The Plan
Written for the 9th Annual SpringFling
TITLE: The Plan
Author: jennytork
Artist: emmatheslayer
Recipient: kingstoken
Word Count: 1784
Prompt: Combination of 1. Something goes hilariously wrong when trying to cast a spell
2. Resurrected Crowley, would love if Rowena is crying or hugging him, and Crowley just turns to Dean/Sam/Whoever and is like "what did you do to my mother?"(tweaked a bit, this is before he was killed)
Synopsis: So Sam has aptitude that Dean didn't know about. He and Rowena come up with a plan to defeat the British Men of Letters, neutralise the creature growing inside Kelly Kline, and take care of Lucifer once and for all. Now if they can only pull this off...
He felt the familiar tug of Summoning. Gritting his teeth, he finished his business with the lesser demon and banished him. Alone in the throne room, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes -- and let go.
There was no question who had called him. Only those flannel-wrapped nightmare pains in his gluteus would be so brazen as to Summon him. The only question in his mind was what in the various hells did they want from him this time.
He opened his eyes to find himself not in the dungeon of the Bunker as he thought he would end up, but in the War Room. A quick psychic feel about him led to another surprise -- he was not in a devil’s trap or under a Seal of Solomon. “What the bloody hell!” he blurted. “Have you taken leave of every bit of protective instinct that I thought you possessed?”
Three slight huffs of laughter, two male and one decidedly female, drew his attention. He turned and was not surprised in the least to see the bloody Winchesters leaning against either side of the doorframe, giving him weirdly amused looks.
The woman, however -- she was a surprise. Before he could even react to the unpleasant surprise, she had crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, whispering words of endearment against his shoulder even as he stiffened.
He glared at the fraternal banes of his existence and ground out, “All right, you two. What the bloody hell have you done to my mother?”
To his surprise, that question brought laughter from the Winchesters and his mother pulled away with a snorted, “Really!”
“You are all in disgustingly good moods,” Crowley snorted. “So I assume I’m here to be tortured by your elation?”
Both Winchester’s eyes lit at that, and Sam turned to Rowena. “Tortured by elation? There’s an idea!”
“We’ll work on that one, sweetie,” she said with a grin.
Crowley was in the middle of rolling his eyes when it hit him. “Hold on….we? Sweetie?”
“Oh, didn’t they tell you, Fergus?” Rowena purred. “Samuel, here, is a witch.”
“Learning, not full,” the brothers chorused.
Crowley suddenly felt the need to get very drunk.
~~~~~~~
Sam moved to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, passing by the table where Dean and Crowley were commiserating over tumblers of whiskey. “Dean, really. Crowley’s tastes are more -- how did Rowena put it? Refined.” He flicked a hand and said a Latin phrase.
Crowley suddenly held a larger glass filled with what a quick taste revealed to be a highball, topped off with a pair of gaudy plastic pitchforks.
Sam walked out of the kitchen, throwing a smirk over his shoulder, and Crowley held up his altered drink and eloquently cocked an eyebrow.
Dean shook his head. "He doesn't conjure out of thin air. He takes what we already have and alters it. That's the same glass you had, just stretched out a little. The whiskey in that drink..." He scowled and held up his own suddenly empty drink. "Bitch!" he called out, and Sam's laughter drifted back to them before they heard a door close.
Crowley sipped his drink and nodded in satisfaction as Dean got up for a refill. "Thought you knew better than to trust my mother."
"I don't trust her," Dean said as he sat back down, with a beer instead of the whiskey. "I trust Sammy."
"And that's another thing. I thought you hated witches, on sheer principle."
Dean swallowed his mouthful of beer and rolled the bottle between his palms. "Yeah, well... it's sort of different when it's your little brother, you know?"
“Can’t say that I can.” He took a sip of his highball and then asked, “So…. why am I here?”
“We have a kernel of a plan to set everything to rights,” Dean said with a smile. “And you have access to the one thing we don’t have.”
“Hell?”
“Lucifer.”
~~~~~~~
Crowley returned to Hell with a smirk on his face and walked to the door of the cell he had the Prince of Lies in. “How would you like to be a free man?”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow, blue eyes twinkling like that demented headmaster in that book series Sam had been reading. “And the price?”
“You leave me and mine alone. For good.”
“That sounds so incredibly generous,” Lucifer snarked. “What’s the catch?”
Crowley met his eyes. “There’s a Nephilim soon to be born. Only an archangel can neutralise him safely. Do that, leave us alone, and your freedom is guaranteed.”
Lucifer burst out laughing. “A Nephilim. You do realise what I will have to do to neutralise it.”
Crowley nodded.
“And you’re willing to allow me to have that burst of power.”
“Freely. Just leave us alone, and it’s yours.”
Lucifer shook his head. “Let me guess. My ex-vessel and his damnable brother came up with this.”
Crowley couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Their plans are insane, but they tend to work.”
“I hate to admit when someone other than me is right, but…” Lucifer spread his hands. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Crowley held his hand through the bars. “The last thing they insisted on -- I do not lie to them, and they wanted me to make certain we shook on it.”
Now it was Lucifer’s turn to laugh. “Fine.” He put his hand into Crowley’s, and the smile vanished as smoke rose from his palm. “What in the seven hells…”
“I’m not fool enough to trust your word, Lucifer,” Crowley said, fingers moving to grasp the other’s wrist and then pulling away to reveal a faint sigil tracing his wrist. “Just a little something to ensure that you’ll do as you say.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as he studied it. He’d never seen anything like it before, and when you’ve lived as long as he had, that was saying a lot. He turned to look at Crowley. “Let’s get this over with so I don’t have to look at your ugly mug any longer.”
“Save the sweet talk for after, darling,” Crowley snarked, surprising a laugh out of Lucifer before they vanished.
~~~~~~~
“Thank you,” Kelly Kline whispered into Lucifer’s ear, hugging him tightly as he finished siphoning off the massive power of the child inside her, rendering it a normal male baby and making it so that she would survive.
As she released him and rolled over, sliding into the first truly normal sleep she’d had in months, Castiel nodded at her bedside. “I am loathe to say it, brother -- but thank you. This was a good thing you have done.”
Lucifer grinned at him. “Why, Cassie, anyone would think you loved me, much as you’re insulting me.”
Castiel just shook his head and returned to his vigil as Lucifer walked out to where the Winchester brothers and the MacLeod family waited. “So ‘tis done?” Rowena asked.
“He’s a normal kid,” Lucifer said, turning his eyes to Sam. “I said I would do it and I have never lied to you, Sam.”
Sam nodded, acknowledging that. “So what will you do with all that power?”
“Anything I want,” Lucifer grinned. “And I’ll start…” He turned abruptly and seized Crowley by the throat, pinning him against the wall. “By resuming my throne in Hell. You, I have never not lied to.”
“I figured as much,” Crowley ground out through clenched teeth. “So get it over with, already.”
“With pleasure,” Lucifer snarled, eyes beginning to glow. He raised his hand over Crowley’s head, ready to smite ---
And screamed as the sigils Crowley planted - created by Sam and Rowena -- flared to life. He staggered back, releasing a panting Crowley as he stared wide-eyed at the glow that spread with every beat of a pulse he suddenly felt. “....what did you do?”
“Nothing,” Crowley smirked. “It’s as I told you. They ensure you’ll do as you say. Since you reneged on your word -- they are free.”
“Free? What are they? What---” Lucifer suddenly arched, his whole body beginning to glow.
“Now!” Dean roared.
Sam and Rowena lurched forward, each planting a bleeding palm onto Lucifer’s bare skin and shouting, ”Abi!”
The banishing sigil drawn on their palms in their own blood, guided by the banishing spell they shouted, threw Lucifer bodily from the house and deposited him in a glowing heap in the middle of a technologically advanced war room.
The occupants of said war room -- the entire upper echelon of the British Men of Letters -- barely had time to articulate their shock before the sigils did their job.
The sigils had been designed to neutralise. Crowley had cut them deeply, and they fed off of Nephilim and Archangel grace. All that power had to go somewhere, and it exploded in rather spectacular fashion.
Waves of electromagnetic pulses shattered machinery as sonic waves did the same to human flesh and organs. When it finally ended, the form that had once belonged to Nick Monroe lay unmoving in the midst of a debris field.
And three towns in Nebraska had no electricity for several hours.
~~~~~~~~
Lucifer opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He found himself in the midst of a pure white -- something. “....Heaven?” he whispered, gaining his feet. “I’m….I’m finally home?”
He walked through the whiteness, calling for his Father, his brothers, his sisters…. Anybody. Anything.
There was nothing. Nothing but the white. The unchanging silence that swallowed up even his own voice.
Even in the Cage, Lucifer had been able to watch and interact with the denizens of Hell. This? This unrelenting nothingness?
This … aloneness?
This was Lucifer’s own private Hell.
~~~~~~~
The brothers stood side by side in the doorway of the tiny windowless room, watching the figure on the tiny cot as the sigils on his wrist and chest flared, then settled down, leaving the room cast in darkness.
“So that’s… it?” Dean asked, turning to his younger brother.
Sam grinned broadly at him. “That’s it. Those sigils feed off of grace. Since he was already an archangel, the devil incarnate, and had the grace of a Nephilim…”
“He’s down until Eternity,” Rowena purred in satisfaction. “He’ll never hurt anyone again.”
Crowley stepped forward, hand raised. “Move.” Grinning at him, the brothers moved. Crowley concentrated, and the doorway filled with bricks and mortar. With a sigh, Crowley lowered his hand. “There. Now I feel better.”
“Me too,” Rowena said, sliding her arms around Crowley’s. “There’s a wee nip of Craic upstairs with our names on it. Let’s go, Fergus.”
Crowley didn’t move. He looked wide-eyed at the brothers who were leaning on each other in helpless laughter. “What did you flannel-wrapped nightmares do to my mother?”
***
TITLE: The Plan
Author: jennytork
Artist: emmatheslayer
Recipient: kingstoken
Word Count: 1784
Prompt: Combination of 1. Something goes hilariously wrong when trying to cast a spell
2. Resurrected Crowley, would love if Rowena is crying or hugging him, and Crowley just turns to Dean/Sam/Whoever and is like "what did you do to my mother?"(tweaked a bit, this is before he was killed)
Synopsis: So Sam has aptitude that Dean didn't know about. He and Rowena come up with a plan to defeat the British Men of Letters, neutralise the creature growing inside Kelly Kline, and take care of Lucifer once and for all. Now if they can only pull this off...
He felt the familiar tug of Summoning. Gritting his teeth, he finished his business with the lesser demon and banished him. Alone in the throne room, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes -- and let go.
There was no question who had called him. Only those flannel-wrapped nightmare pains in his gluteus would be so brazen as to Summon him. The only question in his mind was what in the various hells did they want from him this time.
He opened his eyes to find himself not in the dungeon of the Bunker as he thought he would end up, but in the War Room. A quick psychic feel about him led to another surprise -- he was not in a devil’s trap or under a Seal of Solomon. “What the bloody hell!” he blurted. “Have you taken leave of every bit of protective instinct that I thought you possessed?”
Three slight huffs of laughter, two male and one decidedly female, drew his attention. He turned and was not surprised in the least to see the bloody Winchesters leaning against either side of the doorframe, giving him weirdly amused looks.
The woman, however -- she was a surprise. Before he could even react to the unpleasant surprise, she had crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, whispering words of endearment against his shoulder even as he stiffened.
He glared at the fraternal banes of his existence and ground out, “All right, you two. What the bloody hell have you done to my mother?”
To his surprise, that question brought laughter from the Winchesters and his mother pulled away with a snorted, “Really!”
“You are all in disgustingly good moods,” Crowley snorted. “So I assume I’m here to be tortured by your elation?”
Both Winchester’s eyes lit at that, and Sam turned to Rowena. “Tortured by elation? There’s an idea!”
“We’ll work on that one, sweetie,” she said with a grin.
Crowley was in the middle of rolling his eyes when it hit him. “Hold on….we? Sweetie?”
“Oh, didn’t they tell you, Fergus?” Rowena purred. “Samuel, here, is a witch.”
“Learning, not full,” the brothers chorused.
Crowley suddenly felt the need to get very drunk.
~~~~~~~
Sam moved to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, passing by the table where Dean and Crowley were commiserating over tumblers of whiskey. “Dean, really. Crowley’s tastes are more -- how did Rowena put it? Refined.” He flicked a hand and said a Latin phrase.
Crowley suddenly held a larger glass filled with what a quick taste revealed to be a highball, topped off with a pair of gaudy plastic pitchforks.
Sam walked out of the kitchen, throwing a smirk over his shoulder, and Crowley held up his altered drink and eloquently cocked an eyebrow.
Dean shook his head. "He doesn't conjure out of thin air. He takes what we already have and alters it. That's the same glass you had, just stretched out a little. The whiskey in that drink..." He scowled and held up his own suddenly empty drink. "Bitch!" he called out, and Sam's laughter drifted back to them before they heard a door close.
Crowley sipped his drink and nodded in satisfaction as Dean got up for a refill. "Thought you knew better than to trust my mother."
"I don't trust her," Dean said as he sat back down, with a beer instead of the whiskey. "I trust Sammy."
"And that's another thing. I thought you hated witches, on sheer principle."
Dean swallowed his mouthful of beer and rolled the bottle between his palms. "Yeah, well... it's sort of different when it's your little brother, you know?"
“Can’t say that I can.” He took a sip of his highball and then asked, “So…. why am I here?”
“We have a kernel of a plan to set everything to rights,” Dean said with a smile. “And you have access to the one thing we don’t have.”
“Hell?”
“Lucifer.”
~~~~~~~
Crowley returned to Hell with a smirk on his face and walked to the door of the cell he had the Prince of Lies in. “How would you like to be a free man?”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow, blue eyes twinkling like that demented headmaster in that book series Sam had been reading. “And the price?”
“You leave me and mine alone. For good.”
“That sounds so incredibly generous,” Lucifer snarked. “What’s the catch?”
Crowley met his eyes. “There’s a Nephilim soon to be born. Only an archangel can neutralise him safely. Do that, leave us alone, and your freedom is guaranteed.”
Lucifer burst out laughing. “A Nephilim. You do realise what I will have to do to neutralise it.”
Crowley nodded.
“And you’re willing to allow me to have that burst of power.”
“Freely. Just leave us alone, and it’s yours.”
Lucifer shook his head. “Let me guess. My ex-vessel and his damnable brother came up with this.”
Crowley couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Their plans are insane, but they tend to work.”
“I hate to admit when someone other than me is right, but…” Lucifer spread his hands. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Crowley held his hand through the bars. “The last thing they insisted on -- I do not lie to them, and they wanted me to make certain we shook on it.”
Now it was Lucifer’s turn to laugh. “Fine.” He put his hand into Crowley’s, and the smile vanished as smoke rose from his palm. “What in the seven hells…”
“I’m not fool enough to trust your word, Lucifer,” Crowley said, fingers moving to grasp the other’s wrist and then pulling away to reveal a faint sigil tracing his wrist. “Just a little something to ensure that you’ll do as you say.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as he studied it. He’d never seen anything like it before, and when you’ve lived as long as he had, that was saying a lot. He turned to look at Crowley. “Let’s get this over with so I don’t have to look at your ugly mug any longer.”
“Save the sweet talk for after, darling,” Crowley snarked, surprising a laugh out of Lucifer before they vanished.
~~~~~~~
“Thank you,” Kelly Kline whispered into Lucifer’s ear, hugging him tightly as he finished siphoning off the massive power of the child inside her, rendering it a normal male baby and making it so that she would survive.
As she released him and rolled over, sliding into the first truly normal sleep she’d had in months, Castiel nodded at her bedside. “I am loathe to say it, brother -- but thank you. This was a good thing you have done.”
Lucifer grinned at him. “Why, Cassie, anyone would think you loved me, much as you’re insulting me.”
Castiel just shook his head and returned to his vigil as Lucifer walked out to where the Winchester brothers and the MacLeod family waited. “So ‘tis done?” Rowena asked.
“He’s a normal kid,” Lucifer said, turning his eyes to Sam. “I said I would do it and I have never lied to you, Sam.”
Sam nodded, acknowledging that. “So what will you do with all that power?”
“Anything I want,” Lucifer grinned. “And I’ll start…” He turned abruptly and seized Crowley by the throat, pinning him against the wall. “By resuming my throne in Hell. You, I have never not lied to.”
“I figured as much,” Crowley ground out through clenched teeth. “So get it over with, already.”
“With pleasure,” Lucifer snarled, eyes beginning to glow. He raised his hand over Crowley’s head, ready to smite ---
And screamed as the sigils Crowley planted - created by Sam and Rowena -- flared to life. He staggered back, releasing a panting Crowley as he stared wide-eyed at the glow that spread with every beat of a pulse he suddenly felt. “....what did you do?”
“Nothing,” Crowley smirked. “It’s as I told you. They ensure you’ll do as you say. Since you reneged on your word -- they are free.”
“Free? What are they? What---” Lucifer suddenly arched, his whole body beginning to glow.
“Now!” Dean roared.
Sam and Rowena lurched forward, each planting a bleeding palm onto Lucifer’s bare skin and shouting, ”Abi!”
The banishing sigil drawn on their palms in their own blood, guided by the banishing spell they shouted, threw Lucifer bodily from the house and deposited him in a glowing heap in the middle of a technologically advanced war room.
The occupants of said war room -- the entire upper echelon of the British Men of Letters -- barely had time to articulate their shock before the sigils did their job.
The sigils had been designed to neutralise. Crowley had cut them deeply, and they fed off of Nephilim and Archangel grace. All that power had to go somewhere, and it exploded in rather spectacular fashion.
Waves of electromagnetic pulses shattered machinery as sonic waves did the same to human flesh and organs. When it finally ended, the form that had once belonged to Nick Monroe lay unmoving in the midst of a debris field.
And three towns in Nebraska had no electricity for several hours.
~~~~~~~~
Lucifer opened his eyes and slowly sat up. He found himself in the midst of a pure white -- something. “....Heaven?” he whispered, gaining his feet. “I’m….I’m finally home?”
He walked through the whiteness, calling for his Father, his brothers, his sisters…. Anybody. Anything.
There was nothing. Nothing but the white. The unchanging silence that swallowed up even his own voice.
Even in the Cage, Lucifer had been able to watch and interact with the denizens of Hell. This? This unrelenting nothingness?
This … aloneness?
This was Lucifer’s own private Hell.
~~~~~~~
The brothers stood side by side in the doorway of the tiny windowless room, watching the figure on the tiny cot as the sigils on his wrist and chest flared, then settled down, leaving the room cast in darkness.
“So that’s… it?” Dean asked, turning to his younger brother.
Sam grinned broadly at him. “That’s it. Those sigils feed off of grace. Since he was already an archangel, the devil incarnate, and had the grace of a Nephilim…”
“He’s down until Eternity,” Rowena purred in satisfaction. “He’ll never hurt anyone again.”
Crowley stepped forward, hand raised. “Move.” Grinning at him, the brothers moved. Crowley concentrated, and the doorway filled with bricks and mortar. With a sigh, Crowley lowered his hand. “There. Now I feel better.”
“Me too,” Rowena said, sliding her arms around Crowley’s. “There’s a wee nip of Craic upstairs with our names on it. Let’s go, Fergus.”
Crowley didn’t move. He looked wide-eyed at the brothers who were leaning on each other in helpless laughter. “What did you flannel-wrapped nightmares do to my mother?”
***