Will I be this way when I’m dead
Will I go home and go to bed
Will I wake up and wonder
Did something happen here
He sits down heavily on the edge of a motel room bed, staring at the sleeping girl across from him, what if thoughts rolling through his brain. He’s bone-tired from dealing with the drama of people realizing most of their families and friends had been slaughtered while they were possessed and teaching the survivors how to draw Devil’s traps, to lay salt lines. He’s exhausted from driving five hours straight after burning the dead and the hellhound carcasses.
If that town wasn’t a target before, they certainly are now. They might even garner a visit from the big man himself once he hears about what went down. Demons are going to be crawling over them with quickness, wanting answers. If Dean had time to become emotionally invested, he’d feel sorry for the ones too stupid or stubborn to leave, knowing every single one of them staying is going to be slaughtered.
Shadows flicker across the walls from the single candle, dancing to a silent tune. Power’s out, but the water in the bathroom runs and Dean sighs, so tempted to drop his clothes and join Sam in the shower, taking refuge from the only constant he’s got in his life right now.
Instead, his brain is wired, firing on all cylinders, coming back to one thought over and over again: she’s a mother fucking weapon.
This power of hers is nuclear to demons. If they can leverage her, get her close enough to Lucifer and then have her release whatever the hell it was she has, whatever the hell she did– it could be all over. They could have their lives back. People would stop dying, the world would keep on spinning and the Winchester Gospel could actually have a happy ending.
Water hits the bottom of the tub with a thump and she stirs, outstretched fingers twitching. She shifts under the covers with a soft whimper and sob. Dean lifts the bottle of Wild Turkey to his mouth and drinks deeply, hardly feeling the burn on his tongue and down his throat.
She’s dreaming, eyes rapidly moving back and forth beneath her closed lids. Banging her fist down on the bed, her breathing becomes heavy, hair falling across and obscuring her face. “Don’t,” she moans, turning to her side, pushing the sheet away from her body.
Dean looks away and a few moments pass before she rolls onto her back again, hands coming up and raking down her chest. “Dean please,” she cries into the pillow. He sighs and takes another deep gulp of whiskey. Really, he wonders, I get to chose between sliding in the sheets with her or taking a shower with him. How’d a guy like me get so lucky?
“Hey,” Dean says, grabbing her arm and giving her a good shake, “wake up.”
She comes up swinging that mean right hook and he pushes her back down onto the bed, hand hard against her chest. Her heart is beating frantically under his fingers, rapid tatatatatatlike a baby bird; her chest rising and falling. The flame from the candle throws the shadows on her face into quick relief, hollowing her cheeks and inflaming her eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she says and with one quick motion, Dean’s got her sitting up, the wastebasket under her chin. She dry heaves, nothing coming out, her hand clenching the sheets at her side.
He hands her the bottle of Wild Turkey when she’s done and she takes a deep mouthful, swishing it around once, twice and spitting it back into the trashcan. “My head feels like Oompa Loompas are nailing away at it with pile drivers.” Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, the whites around her irises angry and red. Dried blood still smears her cheeks and Dean feels a flash of guilt. Maybe they should’ve tried to clean her up before dumping her on the bed.
She leans back against the headboard, head back and eyes closed, breathing shallowly through her nose.
“Do you think you’re gonna need this puke bucket again?”
Squeezing her eyes closed she starts to shake her head and then stops, visibly paling in the bad light. Audibly swallowing, she exhales slowly and says, “No. Was it your brilliant idea to wake me up?”
Dean drops the bucket by the door, kneeling down and checking the salt line. “You were having a nightmare.”
“The horror, I’m doing so much better awake. Thanks for that.” She peeks open one eye at him.
Dean smiles and tips the bottle at her. “Your sarcasm is duly noted.”
In the bathroom, the water cuts off suddenly, steam rolling under the door and floating along the ground.
“I think maybe I broke something,” she says, covering her eyes with her forearm. “It never used to hurt this much.”
Dean sits down on the edge of her bed. “You’ve done this before?”
Licking her lips, she nods her head and drops her arm. “Ex-blood junkie, remember? Using the blood, I’ve pulled out a few demons at a time and sent them back to hell. But I’ve never had that much power flowing through me before. I can still feel it inside, trapped and trying to get out.”
Dean scratches at the back of his neck. “Oh, I think you let it all out alright.”
Sam walks out of the bathroom in a volley of steam, towel wrapped tight around his lower body. He doesn’t even look at Dean when he notices she’s awake and he feels the jolt all the way down to his toes. “Hey,” Sam says, sitting on the other edge of the bed beside her, taking her hand in his. “You’re awake. How you feeling?”
She smiles tremulously, pushing her other hand through her dirty hair and away from her face. “Been better.”
Dean’s chest goes tight at the sight of them, their profiles so alike, yet so different. There’s something going on between them, something they’re communicating with just glances, a private party he’s not invited to and he suddenly feels out of sorts; like if he doesn’t get out of that room, he’ll kill them both just to be free.
“I’ll be outside,” he says, slamming the door behind him, his back against the painted wood. He takes a deep breath, finally able to get enough air in his chest. He walks a few doors down and slumps, legs sprawled out in front of him, banging his head against the wall. He takes a deep pull of the whiskey.
Another fucking storm is coming, moving in fast, lightning zigzagging electric tridents across the sky.
What if he steps off the balcony, falling to the ground below, brains splattered in the darkness? How long would he lay shattered on the blacktop until they came up for air and notice he’s gone? It might be funny if it weren’t so fucking pathetic. Another flash of blinding light and he realizes jealousy twisting his guts and burning through his veins.
He wants her to look at him like she must’ve looked at the other Dean, the Dean he is in her world and he fucking hated seeing that look on Sam’s face just a few minutes ago. It’s so fucked up, but he wants them both to want him, only him. Dean takes another deep gulp of Wild Turkey, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, dick twitching at the thought of just going in there and fucking them both.
Or he can just sit here drinking the bottle, because if he drinks enough, he’ll fall into an alcoholic coma and maybe he’ll wake up and it’ll all be over. Sam and the girl will have said yes or no and maybe they’ll save the world with their freaky Wonder Twins power or it’ll explode and he’ll be fucking done; it’ll be quiet and no one will ask nothing more of him. No angels waiting in the wings, no devils sharing secrets behind his back. It’ll be finally fucking over.
Peace. Sleep. Sex with someone not related to him. New music. Working gas pumps. The fucking sun shining once again.
He jumps to his feet, slamming his body back against the door. “Jesus Christ, Cas! You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack one of these days. A little advance notice of your,” Dean waves his hand in front of his chest, “presence would be appreciated.”
Castiel tilts his head in that utterly alien way of his. “I miss the little phone with the minutes.”
“Me, too buddy,” Dean puts a hand out and grabs Castiel’s shoulder to steady himself, more than a little drunk, turning to face the angel. “How’d you find me?”
“You wear my mark and I carry your idol. A simple spell was all I required, hardly taxing my diminished powers.” A flash of light illuminates the angel, his overcoat rumpled and dirty.
Dean shakes his head and slaps Cas lightly on the cheek. “I’ve had enough of fucking powers today, Cas. Just tell me you got good news.”
“The girl was brought forth by Lucifer as a means to ending the world if Sam continues to elude him.”
“That’s the good news?”
“She is no demon or other supernatural creature,” Castiel says. “She’s human and she’s Samuel Winchester.”
“We figured that part out on our own, thanks. So what you’re saying is if Sam continues to say no, Lucifer will work on her to say yes? Use her as a vessel? They’re like an heir and a spare?”
“No,” Castiel says, hands on the wrought iron railing, thunder rumbling in the distance. “Lucifer would never lower himself to use a woman as a vessel. There is much truth in the rumors of the apostle Paul being influenced by Lucifer’s beliefs. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.”
“1 Timothy 2:12.”
“Yes. I forget how versed you and your brother are in the Scripture. Lucifer believes a woman of God serves and fulfils only one purpose.” Castiel turns to Dean, a look of dawning horror on his face.
Dean clunks the bottle of whiskey on the railing beside the angel. “Which is?”
“As breeders, Dean. Where are the girl and your brother?”
“Sleeping, probably. What’s going on, Cas?”
“We need to keep them separate,” Castiel turns and stalks towards their room, a sudden strike of lightning so bright, Dean instinctively closes his eyes. When he opens them, the angel is gone.
Dean shakes his head, thunder exploding over head, rumbling and vibrating the concrete deck under his feet. “A breeder? What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you gotta stop cock-blocking your little brother, sweetheart.”
Dean spins, the bottle of whiskey dropping from his hand and exploding with a crash at his feet. Meg holds up her bloody hand and points at the angel vanishing sigil on the wall beside her.
“Someone’s sweated off her protection,” Meg mock frowns and then touches her tongue to her upper lip, “and hopefully Sammy’s not wearing any right now.”
“Fucking bitch,” Dean snarls, reaching for a gun not there.
Meg smiles and sticks her bloody finger in her mouth and sucks. “Yum. Salty.” She wipes her hand across her chest, leaving a scarlet trail. “Uh oh. Someone didn’t come to class prepared.” Her eyes bleed black. “No salt lines, either? You really must’ve had a really bad night.”
The demon steps up close and tilts her head, long dark hair sliding off her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, baby. I’ve been waiting for this moment for such a long, long time.”
Dean takes a step backwards, then another, glancing over the railing. Demons are gathering below, slowly easing out of the shadows, more and more standing in the parking lot with each lightning strike.
Meg steps forward, her boots crunching on the broken glass. “It’s not every day we get to bear witness at the conception of the new Messiah. This is a blessed day for our kind.”
“Sam—” Dean shouts, shaking his head, hand on the door knob to their room when sudden, sharp pain lances through him. He jumps, cradling his hand to his chest, wetness soaking his shirt. The blackness to the left of the door shifts, lazily undulating. Dean opens his mouth to shout again when the darkness leaps and covers him from head to toe.
“You kill him and I’ll eat you,” Meg snaps at the shadow demon. “He’s mine.”
Faded pictures on the wall,
it's like they talking to me
Disconnecting on calls,
the phone don’t even ring
I gotta get out or figure this shit out
It's too close for comfort, oh
She pushes up with her hands and shifts her legs under her. A thought about Dean skitters across her brain, maybe one of them should go after him, bring him back and then Sam’s beside her, hand on her knee, concern furrowing his brow, naked under the towel. Her breath catches in her throat, so very conscious of the moisture dampening her panties.
A flood of hot, rough power slides down her spine at his touch, fever burning her skin, stretching her tight and leaving her feeling completely alien. Without thought, she leans forward and kisses him, opening her mouth under him, tentatively touching her tongue to his.
Sam grabs the back of her head and kisses her hard.
Her mouth opens with a gasp, Sam’s cold hands tucking under her t-shirt, sliding up her sides, deftly undoing her white cotton Wal-Mart bra. Her body quivers, his hand falls upon her breast, kneading gently, rolling her nipple with his fingers, twisting, making it hard. She falls back against the mattress, upper body held up by her elbows, head against the headboard as he takes a nipple in his mouth, rolling the little nub against his tongue, sucking, sucking, sucking.
And then Sam’s crawling on the bed over her, his mouth hot on hers, one of his hands behind her neck, the other unbuttoning her jeans, a mewl escaping against his lips when his hand glides beneath her panties.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against her skin. “Want to fuck you again so bad.”
Her pussy is heavy with want, full and throbbing and she moves her hips, trying to urge his fingers farther south, wanting to be touched, doesn’t care if it’s a finger, a tongue, a cock, just needing something to part her lips and fill her. Sam’s moving against her, the length of him rubbing up and down against her jeans, and she’s writhing beneath his hands and mouth; wanting him so fucking bad, not caring that this is a really bad idea in the epic list of bad fucking ideas; she’s practically exploding with need and desire.
Her hand is tangled in Sam’s towel, pulling him closer; sucking against the hot and tight skin just below his ear, knowing from the moans falling from his lips, it’s his spot, too.
Without a word, she toes off her sneakers and pushes him up to his knees, slowly raising the t-shirt over her head, pushing her shoulders forward so her bra slides off her arms and falls to the floor beside the bed. Sam’s eyes darken with desire, his hand sliding along her naked skin, raising goose pimples in its wake, and she falls backwards, his hands pushing her jeans down her legs and over her feet. She pulls the towel off, mouth watering at the sight of his erection curving upwards, small drops of pre-come glistening at the tip.
She’s ravenous for his touch, the feel of his flesh over hers, not able to get enough of the sight of him naked.
Fingers out, ghosting over the skin colored with their matching tattoos, Sam pulls her forward into his lap, licking the skin where her neck meets her shoulder, kissing her tattoo, his hands grasping her breasts, weighing them in his hands, rolling her nipples to hard little nubs with his fingers.
His mouth licks a trail down her neck and she falls backwards, back arching with the sheer pleasure of his tongue, his hands on her skin, his hard cock against her hips.
Eyes closed, Sam’s hand dips in between her legs, separating her labia, thumb pressing against her clit and electric pleasure shoots through her body. His hot mouth on her lips, tongue pressing against hers; and if she’s not careful, she’s going to come soon.
The fingers are sliding through her folds, dipping in her hole, one finger gliding in, then two, filling her up, her legs spreading further, wanting them deeper. “Come on,” Sam whispers, “come on my fingers. Wanna feel you tighten against me.”
Her hands search and find his cock; so different from Dean’s, long, curved and weighty. The breath that hisses from his mouth all the encouragement she needs. She strokes the soft, velvety skin, fingers dragging in the wetness at the tip.
Then, Sam’s pulling away, moving to kneel between her legs, body gliding down until his mouth is hovering above her mound. His fingers are parting her, his tongue soft and hard and moving against her clit, swirling around. Sam’s holding one of her legs open, fingers hard against the crack of her ass.
God, her blood is singing.
His tongue slides across her asshole and she shudders, falling apart under his hands. She comes with a sudden rush against his tongue; her little gasping oh’s of pleasure loud in the quiet room. Her hands flail out and grasp Sam’s arm, fingers tight on his muscles and he holds her, his lips lightly caressing back and forth on the inside of her thigh.
When she’s done shuddering, Sam moves up next to her, kissing her, licking into her mouth. He takes her hand, guiding it down his cut abdomen muscles and over his cock. Itching to return the favor, she straddles him, kissing down his neck, his chest, his belly, moving lower, biting softly, and savoring the small gasps and moans falling from his lips.
She rolls off of him, licking the droplet of clear liquid leaking from Sam’s cock. Flattening her tongue, she takes him deep in her mouth, bobbing up and down, swirling around the head, tonguing the vein running along the side.
Sam hisses above her, his large hand running through her hair, and she looks up to see him staring down at her. She cups his heavy balls in her hand, rolling them between her fingers, sucking down his cock, teeth lightly dragging down his length. He moans above her, and she hums, his cock twitching in her mouth.
He grabs her upper arms, pulling her off his cock, twisting pushing her down on the bed.“You keep doing that and I’m going to explode,” he hisses, covering her body with his. Grabbing his cock, he lines it up to her entrance, teasing her, pushing the head of his cock in before pulling it back out. Her hands are tangled in his hair, pulling his mouth down onto hers, pushing her hips off the bed to meet his thrusts.
“Please,” she finally begs against his mouth, gasping when he pushes his cock in all at once, filling her, impaling her.
Sam groans, “God, you are so fucking tight,” against her shoulder, biting and sucking on her neck, fucking her hard. He feels so good in her, so right and she can feel every nerve ending firing, neurons mending, his power flooding her, repairing everything broken inside her.
Reaching down between her legs, she fingers her clit and she begins to tremble. The delicious ache intensifies deep inside her, and the need for release begins to burn deep. She pulls him closer, raising her legs higher, wanting him deeper, her fingers rubbing against her clit and she starts to come, loudly.
Sam’s mouth covers hers, her cries swallowed up by him and one stroke, two three four and then he’s coming deep in her, throwing his head back and groaning, eyes shut tight.
They lay breathing for a few minutes, catching and matching breaths until she shivers, cool breeze lighting on her sweat slicked skin. Sam rolls off of her and to the side, tucking an arm around her and pulling her close, kissing her temple.
Quietly, they lay for a few minutes until she pulls away, her full bladder reminding her things need to be done. “I’m going to get in the shower.”
Sam nods and then turns his head to the door. Shadows continue to dance around the walls and looks back at her, narrowing his eyes. “I’m going to get dressed and check on Dean.”
A few minutes later she sits on the bottom of the tub, staring at the floor, vision blurred, water cascading over her. He didn’t pull out, she thinks, raising her face to the spray, washing the heavy smell of come away and down the drain. An old and familiar fear crashes through her, her body running cold, static filling her head. She’s terrified because protection never even entered her mind, so intent on just having him in her, on her, his skin between her teeth, her legs wrapped around his back.
It was like—it was like—“I was possessed,” she says aloud, looking down and covering her tattoo with a hand. “Motherfucker,” she hisses.
Sam bangs on the bathroom door and she stands when it opens. “Dean’s gone.”
Peeking around the shower curtain, she grasps the plastic in her hand. “What’re you talking about?”
Sam runs a hand through his hair and fidgets from one foot to the other. “There’s sulfur everywhere. His bottle of booze broken and there’s a vanishing sigil on the wall. Cas must have—I don’t know what happened. But he’s gone.”
“Ok. Give me two minutes and we’ll find him.”
She takes a step out of the bathroom and doubles over, a sudden pain stabbing deep in her abdomen. Crying out, she falls forward against the other bed, vision going dark, falling to the floor.
Hands against her abdomen, she curls around herself, fire igniting through her veins radiating outwards. Sam grabs her and pulls up, her head falling backwards, cradling her to his chest, and she stares at the ceiling trying to breathe when it passes.
“I’m... I’m okay,” she says, sitting up against him, pushing her hair out of her face.
Sam grabs her chin and stares into her eyes. “Seriously, I’m okay. Help me up.”
She wobbles and then rights herself, trying not to smile at the look of concern on his face fighting with the terror at his brother’s disappearance. “Sam, I’m okay.”
Standing, she realizes she’s more than okay. She hasn’t felt this good since she woke up in Bobby’s house. Taking a deep breath, she takes stock of all her fingers, her toes, the beat of her heart, the swoosh of blood through her veins. Something’s off, but she knows what it is, can’t deal with it now, has to get Dean back and then they’ll decide together what should be done.
She nods and then looks at him, realizing she no longer feels attracted to him like before. He’s just Sam, no more sickly-sweet pull of desire. Sam presses her hand to her mouth, swallowing her nausea at why. “Okay, let’s go.”
They open the door and Castiel is standing there. “Your brother is gone,” he says looking up at Sam.
Sam nods. “We know. We were just going to look—”
Castiel brushes past them into the room. “We?”
Sam turns and looks down at her. “Yeah, Cas. She’s—”
Castiel drops a bag down on the table and doesn’t look up. “She is the reason why the demons found you and took your brother away.”
She bites her bottom lip and puts her hands in her back pockets, mumbling, “Um, harsh.”
“If she isn’t protected, isn’t hidden, then do it now before we go. Burn the sigils into her ribs like you did us.”
“Sam,” she begins, hand plucking at his sleeve. “Don’t. It’s okay.”
Castiel finally looks up, eyes searching her face. She resists the urge to hide behind Sam, feeling like he’s reading her soul. With a tiny shake of his head, he looks back down. Whatever he found, it was lacking. “It’s too late,” he opens his bag, placing an earthen pitcher and bowl on the scarred tabletop and brandishing a long, wicked knife. “If you wish to find your brother, we’ll have to do it now.”
Grabbing Sam’s hand he slices across the back, holding it over the bowl so the blood drips and gathers in the bottom. Sam hisses in surprise, but doesn’t move when Castiel tilts the pitcher forward and the oil mixes with the blood. Chanting in Latin, Castiel pulls Dean’s amulet from his pocket, dipping it once in the mix. Castiel spreads a map on the table, dumping the oil and blood mixture over the paper. He takes the candle from on top of the television and sets the map on fire, his face lit up orange as it burns inward, edges disintegrating into ash until a small portion of the upper right-hand corner is all that’s left.
“Detroit,” Castiel says.
I'm sure you know the reasons why
let's forget about last night
it can't happen again
Don't crash the car tonight
it doesn't suit you anymore
The sun’s coming up in the east, the clouds covering the sky lightening just a bit. Mist covers the ground, swirling in the wake of the car barreling ninety down a road towards a city worn-torn before the apocalypse began.
She’s counting bullets for the Colt in her lap and up to thirty-two, not watching the road, not wanting to think about him or Dean or the Devil who’s waiting for them to arrive. Castiel said goodbye outside the room, the lines around his eyes tightening, watching her open the passenger side door. He knows, she thought and he nodded almost imperceptibly.
“I’ll meet you there,” he says and then slams her door shut, disappearing before the sound reaches her ears.
Her skin feels too tight over her bones, everything is wrong and she doesn’t know what to do to fix it. Doesn’t know why she’s not telling him, why they’re not figuring out a battle plan, silence loud in the moving car. She glances up, his mouth set in a tight line, veins standing out along his arms. There was something the devil asked her to do, something she’ll be rewarded for, a question to answer and she’s not sure she knows the correct answer.
They’re entering the inner city, the ruins of abandoned buildings looming over them; everything monochrome, the color of concrete. Smoke and fog obscure the worst of the wreckage, the desolation old and tormented. Faded spray paint covers the boarded up walls; crumbling bricks and glass lining the empty buildings, open windows wide and staring.
A few more miles and they pull up in front of the Michigan Central Station, the behemoth looming large and foreboding above them. Shattered glass pockmarks the façade, the eighteen story tower obscuring the cloud-covered sky. Thunder rumbles over the sound of the engine. There’s no one out front.
“Dean’s in there somewhere,” Sam says, putting the car in park and picking up the Colt. “I don’t care if I have to bring the building down around me; I’m going to find him,” Sam cracks open the barrel and checks the bullets. “This is your out. If you don’t want to help, you can leave now.”
She starts and looks over at him, realizing there’s just saving Dean in his head and she understands. Nodding, she swallows and holds out her hand for the knife. “I’m going with you.”
He nods and opens the door. They convene at the trunk, pulling weapons from the hidden compartment and stashing them on themselves as best they can. “No fucking way,” she murmurs, spotting something across the back of the stash and reaching for it. Tucking a shotgun under her arm, her fingers curl around the sheath of a katana and she brings it out, pulling the sword free, the steel ringing. She points it at the ground and stares down the sword checking the balance, feeling as if it was made for her and her alone.
Sam slams the trunk and nods his head. “Let’s go.”
The sky opens up and the rain pours down. They walk through the mouth of the building, out of the light and into the darkness, stopping for a moment to let their eyes adjust. The smell is overpowering; old death, plaster decay and fresh sulfur. The floor plan is open and massive; a jaw-dropping cavernous cave of twisted iron, broken pipes and crumbling stone. Shadows lean long and hungry beneath the huge broken windows, stretching and creeping towards them. Pillars line in a row, keeping the upper floors from collapsing to the basement below.
Sam clicks on a flashlight and their footsteps echo, fear ramping up a few notches. Her heart catches a beat, a clammy sweat breaking out along her brow and the back of her neck. There’s nothing here and even though it looks empty, it’s not. Sam can feel Lucifer, his dirty little glee at having them both here, fear crawling along her skin like his tongue licking a perverted kiss.
“We need to go up,” Sam breathes beside her in the gloom.
She glances up at him. “Are you sure?”
He looks down at her in surprise. “Why?”
Shrugging, she turns and stares at the degradation surrounding them, no easy answer falling from her lips. Sudden pounding puts them on their guard as humans and creatures like the ones in the Wal-Mart swarm through the open doorways, loping towards them, screaming, growling and snarling.
“Saving the Colt for the demons,” Sam yells over the noise and she throws him the knife.
“Crap,” she hisses and they fire their shotguns into the throng, the noise echoing off the walls like thunder, muting the storm raging outside. Instinct takes over, countless generations of hunters in her blood standing up and pushing her forward and she empties the shot gun, dropping it to the floor. Freeing the sword from her back, she shows no mercy, slashing and stabbing apart the humans suffering from the Croatoan virus and the monsters the illness forces them to become.
Hot blood rains against her skin and the sword has taken a life of its own, only the muzzle flash of Sam’s rifle alerting her he’s still alive and fighting.
Falling, she scrapes the skin off her palm, barely noticing the pain or the flash of hot fire against her shoulder. She kicks and whirls, pushing forward and fighting her way to Sam, taking the position against his back, killing anything that comes close enough.
Lightning strikes the building above and the floor rumbles. Power tingles against her skin, flowing through her veins and she pushes it down, suppressing it, intuition burning against the back of her eyes that she’ll need it soon.
The shout echoes through the throng like a sonic boom, the creatures and virus-stricken humans falling to the ground and kneeling in supplication. Lucifer stands at a doorway in the back of the building, demonic-red light backlighting him, “I said to bring them to me unharmed.” He strides forward, an unknown number of demons following and spreading out behind him in his wake. Lucifer’s hands stretch out from his sides, the kneeling humans and creatures bursting into flames as he passes them. They flail and run at one another screaming, skin and hair melting from their bones.
The smell of burning flesh becomes overpowering and she retches, knees going weak. Only Sam’s hand sliding behind her back keeps her upright.
“Where’s Dean?” Sam spats, raising and pointing the Colt at Lucifer’s forehead.
Lucifer turns his decaying face to them and opens his arms wide. “Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes? They didn’t hurt you too bad, did they?” He frowns and reaches to touch her shoulder and she flinches away, finally noticing the gaping slash along her upper arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she says, backing away.
“Samuel,” Lucifer shows his teeth, “I will touch you if I wish and you will like it.” He puts up a hand and she lurches forward into his arms. Gagging from the smell against his chest, she tries to raise the sword to slash, but her arms are molded to her side. Sam makes a move to protect her and Lucifer flings out a hand, slamming him backwards into a pillar.
Lucifer places one hand on her belly and the other on her cheek. Looking down at her, he smiles. “You did it, little girl,” he raises his head and stares at Sam behind her. “My vessels have consummated and conceived the ultimate receptacle. My ascension is almost finished.” He looks down into her eyes. “Let me in and I will rule Heaven and Earth.”
It is right there on the tip of her tongue and it’s so easy, one word, one syllable.
“You do this and I will send you home, just like I promised.”
All she has to do is open her mouth and—
“Where is Dean?” Sam shouts.
—if she says yes, she’ll go home. Back to her Dean, back to her life with him. Maybe if she asks, Lucifer will return her to the point where Dean will never know she was gone. She’ll be free. This isn’t her fight, has nothing to do with her, she can turn her back on them—
“No,” she whispers and something in Lucifer’s face breaks. He grips her throat, his fingers crushing her windpipe. Lightning flashes outside and thunder rumbles around the building, rolling across the sky.
“We had a deal, you and I,” Lucifer whispers loud enough for Sam to hear. “You were to fuck him and get pregnant. Was his cock so fucking good you just need to stay? Do you think you love him? Do you think he loves anyone else except for his darling dead Dean?”
“I will kill you if Dean’s dead,” Sam shouts and she’s not sure who he’s yelling at, the Devil or her.
Lucifer rolls his head to the side, his neck cracking horribly and stares at Sam. “Shut him up,” he says and a shadow slithers from the ceiling and covers Sam’s mouth and body.
Lucifer’s fingers tighten against her throat and she gasps for air, dark spots dancing before her vision. Struggling to maintain consciousness, she attempts to gather power from deep within wondering if she can do this. Is she strong enough? Lucifer shakes her and smiles, the teeth of his host black and rotting. “What is this? Are you gathering power to use against me?”
Kicking at his shins, she realizes he doesn’t know what happened in that little town yesterday. He has no clue what she and Sam are capable of when they’re together, of the power they wield. She needs to get free.
Lucifer gives her an ‘as if’ look. “Come on, Sam. I don’t want to hurt you. Give me the child and I’ll send you home.”
“Fuck you,” she barely breathes and Lucifer squeezes, something cracking in her throat. Darkness overtakes her and she welcomes it, floating away warm and soft, soul leaping at the chance of freedom so close.
Pain brings her back. Lucifer slaps her hard again and she falls to the ground before him. “If I kill you, I kill the child and then I’ll have to start over all over again.” Lucifer crouches down in front of her and touches his index finger to her throat, healing her. “And that’ll just make me cranky. Why do you need to make this so Goddamned difficult, sweetheart? Just say yes, Sam.”
Slapping his hand away, she shakes her head. “Where’s Dean?” She shouts, filtering her power, flinging it outwards like a rocket, slamming it into Lucifer and driving him backwards and to the ground. With a wave of her hand, the shadow demon ignites and brightly burns away from Sam, leaving him standing and unscathed. She stands and bends to pick up her sword, Lucifer struggling to his feet before her.
“You had one job here,” Lucifer shouts, sparks shooting from the fingertip pointing at her, “I shot you dead and brought you here to fuck him and conceive the body I will be reborn in. You dare defy me and tell me no?”
It wasn’t Dean, it wasn’t Dean, it wasn’t Dean, her mind screams as pain fills her body and she falls to her knees screaming. Her head is going to explode, massive pressure building in her brain and pushing outwards, looking for release. Sam pulls her up against him, taking her hand and she lets it all go. A flood of rough, hot power slides from her to him and she rides the hurt, digging her heels into the debris at her feet, curling around the scorching pain and channeling everything she has into him.
Spent, she falls forward, not knowing if she killed the child inside of her, not caring as long as she gave Sam enough to kill the fucking bastard.
“What’s this?” Lucifer asks and Sam raises his hand and with a quick, sudden jerk, pulls all the demons from the humans waiting along the walls. Black smoke and screaming fill the air, the noxious gas falling to the ground and burning with an intense quick heat.
“Oh, you two are just full of surprises aren’t you? Guess what Sam? I don’t need you anymore.” Lucifer raises his hand and makes a quick, shoo-gesture. Surprise breaks against Lucifer’s face when Sam tilts his head and smiles.
“What the fuck are you two?”
She tucks her hand into Sam’s, funneling everything she has left into him and outwards. Sam looks down at her and she smiles. His eyes have bled red and she can feel the tingle of their mingled power along her skin.
“We are what you engineered us to be, weapons,” says Sam, his voice rough and deep. “Give me Dean before I kill you.” The building rumbles around them at his words. Dust and pieces of plaster fall from the ceiling.
“You have all this and still refuse to join me?” Lucifer asks. “Do you have any idea of the amount of power I can still give you? What we can do together? Say yes, Sam and we’ll send her home, cleanse the abominations for the earth and start a new world.”
Sam smiles, his eyes returning to normal. “Never.”
Lucifer smiles sadly. “I’m really sorry you said that, Sam. I was all set to give you Dean back. Now I guess I’ll just have to let Meg kill him.”
“Someone call my name?”
Meg pushes Dean out of the shadows, a bloody knife at her side. Slashes cover his face and chest, gaping wounds with meat and muscle exposed. His eyes are swollen shut and his lips are torn and bloody. Heavy black blood covers his clothes and neck like a ghoulish Halloween costume. Some of his fingers are bent at odd angles, white bone breaking through the skin.
“Dean and I’ve been getting reacquainted, haven’t we, baby?” Meg grabs his hand with the broken fingers and squeezes, the skin not covered with blood going ash-gray. Dean moans and sways on his feet.
Without missing a beat, Sam raises the Colt and shoots Meg in the face, a red electrical charge igniting behind the path of the bullet. Meg seizes and shakes, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling before falling to the floor.
Dean collapses to the ground on top of her body.
Sam drops the gun and shouts his name. He runs to him, cradling Dean’s body to his chest. He wipes the blood from Dean’s face with his free hand, slowly rocking him back and forth.
Picking up the gun, running on fear and instinct, she shoots Lucifer between the eyes, watching him fall backwards and crumple to the ground, barely strong enough to hope it’s enough to send him back to Hell.
Body slumping forward, she takes a deep breath and then jumps when he sits up with an, “Ow! Haven’t we already been there, done that?” Lucifer shakes his head and stands. “Now you two are just making me angry.”
All thoughts cease in her head and she stalks forward, continuing to shoot until the gun clicks on an empty barrel.
Fingers pull the gun from her and she turns, fist ready but Sam murmurs her name and takes the gun away. Dean’s leaning heavily against him and Sam slowly lowers him to the ground, smiling at her. “Take my hand.”
When their fingers entwine power rips through them, the remaining glass from the windows shatters inwards, the explosion tearing through the building and shaking the foundation. Her hair whips around her face as sudden white light and wind from the storm raging outside engulfs them, pulling debris from the floor. Sam puts up his hand and sends it swirling it towards Lucifer in a manic tornado.
“You cannot kill me,” Lucifer shouts with a laugh, “I am an Angel of the Lord. Only another of my kind can wield the weapon to strike me down.”
Sam drops his hand, the tornado holding Lucifer in place like a ring of Holy Oil.
“I’m not trying to kill you,” says Sam with a smile, “I’m just trying to keep you still.”
“For what?” Lucifer asks.
“Me,” Castiel says from behind him.
Whirling, Lucifer turns and Castiel plunges the short sword into his throat.
Blinding light erupts from Lucifer’s mouth and eyes. She huddles against Sam and Dean as the devil screams in terror and pain. White lightning flashes and she clenches her face against Sam’s chest. When she opens her eyes, Lucifer lays quiet and prone along the debris, the black ash of huge wings stretching out from his body.
Castiel looks at them. “It’s over.”
She leaves the following morning, the motel room door sliding shut behind her with a soft click. Leaning back against the door, she can hear their snores through the wood; can see still their bodies curled around each other, hands on each other’s chests and hips, sleeping soundly for the first time in years.
As she tied her sneakers she wanted one of them to wake up, willed their breathing to change, for either of them to sit up and ask her what her what the hell she thought she was doing, telling her to get back to sleep.
Dawn turns the horizon a dusky, soft pink, mist rising along the ground and trees. Somewhere close a single bird chirps hesitantly until a few moments later another answers the call. Her breath mists out in front of her, the once silent world slowly filling up with noise as the wildlife returns.
With a sad smile and a hope they’ll believe she returned home, she pushes off and walks away.
There’s no place for her in their world.
There was laughter in the air
Everybody had a kite
They were flying everywhere
And all the trouble went away
And it wasn't just a dream
All the trouble went away
And it wasn't just a dream
He can feel the girl. She moves on the edge of his periphery, the Enochian sigils she copies onto her skin keeping her hidden from his view.
At night, she sleeps and invites Castiel into her dreams. On the back porch of a house he doesn’t recognize she stands ethereally beautiful, sunlight illuminating her hair from behind, the calm indigo lake before them gently lapping at the shore.
Every night she asks the same question.
“I miss Dean,” she says, watching him with sad eyes, hands covering her flat belly, “Will you take me home?”
Every night Castiel turns to the lake, sunlight dappling against the water, shimmering like diamonds. “I cannot.”
Every night, she nods, turns away and Castiel loses her once again.
Months pass and until the day he knows where to find her.
He appears before the house on the shore of a lake. She’s sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, staring at him as he climbs the stairs, her fingers rubbing and blurring the ink sigils written along her arm. A large, black dog lies on the porch beside her, head up and growling softly at the angel’s approach.
“Harry, sheas,” she says and the dog settles, chuffing once before laying his head on her foot.
Shrugging, she pats her leg and the dog’s instantly up on all fours, head in her lap. “He came with the house.” She strokes his velvety ears.
Castiel stares down at her, already knowing what her question will be.
“Will you take me home?”
Castiel shakes his head, fingers twitching at his side, “I cannot.”
She stands from the chair and Castiel glances down at her heavily pregnant belly. Sam steps forward until the golden light of the sun surrounds her, gliding over the skin of her hand, her fingers tracing glowing words over the mound of her belly. Castiel’s surprised to see she’s tracing the word Wisdom using the ancient alphabet of the Divine, with Courage and Empathy quickly following. Decisive is next, then Humble, Generous and Forgiving after. Finally, she traces Faith and the lines slowly fade against her clothes.
Looking up at him, she takes his hand in hers, placing it against her pregnant belly. The life inside squirms and pushes against his skin. Castiel tries to pull away, but her grip is strong.
The dog throws his head back and howls, her stomach moving with a rhythmic bumping in time to the beat of Jimmy’s heart. Suddenly, Castiel flashes on other-Dean, the gut-wrenching anguish seeping from his every pore at her disappearance, his unwavering hope of finding her again, showing every survivor he encounters her picture. Castiel sees him alone at night, candlelight flickering against the picture tight in his grip, tears falling from his eyes and drying on his cheeks. Other-Dean still fights against Lucifer, still resists Michael’s temptations, unable to give up hope she’ll come home again to him one day.
Dean’s amulet burns against Castiel’s chest and he falls to his knees, the Grace of God overtaking him, his hands still on her belly and the child inside shifts, one side of her shirt bulging.
“My world is still suffering under the reign of Lucifer,” she says, voice soft, “and I want Dean. Will you take me home?”
He’s filled with spiritual love for the child within her; the sound of gentle waves lapping against the rocks like the music of the universe filling his ears. He can feel the awesome potential of this child flowing into him, the great things this child will accomplish, this child who heralds the return of God to Man.
This unborn child who will defeat Lucifer and rule Heaven and Earth.
Nodding, he swallows hard and rasps, “Yes.”
“Good,” she smiles and drops her hand to the dog’s head. “Harry comes too.”
**Please make sure you check out this awesome fanmix Gravity and Graceful Plans made for me by lovely, lovely twivamp92