Fic: The Second-Best Rank (Supernatural, 5x04!verse, 4/?)
The rain pounded against overgrown grass and sent mud splashing in his face. Dean wiped his mouth with his sleeve and squinted through the drops. The lake began a few feet away, but the water mixed with the rain so well that all he saw was solid gray. “Valerie!”
Thunder split the darkened clouds, briefly illuminating campgrounds that should have been lit by afternoon sunlight.
“Here!” She appeared to his right. She waved behind her, and the kids rushed by, drenched and yelling. Valerie followed after them and caught a four year old when he stumbled.
Dean’s shoulders dropped in relief. Valerie would make sure they all got inside. He’d have to trust that the rest of the kids were already indoors and not stranded outside somewhere in this weather.
Camp Chitaqua had seen its share of storms in the years it had withstood the Apocalypse, which had caused the occasional out-of-season weather, like this. Still, today’s storm had come suddenly and too quickly for this area of the country, and it was too powerful. Dean ran through it towards the camp’s southeast wall. Winds that would have been right at home in a tropical storm battered him and pounded rain against his back, head and legs. He stumbled over ground he should have been able to travel in his sleep.
The camp’s wooden wall appeared through the curtain of water. Dean felt heavy and exhausted, but he turned left and followed the wall until a tower formed. He found the ladder and hauled himself, drenched clothes and all, up slippery rungs. Hands grabbed him part of the way up and helped him the rest of the way. Dean passed under the tower’s roof, and the two watchmen hurriedly closed the door.
Water sprayed through the open windows, but the air behind his back was dry. Patrick handed him a water bottle and Dean nodded thanks. “Walkie talkies won’t work in this weather,” he said, though they already knew. “What was it you spotted, exactly?”
Patrick and Nate exchanged a glance. Patrick pointed south. The rain fell sideways through the open window, splattering his upper body with water while his bottom half, protected by the tower walls, stayed dry. “There’s something about some of the clouds that way. Take a look.”
The tower was crowded with the three of them, but they shuffled around so Dean could get closer. The roof definitely helped his visibility. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the spray. Goosebumps traveled up his arms as wind shivered over his wet skin.
The clouds directly overhead were so dark they were practically black. The clouds to the south were slightly lighter, and the clouds farther away were ash gray. The clouds beyond those were black, not so dark gray they were close enough to it but pure pitch.
Patrick wiped the lenses on his dry pants and handed Dean a pair of binoculars. The black clouds resolved into slightly bigger blobs, but the magnification did help Dean see that they were moving, twisting, twining in and out like a ball of snakes-not typical cloud behavior at all.
“Shit!” Dean stared at Patrick and Nate. Nate nodded, grim-faced. “How many?”
“Between ten and twenty.” Patrick flicked water off his cheeks with a hand covered in smudged ink. The anti-possession rune was smudged, though the inked lines were still visible; the mark was serviceable, maybe. “Hard to narrow it down, though, in this fucked up weather. It could be more, it could be less.”
“Have they come closer?”
Nate shook his head. “We spotted ‘em seven minutes ago. They’re just hovering out there.”
The runes protecting the camp were holding, then. Castiel had cooked up some great ones, years ago, and he’d kept the marks in place on the camp’s walls ever since. The runes confused the demons to the south and rendered Camp Chitaqua invisible to demonic senses…but only from a distance. If the demons got close enough, they’d see the camp. And then a pile of shit would head their way.
Dean hoped Castiel was staying out of trouble, wherever he was, and that he would show up soon; a bit of angelic assistance would be awesome, anytime but especially now.
The wooden tower groaned. The wind sent a hurl of water into his face, making him splutter. Trees on the outside of the wall danced wildly. If branches scratched against the fence with enough force, and if the wind managed to take out some of the planks, then the runes would be broken. The demons would see them and overrun the camp. It was too wet to lay down salt. The iron buried in the ground along the fence would help, but there hadn’t been enough to cover the whole camp, just enough to fashion a few devil’s traps. The cabins had their own sigils sprayed on ceilings; with any luck, those would hold, so anyone inside them would be safe.
“All right.” He handed back the binoculars. “Nate, it’s time to stretch those legs of yours. You up for it?”
Nate smirked. He’d been on his Cross Country team in high school seven years ago. “I think I’ve got it in me.”
“Good. Get over to the south tower, alert them to the demons if they don’t already know and see if they’ve seen more odd-looking clouds. If they’ve got any news, I want you to get to the armory immediately. If they don’t, I want you back here. I’ll be sending runners out soon to alert the other watchmen and to get you guys new orders as soon as I’ve got them, all right? Thomas, you hold until he gets back. Try the walkie talkie every once in a while; maybe we’ll get a connection. And re-do your ink.” That would keep Thomas out of the rain, too, and therefore keep him free of demon possession. Dean had paired Nate and Thomas together on purpose. The younger of the two could run for help, while the other had spent a lifetime on deer hunting trips and was accustomed to waiting, watching and shooting from inside a blind.
They nodded. Nate went down the ladder first and Dean followed behind. Not far away, the nails holding a board in place on the wall pulled free. The nails at the bottom stayed in place, for now, but the green sigil partly spray-painted on the wall was broken.
If this kept up, his next orders would be to abandon the wall. Still, he didn’t stop Nate from rushing off along the wall He soon disappeared into the rain.
Dean headed north, back into camp. He was blind after a few seconds, but he watched the ground and kept going, trusting the gut feeling that he was headed in the general direction of the armory.
Thunder rumbled, lightning crashed, and the wind howled with enough force to knock him aside. Dean got back to his feet and took off again. He wondered if this was it. He’d survived five years of the Apocalypse only to go down because a few wooden walls couldn’t withstand a bit of weather.
-----
The demonic cloud shifted and forced Castiel to fly southeast. At some point during the journey, Lucifer’s presence faded away. The demons continued to herd him for perhaps another two hundred miles.
They descended. Castiel’s guard spread out to surround him and a mansion on the ground beneath them. Spaces opened between each demon, but Castiel made no move to escape, not yet.
His feet passed through hedgerows and apple trees on immaculately kept grounds. He set down his feet. His angelic form was far too tall. The house seemed the size of a dollhouse, even though he knew that, when seen with human eyes, it would have been big and pretentious. The windows were intact, the plaster unbroken and clean, the roof tiles sturdy and not ruined. Every town and city on the Earth had fallen into disrepair, but not this house.
The storm far to the northwest hadn’t touched the Earth here. The sun shined unimpeded on the gardens, a landscape of green brighter than anything he’d seen in a while, when his reality had been confined to campgrounds under permanently cloudy skies.
Lucifer was inside that house, confined to Sam Winchester’s body. Castiel could sense the power of the fallen Archangel. Is this what the Prince of Lies enjoys?
What better place than the home of one of humanity’s greatest achievers? This is what your precious humans strove for, Castiel. You walked among them; I thought you’d appreciate this sort of setting.
Just get to what you want.
Lucifer heaved a mental sign. Haven’t you sensed it yet? My gift to you is in this house. Make yourself small, brother. It is in the sitting room.
Castiel made his form shrink as he stepped forward. The roof disappeared from view, then the third story windows rose above his line of sight. He walked through bushes and blades of grass as his true form became even smaller. As the second story ascended above his head, Castiel passed easily through the walls of the ground floor. He stopped inside a room filled with armchairs and other furniture. A ceiling fan over his head shook and lights flickered and sparked, announcing his presence.
An unclothed body lay on the couch. Castiel passed through the coffee table for a closer look, but he didn’t it. He’d recognized it from across the room.
“My vessel.” The glass door of a grandfather clock exploded, showering sparks on a wooden floor and furniture. Castiel pressed his lips together, annoyed with himself, and turned back to the couch. The body that had once belonged to Jimmy Novak, that he’d made his own, lay still as if dead. It might as well have been, empty as it was. No soul occupied it. The eyes were closed. The chest didn’t move to suck in a breath.
That body had been his only a month ago. He wanted badly to step into it again, but he refrained with all his will. You restored it. Why?
I thought you would do it eventually, Lucifer said, but I wished to spare you the effort. Matter reconstitution is much easier for me.
Beside the couch, a home entertainment system came to life. The screen switched on, off, on again as static burst from the speakers. The more Castiel remained in here without a vessel, the more damage he’d cause. That was fine with him. He wondered if he’d get the chance to see the devil’s minions clean up the mess.
Please. Take it, Lucifer projected from the other end of the house. If you reclaim your vessel, you’ll be free to go.
Show yourself. If you want to speak to me, brother, do it face-to-face.
Lucifer’s mental chuckle scraped across Castiel’s Grace like sandpaper on human skin. Oh, no, little brother. We will properly see each other again, just not yet.
Castiel’s hands clenched into fists.
Slip on your meat suit, Castiel. His amusement had vanished; the words were a command now. There is a group of humans out there that you care about. If you want them to live, you will reclaim your vessel right now.
Castiel stilled as his irritation slipped into alarm. What do you mean?
Lucifer was silent.
Part Five
Thunder split the darkened clouds, briefly illuminating campgrounds that should have been lit by afternoon sunlight.
“Here!” She appeared to his right. She waved behind her, and the kids rushed by, drenched and yelling. Valerie followed after them and caught a four year old when he stumbled.
Dean’s shoulders dropped in relief. Valerie would make sure they all got inside. He’d have to trust that the rest of the kids were already indoors and not stranded outside somewhere in this weather.
Camp Chitaqua had seen its share of storms in the years it had withstood the Apocalypse, which had caused the occasional out-of-season weather, like this. Still, today’s storm had come suddenly and too quickly for this area of the country, and it was too powerful. Dean ran through it towards the camp’s southeast wall. Winds that would have been right at home in a tropical storm battered him and pounded rain against his back, head and legs. He stumbled over ground he should have been able to travel in his sleep.
The camp’s wooden wall appeared through the curtain of water. Dean felt heavy and exhausted, but he turned left and followed the wall until a tower formed. He found the ladder and hauled himself, drenched clothes and all, up slippery rungs. Hands grabbed him part of the way up and helped him the rest of the way. Dean passed under the tower’s roof, and the two watchmen hurriedly closed the door.
Water sprayed through the open windows, but the air behind his back was dry. Patrick handed him a water bottle and Dean nodded thanks. “Walkie talkies won’t work in this weather,” he said, though they already knew. “What was it you spotted, exactly?”
Patrick and Nate exchanged a glance. Patrick pointed south. The rain fell sideways through the open window, splattering his upper body with water while his bottom half, protected by the tower walls, stayed dry. “There’s something about some of the clouds that way. Take a look.”
The tower was crowded with the three of them, but they shuffled around so Dean could get closer. The roof definitely helped his visibility. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the spray. Goosebumps traveled up his arms as wind shivered over his wet skin.
The clouds directly overhead were so dark they were practically black. The clouds to the south were slightly lighter, and the clouds farther away were ash gray. The clouds beyond those were black, not so dark gray they were close enough to it but pure pitch.
Patrick wiped the lenses on his dry pants and handed Dean a pair of binoculars. The black clouds resolved into slightly bigger blobs, but the magnification did help Dean see that they were moving, twisting, twining in and out like a ball of snakes-not typical cloud behavior at all.
“Shit!” Dean stared at Patrick and Nate. Nate nodded, grim-faced. “How many?”
“Between ten and twenty.” Patrick flicked water off his cheeks with a hand covered in smudged ink. The anti-possession rune was smudged, though the inked lines were still visible; the mark was serviceable, maybe. “Hard to narrow it down, though, in this fucked up weather. It could be more, it could be less.”
“Have they come closer?”
Nate shook his head. “We spotted ‘em seven minutes ago. They’re just hovering out there.”
The runes protecting the camp were holding, then. Castiel had cooked up some great ones, years ago, and he’d kept the marks in place on the camp’s walls ever since. The runes confused the demons to the south and rendered Camp Chitaqua invisible to demonic senses…but only from a distance. If the demons got close enough, they’d see the camp. And then a pile of shit would head their way.
Dean hoped Castiel was staying out of trouble, wherever he was, and that he would show up soon; a bit of angelic assistance would be awesome, anytime but especially now.
The wooden tower groaned. The wind sent a hurl of water into his face, making him splutter. Trees on the outside of the wall danced wildly. If branches scratched against the fence with enough force, and if the wind managed to take out some of the planks, then the runes would be broken. The demons would see them and overrun the camp. It was too wet to lay down salt. The iron buried in the ground along the fence would help, but there hadn’t been enough to cover the whole camp, just enough to fashion a few devil’s traps. The cabins had their own sigils sprayed on ceilings; with any luck, those would hold, so anyone inside them would be safe.
“All right.” He handed back the binoculars. “Nate, it’s time to stretch those legs of yours. You up for it?”
Nate smirked. He’d been on his Cross Country team in high school seven years ago. “I think I’ve got it in me.”
“Good. Get over to the south tower, alert them to the demons if they don’t already know and see if they’ve seen more odd-looking clouds. If they’ve got any news, I want you to get to the armory immediately. If they don’t, I want you back here. I’ll be sending runners out soon to alert the other watchmen and to get you guys new orders as soon as I’ve got them, all right? Thomas, you hold until he gets back. Try the walkie talkie every once in a while; maybe we’ll get a connection. And re-do your ink.” That would keep Thomas out of the rain, too, and therefore keep him free of demon possession. Dean had paired Nate and Thomas together on purpose. The younger of the two could run for help, while the other had spent a lifetime on deer hunting trips and was accustomed to waiting, watching and shooting from inside a blind.
They nodded. Nate went down the ladder first and Dean followed behind. Not far away, the nails holding a board in place on the wall pulled free. The nails at the bottom stayed in place, for now, but the green sigil partly spray-painted on the wall was broken.
If this kept up, his next orders would be to abandon the wall. Still, he didn’t stop Nate from rushing off along the wall He soon disappeared into the rain.
Dean headed north, back into camp. He was blind after a few seconds, but he watched the ground and kept going, trusting the gut feeling that he was headed in the general direction of the armory.
Thunder rumbled, lightning crashed, and the wind howled with enough force to knock him aside. Dean got back to his feet and took off again. He wondered if this was it. He’d survived five years of the Apocalypse only to go down because a few wooden walls couldn’t withstand a bit of weather.
-----
The demonic cloud shifted and forced Castiel to fly southeast. At some point during the journey, Lucifer’s presence faded away. The demons continued to herd him for perhaps another two hundred miles.
They descended. Castiel’s guard spread out to surround him and a mansion on the ground beneath them. Spaces opened between each demon, but Castiel made no move to escape, not yet.
His feet passed through hedgerows and apple trees on immaculately kept grounds. He set down his feet. His angelic form was far too tall. The house seemed the size of a dollhouse, even though he knew that, when seen with human eyes, it would have been big and pretentious. The windows were intact, the plaster unbroken and clean, the roof tiles sturdy and not ruined. Every town and city on the Earth had fallen into disrepair, but not this house.
The storm far to the northwest hadn’t touched the Earth here. The sun shined unimpeded on the gardens, a landscape of green brighter than anything he’d seen in a while, when his reality had been confined to campgrounds under permanently cloudy skies.
Lucifer was inside that house, confined to Sam Winchester’s body. Castiel could sense the power of the fallen Archangel. Is this what the Prince of Lies enjoys?
What better place than the home of one of humanity’s greatest achievers? This is what your precious humans strove for, Castiel. You walked among them; I thought you’d appreciate this sort of setting.
Just get to what you want.
Lucifer heaved a mental sign. Haven’t you sensed it yet? My gift to you is in this house. Make yourself small, brother. It is in the sitting room.
Castiel made his form shrink as he stepped forward. The roof disappeared from view, then the third story windows rose above his line of sight. He walked through bushes and blades of grass as his true form became even smaller. As the second story ascended above his head, Castiel passed easily through the walls of the ground floor. He stopped inside a room filled with armchairs and other furniture. A ceiling fan over his head shook and lights flickered and sparked, announcing his presence.
An unclothed body lay on the couch. Castiel passed through the coffee table for a closer look, but he didn’t it. He’d recognized it from across the room.
“My vessel.” The glass door of a grandfather clock exploded, showering sparks on a wooden floor and furniture. Castiel pressed his lips together, annoyed with himself, and turned back to the couch. The body that had once belonged to Jimmy Novak, that he’d made his own, lay still as if dead. It might as well have been, empty as it was. No soul occupied it. The eyes were closed. The chest didn’t move to suck in a breath.
That body had been his only a month ago. He wanted badly to step into it again, but he refrained with all his will. You restored it. Why?
I thought you would do it eventually, Lucifer said, but I wished to spare you the effort. Matter reconstitution is much easier for me.
Beside the couch, a home entertainment system came to life. The screen switched on, off, on again as static burst from the speakers. The more Castiel remained in here without a vessel, the more damage he’d cause. That was fine with him. He wondered if he’d get the chance to see the devil’s minions clean up the mess.
Please. Take it, Lucifer projected from the other end of the house. If you reclaim your vessel, you’ll be free to go.
Show yourself. If you want to speak to me, brother, do it face-to-face.
Lucifer’s mental chuckle scraped across Castiel’s Grace like sandpaper on human skin. Oh, no, little brother. We will properly see each other again, just not yet.
Castiel’s hands clenched into fists.
Slip on your meat suit, Castiel. His amusement had vanished; the words were a command now. There is a group of humans out there that you care about. If you want them to live, you will reclaim your vessel right now.
Castiel stilled as his irritation slipped into alarm. What do you mean?
Lucifer was silent.
Part Five