Supernatural: This Is Plan B
Title: This Is Plan B
Author: morelenmir
Rating: R for graphic violence/gore, some language, disturbing content
Characters/Pairings: Eve, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Michael, Lucifer; gen
Wordcount: 4149
Summary: Eve makes a fatal error that night in the diner. Things are far from what they appear and the Winchesters' Plan B does not make her happy. In fact, it kind of makes her dead.
Author notes: Vague spoilers up to Mommy Dearest; goes AU. This exploded into my head this morning and I word vomited. No beta so I apologise for any errors - I had to get this out of my system ASAP. Over 4k words in one day is a ridiculous amount to write, but I had so much fun it's probably illegal in some countries. And this was quite delicious. Every POV, every character.
Castiel and Bobby are hauled inside Ervin's Diner and Sam and Dean's stomachs audibly drop. Eve smiles, savors their dismay. "Well, so much for your Plan B." She slides out from behind the counter, Mary Winchester's golden curls flouncing as she saunters forward, studying the two, an old man and a powerless angel, with rich amusement.
Her child holds Castiel's right arm in a tight grip and she can see that it pains the angel, unused to the sensation. Not for the first time, Eve contemplates on how exquisite he would be as one of her own. He had chosen his vessel well: thick hair more black than brown, a strongly paned face, the slender build concealing a coiled spring, eyes blue as a cloudless sky.
Eyes holding the bite of winter, the cold grip of frost and ice, and fixed unwaveringly on her. Yes, he would be a marvel, a prize, yet some things simply cannot be forced into happening.
"And you. Wondering why so flaccid?" She runs her gaze over him, a coy smirk hovering on pink lips. "I'm older than you, Castiel, I know what makes angels tick."
He stiffens and her eyes dance. Poor little thing, defenseless and in her possession, being used as a piece, a bargaining chip with the renowned stubborn Winchesters. It's positively delicious.
Eve leans in slightly, invading his personal space contemptuously. "Long as I'm around consider yourself," she pauses playfully, "unplugged." Castiel could be chiseled from stone for all that he moves and she delights in the light that comes into his eye, causing the clear blue to spark ferociously.
He is furious and utterly ravishing, caught helplessly in the presence of something that even he doesn't understand, and Eve basks in the warmth of his impotent rage for a long moment before turning to the Winchesters. The perky, unbeatable expression sticks on her face like a stutter, a forced smile, when she discovers Dean is directly behind her. The young human is deliberately using his height to loom over her, Sam at his right shoulder with a blank face.
Blank eyes. She can't read either of them. Keeping her voice cheery, she says, "Work for me." She tries to step around them, regain her ground. She is in charge of the situation, she's the one allowed to press close and intimidate. Sam blocks her and looks down with a minute smile touching his lips, thinning them in what would be a frightening way if she were a monkey. She isn't and she is not afraid. She's not.
"It's a good deal-"
"You know, I don't think you understand exactly how revolting it is to see you wearing that." Dean's voice curls out in a low drawl, lazily glancing at Sam. The taller man slightly inclines his head in unspoken agreement.
Eve falters inwardly, uncertain of where he's trying to go. "Mother knows best, Dean, and who else would you listen to?"
His heavy-lidded gaze drags over her and she notices how smoldering it is, like he's keeping fire in check behind his green eyes.
"It was a low move, Eve." Still conversational, still too relaxed, hands shoved into pockets. Dean shifts casually toward his brother and Sam, without looking away from her-Mary Winchester's-face, leans barely toward Dean. "Sick of looking at that yet?"
"Long ago," Sam growls and the corners of Dean's eyes crinkle in a smile that comes nowhere near his eyes.
He straightens away from Sam and prowls to her left shoulder, glancing at Singer and Castiel before breathing into her hair, stirring it. "I think it's pretty disrespectful, the way she was talking to Cas, don't you think?"
Sam's hazel eyes narrow a little, arrowing into her. "Rude. Quite reprehensible."
Eve's children stir, move as if to come to her side and drag the Winchesters to their knees, and she stills them with a soothing thought. The hunters are only human, weak and a vast nothing compared to her. Let them posture while they can, because she will bring them down faster than they realize.
"Nobody gets to treat my brother like that." Dean's smile is bright and sharp and he pushes into her face, nose almost touching the skin of her cheek. "He may be younger than you, but you are far from the oldest out there."
Bobby gasps, breathes out short and shocked behind her. "Dean?"
Dean doesn't acknowledge the old hunter, running his fingers feather light down the side of her face, lingering around her mouth. "You forgot he has older brothers."
Pieces are rattling around her, thundering into place, forming a horrifying picture. "Dean," she starts and Sam snorts, shaking his head. His eyes glow briefly under the diner's inadequate lights.
"Oh Eve." Sam pats a conciliatory paw on her right shoulder. "She's really more naïve than I imagined," he says, looking over her blonde head, and Dean chuckles.
It's dark and filled with promise and Eve, the Mother of All, feels her flesh goosepimple. He circles before her, entirely predatory, and Sam's stance mirrors his. They're as haughty as a pair of prime falcons. Sam's lips curve sympathetically, mockingly.
"You don't have the right of family." His words are soft and the picture slams into terrifying focus.
"What?" she gasps.
Lucifer's smile is a sword ripping through her. "Only we get to dick with our brother." There is a sword ripping through her. Michael's rough hand is over her heart and he rips away the guise of Mary Winchester with the ease of drawing a breath. She chokes on the torrent of agony raging through her and looks into Michael's eyes, a crescendo of green flame.
Not fire. An inferno.
Eve screams, writhing under his touch, and her children attack. The two restraining Bobby and Castiel shove them aside in their haste to help their Mother, and the baffled pair spin for a moment before righting themselves. Bobby stutters to the angel, both buffeted by the creatures shoving past, "Should we, uh, help?"
Castiel grabs Bobby's arm and pulls him to a booth and holds him against the curtained window, pressing himself as flat as possible also. "No."
One child leaps from a table behind Lucifer, teeth glistening angrily as she howls her fury, and he easily catches her by the throat, cinders by the time she hits the linoleum. Michael and Lucifer's backs are to each other, Lucifer contemptuously meeting each of Eve's offspring as his brother sears her insides. She's fallen to her knees and Michael crouches before her, maintaining the contact.
Waves of children advance, crashing through windows and doors heedlessly, driven toward the archangels by the absolute pain Eve is experiencing, her desperate call for help.
"Having fun taking your time?" Lucifer tosses over his shoulder, knifing one hand through a burly trucker's abdomen and snapping his neck with the other.
"You're enjoying yourself," Michael remarks, for all the world sounding like he was pointing out that it's going to rain tomorrow and not watching a young woman in front of him screaming and lit up with fire within. Blood is streaming from her orifices, a morbid bathing.
The soccer mom who'd been holding Bobby captive wails as her spine is broken and falls silent when Lucifer literally tears her head off. He spares a second to grin at its face, dangling from his fist by short brunette hair, and then hurls it into another child's solar plexus. It doubles over and meets Lucifer's knee, rising to drive the front half of its skull into the back. Two jump at him simultaneously and he seizes one by the rib cage, bones crunching as he tightens his grip, and raises his hand to deal with the other. Skin unravels in midair and the meat and bones burst into the air, an explosion of gore.
Lucifer shrugs, feigning boredom. "Maybe."
More burst through the shattered diner entrances and he sighs in irritation and pleasure. "Whole town of them."
"Right, fast way." Michael buries his fingers in the flesh over Eve's heart and her screams rise. He stands, dragging her upright by the fingers hooked in her, skin tearing at his pull. "Ready?"
"Michael." Castiel is solemn, despite having to shout over the sounds of Lucifer's slaughter and Eve sobbing. The archangel pauses, vivid green eyes flicking past Eve's crimson face to meet blue. Castiel has left Bobby ducked below the window, back to the wall, and is standing on the floor like a question mark, inquisitively vibrating with awe and fear.
"Castiel." The acknowledgement is curt and tinged with care. Michael's gaze makes Raphael's regard seem like that of a child's in comparison and Castiel is frustrated by the restraint put on him by the Mother, unable to truly see the angel couched within Dean's body.
Even lacking his angelic powers, he understands what Michael is saying and his jaw tightens. "Bobby first." He can't get Bobby out of the town, not fast enough, not before the archangels level it.
Michael rolls his shoulders, bumps one of them purposefully in Lucifer's side. "Singer." Lucifer's expression is a mix of ire and resignation.
"You take the old man," he grumbles, breaking five fingers off a skinny teenager's hand in quick succession, the boy howling on his other hand and knees. Michael's glance cuts to him and he makes an exaggerated face, and sends the teen screaming into oblivion.
"Cas, what're you talkin' about?" Bobby is shaky, gripping the table and the red vinyl chairback with white knuckled hands. He is standing under his own power, so that is in his favor. Lucifer moves from protecting Michael's back and walks toward Bobby, his stride smooth and inhuman, expression unreadable. Unrecognizable.
Sword in hand, Castiel fills the space at Michael's back and determinedly hacks at the high school wrestling coach and a cook emerged from the diner's kitchen. Iron and copper taste bitter in the air, the acrid tang permeating heavily.
Bobby shrinks into the booth and tells himself there's no shame in it; Lucifer is massive, presence larger than Bobby remembers.
He also remembers Lucifer killing him.
The fallen archangel half-chuckles deep in his throat. "Yes, I did." The glint in his darkened hazel eye tells Bobby that he hasn't changed; he is still very much the same being that broke his neck not two years earlier. He reaches for Bobby, two fingers extended much like Castiel's.
Bobby flinches and they are six miles outside Grant's Pass, according to the sign next to the road. He can see the orange glow of its lights on the clouds pressing down overhead but thick forest blocks his view of the town itself. The wind is picking up and Bobby snugs his hat lower over blue eyes before reluctantly glancing at the tall man beside him. Lucifer is staring at the town higher up the hills, eager eyes aglow. His gaze twitches to Bobby's and Bobby looks away, steeling himself.
"Stay here and don't do anything stupid," Lucifer advises wryly. He shifts his weight forward, away from Bobby, and pauses. Out of the corner of his eye Bobby sees Lucifer shake his head, Sam's brown hair falling in glowing hazel eyes. "Castiel and his pets," he murmurs with dry amusement and then is gone.
Bobby sags, and discovers he really needs to sit before his legs completely give way and gravity deals him one. He crumples gracelessly to the dirt and buries his face in his hands.
Oh God.
A deep thoom suddenly shakes through the air and he thinks an eardrum may have ruptured, judging by the blood trickling out his ear. Another rumble follows, this time causing the earth to ripple around him. Struggling to his feet, Bobby stands in the road away from the trees and fights to keep his balance. A sharp and deafening sizzle-crack makes him look at the sky above the town.
Lightning storms have awed Bobby ever since he can remember, spending sticky summer afternoons entranced by the jagged tears of light and sound and fury. He's seen sheet lightning aplenty yet not like this. It's not so much sheet lightning as it is a sheet of light erupting down from the cloud layer directly above Grant's Pass. It's bigger than anything he's ever seen and he blinks at the blaze, shadow stark on the blacktop behind him.
It winks out and before he can adjust to the night gloom, a pillar rises from the town. Composed of the purest white light ringed with fire, it widens until the entire town is covered. Now the shattering boom of the loudest thunderclap Bobby's sure any storm has ever produced reaches him and his other eardrum goes. He's on his knees, covering both ears ineffectually as his bones are rattled like he's in a tumbler filled with .50 caliber shells and set to crazy, and he still can't look away.
The ravaging column of fire and light builds and Bobby can dimly hear a roar that's loud enough to pulsate through the air and vibrate his teeth. He imagines he can hear screams.
When it vanishes he figures it's been about five minutes since he got his butt parked out here. He consults his watch and isn't surprised to see its face broken; Bobby taps carefully on it and the thick glass simply crumbles. He shakes the glass off the watch and his breathe catches.
Sixty seconds. That's how long it took to demolish a whole town.
"God." He says the name like a stunned prayer, voice muffled in his head, staring in the direction of what was once known as Grant's Pass. The clouds are still lit with an orange glow from below, but Bobby can see the change. Fire reflects differently than streetlights. He wonders if they got out and then mentally slaps himself. Of course they did. It's not Sam and Dean up there, it's the two most powerful angels in lore. Castiel has to be fine, he figures, they wouldn't have let him get hurt.
He lifts a hand to tug on his worn hat and stops; he stares at gnarled hands coated in slick blood congealing around his knuckles. Tearing away from the grisly sight, Bobby lifts his eyes toward the consumed town. He's staring when three men step through empty space up the road from him, a scuffle of oak and aspen leaves dancing briefly around them as though to herald their arrival.
Bowlegged and swaggering, Michael walks to the right of Castiel, the shorter angel sandwiched between him and the gigantic, broad shouldered form of Lucifer. They walk close, their sleeves shushing against one another. Michael looks pleased, a smirk familiar to Bobby as that of Dean after a by the numbers hunt, and his eyes are a faintly glowing green. Lucifer is brushing spatters of what could possibly be brain matter off the front of his jacket, and if Michael looks pleased then Lucifer is a cat sated with Grade A cream, vivid hazel eyes slitted happily. Castiel appears…well frankly, to Bobby he still appears shocked, blue eyes wide and swinging between the archangels on his shoulders.
The three of them had leveled Grant's Pass and in the back of his mind, watching the three approach, Bobby thanks God that Castiel got him out of there. He's not thanking Him for Lucifer.
As they draw nearer, concern draws Castiel's eyebrows together and he breaks ranks, striding ahead to study Bobby intently. His lips move and Bobby tries to read them but he's rusty. He shakes his head and gestures to his ears. At least the blood flow has ceased.
Michael and Lucifer stand at a distance, watching with detached interest. Lucifer says something and Bobby reads the intent. Why waste time on him?
Why indeed. Bobby would love an answer to that one.
Castiel turns his head to reply and Bobby watches both Lucifer and Michael's heads tilt in honest query. The tiny movement is so much like Castiel he laughs. It feels like it came out a gurgle and Castiel swivels around, dropping to one knee in front of him and hastily pressing a palm on his chest above Bobby's old heart. The next breath draws in clean and easy and he gasps for a moment, hand grabbing for Castiel's shoulder, searching for support. The angel holds still until he regains his equilibrium and then nods at him, standing.
Bobby stands too, checking his hands quickly. Completely clean of blood. He glances up and Castiel is walking back to the other angels, who are clearly waiting for him.
"Cas," he says, meaning thank you and where are you going and what the hell happened and where're Sam and Dean. The angel looks over his shoulder, blue gaze boring into him. Michael and Lucifer step beside him, framing the trenchoated angel.
"Family, Singer," Michael says in Dean's rough voice and Bobby's gut clenches painfully. "You understand that."
"We take care of each other." Lucifer quietly emphasizes the last two words.
Bobby scowls and tries to keep the break, the shatter, out of his voice. "Well you just took mine from me." Sam and Dean would have glanced at one another, shifted uncomfortably. Lucifer and Michael's chins rose, their eyes sharp and glittering in the gloom.
"What does it matter?" Michael says, flicking his gaze over Bobby dismissively. "They weren't related. They weren't blood."
"Blood don't mean anything!" Bobby explodes and then his breath catches. Shouting at the Prince of Heaven, the Commander of the Army of God, is likely one of the easiest ways to get instantaneously removed from existence.
Michael leaves his brothers and paces slowly toward Bobby, head angling to the side as he regards him more intently. Bobby is scared, mouth utterly dry, and he still grits out determinedly, "I helped raise 'em. They're as much my boys as they were John's. They're my boys."
Suddenly emboldened, he steps forward into Michael's space and glares at the angel wearing Dean's face. "What d'you even need them for? Your big gig is over and done." A flash of something illuminates Michael's eyes and Bobby thinks it might be irritation. Common sense has long since fled and Bobby pushes. "You can't keep them from me. You don't got the right, boy."
That was a mistake.
Michael laughs in Bobby's face. "'Boy.' Singer, you are astonishing." Bobby's aware of Lucifer moving closer, not much more than a shadow with threatening eyes. "You can't stop us, let alone order us around."
"I have holy oil and I'm not afraid to use it," Bobby fires back.
The smile baring Michael's teeth is more like a snarl. "What are you going to do, Molotov me again?" Bobby goes stiff, cold to the core. "We know all your tricks old man."
"Michael. Sir, if you will." Castiel steps into Bobby's view and the angel's trenchcoat somehow seems more rumpled in his distress. "Bobby Singer is…my friend." Both Michael and Lucifer's heads snap to the left to fix on him, their surprise apparent. Castiel lifts his head, shoulders square, and says firmly, "I would prefer him to remain unharmed and well."
A grin dashes through Michael's eyes, a chuckle chasing it at the formal little angel standing irreverently just off attention. "Grown fond of your pets, I see."
Castiel's voice roughens. "Pets and friends are vastly dissimilar. Spend time with them and you will come to see it as I have. He is a friend to me." Michael's face darkens and Castiel pushes seriously, "As are the Winchester brothers." Lucifer is looking a little thunderous too.
"You don't understand who they are, what they mean to people around them."
Since he had carved sigils into the Winchesters' bones years ago, Castiel hasn't been able to see them. He might stand face to face with them but all he can behold is the flesh, their bodies, the animation in their faces. They can speak and move and touch him, while they feel like a hollow space in front of him. Their essences are hidden from him, the intricacies of their souls invisible. He explained to Dean once that it was as though the brothers had ceased "broadcasting" their location, but he didn't tell him that it also meant he'd never see any more than what a human would looking at them. He didn't tell him that, to conceal them from the angels, he had to draw a shroud over the beacons of their spirits because they shone too bright. Too bright for humans.
He can't see that but when he looks in their eyes, Castiel can spy a fraction of what he knows is obscured. Sometimes he's afraid that if he closes his eyes they'll disappear and he'll never be able to find them. Castiel keeps this close to himself, tucked as deeply as possible and rarely touched.
Sam once described Michael as a nuclear-powered angel and Castiel remembers it as Michael abruptly rips down into him, discovering the kernel with ease in bare seconds. He sways when the archangel withdraws and Michael touches him briefly, steadying and sure, on the shoulder.
Lucifer crowds on the far side of Michael and he leans away from Castiel, ghosting a light hand swiftly over Lucifer's. The knowledge is in Lucifer's eyes and he seems genuinely intrigued, Michael matching him. Slowly Michael turns to look at Bobby again.
"Give us time, Singer. You've had them to yourself long enough." His tone is kinder, even so Bobby droops a little. "Just…not yet."
Michael and Lucifer simultaneously step back from the old human and Castiel isn't certain where his place is. Michael dips his head toward him. "Take him home."
Castiel nods, automatically receiving the order.
As the archangels turn away, Michael says gently, "We'll see you soon little brother." It is a promise. Lucifer grips his forearm and Michael grins, taking hold of Lucifer's arm. Everything is different and what isn't, will be changed. The brothers shove into each other, driving their sides against the other with gleeful expressions similar to the Sam and Dean of several years ago. Michael sidesteps Lucifer and ruffles his hair, drawing a vexed huff from the fallen archangel and a deep laugh from his older brother.
Bobby is faintly surprised his jaw isn't broken from hitting the blacktop.
Their backs are toward the angel and the hunter, striding down the road, when lightning left over from the freak storm ripples through the clouds above. Bobby stops breathing.
He's read archangels have more wings than the lower pay grade angels, like six or maybe eight. The shadows hanging in the air after the flickers are massive. Lucifer's are spread wide as a truck and trailer are long as he bats at Michael's face with a long arm. Michael has his wings tucked closer to him but they're still huge.
Really fucking huge.
The wings overlap and shift and Bobby can't count how many there are, save that there's probably more than he'd guessed. He's standing as straight and frozen as a shell-shocked person and could've been tipped over with a feather.
Then again, these feathers might be able to rip glass.
Another spear of lightning hurtles overhead and Michael's wings suddenly swoop out, every inch as impressive as Lucifer. They curve high and billow, catching unseen currents, and then suddenly slash down. Beside him, Lucifer's wings mimic the giant movement and they're gone. Bobby blinks, flinching at the incredibly loud roll of thunder, and slowly turns his head.
Castiel is looking at the empty spot and he isn't sure how to classify what he sees on the angel's face. Longing, wistfulness? Envy? "Cas?"
He doesn't say anything, just shakes like a duck shrugging off rain, and glances at him. Castiel holds his gaze for a moment, and Bobby thinks he's being told a lot more than he can comprehend. He places a weathered hand on Castiel's shoulder, squeezes the shoulder under the dirty trenchcoat firmly.
"We'll figure it out."
Castiel nods once, thoughtfully, blue eyes distant. He refocuses when the clouds decide they've had enough and dump a lake onto them. They're soaked in an instant and Bobby can feel the first shiver working up his spine. Before it reaches his neck there's that weird instant of falling and then the angel and he are making puddles in his empty kitchen.
The rainstorm moves up into the hills, falling hard and with a vengeance, scouring the land. The fire eating the remnants of Grant's Pass fights the merciless downpour bravely before it succumbs and dies down. Muddy streams of ash and charred bone flow through the streets of the doomed town, streaking down the hills to the tree-lined river. There isn't enough left to be called a ghost town, not even by the resident spirits themselves.
They were taken care of too.
Author: morelenmir
Rating: R for graphic violence/gore, some language, disturbing content
Characters/Pairings: Eve, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Michael, Lucifer; gen
Wordcount: 4149
Summary: Eve makes a fatal error that night in the diner. Things are far from what they appear and the Winchesters' Plan B does not make her happy. In fact, it kind of makes her dead.
Author notes: Vague spoilers up to Mommy Dearest; goes AU. This exploded into my head this morning and I word vomited. No beta so I apologise for any errors - I had to get this out of my system ASAP. Over 4k words in one day is a ridiculous amount to write, but I had so much fun it's probably illegal in some countries. And this was quite delicious. Every POV, every character.
Castiel and Bobby are hauled inside Ervin's Diner and Sam and Dean's stomachs audibly drop. Eve smiles, savors their dismay. "Well, so much for your Plan B." She slides out from behind the counter, Mary Winchester's golden curls flouncing as she saunters forward, studying the two, an old man and a powerless angel, with rich amusement.
Her child holds Castiel's right arm in a tight grip and she can see that it pains the angel, unused to the sensation. Not for the first time, Eve contemplates on how exquisite he would be as one of her own. He had chosen his vessel well: thick hair more black than brown, a strongly paned face, the slender build concealing a coiled spring, eyes blue as a cloudless sky.
Eyes holding the bite of winter, the cold grip of frost and ice, and fixed unwaveringly on her. Yes, he would be a marvel, a prize, yet some things simply cannot be forced into happening.
"And you. Wondering why so flaccid?" She runs her gaze over him, a coy smirk hovering on pink lips. "I'm older than you, Castiel, I know what makes angels tick."
He stiffens and her eyes dance. Poor little thing, defenseless and in her possession, being used as a piece, a bargaining chip with the renowned stubborn Winchesters. It's positively delicious.
Eve leans in slightly, invading his personal space contemptuously. "Long as I'm around consider yourself," she pauses playfully, "unplugged." Castiel could be chiseled from stone for all that he moves and she delights in the light that comes into his eye, causing the clear blue to spark ferociously.
He is furious and utterly ravishing, caught helplessly in the presence of something that even he doesn't understand, and Eve basks in the warmth of his impotent rage for a long moment before turning to the Winchesters. The perky, unbeatable expression sticks on her face like a stutter, a forced smile, when she discovers Dean is directly behind her. The young human is deliberately using his height to loom over her, Sam at his right shoulder with a blank face.
Blank eyes. She can't read either of them. Keeping her voice cheery, she says, "Work for me." She tries to step around them, regain her ground. She is in charge of the situation, she's the one allowed to press close and intimidate. Sam blocks her and looks down with a minute smile touching his lips, thinning them in what would be a frightening way if she were a monkey. She isn't and she is not afraid. She's not.
"It's a good deal-"
"You know, I don't think you understand exactly how revolting it is to see you wearing that." Dean's voice curls out in a low drawl, lazily glancing at Sam. The taller man slightly inclines his head in unspoken agreement.
Eve falters inwardly, uncertain of where he's trying to go. "Mother knows best, Dean, and who else would you listen to?"
His heavy-lidded gaze drags over her and she notices how smoldering it is, like he's keeping fire in check behind his green eyes.
"It was a low move, Eve." Still conversational, still too relaxed, hands shoved into pockets. Dean shifts casually toward his brother and Sam, without looking away from her-Mary Winchester's-face, leans barely toward Dean. "Sick of looking at that yet?"
"Long ago," Sam growls and the corners of Dean's eyes crinkle in a smile that comes nowhere near his eyes.
He straightens away from Sam and prowls to her left shoulder, glancing at Singer and Castiel before breathing into her hair, stirring it. "I think it's pretty disrespectful, the way she was talking to Cas, don't you think?"
Sam's hazel eyes narrow a little, arrowing into her. "Rude. Quite reprehensible."
Eve's children stir, move as if to come to her side and drag the Winchesters to their knees, and she stills them with a soothing thought. The hunters are only human, weak and a vast nothing compared to her. Let them posture while they can, because she will bring them down faster than they realize.
"Nobody gets to treat my brother like that." Dean's smile is bright and sharp and he pushes into her face, nose almost touching the skin of her cheek. "He may be younger than you, but you are far from the oldest out there."
Bobby gasps, breathes out short and shocked behind her. "Dean?"
Dean doesn't acknowledge the old hunter, running his fingers feather light down the side of her face, lingering around her mouth. "You forgot he has older brothers."
Pieces are rattling around her, thundering into place, forming a horrifying picture. "Dean," she starts and Sam snorts, shaking his head. His eyes glow briefly under the diner's inadequate lights.
"Oh Eve." Sam pats a conciliatory paw on her right shoulder. "She's really more naïve than I imagined," he says, looking over her blonde head, and Dean chuckles.
It's dark and filled with promise and Eve, the Mother of All, feels her flesh goosepimple. He circles before her, entirely predatory, and Sam's stance mirrors his. They're as haughty as a pair of prime falcons. Sam's lips curve sympathetically, mockingly.
"You don't have the right of family." His words are soft and the picture slams into terrifying focus.
"What?" she gasps.
Lucifer's smile is a sword ripping through her. "Only we get to dick with our brother." There is a sword ripping through her. Michael's rough hand is over her heart and he rips away the guise of Mary Winchester with the ease of drawing a breath. She chokes on the torrent of agony raging through her and looks into Michael's eyes, a crescendo of green flame.
Not fire. An inferno.
Eve screams, writhing under his touch, and her children attack. The two restraining Bobby and Castiel shove them aside in their haste to help their Mother, and the baffled pair spin for a moment before righting themselves. Bobby stutters to the angel, both buffeted by the creatures shoving past, "Should we, uh, help?"
Castiel grabs Bobby's arm and pulls him to a booth and holds him against the curtained window, pressing himself as flat as possible also. "No."
One child leaps from a table behind Lucifer, teeth glistening angrily as she howls her fury, and he easily catches her by the throat, cinders by the time she hits the linoleum. Michael and Lucifer's backs are to each other, Lucifer contemptuously meeting each of Eve's offspring as his brother sears her insides. She's fallen to her knees and Michael crouches before her, maintaining the contact.
Waves of children advance, crashing through windows and doors heedlessly, driven toward the archangels by the absolute pain Eve is experiencing, her desperate call for help.
"Having fun taking your time?" Lucifer tosses over his shoulder, knifing one hand through a burly trucker's abdomen and snapping his neck with the other.
"You're enjoying yourself," Michael remarks, for all the world sounding like he was pointing out that it's going to rain tomorrow and not watching a young woman in front of him screaming and lit up with fire within. Blood is streaming from her orifices, a morbid bathing.
The soccer mom who'd been holding Bobby captive wails as her spine is broken and falls silent when Lucifer literally tears her head off. He spares a second to grin at its face, dangling from his fist by short brunette hair, and then hurls it into another child's solar plexus. It doubles over and meets Lucifer's knee, rising to drive the front half of its skull into the back. Two jump at him simultaneously and he seizes one by the rib cage, bones crunching as he tightens his grip, and raises his hand to deal with the other. Skin unravels in midair and the meat and bones burst into the air, an explosion of gore.
Lucifer shrugs, feigning boredom. "Maybe."
More burst through the shattered diner entrances and he sighs in irritation and pleasure. "Whole town of them."
"Right, fast way." Michael buries his fingers in the flesh over Eve's heart and her screams rise. He stands, dragging her upright by the fingers hooked in her, skin tearing at his pull. "Ready?"
"Michael." Castiel is solemn, despite having to shout over the sounds of Lucifer's slaughter and Eve sobbing. The archangel pauses, vivid green eyes flicking past Eve's crimson face to meet blue. Castiel has left Bobby ducked below the window, back to the wall, and is standing on the floor like a question mark, inquisitively vibrating with awe and fear.
"Castiel." The acknowledgement is curt and tinged with care. Michael's gaze makes Raphael's regard seem like that of a child's in comparison and Castiel is frustrated by the restraint put on him by the Mother, unable to truly see the angel couched within Dean's body.
Even lacking his angelic powers, he understands what Michael is saying and his jaw tightens. "Bobby first." He can't get Bobby out of the town, not fast enough, not before the archangels level it.
Michael rolls his shoulders, bumps one of them purposefully in Lucifer's side. "Singer." Lucifer's expression is a mix of ire and resignation.
"You take the old man," he grumbles, breaking five fingers off a skinny teenager's hand in quick succession, the boy howling on his other hand and knees. Michael's glance cuts to him and he makes an exaggerated face, and sends the teen screaming into oblivion.
"Cas, what're you talkin' about?" Bobby is shaky, gripping the table and the red vinyl chairback with white knuckled hands. He is standing under his own power, so that is in his favor. Lucifer moves from protecting Michael's back and walks toward Bobby, his stride smooth and inhuman, expression unreadable. Unrecognizable.
Sword in hand, Castiel fills the space at Michael's back and determinedly hacks at the high school wrestling coach and a cook emerged from the diner's kitchen. Iron and copper taste bitter in the air, the acrid tang permeating heavily.
Bobby shrinks into the booth and tells himself there's no shame in it; Lucifer is massive, presence larger than Bobby remembers.
He also remembers Lucifer killing him.
The fallen archangel half-chuckles deep in his throat. "Yes, I did." The glint in his darkened hazel eye tells Bobby that he hasn't changed; he is still very much the same being that broke his neck not two years earlier. He reaches for Bobby, two fingers extended much like Castiel's.
Bobby flinches and they are six miles outside Grant's Pass, according to the sign next to the road. He can see the orange glow of its lights on the clouds pressing down overhead but thick forest blocks his view of the town itself. The wind is picking up and Bobby snugs his hat lower over blue eyes before reluctantly glancing at the tall man beside him. Lucifer is staring at the town higher up the hills, eager eyes aglow. His gaze twitches to Bobby's and Bobby looks away, steeling himself.
"Stay here and don't do anything stupid," Lucifer advises wryly. He shifts his weight forward, away from Bobby, and pauses. Out of the corner of his eye Bobby sees Lucifer shake his head, Sam's brown hair falling in glowing hazel eyes. "Castiel and his pets," he murmurs with dry amusement and then is gone.
Bobby sags, and discovers he really needs to sit before his legs completely give way and gravity deals him one. He crumples gracelessly to the dirt and buries his face in his hands.
Oh God.
A deep thoom suddenly shakes through the air and he thinks an eardrum may have ruptured, judging by the blood trickling out his ear. Another rumble follows, this time causing the earth to ripple around him. Struggling to his feet, Bobby stands in the road away from the trees and fights to keep his balance. A sharp and deafening sizzle-crack makes him look at the sky above the town.
Lightning storms have awed Bobby ever since he can remember, spending sticky summer afternoons entranced by the jagged tears of light and sound and fury. He's seen sheet lightning aplenty yet not like this. It's not so much sheet lightning as it is a sheet of light erupting down from the cloud layer directly above Grant's Pass. It's bigger than anything he's ever seen and he blinks at the blaze, shadow stark on the blacktop behind him.
It winks out and before he can adjust to the night gloom, a pillar rises from the town. Composed of the purest white light ringed with fire, it widens until the entire town is covered. Now the shattering boom of the loudest thunderclap Bobby's sure any storm has ever produced reaches him and his other eardrum goes. He's on his knees, covering both ears ineffectually as his bones are rattled like he's in a tumbler filled with .50 caliber shells and set to crazy, and he still can't look away.
The ravaging column of fire and light builds and Bobby can dimly hear a roar that's loud enough to pulsate through the air and vibrate his teeth. He imagines he can hear screams.
When it vanishes he figures it's been about five minutes since he got his butt parked out here. He consults his watch and isn't surprised to see its face broken; Bobby taps carefully on it and the thick glass simply crumbles. He shakes the glass off the watch and his breathe catches.
Sixty seconds. That's how long it took to demolish a whole town.
"God." He says the name like a stunned prayer, voice muffled in his head, staring in the direction of what was once known as Grant's Pass. The clouds are still lit with an orange glow from below, but Bobby can see the change. Fire reflects differently than streetlights. He wonders if they got out and then mentally slaps himself. Of course they did. It's not Sam and Dean up there, it's the two most powerful angels in lore. Castiel has to be fine, he figures, they wouldn't have let him get hurt.
He lifts a hand to tug on his worn hat and stops; he stares at gnarled hands coated in slick blood congealing around his knuckles. Tearing away from the grisly sight, Bobby lifts his eyes toward the consumed town. He's staring when three men step through empty space up the road from him, a scuffle of oak and aspen leaves dancing briefly around them as though to herald their arrival.
Bowlegged and swaggering, Michael walks to the right of Castiel, the shorter angel sandwiched between him and the gigantic, broad shouldered form of Lucifer. They walk close, their sleeves shushing against one another. Michael looks pleased, a smirk familiar to Bobby as that of Dean after a by the numbers hunt, and his eyes are a faintly glowing green. Lucifer is brushing spatters of what could possibly be brain matter off the front of his jacket, and if Michael looks pleased then Lucifer is a cat sated with Grade A cream, vivid hazel eyes slitted happily. Castiel appears…well frankly, to Bobby he still appears shocked, blue eyes wide and swinging between the archangels on his shoulders.
The three of them had leveled Grant's Pass and in the back of his mind, watching the three approach, Bobby thanks God that Castiel got him out of there. He's not thanking Him for Lucifer.
As they draw nearer, concern draws Castiel's eyebrows together and he breaks ranks, striding ahead to study Bobby intently. His lips move and Bobby tries to read them but he's rusty. He shakes his head and gestures to his ears. At least the blood flow has ceased.
Michael and Lucifer stand at a distance, watching with detached interest. Lucifer says something and Bobby reads the intent. Why waste time on him?
Why indeed. Bobby would love an answer to that one.
Castiel turns his head to reply and Bobby watches both Lucifer and Michael's heads tilt in honest query. The tiny movement is so much like Castiel he laughs. It feels like it came out a gurgle and Castiel swivels around, dropping to one knee in front of him and hastily pressing a palm on his chest above Bobby's old heart. The next breath draws in clean and easy and he gasps for a moment, hand grabbing for Castiel's shoulder, searching for support. The angel holds still until he regains his equilibrium and then nods at him, standing.
Bobby stands too, checking his hands quickly. Completely clean of blood. He glances up and Castiel is walking back to the other angels, who are clearly waiting for him.
"Cas," he says, meaning thank you and where are you going and what the hell happened and where're Sam and Dean. The angel looks over his shoulder, blue gaze boring into him. Michael and Lucifer step beside him, framing the trenchoated angel.
"Family, Singer," Michael says in Dean's rough voice and Bobby's gut clenches painfully. "You understand that."
"We take care of each other." Lucifer quietly emphasizes the last two words.
Bobby scowls and tries to keep the break, the shatter, out of his voice. "Well you just took mine from me." Sam and Dean would have glanced at one another, shifted uncomfortably. Lucifer and Michael's chins rose, their eyes sharp and glittering in the gloom.
"What does it matter?" Michael says, flicking his gaze over Bobby dismissively. "They weren't related. They weren't blood."
"Blood don't mean anything!" Bobby explodes and then his breath catches. Shouting at the Prince of Heaven, the Commander of the Army of God, is likely one of the easiest ways to get instantaneously removed from existence.
Michael leaves his brothers and paces slowly toward Bobby, head angling to the side as he regards him more intently. Bobby is scared, mouth utterly dry, and he still grits out determinedly, "I helped raise 'em. They're as much my boys as they were John's. They're my boys."
Suddenly emboldened, he steps forward into Michael's space and glares at the angel wearing Dean's face. "What d'you even need them for? Your big gig is over and done." A flash of something illuminates Michael's eyes and Bobby thinks it might be irritation. Common sense has long since fled and Bobby pushes. "You can't keep them from me. You don't got the right, boy."
That was a mistake.
Michael laughs in Bobby's face. "'Boy.' Singer, you are astonishing." Bobby's aware of Lucifer moving closer, not much more than a shadow with threatening eyes. "You can't stop us, let alone order us around."
"I have holy oil and I'm not afraid to use it," Bobby fires back.
The smile baring Michael's teeth is more like a snarl. "What are you going to do, Molotov me again?" Bobby goes stiff, cold to the core. "We know all your tricks old man."
"Michael. Sir, if you will." Castiel steps into Bobby's view and the angel's trenchcoat somehow seems more rumpled in his distress. "Bobby Singer is…my friend." Both Michael and Lucifer's heads snap to the left to fix on him, their surprise apparent. Castiel lifts his head, shoulders square, and says firmly, "I would prefer him to remain unharmed and well."
A grin dashes through Michael's eyes, a chuckle chasing it at the formal little angel standing irreverently just off attention. "Grown fond of your pets, I see."
Castiel's voice roughens. "Pets and friends are vastly dissimilar. Spend time with them and you will come to see it as I have. He is a friend to me." Michael's face darkens and Castiel pushes seriously, "As are the Winchester brothers." Lucifer is looking a little thunderous too.
"You don't understand who they are, what they mean to people around them."
Since he had carved sigils into the Winchesters' bones years ago, Castiel hasn't been able to see them. He might stand face to face with them but all he can behold is the flesh, their bodies, the animation in their faces. They can speak and move and touch him, while they feel like a hollow space in front of him. Their essences are hidden from him, the intricacies of their souls invisible. He explained to Dean once that it was as though the brothers had ceased "broadcasting" their location, but he didn't tell him that it also meant he'd never see any more than what a human would looking at them. He didn't tell him that, to conceal them from the angels, he had to draw a shroud over the beacons of their spirits because they shone too bright. Too bright for humans.
He can't see that but when he looks in their eyes, Castiel can spy a fraction of what he knows is obscured. Sometimes he's afraid that if he closes his eyes they'll disappear and he'll never be able to find them. Castiel keeps this close to himself, tucked as deeply as possible and rarely touched.
Sam once described Michael as a nuclear-powered angel and Castiel remembers it as Michael abruptly rips down into him, discovering the kernel with ease in bare seconds. He sways when the archangel withdraws and Michael touches him briefly, steadying and sure, on the shoulder.
Lucifer crowds on the far side of Michael and he leans away from Castiel, ghosting a light hand swiftly over Lucifer's. The knowledge is in Lucifer's eyes and he seems genuinely intrigued, Michael matching him. Slowly Michael turns to look at Bobby again.
"Give us time, Singer. You've had them to yourself long enough." His tone is kinder, even so Bobby droops a little. "Just…not yet."
Michael and Lucifer simultaneously step back from the old human and Castiel isn't certain where his place is. Michael dips his head toward him. "Take him home."
Castiel nods, automatically receiving the order.
As the archangels turn away, Michael says gently, "We'll see you soon little brother." It is a promise. Lucifer grips his forearm and Michael grins, taking hold of Lucifer's arm. Everything is different and what isn't, will be changed. The brothers shove into each other, driving their sides against the other with gleeful expressions similar to the Sam and Dean of several years ago. Michael sidesteps Lucifer and ruffles his hair, drawing a vexed huff from the fallen archangel and a deep laugh from his older brother.
Bobby is faintly surprised his jaw isn't broken from hitting the blacktop.
Their backs are toward the angel and the hunter, striding down the road, when lightning left over from the freak storm ripples through the clouds above. Bobby stops breathing.
He's read archangels have more wings than the lower pay grade angels, like six or maybe eight. The shadows hanging in the air after the flickers are massive. Lucifer's are spread wide as a truck and trailer are long as he bats at Michael's face with a long arm. Michael has his wings tucked closer to him but they're still huge.
Really fucking huge.
The wings overlap and shift and Bobby can't count how many there are, save that there's probably more than he'd guessed. He's standing as straight and frozen as a shell-shocked person and could've been tipped over with a feather.
Then again, these feathers might be able to rip glass.
Another spear of lightning hurtles overhead and Michael's wings suddenly swoop out, every inch as impressive as Lucifer. They curve high and billow, catching unseen currents, and then suddenly slash down. Beside him, Lucifer's wings mimic the giant movement and they're gone. Bobby blinks, flinching at the incredibly loud roll of thunder, and slowly turns his head.
Castiel is looking at the empty spot and he isn't sure how to classify what he sees on the angel's face. Longing, wistfulness? Envy? "Cas?"
He doesn't say anything, just shakes like a duck shrugging off rain, and glances at him. Castiel holds his gaze for a moment, and Bobby thinks he's being told a lot more than he can comprehend. He places a weathered hand on Castiel's shoulder, squeezes the shoulder under the dirty trenchcoat firmly.
"We'll figure it out."
Castiel nods once, thoughtfully, blue eyes distant. He refocuses when the clouds decide they've had enough and dump a lake onto them. They're soaked in an instant and Bobby can feel the first shiver working up his spine. Before it reaches his neck there's that weird instant of falling and then the angel and he are making puddles in his empty kitchen.
The rainstorm moves up into the hills, falling hard and with a vengeance, scouring the land. The fire eating the remnants of Grant's Pass fights the merciless downpour bravely before it succumbs and dies down. Muddy streams of ash and charred bone flow through the streets of the doomed town, streaking down the hills to the tree-lined river. There isn't enough left to be called a ghost town, not even by the resident spirits themselves.
They were taken care of too.