SPN Reversebang Fic: Soon To Be Dust (Michael/Lucifer, Sam/Dean) R (2/2)
Title: Soon To Be Dust
Artist: mashimero
Art Link: Art Master List
Author: menel
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: Michael/Lucifer, Sam/Dean, minor Michael/Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: A different sort of ending for 5x22
Warnings: Very minor underage Wincest
Word Count: 11, 629
Summary: After Sam and Dean say ‘yes’ to Lucifer and Michael, respectively, the archangels meet for the final battle at Stull Cemetery. But the final showdown proves to be more than either archangel bargained for as they traverse the psychological landscapes of Heaven, Hell and the memories of Sam and Dean. Will Lucifer and Michael bring about the end of days, or will Sam and Dean find a way to stop the apocalypse?
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and The CW. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.
Author’s Notes: This fic was written for the 2011 spn_reversebang challenge and inspired by the amazing art of mashimero. Please check out her gorgeous artwork here. Special thanks must go to metaallu for her lightning speed beta job in the midst of the busiest time of the year.
Lucifer’s heart was still racing, the adrenaline rush of Sam’s memory imprinted in his mind, the tingling sensation fresh on his skin as though Michael had just touched him. He was so caught up in the heat and emotional impact of the memory that he didn’t notice that the memory did not have the same effect on his brother. A white-hot flame glowed in the periphery of his vision and Lucifer realized almost too late that Michael had drawn his sword once more. He brought up his left hand, barely managing to catch Michael’s wrist in order to deflect the blow. With his other arm, he locked his brother in a tight embrace but Michael was one step ahead and Lucifer felt a searing hot pain blooming in his chest again. They were falling back to earth. Their landing knocked the wind out of Lucifer. His ribs were crushed by the impact and he focused his energies on repairing his vessel before Michael struck again.
Michael was already on his feet, his blade drawn. He was standing within the crater that their landing had made in the clearing of Stull Cemetery where they had fought before. Patiently, he waited as Lucifer rose to his feet. His expression was grim as Lucifer turned to face him, his blade glinting with its ethereal light.
The ground beneath their feet was unnaturally smooth, the fine dust of the cemetery earth swirling with the winds about them. Outside the crater, the cemetery had been ravaged by the twisters that had passed through. Headstones were broken, trees unearthed, the debris carried by the tornadoes was left strewn about in their wake. The sky was a fierce gray. The storm they had left had not abated and their return only seemed to exacerbate it. In moments, fat rain droplets began to fall.
Lucifer felt the first hint of resignation creep inside him. He had never truly believed that it would end this way. He had had too much faith in his own ability to seduce his brother, and in Michael’s willingness to be seduced. Yet the shared reliving of Sam’s memory of that rebellious and fateful night had not brought out the desired reaction in Michael. Instead of empathizing with Sam’s, and consequently, Lucifer’s loss and desperation, the memory had provoked raw anger from his brother. Vaguely, Lucifer wondered if this anger was also an offshoot of Dean’s anger at Sam. Lucifer had not anticipated how visceral inhabiting his true vessel would be, how in tune he was with the younger Winchester and he suspected that Michael was undergoing the same experience with Dean.
“It’s time to end this, brother.”
Michael’s voice was low, but Lucifer heard it cut clearly through the storm. He nodded.
The wind seemed to be at Michael’s back and for the briefest moment, Lucifer saw the shadow outline of his brother’s magnificent wings outstretched behind him. He knew then that Michael was summoning the forces of nature to his will. He did the same. Michael wielded the wind, the air and the rain, but Lucifer was fire and earth and as their swords clashed, their power and strength seemed as though it would rend the earth in two.
As before, Lucifer could feel his brother overpowering him through sheer force. If he was going to lose, he was going to take as much of this godforsaken planet and its protozoan inhabitants with him. Let Michael and his followers decide whether to rebuild heaven on earth. But before that happened, Lucifer had one more card to play. Behind him was a great oak tree that had remained unscathed by the storms and tornados, and for good reason. An urban legend surrounded Stull Cemetery. The locals believed that the cemetery was a gateway to Hell. The legend made for excellent propaganda every Halloween, when the nightly hayrides would journey past the cemetery. But all legend bore some basis in truth, and little did the residents of Stull, Kansas know that their cemetery was indeed a gateway to Hell, if only one knew how to open the door.
The Devil knew how to open that door.
Lucifer maneuvered his way closer to the great oak, allowing Michael to drive him towards the ancient tree. He had no doubt that his brother knew that the oak was a portal to Hell, but he counted on the belief that that fact was not at the forefront of Michael’s thoughts. No, Michael was focused on destroying him and the great oak was of no importance, not even when Michael had him pinned against it, his sword at Lucifer’s throat.
“I am sorry,” Michael said, looking Lucifer straight in the eye.
“I am not,” Lucifer replied defiantly.
There was a split second for Lucifer to make his move as Michael lifted his sword to thrust it into his throat. His timing was perfect. He ducked and Michael’s blade pierced the trunk of the oak instead. A thick red sap oozed from the tree as though it were bleeding. Michael’s sword was jammed and the giant oak seemed to be pulling it in. His brother held on to it, unwilling to let it go even as Lucifer came up behind him. Michael lashed out with one of his wings, but it was too late. Lucifer was locking him in another embrace, whispering in his ear: “Welcome to my home, brother.”
Then it was Michael’s turn to fall.
* * * * *
Heat warmed his face. Dust filled his nostrils. The jagged edge of rocks scratched his cheek. Michael opened his eyes to a vertical horizon of red and orange mixed with a cool slate gray. As his vision sharpened, he realized that he was lying down, the heat emanating from the rock floor on which he lay and the air around him. In the distance, the sky burned with the unfamiliar flames of vermillion and burnished gold. Michael thought it was beautiful even as he processed that these were the eternal flames of Hell. He tried to stand up but was unexpectedly weighted down. The weight came from his wings, which had remained uncloaked as he and Lucifer had fallen to Hell. He shifted them now, the motion generating a flow of warm air as he stood up. He sensed rather than saw his brother standing somewhere towards his right. He turned. There was Lucifer, casually leaning against the stonewall of a cliff.
Michael made no effort to cloak his wings. Instead, he stretched them out, revealing them in all their glory. He watched as Lucifer followed the motion with his eyes and then Michael gently folded his wings behind him, allowing them to rest against his back. There was no point in attempting to hide his grace in Hell. There was a buzz in the air, a constant murmuring of voices that was not unlike the Song of Heaven. But an angel could never mistake the cries in Hell to be the Song. The inhabitants of the Underworld were agitated. They knew that a stranger was among them, a great and powerful stranger, just like they knew that their king had returned.
The two archangels stood motionless until Lucifer broke the spell between them. He gracefully lifted himself off the rock face and strode towards his brother.
“Destruction has its own kind of beauty,” he stated. “Desolation as well.”
He turned from Michael and swept his hand over the vast expanse that lay before them. They were standing on top of a promontory and below them Michael’s keen eyes could make out the architecture of his brother’s domain.
“You would transform our Father’s creation into this?” he questioned.
“I would purify it,” Lucifer corrected. “Hell on earth,” he mused. “For most humans, it exists already.”
Michael’s eyes roamed the tortured landscape before him once more. His brother was right. Earth had become a metaphorical Hell for many of his Father’s children. Humans were endlessly creative when it came to crafting their own personal Hells. Heaven seemed almost boring by comparison. But a metaphorical Hell was very different from the literal fire and brimstone that Lucifer would unleash upon the planet should he win.
“Why have you brought me here?” Michael asked after a moment’s silence.
“Quid pro quo,” Lucifer answered lightly. “You brought me to your home. Why can’t I bring you to mine?”
The sharp look that Michael gave his brother told Lucifer that Michael didn’t believe his answer for a moment.
“I’m renewing my offer,” Lucifer stated.
Michael fixed his gaze on his younger brother. His expression had again grown hard. “You only delay the inevitable,” he replied coldly. Then he sighed, flexing his wings - a sign of irritation that Lucifer recognized - as he turned back to face Hell’s landscape. “I’m tired of your games. Why won’t you allow this to end?”
“Why won’t you take my offer seriously?” Lucifer asked in return.
There was the quick snap of a wing and Lucifer approached his brother cautiously. “You think that being with me is a sin,” he said quietly. “But what makes it so? Because Father says so? Father abandoned this world a long, long time ago. You follow a script as though everything were pre-destined but we write our own destinies now.”
Lucifer paused, trying to gauge the reaction of his brother. Michael was completely still, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His brother’s apparent calm concerned Lucifer somewhat, but he persevered.
“Nothing is a sin here,” he whispered, standing behind Michael. “There is no one to see. Heaven’s eyes don’t penetrate into Hell. How can our love be a sin?”
The force with which Lucifer was slammed against the rock face of the cliff didn’t surprise him. Neither did the hand that held him by his throat, the strong fingers threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Michael had spread his wings once more and their full height and span hid them completely.
Despite himself, Lucifer let out a low chuckle that was quickly silenced by the tightening of his brother’s fingers on his throat. Lucifer’s eyes burned with a knowing look and prevented from speaking, he projected his thoughts into his brother’s mind.
“Is this your Wrath, Michael?” he teased. “Is that Lust I see in your eyes?”
The grip around Lucifer’s neck tightened even more.
“Kiss me.”
The kiss was bruising and Lucifer relished it. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, of the metallic taste of iron and blood. The hand around his neck was not removed, but the grip was loosened so that he could better participate. He did so by following his brother’s lead, hands roaming his brother’s body, pulling Michael against him. Just when Lucifer thought he had control of the situation, Michael pulled away, holding him at arm’s length.
“Show me your wings,” Michael said steadily.
Lucifer was taken aback by the command. He hesitated, and he knew that Michael could read his uncertainty. It had been millennia since Lucifer had revealed his wings. There had been no point, trapped as he had been in the Cage. He had felt like less than an angel during his imprisonment, the impotence of his confines serving to build a reservoir of anger and rage over the centuries. From that stronghold he had fashioned Hell, twisted souls, created demons, built an army that would serve him. But it was not enough. It could never be enough. He wanted vengeance and retribution. He would destroy the Family that had turned their backs on him. He would not acknowledge his roots and so he had come to be known as the Devil. Humans often forgot that the Devil was a Fallen Angel; a dark, avenging angel. But Michael had not forgotten. His brother watched him with his piercing gaze, with a full understanding of what he was asking. Now it was Michael’s turn to lean forward and whisper in his ear.
“You claim that I deny myself,” he said, his voice silky and smooth in Lucifer’s ear. “But you deny yourself even more. Show me your wings.”
Lucifer saw the challenge in Michael’s eyes. He no longer knew when his brother had gained the upper hand, but he would not back down from the challenge.
* * * * *
Michael watched as Lucifer unfurled his wings. Wings were perceived as a sign of status among angels. The more magnificent one’s wings, the higher one’s ranking in God’s assembly. As the Prince of the Heavenly Host, no one could rival Michael’s wings save perhaps his fallen brother. Contrary to most religious imagery depicting angels’ wings as pure and white, the color of the wings ranged from cream and beige to darker shades of tan, brown and gray, going all the way to deep sepia and black. Lucifer was the only angel to possess a set of pure black wings and when the light fell on them, they rippled like water at midnight. Michael could still remember a time when he stood beside his brother, their wings in stark contrast to each other marking them both as Heaven’s favored sons. If he was going to succumb to his base desires in his brother’s den of temptation, then he would see those wings again. He would have Lucifer only in his true form.
Lucifer stretched his wings behind him, laying them flat against the expanse of the cliff face. They were exactly as Michael remembered, the black feathers mirroring the jet-black sky that was Heaven’s dome. It was a strange sight to see his brother lost and exposed in his own kingdom. Michael leaned forward then, kissing Lucifer with a tenderness that was far removed from his previous kiss. He wanted that kiss to convey all the things that his actions never could, to share with his brother all the things that he could never bring himself to say. Lucifer responded in the same manner, and for long moments the two of them were lost in that deepening kiss.
Michael allowed Lucifer to reverse their positions, until he was the one leaning against the cliff face. He watched as his brother got on his knees before him, the lower half of his wings carpeting the rocky floor. Lucifer had already divested him of his shirt and now his brother’s deft fingers were removing his belt. Michael let his head fall back. He focused on the unfamiliar sight of Hell’s fiery red sky as Lucifer pulled down the zipper of his jeans. He shut eyes. He could let the world burn, he thought, to have this for eternity.
No. Not like this.
Hands were pushing down his jeans and boxers, freeing his cock.
Michael! Not like this!
Michael’s eyes flew open. Lost in the haze of his brother’s ministrations, he had thought that voice to be his own spark of conscience railing against him. As the dull throb in the back of his head grew stronger, he realized that it was something else entirely.
* * * * *
Jimmy Novak had once said that being possessed by Castiel was like being chained to the back of a comet. Dean had never forgotten that description. Just like he had never forgotten Donnie Finnerman, a simple mechanic who had had the misfortune of being the archangel, Raphael’s vessel. In his mind’s eye, he saw Donnie sitting in his wheelchair, a vegetable to the world once Raphael had left his body. “It will be much worse for you,” Castiel had told him as they had both watched Donnie. “Michael is far more powerful.”
Dean had no basis of comparison, but he knew in some way that Michael was taking care of him. The archangel had promised as much when he had spoken to Dean during their time traveling stint to stop Anna from killing his parents. He had no faith in angels, save for Castiel, but Michael was staying true to his word. He was still conscious in his body, but he had absolutely no control. He was trapped in a white room with no windows or doors or any kind of exit. He had shouted and pounded the walls with his fists at first, but all he had succeeded in doing was making himself hoarse and his hands sore. Then he had paced and paced until finally a simple bed had appeared in the center of the room, the kind of bed one saw in army barracks or prison wards. Dean had nothing else to do but to lie down.
As he stretched out as best as he could on the single bed, a strange thing happened. He heard voices speaking. Michael and Lucifer were talking to each other and Dean was privy to their conversation. Then Michael was talking to him, probing his memories for important details from his childhood that Dean didn’t want to give up. Dean resisted and Michael was irate. The bed he was lying on suddenly split in two and Dean landed on the floor with a thud. He got up and walked to one of the walls of the room. He sat down, using the wall as a backrest, his legs stretched out before him. There was nothing to do but wait. The problem was, Dean didn’t know what he was waiting for.
Occasionally, the light source in the room flickered although there were no actual lights per se, at least, none that Dean could see. Once the room went completely dark and when the light returned, Dean thought that the room had grown a bit warmer. After a little while, he removed his jacket. He kept on waiting.
Suddenly, the lights turned a deep red and the once well-lit room became very dark. Dean stood up. He could sense danger and his instincts were on high alert. Through the hazy red light, he thought he saw a door at the opposite end of the room. He walked towards it. Yes, it was definitely a door, one that had not been there before. Dean grasped the doorknob. To his surprise, it turned but he didn’t open the door. Not yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was on the other side. It was the thought of Sam and of somehow helping his brother that pushed Dean to step through that door.
The door opened into a poorly lit hallway. Dean understood immediately that he was leaving the safety of ‘his’ room behind. While everything in the previous room had been marked by silence, by a kind of tranquility save for that one burst of conversation between the two archangels followed by Michael’s own probing questions, everything outside was an onslaught of sensory experience. It was almost overwhelming. Dean could hear more voices, those of Michael and Lucifer’s; he could hear Sam and even himself. Then there were the other voices, the multitude of whispers and cries that Dean couldn’t decipher. There was the smell of smoke and burning flesh that made the hairs on his arms rise. Instinctively, he knew that there was something familiar about these sensations as though he had experienced them before. They were too close to the memories in a dark part of his own mind that he tried to keep locked away. But the strong feelings of anger, lust, rage and desire that were coursing through him were not part of his memories, they weren’t even his feelings. They belonged to Michael and this poorly lit hallway was all that stood between him and the full force of the archangel’s grace. The farther down Dean walked, the stronger the emotions became until one emotion rose above them all: desire. Dean had never felt such unparalleled desire for anything or anyone. It made his own cock harden. The light that leaked from underneath and the sides of the closed doors that he passed, grew brighter and brighter until it threatened to burst open the doors with its force. Michael was in trouble. Dean knew it from the desire that was sweeping over him like a tidal wave. Michael had given in to Lucifer’s seduction and the Devil would win this war.
“No,” he said aloud, stopping in the hallway. “Not like this.” He took a deep breath, his legs trembling as though someone were stroking his cock.
“Michael!” he yelled. “Not like this!”
* * * * *
The warmth on his face and the heaviness of the air that he breathed were nothing compared to the heat in his groin. Dean looked down and was jarred by the sight. There was the familiar head of his brother, who was kneeling before him, Sam’s hands and mouth working their magic on his cock. But there was also the unfamiliar sight of jet-black wings rising from his brother’s back, covering the ground where Sam was kneeling.
“Sam,” he said aloud, even though he knew full well that it was not Sam pleasuring him. “Sam,” he said again.
There was a brief pause in Lucifer’s actions, but then he renewed his efforts with greater force.
Dean managed to lean forward and yank his brother by the hair, tearing him away from his aching cock. “Sam,” he said, looking steadily into his brother’s eyes. “I know you’re in there.”
Dean thought he saw a glint of recognition in his brother for a moment, but he knew he was mistaken when Lucifer got to his feet, his imposing wings spread behind him. The Devil had never better personified the dark avenging angel than at this moment and Dean felt dwarfed by the shadow of the great wings and the power he could feel emanating from Lucifer. They were in Hell. He had suspected it before but now he knew it for certain. He had to find a way to beat the Devil in his own domain.
“Dean?” Lucifer questioned, a smile curving his lips. “Is that you?”
Dean’s defiant glare confirmed that it was and Lucifer’s smile turned into a sparkling laugh.
“My brother surprises me,” he told Dean, leaning forward and placing his right hand behind Dean’s neck. “Did you know,” he continued, lips hovering just above Dean’s, “that if I kill you, I kill Michael as well? He makes it too easy.”
Lucifer pressed their lips together and Dean felt the bile rising in his throat from the unwanted kiss. He kept his mouth tightly shut and without quite realizing what he was doing, he balled his right hand into a fist and punched Lucifer in the gut. At any other time, he would have smashed all the bones in his hand with such an action, but to his shock, he hit Lucifer with enough force that the archangel staggered backwards, letting go of him. So, he had control of his body but he had Michael’s strength as well. Perhaps he would be able to beat the Devil after all.
Dean lifted himself off the rock face and had the presence of mind to tuck himself in and zip up his jeans. He still felt half-naked without his shirt, but there were much bigger concerns to worry about.
“Dean,” Lucifer chastised. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Sam,” Dean replied, ignoring Lucifer. “I know you’re in there. You have to fight him.”
Lucifer laughed again. “Sorry, Dean,” he said mockingly. “Sam can’t come out to play.”
“Sam!” Dean yelled. “I know you can hear me. Fight him, dammit!”
The smile vanished from Lucifer’s face. “This is growing tiresome, Dean,” he said. “If this is how Michael wants to end it, then so be it.”
Dean barely had time to move out of the way before Lucifer slashed at him with a burning sword. Where the hell had that come from? was the thought forming in his mind, but before it could be completed a flaming sword had materialized in his right hand. He parried the next blow easily even though he was hardly an expert swordsman. He was reacting from instinct as much as from Michael’s guidance.
As the fight continued, the clash of their swords reverberated through Hell’s pathways, drawing the attention of the Underworld’s inhabitants. The red sky was soon speckled with black as a throng of winged demons circled the promontory above them. Dean ignored the fact that he was severely outnumbered and in enemy territory. The foremost thought in his mind was reaching Sam. It was the only chance he had.
“Sam,” he pleaded, as Lucifer pushed him against the rock face. “I need your help. Fight him! You have to fight him!”
The plea only infuriated Lucifer more and his eyes flashed with a fire that mirrored his surroundings. “Your brother is dead,” he hissed, lifting his sword to strike the final blow. “Sam can’t help you now.”
Dean shielded himself from a blow that never came. Instead, Lucifer stumbled, his grip loosening so that his sword fell on the ground. He clutched his head with his hands.
“No,” he gasped. “You . . . will . . . not . . .”
“Sam!” Dean said again, stepping towards his brother.
Lucifer dropped to his knees, still clutching his head. Dean watched helplessly as his brother attempted to wrest control over his own body.
“Dean.”
His name came out as a choked, strangled sound. Despite the possibility that this could have been another one of the Devil’s tricks, Dean was immediately on the ground beside his brother.
“Sam?” he asked, one hand on his brother’s shoulder while the other lifted Sam’s face so that he could look into his brother’s eyes. He was greeted with a worrying blankness, but as Sam’s vision focused, Dean recognized the warmth in those brown depths.
“So,” Sam croaked. “This is Hell?”
Dean crushed him in a bear hug. “I knew you could do it,” he said, feeling his brother’s arms wrap around him as well. He had never felt such relief, not even when he had bartered Sam’s life in exchange for his own. “I knew you could beat him.”
“I can’t hold him down for long,” Sam said, when the embrace ended. “He’s too strong. And he’s pissed.”
“My little brother just hogtied the Devil,” Dean couldn’t help but grin.
“And look at you, conquering the Prince of Heaven,” Sam replied with a smile.
Dean was about to say that he didn’t think it was the same thing at all but Sam didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“We have a job to finish,” Sam said seriously.
“Finish what?” Dean questioned. “We’re already in Hell. With an audience,” he added, pointing upwards at the growing number of gargoyle-like demons circling them.
Sam brought out the Horsemen’s rings from his pocket. “The goal’s still the same,” he said. “We still need to open the Cage. We need to lock the Devil inside.”
“You mean Hell isn’t enough?”
“You know it isn’t.”
Dean remained silent but he knew that Sam was right. It had been foolish to hope, but he had held on to it nonetheless. There had to be some way to beat the Devil without sacrificing his brother too. There just had to be. But time had run out. Now they were both trapped in Hell, trying to keep their archangels at bay - at least, Sam was - and there was a flock of demons circling above them, curiously watching the goings-on below. How long would it be before they realized that it was Sam and Dean Winchester below them and not the archangels Michael and Lucifer? What would they do then?
Dean looked at the four rings in Sam’s palm. Together they were the key to the Devil’s Cage. When Dean looked up, he saw that Sam had been watching him all that time. His brother held out the rings to him.
“Do it,” Sam said. “There’s no more time.”
“Sam -”
“Do it,” Sam repeated.
Now, Dean. Now!
Dean heeded the urgency he heard. He took the rings from his brother just as Sam fell backwards, doubling over as though in pain.
“Dean,” he gasped. “I can’t hold him back. Open -”
Sam didn’t finish his sentence. He let out a bloodcurdling scream that was echoed by the demons above them. As the demonic shrieks filled the air, Dean joined the rings together. They effortlessly locked into place and with a single twist, Dean unlocked the Cage. At first, nothing happened but then the brothers heard and felt a great rumble. The promontory that they were on was opening into a seemingly endless chasm. Dean knew - most likely because Michael knew - that the chasm led to the very center of Hell, that Lucifer’s Cage was the fulcrum on which Hell’s foundation was based. Once, Michael had thrown his brother into that fiery pit and now Dean would do the same.
Dean looked at Sam again. His brother was still lying on the ground now in a fetal position, facing the chasm, watching as it dove deeper and deeper into Hell’s core. Sam’s face was covered in sweat from the effort of keeping Lucifer at bay. He caught Dean watching him and he held out his hand.
“Help me up,” he said.
Dean walked over to his brother and hoisted him up, supporting Sam’s full weight as Sam held on to him. They were standing at the edge of the chasm.
“Don’t you dare go in there with me,” Sam warned him.
Dean smiled faintly. His brother knew him so well.
“You’ll find a way out of here, Dean,” Sam went on. “Go to Lisa and Ben. Leave all this behind and live for both of us. Promise me.”
Dean couldn’t speak so he just nodded.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
* * * * *
Dean had a splitting headache. It would easily qualify as the worst hangover he’d ever had if only he could remember what had happened. He was laying face down on an uneven brambly surface of some sort. The smell of earth was strong. He turned around and was greeted by a canopy of branches through which he could see a vibrant blue sky. Maybe he’d died after all and was back in Heaven.
“Not Heaven,” a voice confirmed.
A face came into view above him and the shock of its recognition caused Dean to bolt upright, hitting his head against the trunk of the great oak that he had been resting on.
“Careful, Dean,” the voice said, irony and amusement playing at the edges of its tone. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Dean rubbed the back of his head as he settled against the tree trunk, noticing that he was fully clothed again. Crouched opposite him was the hawk-eyed, younger incarnation of John Winchester. “Isn’t this cheating?” he asked, a little venomously.
Michael smiled. “You know we angels aren’t above bending the rules a little,” he replied. “Besides, Adam’s with his mother. It seemed rude to disturb them after all they’ve been through. Don’t you agree? This,” he gestured at his vessel, “is a loan. I’ll return him to his proper time when I’m done.”
Michael stood up and held out a hand to Dean, who eyed the proffered hand warily. Long moments passed before he grasped it and allowed Michael to pull him to his feet.
“You’ve done well,” Michael told him. “For a human.”
Dean loathed the approval he heard in Michael’s voice. “You couldn’t do it,” he lashed out. “You couldn’t kill the Devil and so you passed that responsibility on to me.”
The menace that emanated from Michael at that moment was like a physical force that pushed Dean back as the archangel stepped towards him. “Be careful what you say next,” he warned.
Dean didn’t say anything, aware that he was on dangerous territory.
The menace from Michael faded and Dean wondered at the archangel’s sudden mood swings. It vaguely reminded him of Gabriel.
“I couldn’t be further away from that mischievous prankster,” Michael stated.
“Yeah?” Dean challenged. “Gabriel couldn’t help himself when it came to reading minds either.”
The comment made Michael laugh but when he sobered, he said quietly, “Once, your father told you that you would have to kill Sam if you couldn’t save him.”
Dean tensed at the reminder.
“Could you have obeyed your father’s order?”
“I trapped my brother in a cage in Hell with the Devil,” Dean replied evenly. “Killing him may have been more merciful.”
Michael cocked his head to the right and looked at Dean thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he agreed, caressing Dean’s right cheek with his fingers. “For a moment, I thought you were going to jump in there with him. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Dean looked away. Michael’s advances made him uncomfortable, even as his skin tingled from the archangel’s touch. “What happens now?” he asked, turning back when he sensed that Michael had given him more space.
The archangel was gazing into the distance, eyes surveying the landscape that had not too long ago been the final battleground.
“We go home,” Michael answered.
Dean felt a hollowness inside him. He was homeless now that Sam was gone.
“Lisa and Ben,” Michael said. “They could be your family too.” He turned to face Dean, his arms crossed in front of him. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A family of your own?”
“It’s a pipe dream.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Michael countered. “We write our own destinies now.”
“Aren’t those Lucifer’s words?”
Michael smiled faintly. “You heard that?”
“I heard a lot of things.”
“I suppose you did.” Michael stepped toward him once more and Dean felt that sense of menace rising again from the archangel as Michael invaded his personal space. “Do not think for a moment that you defeated me,” Michael warned him, his voice low and lethal. “What your brother did? That was impressive. But you have said ‘yes,’ to me, Dean. We are linked now. I no longer need your permission to possess you again. You are my true vessel and I have plans. There is work to be done.”
Dean was disturbed by Michael’s words. “What kind of work?” he asked.
“All in good time.”
Michael was uncomfortably close again.
“Heaven is in disarray,” he explained. “My brethren are preparing for an apocalypse that will no longer come. It’s time to get everyone back in line.” He paused. “One more thing,” the archangel added. He reached into the pocket of Dean’s jacket and pulled out the Horsemen’s rings. They were still interlocked. Michael disbanded them. “We must make sure,” he said, taking three of the rings and placing them in his own pocket, “that Lucifer’s cage can never be opened again.” He held up the fourth ring. “This one,” he told Dean, “is your responsibility.” He dropped the ring into Dean’s hand before turning to leave.
“Wait,” Dean said.
Michael paused and looked back at him, arching an eyebrow questioningly.
“What about Cas?”
“What about him?”
“He’s . . .” Dean searched for the right words. “He’s becoming human.”
“Castiel turned his back on us. Rebellion must be punished.”
“He’s been punished enough. He’s done so much to help us. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him.”
“Every step Castiel has taken has worked against Heaven. And you could not have come this far,” Michael corrected. “Without me. Castiel believes in free will,” Michael went on. “He must live with the consequences of his actions.”
Before Dean could protest further, there was a fierce gust of wind and the archangel was gone.
“Angels,” said another unexpected voice. “They can be such self-righteous pricks.”
Dean started, turning just in time to see Death step out from behind the giant oak tree. “Were you . . . spying?” he asked incredulously.
Death gave him a withering look that made Dean feel very, very small. “I . . . don’t . . . spy,” Death said, enunciating every word carefully. “There’s no need.”
“Of course, not,” Dean hurriedly agreed.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Death continued.
Dean held out Death’s ring. “It was right at the top of my To Do list,” he said.
Death was not amused by the joke and his expression said as much as he slipped his ring back on. “Michael was right about one thing,” he said, turning the ring so it rested just the way he liked it on his finger.
Dean waited for him to continue.
“You did do a good job,” Death went on, looking up at Dean. “For a human.”
“You don’t sound like you had much confidence in our plan,” Dean replied.
“No,” Death agreed. “The outcome never concerned me. I will continue even when all else is dust.” He nodded in the direction of the cemetery’s entrance. “Your friend is waiting for you.”
Dean followed the direction of Death’s gaze. There was his baby, parked at the entrance of the cemetery with a familiar trench coated figure standing by the hood of the car.
“Cas?” he said aloud.
“Good as new,” Death informed him. “Don’t thank me,” he added as Dean grasped his meaning. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it to rankle Michael. The world is a more interesting place when there’s . . . opposition.”
“Thanks anyway,” Dean said.
Death nodded in acknowledgement, and then he too was gone.
Dean stood a while longer under the oak tree that he now knew was a gateway to Hell. Against all odds, they had succeeded in stopping the Apocalypse. They may have saved the planet from destruction, but the personal cost had been high as it always was. Sam was now trapped in the Cage to be tortured at will by the Devil, and he had been turned into Michael’s personal muppet. He dwelled on the outcome of things as he walked across the cemetery to where Castiel was waiting.
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel greeted him in his usual fashion.
“Hey, Cas.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Castiel smiled. “I am very well,” he replied. “I am myself again.”
“That’s good. Real good.”
There was a pause.
“What do we do now?” Castiel inquired.
Dean thought of the promise that he had not quite made to his brother. “We’re gonna find a way to bring Sam back,” he said.
Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “We will.”
Fin.
Artist: mashimero
Art Link: Art Master List
Author: menel
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairings: Michael/Lucifer, Sam/Dean, minor Michael/Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: A different sort of ending for 5x22
Warnings: Very minor underage Wincest
Word Count: 11, 629
Summary: After Sam and Dean say ‘yes’ to Lucifer and Michael, respectively, the archangels meet for the final battle at Stull Cemetery. But the final showdown proves to be more than either archangel bargained for as they traverse the psychological landscapes of Heaven, Hell and the memories of Sam and Dean. Will Lucifer and Michael bring about the end of days, or will Sam and Dean find a way to stop the apocalypse?
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and The CW. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.
Author’s Notes: This fic was written for the 2011 spn_reversebang challenge and inspired by the amazing art of mashimero. Please check out her gorgeous artwork here. Special thanks must go to metaallu for her lightning speed beta job in the midst of the busiest time of the year.
Lucifer’s heart was still racing, the adrenaline rush of Sam’s memory imprinted in his mind, the tingling sensation fresh on his skin as though Michael had just touched him. He was so caught up in the heat and emotional impact of the memory that he didn’t notice that the memory did not have the same effect on his brother. A white-hot flame glowed in the periphery of his vision and Lucifer realized almost too late that Michael had drawn his sword once more. He brought up his left hand, barely managing to catch Michael’s wrist in order to deflect the blow. With his other arm, he locked his brother in a tight embrace but Michael was one step ahead and Lucifer felt a searing hot pain blooming in his chest again. They were falling back to earth. Their landing knocked the wind out of Lucifer. His ribs were crushed by the impact and he focused his energies on repairing his vessel before Michael struck again.
Michael was already on his feet, his blade drawn. He was standing within the crater that their landing had made in the clearing of Stull Cemetery where they had fought before. Patiently, he waited as Lucifer rose to his feet. His expression was grim as Lucifer turned to face him, his blade glinting with its ethereal light.
The ground beneath their feet was unnaturally smooth, the fine dust of the cemetery earth swirling with the winds about them. Outside the crater, the cemetery had been ravaged by the twisters that had passed through. Headstones were broken, trees unearthed, the debris carried by the tornadoes was left strewn about in their wake. The sky was a fierce gray. The storm they had left had not abated and their return only seemed to exacerbate it. In moments, fat rain droplets began to fall.
Lucifer felt the first hint of resignation creep inside him. He had never truly believed that it would end this way. He had had too much faith in his own ability to seduce his brother, and in Michael’s willingness to be seduced. Yet the shared reliving of Sam’s memory of that rebellious and fateful night had not brought out the desired reaction in Michael. Instead of empathizing with Sam’s, and consequently, Lucifer’s loss and desperation, the memory had provoked raw anger from his brother. Vaguely, Lucifer wondered if this anger was also an offshoot of Dean’s anger at Sam. Lucifer had not anticipated how visceral inhabiting his true vessel would be, how in tune he was with the younger Winchester and he suspected that Michael was undergoing the same experience with Dean.
“It’s time to end this, brother.”
Michael’s voice was low, but Lucifer heard it cut clearly through the storm. He nodded.
The wind seemed to be at Michael’s back and for the briefest moment, Lucifer saw the shadow outline of his brother’s magnificent wings outstretched behind him. He knew then that Michael was summoning the forces of nature to his will. He did the same. Michael wielded the wind, the air and the rain, but Lucifer was fire and earth and as their swords clashed, their power and strength seemed as though it would rend the earth in two.
As before, Lucifer could feel his brother overpowering him through sheer force. If he was going to lose, he was going to take as much of this godforsaken planet and its protozoan inhabitants with him. Let Michael and his followers decide whether to rebuild heaven on earth. But before that happened, Lucifer had one more card to play. Behind him was a great oak tree that had remained unscathed by the storms and tornados, and for good reason. An urban legend surrounded Stull Cemetery. The locals believed that the cemetery was a gateway to Hell. The legend made for excellent propaganda every Halloween, when the nightly hayrides would journey past the cemetery. But all legend bore some basis in truth, and little did the residents of Stull, Kansas know that their cemetery was indeed a gateway to Hell, if only one knew how to open the door.
The Devil knew how to open that door.
Lucifer maneuvered his way closer to the great oak, allowing Michael to drive him towards the ancient tree. He had no doubt that his brother knew that the oak was a portal to Hell, but he counted on the belief that that fact was not at the forefront of Michael’s thoughts. No, Michael was focused on destroying him and the great oak was of no importance, not even when Michael had him pinned against it, his sword at Lucifer’s throat.
“I am sorry,” Michael said, looking Lucifer straight in the eye.
“I am not,” Lucifer replied defiantly.
There was a split second for Lucifer to make his move as Michael lifted his sword to thrust it into his throat. His timing was perfect. He ducked and Michael’s blade pierced the trunk of the oak instead. A thick red sap oozed from the tree as though it were bleeding. Michael’s sword was jammed and the giant oak seemed to be pulling it in. His brother held on to it, unwilling to let it go even as Lucifer came up behind him. Michael lashed out with one of his wings, but it was too late. Lucifer was locking him in another embrace, whispering in his ear: “Welcome to my home, brother.”
Then it was Michael’s turn to fall.
* * * * *
Heat warmed his face. Dust filled his nostrils. The jagged edge of rocks scratched his cheek. Michael opened his eyes to a vertical horizon of red and orange mixed with a cool slate gray. As his vision sharpened, he realized that he was lying down, the heat emanating from the rock floor on which he lay and the air around him. In the distance, the sky burned with the unfamiliar flames of vermillion and burnished gold. Michael thought it was beautiful even as he processed that these were the eternal flames of Hell. He tried to stand up but was unexpectedly weighted down. The weight came from his wings, which had remained uncloaked as he and Lucifer had fallen to Hell. He shifted them now, the motion generating a flow of warm air as he stood up. He sensed rather than saw his brother standing somewhere towards his right. He turned. There was Lucifer, casually leaning against the stonewall of a cliff.
Michael made no effort to cloak his wings. Instead, he stretched them out, revealing them in all their glory. He watched as Lucifer followed the motion with his eyes and then Michael gently folded his wings behind him, allowing them to rest against his back. There was no point in attempting to hide his grace in Hell. There was a buzz in the air, a constant murmuring of voices that was not unlike the Song of Heaven. But an angel could never mistake the cries in Hell to be the Song. The inhabitants of the Underworld were agitated. They knew that a stranger was among them, a great and powerful stranger, just like they knew that their king had returned.
The two archangels stood motionless until Lucifer broke the spell between them. He gracefully lifted himself off the rock face and strode towards his brother.
“Destruction has its own kind of beauty,” he stated. “Desolation as well.”
He turned from Michael and swept his hand over the vast expanse that lay before them. They were standing on top of a promontory and below them Michael’s keen eyes could make out the architecture of his brother’s domain.
“You would transform our Father’s creation into this?” he questioned.
“I would purify it,” Lucifer corrected. “Hell on earth,” he mused. “For most humans, it exists already.”
Michael’s eyes roamed the tortured landscape before him once more. His brother was right. Earth had become a metaphorical Hell for many of his Father’s children. Humans were endlessly creative when it came to crafting their own personal Hells. Heaven seemed almost boring by comparison. But a metaphorical Hell was very different from the literal fire and brimstone that Lucifer would unleash upon the planet should he win.
“Why have you brought me here?” Michael asked after a moment’s silence.
“Quid pro quo,” Lucifer answered lightly. “You brought me to your home. Why can’t I bring you to mine?”
The sharp look that Michael gave his brother told Lucifer that Michael didn’t believe his answer for a moment.
“I’m renewing my offer,” Lucifer stated.
Michael fixed his gaze on his younger brother. His expression had again grown hard. “You only delay the inevitable,” he replied coldly. Then he sighed, flexing his wings - a sign of irritation that Lucifer recognized - as he turned back to face Hell’s landscape. “I’m tired of your games. Why won’t you allow this to end?”
“Why won’t you take my offer seriously?” Lucifer asked in return.
There was the quick snap of a wing and Lucifer approached his brother cautiously. “You think that being with me is a sin,” he said quietly. “But what makes it so? Because Father says so? Father abandoned this world a long, long time ago. You follow a script as though everything were pre-destined but we write our own destinies now.”
Lucifer paused, trying to gauge the reaction of his brother. Michael was completely still, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His brother’s apparent calm concerned Lucifer somewhat, but he persevered.
“Nothing is a sin here,” he whispered, standing behind Michael. “There is no one to see. Heaven’s eyes don’t penetrate into Hell. How can our love be a sin?”
The force with which Lucifer was slammed against the rock face of the cliff didn’t surprise him. Neither did the hand that held him by his throat, the strong fingers threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Michael had spread his wings once more and their full height and span hid them completely.
Despite himself, Lucifer let out a low chuckle that was quickly silenced by the tightening of his brother’s fingers on his throat. Lucifer’s eyes burned with a knowing look and prevented from speaking, he projected his thoughts into his brother’s mind.
“Is this your Wrath, Michael?” he teased. “Is that Lust I see in your eyes?”
The grip around Lucifer’s neck tightened even more.
“Kiss me.”
The kiss was bruising and Lucifer relished it. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, of the metallic taste of iron and blood. The hand around his neck was not removed, but the grip was loosened so that he could better participate. He did so by following his brother’s lead, hands roaming his brother’s body, pulling Michael against him. Just when Lucifer thought he had control of the situation, Michael pulled away, holding him at arm’s length.
“Show me your wings,” Michael said steadily.
Lucifer was taken aback by the command. He hesitated, and he knew that Michael could read his uncertainty. It had been millennia since Lucifer had revealed his wings. There had been no point, trapped as he had been in the Cage. He had felt like less than an angel during his imprisonment, the impotence of his confines serving to build a reservoir of anger and rage over the centuries. From that stronghold he had fashioned Hell, twisted souls, created demons, built an army that would serve him. But it was not enough. It could never be enough. He wanted vengeance and retribution. He would destroy the Family that had turned their backs on him. He would not acknowledge his roots and so he had come to be known as the Devil. Humans often forgot that the Devil was a Fallen Angel; a dark, avenging angel. But Michael had not forgotten. His brother watched him with his piercing gaze, with a full understanding of what he was asking. Now it was Michael’s turn to lean forward and whisper in his ear.
“You claim that I deny myself,” he said, his voice silky and smooth in Lucifer’s ear. “But you deny yourself even more. Show me your wings.”
Lucifer saw the challenge in Michael’s eyes. He no longer knew when his brother had gained the upper hand, but he would not back down from the challenge.
* * * * *
Michael watched as Lucifer unfurled his wings. Wings were perceived as a sign of status among angels. The more magnificent one’s wings, the higher one’s ranking in God’s assembly. As the Prince of the Heavenly Host, no one could rival Michael’s wings save perhaps his fallen brother. Contrary to most religious imagery depicting angels’ wings as pure and white, the color of the wings ranged from cream and beige to darker shades of tan, brown and gray, going all the way to deep sepia and black. Lucifer was the only angel to possess a set of pure black wings and when the light fell on them, they rippled like water at midnight. Michael could still remember a time when he stood beside his brother, their wings in stark contrast to each other marking them both as Heaven’s favored sons. If he was going to succumb to his base desires in his brother’s den of temptation, then he would see those wings again. He would have Lucifer only in his true form.
Lucifer stretched his wings behind him, laying them flat against the expanse of the cliff face. They were exactly as Michael remembered, the black feathers mirroring the jet-black sky that was Heaven’s dome. It was a strange sight to see his brother lost and exposed in his own kingdom. Michael leaned forward then, kissing Lucifer with a tenderness that was far removed from his previous kiss. He wanted that kiss to convey all the things that his actions never could, to share with his brother all the things that he could never bring himself to say. Lucifer responded in the same manner, and for long moments the two of them were lost in that deepening kiss.
Michael allowed Lucifer to reverse their positions, until he was the one leaning against the cliff face. He watched as his brother got on his knees before him, the lower half of his wings carpeting the rocky floor. Lucifer had already divested him of his shirt and now his brother’s deft fingers were removing his belt. Michael let his head fall back. He focused on the unfamiliar sight of Hell’s fiery red sky as Lucifer pulled down the zipper of his jeans. He shut eyes. He could let the world burn, he thought, to have this for eternity.
No. Not like this.
Hands were pushing down his jeans and boxers, freeing his cock.
Michael! Not like this!
Michael’s eyes flew open. Lost in the haze of his brother’s ministrations, he had thought that voice to be his own spark of conscience railing against him. As the dull throb in the back of his head grew stronger, he realized that it was something else entirely.
* * * * *
Jimmy Novak had once said that being possessed by Castiel was like being chained to the back of a comet. Dean had never forgotten that description. Just like he had never forgotten Donnie Finnerman, a simple mechanic who had had the misfortune of being the archangel, Raphael’s vessel. In his mind’s eye, he saw Donnie sitting in his wheelchair, a vegetable to the world once Raphael had left his body. “It will be much worse for you,” Castiel had told him as they had both watched Donnie. “Michael is far more powerful.”
Dean had no basis of comparison, but he knew in some way that Michael was taking care of him. The archangel had promised as much when he had spoken to Dean during their time traveling stint to stop Anna from killing his parents. He had no faith in angels, save for Castiel, but Michael was staying true to his word. He was still conscious in his body, but he had absolutely no control. He was trapped in a white room with no windows or doors or any kind of exit. He had shouted and pounded the walls with his fists at first, but all he had succeeded in doing was making himself hoarse and his hands sore. Then he had paced and paced until finally a simple bed had appeared in the center of the room, the kind of bed one saw in army barracks or prison wards. Dean had nothing else to do but to lie down.
As he stretched out as best as he could on the single bed, a strange thing happened. He heard voices speaking. Michael and Lucifer were talking to each other and Dean was privy to their conversation. Then Michael was talking to him, probing his memories for important details from his childhood that Dean didn’t want to give up. Dean resisted and Michael was irate. The bed he was lying on suddenly split in two and Dean landed on the floor with a thud. He got up and walked to one of the walls of the room. He sat down, using the wall as a backrest, his legs stretched out before him. There was nothing to do but wait. The problem was, Dean didn’t know what he was waiting for.
Occasionally, the light source in the room flickered although there were no actual lights per se, at least, none that Dean could see. Once the room went completely dark and when the light returned, Dean thought that the room had grown a bit warmer. After a little while, he removed his jacket. He kept on waiting.
Suddenly, the lights turned a deep red and the once well-lit room became very dark. Dean stood up. He could sense danger and his instincts were on high alert. Through the hazy red light, he thought he saw a door at the opposite end of the room. He walked towards it. Yes, it was definitely a door, one that had not been there before. Dean grasped the doorknob. To his surprise, it turned but he didn’t open the door. Not yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was on the other side. It was the thought of Sam and of somehow helping his brother that pushed Dean to step through that door.
The door opened into a poorly lit hallway. Dean understood immediately that he was leaving the safety of ‘his’ room behind. While everything in the previous room had been marked by silence, by a kind of tranquility save for that one burst of conversation between the two archangels followed by Michael’s own probing questions, everything outside was an onslaught of sensory experience. It was almost overwhelming. Dean could hear more voices, those of Michael and Lucifer’s; he could hear Sam and even himself. Then there were the other voices, the multitude of whispers and cries that Dean couldn’t decipher. There was the smell of smoke and burning flesh that made the hairs on his arms rise. Instinctively, he knew that there was something familiar about these sensations as though he had experienced them before. They were too close to the memories in a dark part of his own mind that he tried to keep locked away. But the strong feelings of anger, lust, rage and desire that were coursing through him were not part of his memories, they weren’t even his feelings. They belonged to Michael and this poorly lit hallway was all that stood between him and the full force of the archangel’s grace. The farther down Dean walked, the stronger the emotions became until one emotion rose above them all: desire. Dean had never felt such unparalleled desire for anything or anyone. It made his own cock harden. The light that leaked from underneath and the sides of the closed doors that he passed, grew brighter and brighter until it threatened to burst open the doors with its force. Michael was in trouble. Dean knew it from the desire that was sweeping over him like a tidal wave. Michael had given in to Lucifer’s seduction and the Devil would win this war.
“No,” he said aloud, stopping in the hallway. “Not like this.” He took a deep breath, his legs trembling as though someone were stroking his cock.
“Michael!” he yelled. “Not like this!”
* * * * *
The warmth on his face and the heaviness of the air that he breathed were nothing compared to the heat in his groin. Dean looked down and was jarred by the sight. There was the familiar head of his brother, who was kneeling before him, Sam’s hands and mouth working their magic on his cock. But there was also the unfamiliar sight of jet-black wings rising from his brother’s back, covering the ground where Sam was kneeling.
“Sam,” he said aloud, even though he knew full well that it was not Sam pleasuring him. “Sam,” he said again.
There was a brief pause in Lucifer’s actions, but then he renewed his efforts with greater force.
Dean managed to lean forward and yank his brother by the hair, tearing him away from his aching cock. “Sam,” he said, looking steadily into his brother’s eyes. “I know you’re in there.”
Dean thought he saw a glint of recognition in his brother for a moment, but he knew he was mistaken when Lucifer got to his feet, his imposing wings spread behind him. The Devil had never better personified the dark avenging angel than at this moment and Dean felt dwarfed by the shadow of the great wings and the power he could feel emanating from Lucifer. They were in Hell. He had suspected it before but now he knew it for certain. He had to find a way to beat the Devil in his own domain.
“Dean?” Lucifer questioned, a smile curving his lips. “Is that you?”
Dean’s defiant glare confirmed that it was and Lucifer’s smile turned into a sparkling laugh.
“My brother surprises me,” he told Dean, leaning forward and placing his right hand behind Dean’s neck. “Did you know,” he continued, lips hovering just above Dean’s, “that if I kill you, I kill Michael as well? He makes it too easy.”
Lucifer pressed their lips together and Dean felt the bile rising in his throat from the unwanted kiss. He kept his mouth tightly shut and without quite realizing what he was doing, he balled his right hand into a fist and punched Lucifer in the gut. At any other time, he would have smashed all the bones in his hand with such an action, but to his shock, he hit Lucifer with enough force that the archangel staggered backwards, letting go of him. So, he had control of his body but he had Michael’s strength as well. Perhaps he would be able to beat the Devil after all.
Dean lifted himself off the rock face and had the presence of mind to tuck himself in and zip up his jeans. He still felt half-naked without his shirt, but there were much bigger concerns to worry about.
“Dean,” Lucifer chastised. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Sam,” Dean replied, ignoring Lucifer. “I know you’re in there. You have to fight him.”
Lucifer laughed again. “Sorry, Dean,” he said mockingly. “Sam can’t come out to play.”
“Sam!” Dean yelled. “I know you can hear me. Fight him, dammit!”
The smile vanished from Lucifer’s face. “This is growing tiresome, Dean,” he said. “If this is how Michael wants to end it, then so be it.”
Dean barely had time to move out of the way before Lucifer slashed at him with a burning sword. Where the hell had that come from? was the thought forming in his mind, but before it could be completed a flaming sword had materialized in his right hand. He parried the next blow easily even though he was hardly an expert swordsman. He was reacting from instinct as much as from Michael’s guidance.
As the fight continued, the clash of their swords reverberated through Hell’s pathways, drawing the attention of the Underworld’s inhabitants. The red sky was soon speckled with black as a throng of winged demons circled the promontory above them. Dean ignored the fact that he was severely outnumbered and in enemy territory. The foremost thought in his mind was reaching Sam. It was the only chance he had.
“Sam,” he pleaded, as Lucifer pushed him against the rock face. “I need your help. Fight him! You have to fight him!”
The plea only infuriated Lucifer more and his eyes flashed with a fire that mirrored his surroundings. “Your brother is dead,” he hissed, lifting his sword to strike the final blow. “Sam can’t help you now.”
Dean shielded himself from a blow that never came. Instead, Lucifer stumbled, his grip loosening so that his sword fell on the ground. He clutched his head with his hands.
“No,” he gasped. “You . . . will . . . not . . .”
“Sam!” Dean said again, stepping towards his brother.
Lucifer dropped to his knees, still clutching his head. Dean watched helplessly as his brother attempted to wrest control over his own body.
“Dean.”
His name came out as a choked, strangled sound. Despite the possibility that this could have been another one of the Devil’s tricks, Dean was immediately on the ground beside his brother.
“Sam?” he asked, one hand on his brother’s shoulder while the other lifted Sam’s face so that he could look into his brother’s eyes. He was greeted with a worrying blankness, but as Sam’s vision focused, Dean recognized the warmth in those brown depths.
“So,” Sam croaked. “This is Hell?”
Dean crushed him in a bear hug. “I knew you could do it,” he said, feeling his brother’s arms wrap around him as well. He had never felt such relief, not even when he had bartered Sam’s life in exchange for his own. “I knew you could beat him.”
“I can’t hold him down for long,” Sam said, when the embrace ended. “He’s too strong. And he’s pissed.”
“My little brother just hogtied the Devil,” Dean couldn’t help but grin.
“And look at you, conquering the Prince of Heaven,” Sam replied with a smile.
Dean was about to say that he didn’t think it was the same thing at all but Sam didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“We have a job to finish,” Sam said seriously.
“Finish what?” Dean questioned. “We’re already in Hell. With an audience,” he added, pointing upwards at the growing number of gargoyle-like demons circling them.
Sam brought out the Horsemen’s rings from his pocket. “The goal’s still the same,” he said. “We still need to open the Cage. We need to lock the Devil inside.”
“You mean Hell isn’t enough?”
“You know it isn’t.”
Dean remained silent but he knew that Sam was right. It had been foolish to hope, but he had held on to it nonetheless. There had to be some way to beat the Devil without sacrificing his brother too. There just had to be. But time had run out. Now they were both trapped in Hell, trying to keep their archangels at bay - at least, Sam was - and there was a flock of demons circling above them, curiously watching the goings-on below. How long would it be before they realized that it was Sam and Dean Winchester below them and not the archangels Michael and Lucifer? What would they do then?
Dean looked at the four rings in Sam’s palm. Together they were the key to the Devil’s Cage. When Dean looked up, he saw that Sam had been watching him all that time. His brother held out the rings to him.
“Do it,” Sam said. “There’s no more time.”
“Sam -”
“Do it,” Sam repeated.
Now, Dean. Now!
Dean heeded the urgency he heard. He took the rings from his brother just as Sam fell backwards, doubling over as though in pain.
“Dean,” he gasped. “I can’t hold him back. Open -”
Sam didn’t finish his sentence. He let out a bloodcurdling scream that was echoed by the demons above them. As the demonic shrieks filled the air, Dean joined the rings together. They effortlessly locked into place and with a single twist, Dean unlocked the Cage. At first, nothing happened but then the brothers heard and felt a great rumble. The promontory that they were on was opening into a seemingly endless chasm. Dean knew - most likely because Michael knew - that the chasm led to the very center of Hell, that Lucifer’s Cage was the fulcrum on which Hell’s foundation was based. Once, Michael had thrown his brother into that fiery pit and now Dean would do the same.
Dean looked at Sam again. His brother was still lying on the ground now in a fetal position, facing the chasm, watching as it dove deeper and deeper into Hell’s core. Sam’s face was covered in sweat from the effort of keeping Lucifer at bay. He caught Dean watching him and he held out his hand.
“Help me up,” he said.
Dean walked over to his brother and hoisted him up, supporting Sam’s full weight as Sam held on to him. They were standing at the edge of the chasm.
“Don’t you dare go in there with me,” Sam warned him.
Dean smiled faintly. His brother knew him so well.
“You’ll find a way out of here, Dean,” Sam went on. “Go to Lisa and Ben. Leave all this behind and live for both of us. Promise me.”
Dean couldn’t speak so he just nodded.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
* * * * *
Dean had a splitting headache. It would easily qualify as the worst hangover he’d ever had if only he could remember what had happened. He was laying face down on an uneven brambly surface of some sort. The smell of earth was strong. He turned around and was greeted by a canopy of branches through which he could see a vibrant blue sky. Maybe he’d died after all and was back in Heaven.
“Not Heaven,” a voice confirmed.
A face came into view above him and the shock of its recognition caused Dean to bolt upright, hitting his head against the trunk of the great oak that he had been resting on.
“Careful, Dean,” the voice said, irony and amusement playing at the edges of its tone. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Dean rubbed the back of his head as he settled against the tree trunk, noticing that he was fully clothed again. Crouched opposite him was the hawk-eyed, younger incarnation of John Winchester. “Isn’t this cheating?” he asked, a little venomously.
Michael smiled. “You know we angels aren’t above bending the rules a little,” he replied. “Besides, Adam’s with his mother. It seemed rude to disturb them after all they’ve been through. Don’t you agree? This,” he gestured at his vessel, “is a loan. I’ll return him to his proper time when I’m done.”
Michael stood up and held out a hand to Dean, who eyed the proffered hand warily. Long moments passed before he grasped it and allowed Michael to pull him to his feet.
“You’ve done well,” Michael told him. “For a human.”
Dean loathed the approval he heard in Michael’s voice. “You couldn’t do it,” he lashed out. “You couldn’t kill the Devil and so you passed that responsibility on to me.”
The menace that emanated from Michael at that moment was like a physical force that pushed Dean back as the archangel stepped towards him. “Be careful what you say next,” he warned.
Dean didn’t say anything, aware that he was on dangerous territory.
The menace from Michael faded and Dean wondered at the archangel’s sudden mood swings. It vaguely reminded him of Gabriel.
“I couldn’t be further away from that mischievous prankster,” Michael stated.
“Yeah?” Dean challenged. “Gabriel couldn’t help himself when it came to reading minds either.”
The comment made Michael laugh but when he sobered, he said quietly, “Once, your father told you that you would have to kill Sam if you couldn’t save him.”
Dean tensed at the reminder.
“Could you have obeyed your father’s order?”
“I trapped my brother in a cage in Hell with the Devil,” Dean replied evenly. “Killing him may have been more merciful.”
Michael cocked his head to the right and looked at Dean thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he agreed, caressing Dean’s right cheek with his fingers. “For a moment, I thought you were going to jump in there with him. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Dean looked away. Michael’s advances made him uncomfortable, even as his skin tingled from the archangel’s touch. “What happens now?” he asked, turning back when he sensed that Michael had given him more space.
The archangel was gazing into the distance, eyes surveying the landscape that had not too long ago been the final battleground.
“We go home,” Michael answered.
Dean felt a hollowness inside him. He was homeless now that Sam was gone.
“Lisa and Ben,” Michael said. “They could be your family too.” He turned to face Dean, his arms crossed in front of him. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A family of your own?”
“It’s a pipe dream.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Michael countered. “We write our own destinies now.”
“Aren’t those Lucifer’s words?”
Michael smiled faintly. “You heard that?”
“I heard a lot of things.”
“I suppose you did.” Michael stepped toward him once more and Dean felt that sense of menace rising again from the archangel as Michael invaded his personal space. “Do not think for a moment that you defeated me,” Michael warned him, his voice low and lethal. “What your brother did? That was impressive. But you have said ‘yes,’ to me, Dean. We are linked now. I no longer need your permission to possess you again. You are my true vessel and I have plans. There is work to be done.”
Dean was disturbed by Michael’s words. “What kind of work?” he asked.
“All in good time.”
Michael was uncomfortably close again.
“Heaven is in disarray,” he explained. “My brethren are preparing for an apocalypse that will no longer come. It’s time to get everyone back in line.” He paused. “One more thing,” the archangel added. He reached into the pocket of Dean’s jacket and pulled out the Horsemen’s rings. They were still interlocked. Michael disbanded them. “We must make sure,” he said, taking three of the rings and placing them in his own pocket, “that Lucifer’s cage can never be opened again.” He held up the fourth ring. “This one,” he told Dean, “is your responsibility.” He dropped the ring into Dean’s hand before turning to leave.
“Wait,” Dean said.
Michael paused and looked back at him, arching an eyebrow questioningly.
“What about Cas?”
“What about him?”
“He’s . . .” Dean searched for the right words. “He’s becoming human.”
“Castiel turned his back on us. Rebellion must be punished.”
“He’s been punished enough. He’s done so much to help us. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him.”
“Every step Castiel has taken has worked against Heaven. And you could not have come this far,” Michael corrected. “Without me. Castiel believes in free will,” Michael went on. “He must live with the consequences of his actions.”
Before Dean could protest further, there was a fierce gust of wind and the archangel was gone.
“Angels,” said another unexpected voice. “They can be such self-righteous pricks.”
Dean started, turning just in time to see Death step out from behind the giant oak tree. “Were you . . . spying?” he asked incredulously.
Death gave him a withering look that made Dean feel very, very small. “I . . . don’t . . . spy,” Death said, enunciating every word carefully. “There’s no need.”
“Of course, not,” Dean hurriedly agreed.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Death continued.
Dean held out Death’s ring. “It was right at the top of my To Do list,” he said.
Death was not amused by the joke and his expression said as much as he slipped his ring back on. “Michael was right about one thing,” he said, turning the ring so it rested just the way he liked it on his finger.
Dean waited for him to continue.
“You did do a good job,” Death went on, looking up at Dean. “For a human.”
“You don’t sound like you had much confidence in our plan,” Dean replied.
“No,” Death agreed. “The outcome never concerned me. I will continue even when all else is dust.” He nodded in the direction of the cemetery’s entrance. “Your friend is waiting for you.”
Dean followed the direction of Death’s gaze. There was his baby, parked at the entrance of the cemetery with a familiar trench coated figure standing by the hood of the car.
“Cas?” he said aloud.
“Good as new,” Death informed him. “Don’t thank me,” he added as Dean grasped his meaning. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it to rankle Michael. The world is a more interesting place when there’s . . . opposition.”
“Thanks anyway,” Dean said.
Death nodded in acknowledgement, and then he too was gone.
Dean stood a while longer under the oak tree that he now knew was a gateway to Hell. Against all odds, they had succeeded in stopping the Apocalypse. They may have saved the planet from destruction, but the personal cost had been high as it always was. Sam was now trapped in the Cage to be tortured at will by the Devil, and he had been turned into Michael’s personal muppet. He dwelled on the outcome of things as he walked across the cemetery to where Castiel was waiting.
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel greeted him in his usual fashion.
“Hey, Cas.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Castiel smiled. “I am very well,” he replied. “I am myself again.”
“That’s good. Real good.”
There was a pause.
“What do we do now?” Castiel inquired.
Dean thought of the promise that he had not quite made to his brother. “We’re gonna find a way to bring Sam back,” he said.
Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “We will.”
Fin.