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alchemyaliceTitle: On the Wings of War
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Action/Adventure/Horror, eventually Dean/Castiel
Rating: R for violence
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 5.14-ish? It goes AWOL from there.
Word Count: No idea yet, but very, very long.
Disclaimer: Entirely not mine. Just playin'.
Summary: The Horsemen are not just people with fancy rings. They aren’t even demons with fancy rings. They are another species entirely, a force unto themselves, and Lucifer is kidding himself if he thinks that they are at his beck and call. They are separate. They are neutral. Dean Winchester is not built like them.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Two introductions and one near smiting later, they were on their way.
Crowley was a bastard, but Dean was really glad he wasn’t toast. They left him gulping single malt whiskey like it was water as Dean lead the way to the coordinates with Michael following (and silently fuming) in his stead.
It took them a couple tries to find where Sam, Gabriel and Cas had gotten to, but eventually they landed in the right place, only to have Sam nearly jump out of his skin and Gabriel freeze in his tracks.
“Michael.”
The archangel said the name like fire and like a prayer, three syllables—Mi-khy-ael. When Sam looked over at him, his expression was inscrutable.
“Brother,” Michael acknowledged. “It has been some time.”
They stood at the back of an old Protestant church in the heart of Suriname, which was encroached upon by rainforest that buzzed with life. The church itself was roped off with police tape, though the body of the vicar had long been removed by town authorities.
Gabriel was halfway through constructing an altar that glowed with effort and deep-carved Enochian, but he abandoned it now, his hands falling to his sides. Dean tried not to notice how they were shaking.
Sam was gobsmacked, looking between Dean and Michael with wide eyes. Dean met his gaze and shrugged. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been expecting him.
For all intents and purposes, though, he and Sam might have been in a different planet. Gabriel straightened, all humor gone from his face.
“You’ve descended,” he said flatly.
“I see I wasn’t the first,” Michael countered.
“Hmm,” Gabriel acknowledged, and then with something alarmingly like bottled rage, added, “Come to roll in the muck with me?”
“I’ve heard that it’s…somewhat underrated,” Michael said, and for the first time, Dean heard genuine discomfort in his voice. He held the frame of Lucas Wynchestre (that was his name, apparently—Dean had asked) stiffly, his hands closing into fists briefly before reopening them. He said, into Gabriel’s waiting silence, “I thought you were dead.”
Gabriel looked down, and said, “I wanted to be.”
Dean looked away, and knew Sam was doing the same. They weren’t supposed to see this. They’d had this kind of talk before. Dean jerked his head at Sam, who fell into step with him. “Let’s do a perimeter,” he muttered. Then he looked back over his shoulder. “Cas? You wanna come with us?”
Castiel nodded.
He stood carefully, so as not to alarm his brethren. And then, as he brushed past Gabriel, he said quietly, “He listened when it counted. As you did, I recall.”
Gabriel flinched. Michael watched the angel briefly as he walked away, before turning back. Castiel joined Sam and Dean, the latter of whom gave him a small smile. They receded into the jungle with Dean’s dark wings tucked protectively around them.
“Your protections on this place are too heavy for him to bear,” Michael said eventually.
“He was the only one who would,” Gabriel snapped. “It was that or the demon.”
“Yes, I met Crowley earlier today. He is…an aberration.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t vaporize him on the spot.”
“Dean informed me that that would be disadvantageous.”
Gabriel snorted. He didn’t look up as Michael stepped closer.
“Brother,” Michael said carefully, “Why did you leave us?”
“Because I was tired of being the peacekeeper,” Gabriel snarled. “Every one of us, tearing each other down, or asking me to do it for them because I’m the Messenger. It’s like we never got passed the fourth grade, passing notes back and forth, and I had to read them all, I had to bear every word like how I felt the Morningstar fall.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “His fall was felt by everyone.”
“Of course it was. And you’d think we’d learn. But no, we just kept going. Kept hurting each other. We’re worse than man. At least there was some regret amongst them when they dropped the atomic bomb. We just call it fate and keep on rolling.”
“You think I have no regrets?” Michael said quietly.
“You don’t know how,” Gabriel said, with a pained smile. “How can you have regrets when everything is destiny?”
Michael sucked in a breath. And then he said, very slowly, “I don’t regret doing my duty as a son. But I regret not always knowing the difference between duty and blind obedience.”
Gabriel pursed his lips. “Winchester really got to you, didn’t he?”
“He offered very convincing arguments.”
He huffed, and then looked over at the church. “I need to finish this.”
He felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder, and looked back. Lucas Wynchestre should have been too slight and too sickly to hold the gravitas of an archangel but Michael made his dark features solemn and still. “You’re tired, and have been far from the Host,” he said. “I can help you.”
“These damned humans are running me ragged,” Gabriel complained, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Like I’m some kind of miracle worker or something.”
“You used to be. Maybe they just know you better than you think.”
“I hope not.”
Michael pulled away far enough to look him in the eye. “I regret not looking for you when there was word that you were gone.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Gabriel muttered. “It would have been a lot harder to hide then.”
But then Michael was pulling him forward, and he fell silent as his elder brother cupped his head between his hands and kissed his brow. “I’m sorry we drove you away.”
Gabriel shrugged, more with his head than his shoulders. “I’m sorry divine plan has run amok. I tried to make it work, but humans, especially these humans, are stubborn bastards.”
“I’ve become aware of that, yes,” Michael said dryly. And then he sobered. “You are keeping secrets from them.”
“I have my reasons.”
“I am here to aid Dean Winchester, not you.”
“Whoop-di-fucking-doo.”
Michael’s grip on him tightened. “Don’t split my allegiances again. I won’t allow it.”
Gabriel sighed and looked away. “You won’t have to. Hopefully.”
“Are you girls done with your reunion?” Dean demanded, crashing through the trees, Castiel and Sam in tow. “Or are we gonna have to get you a couples therapist?”
“Shut your cakehole, Winchester,” Gabriel retorted over his shoulder. “Or I’ll do it for you, and believe me, duct tape’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my creativity.”
“You’ve been down here too long,” Michael observed.
“Can we finish this thing now?” Sam asked. “It’s like, a billion degrees here.”
“Certainly,” Michael said, though he eyed Sam with faint mistrust. “Castiel, the wards, please. They’re wearing on you.”
“Yes, General,” Castiel murmured, and his eyes slid out of focus for a moment, before he took a deep breath and seemed to relax slightly. Michael barely blinked as the power transferred.
“’General’?” Dean murmured.
“That is his rank, Dean,” Castiel answered.
“Won’t be for long if he sticks with us,” Sam said.
***
“Tell me,” Bobby said, shuffling papers and then shoving them off to the side in favor of his beer. “What’s the point of that, if you’re never gonna get drunk?”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I will. Eventually. It just might take a while. And believe me, I’m making the effort.”
“Man up. He only threatened you with holy fire twice.”
“You try manning up when you’re getting threatened with millennia of suffering by someone that far above your pay grade,” Crowley growled.
“Gentlemen.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Bobby said, pulling in on himself. Crowley allowed himself a far more esoteric string of blasphemies.
Death looked at them both, and said, “You have nothing to fear from me. The rings are in my possession now, and thus the terms of my deal with Dean Winchester are met. However, I have a favor to ask of you, Crowley.”
Crowley’s knuckles were white around the crystal glass in his hand. Bobby wondered if he’s going to shatter it. “What’s in it for me?” the demon asked.
Death raised one finely-tweezed eyebrow. Crowley said, “Fuck,” under his breath. And then, “Right. What?”
“I would like you to keep this safe.” And from the breast pocket of her blazer she withdrew a small charm that Bobby couldn’t quite see, obscured as it was by her hand. Directly after it she pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped whatever it was into a bundle. Crowley watched her, hawklike.
“Are you sure?” he said, finally.
Death smiled. “Absolutely. You’ll protect it?”
“I don’t see why you can’t.”
“I can. But I shouldn’t. Do this for me, Crowley, and you’ll have my favor.”
The demon nodded, and then with a rush of static, Death was gone.
“The hell was that?” Bobby demanded.
Crowley was staring at the bundle in his hands, not unwrapping it, but holding it delicately. “Not sure,” he said slowly. “But I’m not about to argue.”
“I’m guessing Death’s favor is worth a lot?”
Crowley smiled thinly. “It’s a free pass, Robert. I get offed—and she sends me back. Just once, but…valuable, in this sort of circumstance, don’t you think?”
“Christ. You’re practically becoming a Winchester.”
The demon glared at him. “Please don’t insult me.”
Bobby snorted. Then he said, nodding to the bundle, “What is that?”
“I don’t know,” Crowley said.
Bobby narrowed his eyes. It was a bold-faced lie.
***
They’re in Durham in the north of England when things started to go to shit. Dean had his collar turned up against a faint misting of rain, wings pulled up around him as he stood flush to one of the spires near the cathedral’s west towers. He watched the city, people milling along the roads, some with umbrellas against the rain, most ignoring it.
Gabriel had described the process of building proper holy structures as “building a cathedral like this one with nothing but slabs of stone and a toothpick”. So Dean was guessing it was hard work.
The two archangels were tunneled down beneath the cathedral, the only place where people wouldn’t notice and they’d still be off of desecrated earth. Occasionally a spark of something powerful and ancient crackled outwards from them like the spitting of a Tesla coil around the outside of the cathedral, and Dean really hoped no one noticed it. Castiel was doing his best to shield them, but it was a strain Michael had had to pass back to him after they’d finished in Suriname, and now the lower angel was radiating discomfort as he sat propped up against the wall of the tower. Every once in a while Dean looked back at him and saw how his skin had gone gaunt and pale, and the shadow of his wings would flicker in and out of sight. Their outlines looked crooked and ragged-edged.
Sam was prowling at the back of the cathedral, keeping watch with his cell phone out, ready to make a call.
It had been too easy since Michael arrived.
Dean inhaled, and then stopped breathing altogether.
He opened his cell and pressed speed dial.
“Dean? What is it?”
“Sammy. Anyone on your side of things just standing around, looking up at the church?”
“No. Why?”
“Anyone walking towards it real quick?”
“No…wait. Yeah, a couple. Looks like they’re trying to get out of the rain. Dean, what is it?”
Dean stared down at the figures down below him, three, then five of them, walking briskly but not hurriedly. They looked ordinary—a university student, a mother, a professor maybe. But Dean knew that smell, remembered it from Castiel, and even Gabriel and Michael.
And he knew that sharp tang above it even better, sticking to his palate.
“Banishing sigil. Do it now Sam, I’m coming for you.”
He heard a fervently muttered, “Shit,” as he snapped the phone shut and whirled around to look at Cas, who’s dropped the shield and was now standing at his back.
“Angels?” he inquired, eyes blazing.
“At least seven. Probably more. Might as well drop the shield now, since they found us.”
“They’re here for Michael.”
“No doubt. Go help them finish. Sam and I’ll hold them off.”
“Dean, that’s—“
“I can do it, Cas.” Because dammit, he knew he could at this point, knew it the way Crowley skirted him with caution and Michael regarded him. And he was so goddamn tired of being pushed around.
“I know,” Castiel replied. He touched Dean’s shoulder lightly, and said, “Take these. Give one to Sam.”
He withdrew from his coat two of the angelic blades he’d begun collecting. Dean nodded, and took wing.
When he rematerialized, it was to a blaze of light as Sam slammed his palm into the bloody sigil on the cathedral door, three angels sprinting towards him, mere feet away and then gone in the blast. Passersby shrieked.
“There are more around the front, come on!” Dean said urgently, grabbing Sam by the shoulder. “Take this!”
Sam gripped the blade and braced himself as Dean pulled them both forwards.
They materialized on the front steps, and Sam made a strangled noise and ran his blade through an angel that was roughly two inches from his face. It cried out before blazing out of existence.
And then everything was in chaos.
“Give us the betrayer, abomination!” one of the angels snarled, and Dean ran it through with his wing, impaling it enough to pin and then strike with the sword. It died in fire, but he was already turning on another, one wide sweep to sever another in half.
He whirled away from that in time for his wing to block the impact of angelic steel with one claw, and strike a blow in the solar plexus. It still felt like punching an I-beam, but the angel flinched this time, and Dean’s hand didn’t give.
That was more than enough encouragement.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted hard, slamming the joint against the stone entrance with a crunch. The sword clattered to the ground but the angel used her free hand to throw him down the steps before breaking for the door.
Dean scrambled back up the steps, ignoring the twinge in his left wing, and snatched the sword, throwing it in a thin line at the retreating target. It spun and clattered, missing her by inches as she ran with inhuman speed down the center aisle, past the pews and downwards towards the steps at the back by the altar.
“Go get her, I got this!” Sam shouted from behind him; Dean spared a look and saw that yeah, Sam was in control—the last angel he was up against wasn’t expecting a deadly opponent, and Sam wasn’t as strong, but he was fast. Dean nodded and took flight.
The angel beat him to the punch. But it didn’t matter.
Dean’s vision cleared as he landed in the subterranean chapel, lit with candles and scrawled every inch of the way with Enochian. He felt the script in his bones—he’d never gone inside one of the fully protected places before.
The angel was standing in front of Michael and Gabriel.
Michael was ablaze.
“Israfel,” he said. The slight frame that held him seemed to flicker, like he was struggling to keep it from bursting at the seams.
“You have betrayed Heaven, General,” Israfel answered, eyes defiant. “You betray our Father.”
Michael stepped forward, and caught Dean’s eye. He blinked slowly, and said, “Return to your brother. We shall finish here.”
Dean wasn’t about to argue with that. Israfel flashed him a look of hatred, and as he took wing once more, he caught one soft phrase from Michael:
“When did obeisance to Zachariah begin to take precedence over our Father’s will, Israfel?”
And then he was outside the cathedral again.
There were police cars everywhere.
“Shit.”
Ignoring several shouts of alarm, he did a quick scan, and spotted Sam about to be loaded into a squad car.
Two jumps later, and they were stumbling across dry grass in front of the Montana safe house instead.
“Nice timing,” Sam said. “But I think we’re not going to be welcome in England any longer.”
“I’ll add it to the list of places we’ve been banned from,” Dean replied, bracing his hands on his thighs, wings dragging on the ground.
Crowley surveyed them from the porch. “Run into trouble?” he remarked.
“Of the angelic dickhead variety, yeah,” Sam said.
The demon nodded. “Death stopped by. She has the rings, so you’re off the hook, Winchester.”
“Oh good,” Dean said.
There was a commotion of wing beats, and then the three angels were beside them. Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Everything go okay?”
Michael looked tired, and just headed into the house without a word. Gabriel sighed.
“Been a while since he’s had to fry one of his own. Brings back some not so great memories.”
“Are you guys all right now?” Sam asked.
Gabriel made an indistinct movement with his head, and changed the subject. “So, word from upstairs is that the Grigori are in the midst of an uprising. That’s what alerted the rest of the Host to Michael’s absence. I expect we’re going to be seeing a lot of falling stars in the near future.”
“They’re going to fall?” Dean asked, incredulous.
“You gave them my feelings of rebellion and doubt, and then urged them towards conflict,” Castiel said gravely. “They may find greater solace in the fall.”
Dean could feel his face tighten. “Why’d you let me do it, then?”
Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Better that my brethren know doubt and fall in revolt against complacence, than die in a battle they enter blindly.”
“The Fall isn’t death, anyway,” Gabriel said, though he looked more uncomfortable with it than Castiel. “It’s human life.”
“Yeah, up until they start getting reception from angel radio,” Dean muttered.
“Come on,” Sam said tiredly. “Let’s go inside. We need to figure out how to open the gate we just made.”
Chapter Fifteen.
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Action/Adventure/Horror, eventually Dean/Castiel
Rating: R for violence
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 5.14-ish? It goes AWOL from there.
Word Count: No idea yet, but very, very long.
Disclaimer: Entirely not mine. Just playin'.
Summary: The Horsemen are not just people with fancy rings. They aren’t even demons with fancy rings. They are another species entirely, a force unto themselves, and Lucifer is kidding himself if he thinks that they are at his beck and call. They are separate. They are neutral. Dean Winchester is not built like them.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Two introductions and one near smiting later, they were on their way.
Crowley was a bastard, but Dean was really glad he wasn’t toast. They left him gulping single malt whiskey like it was water as Dean lead the way to the coordinates with Michael following (and silently fuming) in his stead.
It took them a couple tries to find where Sam, Gabriel and Cas had gotten to, but eventually they landed in the right place, only to have Sam nearly jump out of his skin and Gabriel freeze in his tracks.
“Michael.”
The archangel said the name like fire and like a prayer, three syllables—Mi-khy-ael. When Sam looked over at him, his expression was inscrutable.
“Brother,” Michael acknowledged. “It has been some time.”
They stood at the back of an old Protestant church in the heart of Suriname, which was encroached upon by rainforest that buzzed with life. The church itself was roped off with police tape, though the body of the vicar had long been removed by town authorities.
Gabriel was halfway through constructing an altar that glowed with effort and deep-carved Enochian, but he abandoned it now, his hands falling to his sides. Dean tried not to notice how they were shaking.
Sam was gobsmacked, looking between Dean and Michael with wide eyes. Dean met his gaze and shrugged. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been expecting him.
For all intents and purposes, though, he and Sam might have been in a different planet. Gabriel straightened, all humor gone from his face.
“You’ve descended,” he said flatly.
“I see I wasn’t the first,” Michael countered.
“Hmm,” Gabriel acknowledged, and then with something alarmingly like bottled rage, added, “Come to roll in the muck with me?”
“I’ve heard that it’s…somewhat underrated,” Michael said, and for the first time, Dean heard genuine discomfort in his voice. He held the frame of Lucas Wynchestre (that was his name, apparently—Dean had asked) stiffly, his hands closing into fists briefly before reopening them. He said, into Gabriel’s waiting silence, “I thought you were dead.”
Gabriel looked down, and said, “I wanted to be.”
Dean looked away, and knew Sam was doing the same. They weren’t supposed to see this. They’d had this kind of talk before. Dean jerked his head at Sam, who fell into step with him. “Let’s do a perimeter,” he muttered. Then he looked back over his shoulder. “Cas? You wanna come with us?”
Castiel nodded.
He stood carefully, so as not to alarm his brethren. And then, as he brushed past Gabriel, he said quietly, “He listened when it counted. As you did, I recall.”
Gabriel flinched. Michael watched the angel briefly as he walked away, before turning back. Castiel joined Sam and Dean, the latter of whom gave him a small smile. They receded into the jungle with Dean’s dark wings tucked protectively around them.
“Your protections on this place are too heavy for him to bear,” Michael said eventually.
“He was the only one who would,” Gabriel snapped. “It was that or the demon.”
“Yes, I met Crowley earlier today. He is…an aberration.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t vaporize him on the spot.”
“Dean informed me that that would be disadvantageous.”
Gabriel snorted. He didn’t look up as Michael stepped closer.
“Brother,” Michael said carefully, “Why did you leave us?”
“Because I was tired of being the peacekeeper,” Gabriel snarled. “Every one of us, tearing each other down, or asking me to do it for them because I’m the Messenger. It’s like we never got passed the fourth grade, passing notes back and forth, and I had to read them all, I had to bear every word like how I felt the Morningstar fall.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “His fall was felt by everyone.”
“Of course it was. And you’d think we’d learn. But no, we just kept going. Kept hurting each other. We’re worse than man. At least there was some regret amongst them when they dropped the atomic bomb. We just call it fate and keep on rolling.”
“You think I have no regrets?” Michael said quietly.
“You don’t know how,” Gabriel said, with a pained smile. “How can you have regrets when everything is destiny?”
Michael sucked in a breath. And then he said, very slowly, “I don’t regret doing my duty as a son. But I regret not always knowing the difference between duty and blind obedience.”
Gabriel pursed his lips. “Winchester really got to you, didn’t he?”
“He offered very convincing arguments.”
He huffed, and then looked over at the church. “I need to finish this.”
He felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder, and looked back. Lucas Wynchestre should have been too slight and too sickly to hold the gravitas of an archangel but Michael made his dark features solemn and still. “You’re tired, and have been far from the Host,” he said. “I can help you.”
“These damned humans are running me ragged,” Gabriel complained, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Like I’m some kind of miracle worker or something.”
“You used to be. Maybe they just know you better than you think.”
“I hope not.”
Michael pulled away far enough to look him in the eye. “I regret not looking for you when there was word that you were gone.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Gabriel muttered. “It would have been a lot harder to hide then.”
But then Michael was pulling him forward, and he fell silent as his elder brother cupped his head between his hands and kissed his brow. “I’m sorry we drove you away.”
Gabriel shrugged, more with his head than his shoulders. “I’m sorry divine plan has run amok. I tried to make it work, but humans, especially these humans, are stubborn bastards.”
“I’ve become aware of that, yes,” Michael said dryly. And then he sobered. “You are keeping secrets from them.”
“I have my reasons.”
“I am here to aid Dean Winchester, not you.”
“Whoop-di-fucking-doo.”
Michael’s grip on him tightened. “Don’t split my allegiances again. I won’t allow it.”
Gabriel sighed and looked away. “You won’t have to. Hopefully.”
“Are you girls done with your reunion?” Dean demanded, crashing through the trees, Castiel and Sam in tow. “Or are we gonna have to get you a couples therapist?”
“Shut your cakehole, Winchester,” Gabriel retorted over his shoulder. “Or I’ll do it for you, and believe me, duct tape’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my creativity.”
“You’ve been down here too long,” Michael observed.
“Can we finish this thing now?” Sam asked. “It’s like, a billion degrees here.”
“Certainly,” Michael said, though he eyed Sam with faint mistrust. “Castiel, the wards, please. They’re wearing on you.”
“Yes, General,” Castiel murmured, and his eyes slid out of focus for a moment, before he took a deep breath and seemed to relax slightly. Michael barely blinked as the power transferred.
“’General’?” Dean murmured.
“That is his rank, Dean,” Castiel answered.
“Won’t be for long if he sticks with us,” Sam said.
***
“Tell me,” Bobby said, shuffling papers and then shoving them off to the side in favor of his beer. “What’s the point of that, if you’re never gonna get drunk?”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I will. Eventually. It just might take a while. And believe me, I’m making the effort.”
“Man up. He only threatened you with holy fire twice.”
“You try manning up when you’re getting threatened with millennia of suffering by someone that far above your pay grade,” Crowley growled.
“Gentlemen.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Bobby said, pulling in on himself. Crowley allowed himself a far more esoteric string of blasphemies.
Death looked at them both, and said, “You have nothing to fear from me. The rings are in my possession now, and thus the terms of my deal with Dean Winchester are met. However, I have a favor to ask of you, Crowley.”
Crowley’s knuckles were white around the crystal glass in his hand. Bobby wondered if he’s going to shatter it. “What’s in it for me?” the demon asked.
Death raised one finely-tweezed eyebrow. Crowley said, “Fuck,” under his breath. And then, “Right. What?”
“I would like you to keep this safe.” And from the breast pocket of her blazer she withdrew a small charm that Bobby couldn’t quite see, obscured as it was by her hand. Directly after it she pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped whatever it was into a bundle. Crowley watched her, hawklike.
“Are you sure?” he said, finally.
Death smiled. “Absolutely. You’ll protect it?”
“I don’t see why you can’t.”
“I can. But I shouldn’t. Do this for me, Crowley, and you’ll have my favor.”
The demon nodded, and then with a rush of static, Death was gone.
“The hell was that?” Bobby demanded.
Crowley was staring at the bundle in his hands, not unwrapping it, but holding it delicately. “Not sure,” he said slowly. “But I’m not about to argue.”
“I’m guessing Death’s favor is worth a lot?”
Crowley smiled thinly. “It’s a free pass, Robert. I get offed—and she sends me back. Just once, but…valuable, in this sort of circumstance, don’t you think?”
“Christ. You’re practically becoming a Winchester.”
The demon glared at him. “Please don’t insult me.”
Bobby snorted. Then he said, nodding to the bundle, “What is that?”
“I don’t know,” Crowley said.
Bobby narrowed his eyes. It was a bold-faced lie.
***
They’re in Durham in the north of England when things started to go to shit. Dean had his collar turned up against a faint misting of rain, wings pulled up around him as he stood flush to one of the spires near the cathedral’s west towers. He watched the city, people milling along the roads, some with umbrellas against the rain, most ignoring it.
Gabriel had described the process of building proper holy structures as “building a cathedral like this one with nothing but slabs of stone and a toothpick”. So Dean was guessing it was hard work.
The two archangels were tunneled down beneath the cathedral, the only place where people wouldn’t notice and they’d still be off of desecrated earth. Occasionally a spark of something powerful and ancient crackled outwards from them like the spitting of a Tesla coil around the outside of the cathedral, and Dean really hoped no one noticed it. Castiel was doing his best to shield them, but it was a strain Michael had had to pass back to him after they’d finished in Suriname, and now the lower angel was radiating discomfort as he sat propped up against the wall of the tower. Every once in a while Dean looked back at him and saw how his skin had gone gaunt and pale, and the shadow of his wings would flicker in and out of sight. Their outlines looked crooked and ragged-edged.
Sam was prowling at the back of the cathedral, keeping watch with his cell phone out, ready to make a call.
It had been too easy since Michael arrived.
Dean inhaled, and then stopped breathing altogether.
He opened his cell and pressed speed dial.
“Dean? What is it?”
“Sammy. Anyone on your side of things just standing around, looking up at the church?”
“No. Why?”
“Anyone walking towards it real quick?”
“No…wait. Yeah, a couple. Looks like they’re trying to get out of the rain. Dean, what is it?”
Dean stared down at the figures down below him, three, then five of them, walking briskly but not hurriedly. They looked ordinary—a university student, a mother, a professor maybe. But Dean knew that smell, remembered it from Castiel, and even Gabriel and Michael.
And he knew that sharp tang above it even better, sticking to his palate.
“Banishing sigil. Do it now Sam, I’m coming for you.”
He heard a fervently muttered, “Shit,” as he snapped the phone shut and whirled around to look at Cas, who’s dropped the shield and was now standing at his back.
“Angels?” he inquired, eyes blazing.
“At least seven. Probably more. Might as well drop the shield now, since they found us.”
“They’re here for Michael.”
“No doubt. Go help them finish. Sam and I’ll hold them off.”
“Dean, that’s—“
“I can do it, Cas.” Because dammit, he knew he could at this point, knew it the way Crowley skirted him with caution and Michael regarded him. And he was so goddamn tired of being pushed around.
“I know,” Castiel replied. He touched Dean’s shoulder lightly, and said, “Take these. Give one to Sam.”
He withdrew from his coat two of the angelic blades he’d begun collecting. Dean nodded, and took wing.
When he rematerialized, it was to a blaze of light as Sam slammed his palm into the bloody sigil on the cathedral door, three angels sprinting towards him, mere feet away and then gone in the blast. Passersby shrieked.
“There are more around the front, come on!” Dean said urgently, grabbing Sam by the shoulder. “Take this!”
Sam gripped the blade and braced himself as Dean pulled them both forwards.
They materialized on the front steps, and Sam made a strangled noise and ran his blade through an angel that was roughly two inches from his face. It cried out before blazing out of existence.
And then everything was in chaos.
“Give us the betrayer, abomination!” one of the angels snarled, and Dean ran it through with his wing, impaling it enough to pin and then strike with the sword. It died in fire, but he was already turning on another, one wide sweep to sever another in half.
He whirled away from that in time for his wing to block the impact of angelic steel with one claw, and strike a blow in the solar plexus. It still felt like punching an I-beam, but the angel flinched this time, and Dean’s hand didn’t give.
That was more than enough encouragement.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted hard, slamming the joint against the stone entrance with a crunch. The sword clattered to the ground but the angel used her free hand to throw him down the steps before breaking for the door.
Dean scrambled back up the steps, ignoring the twinge in his left wing, and snatched the sword, throwing it in a thin line at the retreating target. It spun and clattered, missing her by inches as she ran with inhuman speed down the center aisle, past the pews and downwards towards the steps at the back by the altar.
“Go get her, I got this!” Sam shouted from behind him; Dean spared a look and saw that yeah, Sam was in control—the last angel he was up against wasn’t expecting a deadly opponent, and Sam wasn’t as strong, but he was fast. Dean nodded and took flight.
The angel beat him to the punch. But it didn’t matter.
Dean’s vision cleared as he landed in the subterranean chapel, lit with candles and scrawled every inch of the way with Enochian. He felt the script in his bones—he’d never gone inside one of the fully protected places before.
The angel was standing in front of Michael and Gabriel.
Michael was ablaze.
“Israfel,” he said. The slight frame that held him seemed to flicker, like he was struggling to keep it from bursting at the seams.
“You have betrayed Heaven, General,” Israfel answered, eyes defiant. “You betray our Father.”
Michael stepped forward, and caught Dean’s eye. He blinked slowly, and said, “Return to your brother. We shall finish here.”
Dean wasn’t about to argue with that. Israfel flashed him a look of hatred, and as he took wing once more, he caught one soft phrase from Michael:
“When did obeisance to Zachariah begin to take precedence over our Father’s will, Israfel?”
And then he was outside the cathedral again.
There were police cars everywhere.
“Shit.”
Ignoring several shouts of alarm, he did a quick scan, and spotted Sam about to be loaded into a squad car.
Two jumps later, and they were stumbling across dry grass in front of the Montana safe house instead.
“Nice timing,” Sam said. “But I think we’re not going to be welcome in England any longer.”
“I’ll add it to the list of places we’ve been banned from,” Dean replied, bracing his hands on his thighs, wings dragging on the ground.
Crowley surveyed them from the porch. “Run into trouble?” he remarked.
“Of the angelic dickhead variety, yeah,” Sam said.
The demon nodded. “Death stopped by. She has the rings, so you’re off the hook, Winchester.”
“Oh good,” Dean said.
There was a commotion of wing beats, and then the three angels were beside them. Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Everything go okay?”
Michael looked tired, and just headed into the house without a word. Gabriel sighed.
“Been a while since he’s had to fry one of his own. Brings back some not so great memories.”
“Are you guys all right now?” Sam asked.
Gabriel made an indistinct movement with his head, and changed the subject. “So, word from upstairs is that the Grigori are in the midst of an uprising. That’s what alerted the rest of the Host to Michael’s absence. I expect we’re going to be seeing a lot of falling stars in the near future.”
“They’re going to fall?” Dean asked, incredulous.
“You gave them my feelings of rebellion and doubt, and then urged them towards conflict,” Castiel said gravely. “They may find greater solace in the fall.”
Dean could feel his face tighten. “Why’d you let me do it, then?”
Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Better that my brethren know doubt and fall in revolt against complacence, than die in a battle they enter blindly.”
“The Fall isn’t death, anyway,” Gabriel said, though he looked more uncomfortable with it than Castiel. “It’s human life.”
“Yeah, up until they start getting reception from angel radio,” Dean muttered.
“Come on,” Sam said tiredly. “Let’s go inside. We need to figure out how to open the gate we just made.”
Chapter Fifteen.
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Date: 25 Jul 2010 03:39 (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 Jul 2010 23:27 (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 Jul 2010 06:06 (UTC)loving this story!
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Date: 25 Jul 2010 23:27 (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 Jul 2010 06:34 (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 Jul 2010 23:29 (UTC)We shall see about the fate of Zachariah, but believe me when I say I fully support his destruction by way of eldritch abominations :D
yay!
Date: 25 Jul 2010 08:41 (UTC)Michael, Crowley and Bobby were great as well! (poor Croley trying unsuccessfully to drown himself in alcohol and beeing an almost Winchester! XDD)
Loved it! <3 <3 <3
Winged Golden tiger
Re: yay!
Date: 25 Jul 2010 23:29 (UTC)no subject
Date: 26 Jul 2010 07:32 (UTC)no subject
Date: 26 Jul 2010 13:29 (UTC)no subject
Date: 27 Jul 2010 03:25 (UTC)no subject
Date: 27 Jul 2010 09:36 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Jul 2010 08:51 (UTC)I admit that I cheered when Michael said he was there for Dean's sake. \o/
Thank you so much for writing this. I look forward to the next part liek woah.
*full of love*
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Date: 30 Jul 2010 12:22 (UTC)I really like writing Michael, he's sort of complicated and lovely. I shall endeavor to finish the next chapter soon!
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Date: 3 Aug 2010 20:01 (UTC)I SOUNDED LIKE A DOG WHISTLE
reserving some time to read this later. EEEEEE!!
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Date: 3 Aug 2010 20:52 (UTC)NOW IF ONLY INCEPTION WOULD LET GO OF MY BRAIN SO I CAN FINISH THIS THING.
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Date: 16 Jan 2011 00:00 (UTC)Excellent and exciting as always.