the sea of moving black bodies, and biting insects, the three battled.
***
It was strange, dreaming. Kind of like being caught in his own TV Land but without the ability to change the channel when the show got boring, or took a twist down weirdo avenue. His first dreams had been a mix of memories (his first time wearing the guise of Loki, his best tricks, his memories of the First War) and fiction. Strange contaminated strings of events that just didn't make sense.
Like now. Where his dream had shifted to a tropical island where his brother Lucifer was stuck with War, and bizarrely, it was Lucifer acting as the prison guard for War.
"I can't let you leave." Lucifer was saying, where he sat next to War perched on a fallen tree. There was an old bottle of wine clasped in his hands.
"Can't or won't?" War asked, a strange smile pulling at his visage. "One of these days I'm going to find a way to kill you. And then I'm going to get out, and the world is going to burn."
Lucifer studied him, a hard determined line to his eyes. "I won't let that happen."
"You're just going to stay trapped here with me for eternity?"
"If I have to." Lucifer smiled thinly.
Gabriel stared long and hard at the scene. Wondered if his subconscious was really that screwed up, and then laughed at the idea of someone actually screwing with the world enough to make it real. Lucifer keeping War prisoner -- irony.
Somewhere in the middle of watching Lucifer hand the wine off to War, and then watching War break the glass open, Gabriel noticed something.
A thin, barely there, string of silver light. It flashed at the edge of his senses, barely visible except when he didn't look immediately at it.
Intrigued, Gabriel reached out for it, his fingers touching against the cold thread.
It was solid and real in his hand. Gabriel tugged, found it had no give, and decided to see where it led.
***
Sam's ribs were bruised and cracked. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to sit. It hurt to lay down.
It hurt to do anything.
Especially ride in the impala, where the uneven roads caused him to be jostled around like a bobblehead. He groaned as Dean managed (impossibly) to hit every bump and pothole on the road.
Dean said nothing, throwing a quick look at him. He was playing the part of concerned Older Brother that seemed to be his default setting for most of his life. With his own bruises, and the thick cut still bleeding on his left cheek, Dean didn't look well enough to play that part. He also still looked a bit bitter about the whole Sam-Almost-Slicing-His-Face-Open ordeal.
Flies were surprisingly hard to see through when they were attempting to crawl into your eye sockets.
Sam couldn't help it if during his blind attempts at cutting Pestilence he'd actually ended up cutting Dean's face instead.
"Sorry," he said around the throbbing pain of his ribs. Voice more of a rasp than anything.
Dean was silent for a long moment. Then he grunted. "Whatever. It's done. We've got the ring." And they had gotten it, miraculously been able to grab onto Pestilence under the threat of being eaten by flies, and chopped all his fingers off until the flies finally - finally - dissipated. They'd both been ready to leave and never see anymore flies or sick people after that.
Sam guessed it was worth the pain.
His ribs disagreed with him.
***
That night Sam was dreaming of Lucifer again. Or was it Lucifer was dreaming of Sam? He didn't really like to think about how the fallen archangel got into his dreams. Made him feel too embittered and ill when he remembered that first dream, where Lucifer was wearing the guise of Jess.
Tonight he was lounging in a chair in the middle of a wheat field. A surprisingly pleasant, blue-skied field that didn't have flesh eating scarecrows or dead bodies lying around. It was a change from the last dream Lucifer had been in, where the archangel had started to turn violent and show him scenes of Dean and Bobby and Castiel being mutilated.
Sam liked the change.
He didn't like the company.
"Sam," Lucifer smiled, his decaying flesh pulled too tight around the edges. Like his body was getting paper thin and almost to the point where it was just going to fall away. "Glad you could make it." He motioned to the empty lounge chair next to him. "Take a seat."
"Go to hell." Sam intoned in the same way he always did. Get the fuck out of my dreams, was always his follow-up.
Lucifer's expression didn't change. He kept that easy, flawless, apathy in check. "Sam. Must you always be this way? I'm trying to be nice to you."
"You don't do nice." He kept the space between himself, the chairs, and Lucifer as far apart as he could. The illusion of safety was all he had to cling to. He hated how, even in his own dreams, he wasn't in control.
"I'm sure you'll find if you just talk to me, I can be a very well mannered individual." Lucifer was watching him with dull, deadened, eyes that were too sharp and focused on a rotting corpse of a vessel. "Unless you'd prefer to go back to our usual scene? Where'd we leave off last time.... oh, yes. I was just about to tear Dean's arms off."
Sam swallowed. Tried not to remember. "Get the fuck out of my dreams."
Lucifer's expression shuttered off even more than naturally possible. "Sam," he drawled. "This is your last chance to talk to me civilly. Don't squander it."
Bristling, Sam whipped out his special Lucifer Bitchface. It said, without words, 'Fuck Off'.
In one motion Lucifer was standing in front of Sam, the chairs were gone, and the wheat field was burning.
***
Gabriel followed the silver thread until it led into a blood splattered sanctuary. One that didn't look familiar to his dreamscape eyes, but had the whisperings of some long-forgotten memory. It took him a moment to place it as a temple he'd once visited in the Bronze Age. The walls weren't quite as he remembered them, and the tapestries hanging from the sandstone walls were too new and fresh.
"Gabriel," a feminine voice cut through the silence. He turned at it, took in the sight of Kali in her true form standing under the archways of blood stained halls. Covered in the severed heads of kings, Kali looked like the deadly, murderous, deity she was. "I'm glad you found your way here, finally."
"Didn't know I was supposed to be looking for it." Gabriel moved towards her, his shoes silent as they crossed the dust littered floor. He flashed a grin. "I'm touched you've been waiting for me. Always knew you still had a soft spot burning for me under that desire to kill me."
Her expression betrayed nothing. "I tried to bring you back," her words sounded like a growl. "With the blood I took from you, I attempted to do something nice. It was sickening."
"Aw," Gabriel was still grinning. "I'm touched. It's love, right?"
"He killed you," she continued. "I felt it when he did. But when I tried to bring you back, I felt you somewhere else. You were never there, were you? It was all just a trick."
"I'm not the Trickster for nothing," he said. Sensing the serious undertones bubbling beneath her exterior, he took a step forward. Dared to tempt fate. "I was there in spirit. Kind of. Like I said, I saw how this road ended. And I couldn't let it go that way, again."
Kali stood her ground, but her eyes were glaring the threat of death at him should he take anohter step closer. "I want to kill you. I want to see you die and rot for what you've done, what you've let happen. But you saved my life." She was scowling darkly. "And I owe you for that."
One of her four pairs of arms dug into the shawl over her shoulders, slipping beneath the blood soaked material. When it reemerged Kali was holding three glass vials in her hand. She looked Gabriel squarely in the eyes.
"You can have these back," her words were strained, like she didn't really want to give the blood magic away, but was forced to against her will.
The vials were a cold weight in Gabriel's palm. His brows furrowed, and he looked back at Kali. "Why?"
"I can't help stop this," she growled. "I'm useless in this fight. But they're not. And you're not." She closed the space between them, grabbing Gabriel by the front of his jacket and almost causing him to drop the blood. Before he could react she was kissing him, tasting him, relinquishing her mark upon him. "I've seen the future too," she said as she pulled away, seperating them when Gabriel was still recovering from his surprise. "You're not with me in it."
She was gone before the words had fully taken form, leaving Gabriel alone in an ancient temple whispering of easy days now long lost.
The blood vials were heavy beneath the weight of so many new questions. What had Kali seen? What was he supposed to do now? Was this really a favour from her?
As Gabriel looked at the glass containers of his and the Winchester's blood, he felt a lot like Atlas. Like he was carrying the proverbial weight of the world on his shoulders (shoulders which still ached with the pain of a torn pair of sacrificed wings).
He turned the vials around, hazel eyes staring deep into the red depths.
His first thought was 'I could have some fun with this'. His second thought was 'Damn. She couldn't just have given me a kiss, and left it at that?'
Kali really was the destroyer.
***
Sam was burning as he ran through the field of fire. Pain was flaring up all over his body, as blisters and burns spread across his skin. Running into the fire probably hadn't been the best of ideas, but it was either that or keep standing within reach of Lucifer. He'd hightailed it out of there the minute the flames had appeared, rushing blindly for an escape.
This was his dream, damn it! Where the hell was the emergency escape when it was needed?
"Sam," Lucifer was calling, voice carried over the roar of flames and pain. "Sam, Sam, Sam..."
Sam toppled back, landing on his abused back with an escaped scream of anguish. Lucifer was towering over him, leaning down and closing the space between them.
"Where you going to go?" He was smiling in that twisted, I'm-A-Psycho-Killer-Angel way. "You can't run from me."
Lucifer's touch burned hotter and more fiercely than any fire did.
***
Dean woke up to the sounds of his brother screaming in his sleep. He leaped out of his own bed, shedding scratchy sheets like a second skin, and grappled for his brother's shoulders. "SAM!" He hollered, trying to steady the flailing limbs. "SAM! Wake up!"
Sam didn't wake up.
"SAM!"
***
Gabriel hadn't really been expecting the blood vials to take him into someone else's dreams. Especially not someone's dreams where it looked like hell was burning on earth. He had to purse his lips in distaste at the sight, wondering what kind of freak actually dreamed about burning the world down. (His mind reminded him he knew a great number of former Pagan Gods that did just that. He pointedly ignored it.)
The fire rose up and around him, licking at his form with hot lashes of heat. He supposed if he'd been anyone else that, yes, that fire could probably kill him. It was surprisingly realistic, but thankfully, not burning Holy Oil.
His eyes glossed over the perimeter of burning fields, and he shook his head.
"Chocolate, sex and candies are things of dreams," he muttered. "Kids and brothers these days... Screwing it all up."
He heard a shout that could've been a scream, turned towards it. Squinted at the boundary of fire red and rising ash, where two bodies were barely visible through the haze.
He couldn't recognize them at first, so he moved a bit closer; swimming through the fire like it was warm, wafting red, tendrils of hot air.
***
Sam was struggling to breathe as Lucifer's grip threatened to break his neck in two. The angel's impossible strength was holding him victim, keeping him still and preventing him from fighting back as death began to encroach on his vision.
"I can kill you Sam," Lucifer leaned closer to his right ear, until the stubble and flaking skin was scratching against Sam's face. "Kill you and bring you back as many times as it takes to break you. I'll do it different ways, keep you guessing, and gasping for mercy. I can have patience for this. Or you could stop trying to fight this, and just say 'Yes'. Just one Yes, and all this will be over."
Blood was gathering in his throat, seeking to choke his airpipe in the small space Lucifer hadn't crushed yet. He gurgled, glared, and refused.
Lucifer tsked. "You've brought this on yourself Sam," his grip tightened. Started to finish the job of crushing Sam's neck. Then the grip stilled, and an odd expression washed over Lucifer's face. He let his crushing hold relax as he leaned back, brushing stubble crudely in his wake.
He said something Sam couldn't hear, rose from his body, and surged forward as if to strike out at someone else--
The fire vanished. Burns and bruises healed. Sam could breathe again, and the world wasn't spotted with black.
The wheat field was unblemished around him.
For the first time, it felt safe. Really safe.
***
Sam woke up to his brother having a breakdown. And more pain in his ribs and body than he'd gone to sleep with.
"Dean," he croaked.
Dean gathered him in a crushing hug. "God, Sammy, I didn't think you were going to wake up this time-"
"Dean," he croaked again. Flailed uselessly with his limbs. "Ribs."
Dean let go.
***
He was slouched over the drink, something called Tequila, that he found he liked even though he still couldn't understand what the salt and lemons were for. It was soothing as it rushed down his throat, leaving a trail of bliss that fogged over the pain and memories. He didn't want to think about them, or anything, and was content to let himself be lost to the dimness of alcohol.
There was nothing to fight for anymore. No reason to leave, or stop drinking.
His Father had let him down. Dean had let him down. Dean, who he had given up every damn thing for. That betrayal stung more than his own Father's silence had.
The bar tender gave him a pitying look, refilled his shot glass. Mumbled something about things getting better, and then swept off to serve the other customers in the aging pub.
A woman, petite with long stands of dark hair pulled back behind her ears, slid into the seat next to him. She was wearing a simple, clean, jean jacket and black jeans with a red undershirt. Her eyeliner was so dark and severe that it made her gray eyes look unnatural.
He didn't give her reflection in the mirror across from them much mind. Just took another sip of blissful forgetting.
She ordered herself a drink. A whiskey on the rocks. Sat there in silence until it was served, and she wrapped her hand with the perfectly manicured nails around it. "Rough night?" She asked.
He ignored her. Swallowed back some more alcohol. Wondered why he didn't enjoy it more often, if everything hadn't been worth it.
Her lips, painted dark red against her tan features, rose upwards in something like understanding. She shifted in her seat, body curving towards him. "I can make it better," she whispered into his ear, her hot breath tickling his senses. "I can help take away the pain, and make it all worth it."
His blue eyes closed, his grip on his shot glass tightened. No one could make this better.
She brushed her lips against his ear, lipstick leaving remnants behind. "I can make it worth it," she repeated, then slid even further into his personal space. Her hand settled around his bicep, rifling through the tattered tan coat. "Castiel."
His attempt to flinch out of her grasp only sent the seat next to him scattering to the floor.
She smiled, all teeth, no grace.
***
When they reached Bobby's he was waiting on the porch outside for them. A thin line of concern now a permanent fixture on his face whenever he watched the Winchesters drive into his yard. He waited until they got out of the impala before he wheeled back inside. Sam and Dean followed, passing the Devil's Traps and wards.
"How'd it go?" Bobby asked gruffly.
"Got the ring," Dean replied. "Took the bastard for all he was worth." The cut on his cheek was healing badly, but then, all of their cuts and scrapes with Pestilence didn't seem to be healing nicely. Sam made a note to search Bobby's supplies for antiseptic later. Made another note to pray that they weren't going to end up coming down with the Croatoan virus.
"Find anything on Death?" Sam hesitated to ask, knowing how Bobby felt about that particular horseman. He wasn't surprised by the dark cloud that passed over Bobby's face.
"Not a damn thing." He grunted. "Death's covering his tracks too damn well."
"He can't hide," Dean swore. "Not from us." He rolled Pestilence's ring out of his pocket, and between his fingers. "None of 'em can now."
Sam nodded in grim agreement.
Bobby was silent a moment. Then he turned in his chair, picked up the beer bottle perched on the table next to him, and took a swig. He let it settle in his stomach before branching the next topic. "Did find some interesting omens over in Bismarck, though." He paused, let them digest that. "Reports of fires that can't be put out, people going missing, and more murders than usual this time of year."
"It's the apocalypse," Dean said. "World's going to hell all over the place."
"Yeah," Sam wrapped an arm around his bruised, and tightly wrapped, ribcage. "There's a lot of places suffering the effects of armageddon."
Bobby gave them a look like they were 'idjits'. He grimaced around his next words. "Guy fitting the description of Castiel was reported among the missing."
Dean's eyes snapped into focus. He took a startled step forward, as if just by saying Castiel's name the angel was in their presence again. "Damn it Bobby, you should've just said that!"
He gave Dean a flat look. "I was trying to appeal to your need to protect innocents." He frowned disaprovingly. "Didn't think I'd have to pull out the Cas card. Idjit."
Dean didn't seem to notice the slight against him. Instead he pressed Bobby for more information, asking him when and where all these reports had come from. Grappled for information like he was a thirsty man who had just been given directions to a spring.
Sam shook his head, wondering when Dean had come to care so much for Castiel, and when he'd begin admitting to himself that Cas was more than just a friend.
***
That night they were stuck at Bobby's, much to Dean's chagrin. He wanted to take off the moment Cas' name had been dropped, but Bobby put his foot (er, well, wheelchair) down and told them to stop being idjits and rest for the night. Sam's ribs were grateful for the chance to rest and stab him with pain when he tried to relax, even if Dean wasn't pleased about it.
Sam ignored the offer of caffeine from his brother, knowing Dean didn't want Sam to slip into a comatose sleep again, but unwilling to keep downing the stale coffee. He slipped into the living room, and sprawled out as comfortably as he could across the ratty couch Bobby kept around.
After all these years, it was somehow more comfortable than a bed.
***
Sam was suspicious when his dream landed him in a lush forest that wasn't burning, or riddled with decaying ruins of the world. He looked around, expecting to see Lucifer perched somewhere, but found himself alone. The forest was quiet except for the faint sound of rushing water and the billow of wind through the trees.
It was actually kind of peaceful. A tranquil stretch of land.
Sam started to run, and he didn't quite know why. He lost control of his body like he usually did in regular dreams, and found himself along for the ride in a story that weaved together in a mess of nonsense. He went from running through the forest with empty hands, to running through the forest with the colt. He was chasing after something, and other hunters were peeling out of the shadows of the trees to run beside him.
They were all carrying the colt.
Sam tried to make sense of that, but couldn't.
He ran along with his dreamself, watched as he and the rest of the hunters began shooting demons down left and right. They'd fall from the trees, spring from the ground, or just appear out of nowhere. All to be blown to bits and shredded by dozens of colts being fired into them.
They never ran out of ammo. The colts were always ready to be fired, and their aim was always perfect.
Soon the hunters around him began to branch away on their own solo hunts, and then it was just Sam again. Alone, and running through a forest and up a hillside that led to a cliff. A cliffside that held the forms of familiar faces, of friends and allies Sam had known - and lost - over the years. The sight should of been sobering and sad, but instead Sam felt something like happiness humming through his veins.
He started up that hill, seeking, needing, to get closer to them. To get closer to Jo and Ellen, to his Dad who wasn't looking at him with disappointment, to his Mom who was cradled to his Dad's side, to Jess who was standing in the center of the gathering with her arms extended welcomingly to him. They were all smiling, beseeching him to come closer, to be with them.
The cliffside began to crumble.
Sam cried out.
Watched in horror as all of them fell, one by one, down with the rubble. Each still smiling pleasantly, even as they fell over the edge and to their (repeated) deaths. Sam couldn't stop running until he reached the edge, the colt no longer in his hands, and he was reaching down trying to grab at them -- any of them -- but they were gone.
It was just empty space.
"Huh," he heard a voice. Familiar, yet not something that should be familiar in Sam's head. "Sorry, kiddo. Didn't know your angst was going to... you know..."
Sam woke up as he was turning around.
***
Dean drove way too damn fast for it to be safe in any measure of the world. But it got them to Bismarck, North Dakota, in little time at all. As usual the Brothers looked into newspapers for recent events, scoped out the town, and declared themselves FBI agents to the local law enforcement. It turned out that Bobby was right, that there had been a large number of unusual things transpiring around the place. Reckless, brutal, murders where the victims were left in pieces on hotel room floors. Fires that were still burning even though the firefighters had been trying to put them out for days, and they shouldn't be able to burn when there was nothing left to burn.
And people had been going missing like it was the fourth of July.
They tracked down the last places all the missing persons were seen, found out they'd mostly been hanging around bars and nightclubs before they weren't seen again. Sam remarked it sounded like a usual hunt, and it was time to hit the bar scene.
Dean didn't look as thrilled as usual.
They bar crawled for most of the night, looking for anything suspicious and asked around for sightings of Castiel. It wasn't until they reached their last bar of the night, some run down privately owned streetside pub, that they got their first lead.
"That guy?" The bartender was a man in his mid-forties, with thinning hair and a beer gut. He'd be the stereotypical baretender if his shirt wasn't actually pristine clean. "Yeah, he was in 'ere a few nights back. Sad wreck of a fellow, he'd been coming in every night since he hit town. Never got his name, though. Two nights ago was the first time I'd ever seen him interact with anyone besides me, too. Left with a pretty little thing."
Any hint of anticipation was cut down to a simmering, burning, distaste. "He did, huh?" Dean was scowling inwardly. Thinking, damn it Castiel, I told you not to trust the ladies. "What'd this girl look like?"
The bartender shrugged. "Didn't get her name either, but she comes in here sometimes. Think she's one of those bar predators you always see in the movies. She always leaves with some guy, then comes back alone. Small, brunette. Always rims her eyes like a raccoon on steroids."
Dean shot a look to Sam. Sam deciphered it as 'We're waiting for this bitch to show.'
They waited there until they were forced to go home for the night, promising to return tomorrow (and, probably, for as long as it would take until the bitch appeared).
***
Sam dreamed of sunsets and rainbows, and flying through the clouds.
***
She was sitting at one of the tables at the back of the room when they arrived. Sam spotted her first, nudged Dean in his (unbruised) ribs, and settled himself at an empty table. Dean ordered them both drinks, and studied the woman from the corner of his eye. She fit the bartender's discription perfectly. Small build, thickly lined eyes, and long dark hair.
A month ago she would've been Dean's type. His idea of a good roll in the sheets.
He took a calculated swallow of his beer, noticed her watching him, and offered an inviting grin. He didn't feel sleazy about it when she returned it. Didn't hesitate to rise from his seat, abandon his brother, and take the offered stool next to the bitch.
"Hey you," she smiled coyly. "Enjoying the night?"
Dean's grin was easy to fake. He'd had lots of practice over the years. "I am now."
Her eyelids lowered, hooding her gray eyes in a frame of black. Her hand slid across the table, fingers touching against his teasingly. "How about you enjoy it a little more with me?"
This is too easy. Dean thought, flipping his lips up in a smirk of interest. "How can I say no to that?"
From his seat, Sam rolled his eyes. He watched as his brother slipped out the door, then made to follow.
***
Dean's back was pressed between the wall and warmth of a woman's body. He was smirking down at her, letting her take the lead in whatever this was, waiting for the right moment. Her fingers were ghosting over his chest, feeling his toned muscled through his layers of clothing.
"My, my," she purred. "Someone works out."
"Gotta keep my figure," Dean replied.
"Mm, yes. And it's a figure worth keeping." Her fingers dug in just a little too roughly, and Dean was pressed into the door of his hotel room. It was locked, a sturdy wall behind him.
She reached out for the doorknob, eyes sharp on his own. "You have the key?"
"Of course," he grinned, digging it out of his pocket and offering it to her in a show of trust. She slid it into the lock, clicked it open, then shoved Dean through the doorway. He staggered back, stumbling for balance, and watched as the petite brunette changed from a lady in red to a murderous minx.
"You hunters are really starting to piss me off," she announced. "I've already burned six of you - you'd think your kind would learn from that kind of warning. But, no, you have to-"
Sam slid the knife into her back, and it was long enough to actually protrude through the green cloth of her shirt on the otherside.
She looked down at the knife sticking out of her chest with a detached sort of wonder. Then promptly laughed, shoved her elbow back, and sent Sam flying into the wall. He hit it with enough force that consciousness fell away before he slid to the floor.
"I got to say," she turned her focus to Dean, who was watching her with wary eyes. He'd pulled Ruby's knife out of his jacket. "I was kind of expecting you to try and take me alive, and not to try and kill me."
Dean said nothing.
"I mean," she continued. "I do have your friend, kept like a little trophy, in my main hall. Thought you would've wanted to question me on his whereabouts. But I guess not... Guess he was right about you not being worth it."
Dean lunged.
***
It wasn't so much a dream as it was forced blackness. Bleak, stretching, and impossible to see through.
"Sammy," that voice from before tsked. "What do you boys do to get yourselves into these kinds of messes?"
Sam tried to reply, found his voice lacking, and settled for just exuding annoyance.
Arms wrapped carefully around him. Something soft and light brushed against his forearms.
Feathers? He wondered.
"Wake up, Sammy."
***
Sam's eyes rolled opened, and he groaned against the blinding assault of light and senses. His ears were ringing. His ribs were hurting (again). And his body was tied to a wooden column.
"Sam," Dean's voice from behind him. Tied to the otherside of the column, that was apparently, as Sam's eyes adjusted, part of an old church. One that hadn't been spared the mercy of time. It was full of fallen rows, desecrated carvings, and two crucifixes that were burning on an alter. "Sam!"
"'m awake, Dean." Sam's vision swam. "What happened?"
"You were taken hostage." Not-Dean's voice replied, and Sam's eyes rolled to find the source of the familiar low tones. Castiel was strung up on a crucifix in the middle of what was, once, the center aisle of the church. Dressed in the remains of his clothes (sans trenchcoat and tie), with silver spikes driven through his arms and legs in a blasphemous display. "As was I."
"Yeah," Dean said. "But we found you, Cas."
"I would hardly call this finding me, Dean." Castiel didn't sound pleased. "But I am glad it was you, and not Michael, who did."
Dean winced. Threw an apologetic grin at the angel. There were so many things he wanted to say, truths he wanted to expose, and forgiveness he wanted to beg for. He couldn't quite find the right words.
"This is touching," the bitch said. She appeared in the hall of the abandoned church, dressed immaculately in clothing better fit for working at a desk. "The great reunion of the Brothers Winchester, and their fallen angel toy."
"I am not Fallen." Castiel said, like he'd been saying it many times and was growing annoyed at repeating himself.
She grinned indulgently at him. "Kid yourself all you want Castiel, but you are Fallen." Her attention drifted back to the brothers, and then she was right there next to them. "I'm afraid I didn't have a chance to introduce myself properly before you stabbed me." There was a knife in her hands. She let it sink into Sam's shoulder with a little more force than necessary. Smiled at his pain, and the feel of warm blood between her fingers.
"They call me Xaphan," she stepped back, leaving the knife plunged in Sam.
Dean swore at her and struggled against his bindings. "I'm going to fucking kill you. In so many ways Bitch."
Her expression wavered close to something like crestfallen. "You don't know me?" She frowned. "Really? What is this, only Lucifer gets the glory at the end of the world ?"
"Guess you're not worth knowing," Sam gritted out.
Xaphan's fury was tangible. The shadows of wings, broken and burning, flashed across the church. "I'll burn you like I couldn't burn Heaven. Then we'll see who wasn't worth knowing."
The only one who noticed the figure that flickered into the church, behind the burning crucifixes, was Castiel.
Xaphan gasped out in surprise, as something silver and sharp cut her down -- and the room exploded white.
***
Castiel slumped to the ground, blue eyes wide as he took in the sight of Xaphan's dead vessel. Fallen on the ground, surrounded by the scorched remains of wings, she was - at last - paying for her sins. It didn't matter, though, the sight wasn't pleasing. Even after days of being strung up on a cross, Castiel wondered if she had been right.
"Our Father doesn't care. Nobody cares. The world's not worth anything, anymore. You really think he's going to care about any of this after the world is saved? Even if it survives being burned, you really think any of this will have been worth it? Castiel, you fool. Nothing on this earth is worth any of it." She forced the silver stake through his palm. "When Dad doesn't care. It's okay to stop caring, too."
Looking at Dean, still struggling to be free of his bonds, Castiel stopped wondering.
No. Castiel thought bitterly to the memory of a Fallen. It's not okay to stop. Dean said No.
He didn't let me down.
***
"I'm getting real tired of this shit." Dean was muttering as he peeled away Sam's blood-soaked clothes so he could stitch up the shoulder wound. "First it's Zachariah and Michael and Lucifer, now it's petty little Fallen angels who are trying to make a mark on the world."
Sam winced as his brother cleaned off the blood, lacking his usual careful finesse.
"Any other left-wingers we should know about?" He threw over at Castiel, who was bandaged and lying unmoving on Dean's mattress.
"There are many Fallen," Castiel informed them. "Whether we will meet any more of them or not..." He let the words trail off.
"Couldn't just be Lucifer gunning around with burning wings," Dean grumbled.
Sam wanted to comment that Lucifer had dragged a fair number of angels down with him, including a couple archangels, but thought his brother's bad mood didn't need to be plunged any further than it already was.
***
That night, when Sam dreamed, it was comfort and safety on a beach he'd never been to. Gabriel was curled up on the sand next to him, his arms resting on his knees, and eyes hanging on the horizon. It was the first time Sam had seen him since Casa Erotica.
"I thought you died," Sam's mouth was strangely dry as he said those words.
Gabriel listened to the crash of waves upon the sand. "I kind of did." A small, amused, smile turned up the corners of his lips. "And good old Luci won't be happy it didn't stick. Guy has no sense of humour. Hates the pranks."
Sam turned to him, noticing that the archangel was sitting a lot closer than he had assumed. He was close enough to touch, if Sam wanted to. "You're going to help us?"
Gabriel shrugged, and Sam felt the heavy movement of air and.... feathers, again. He glanced over the shorter man's shoulders in wonder, but saw nothing but empty space.
Silence lingered between them. Sam shifted just a little closer.
"That was you, wasn't it?" Sam thought back. "At the church."
"Yeah," Gabriel didn't sound happy about the reminder. Probably didn't like to think about killing one of his siblings to save another.
Shifting until there was no space left between them, Sam let his hand linger over Gabriel's shoulder. "Thanks," he let it settle. "For giving us hope back."
"That used to be my job," Gabriel commented, not seeming at all bothered by Sam's close proximity and physical contact. "Spreading messages of hope."
"Does it feel good, to be doing it again?"
Gabriel turned so he was facing Sam. "Almost as good as chocolate and Casa Erotica."
Sam laughed. "You know, that porno has scarred Dean for life..."
"Just Dean?" Gabriel's eyebrows rose in question. "That mean you liked it, Sammy-boy?"
Mouth dry again, Sam choked on his immediate rebuttal.
"Hmm," Gabriel leaned in close. "I guess I do kind of owe you for keeping that DVD safe... And not rewatching it more than once..."
Sam was caught somewhere between a blanch of embarassment, and something else he couldn't quite name.
He didn't move away when Gabriel invaded all of his personal space.
He should've been scared, or horrorfied.
He wasn't.
***
That morning Dean kept giving him strange looks, but between his concern for Castiel and their need to get back to the hunt for Death, he didn't ask any questions.
Sam appreciated that.
Especially after he fished Casa Erotica out of the laptop and placed it in his pocket. Although Dean's look did linger, and his eyes quite clearly asked 'What the hell, Sam?!'.
Sam just sort of shrugged.
---
fin