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alchemyaliceTitle: On the Wings of War
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Action/Adventure/Horror, possibly Dean/Castiel
Rating: R for violence
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 5.14-ish? It goes AWOL from there.
Word Count: No idea yet, but probably 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 discreet. They are neutral. Dean Winchester is not built like them.
A/N: This is basically my homage to, in my opinion, the very best part of season 5, which I have now cherry-picked and remixed. So yeah. Also, I still don't know where I'm going. But it's interesting figuring it out, lemme tell you.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Dean looked at the Impala with something akin to sorrow. Sam smothered a laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” Dean snapped.
“It really sort of is,” Sam replied.
“We’ll make it work.”
“You could just zap it over there with us.”
“I might hurt her,” Dean said petulantly.
“So try smaller things first. It will probably still be quicker than driving.”
“I don’t—“
“Dean. Man up.”
“Shut up, bitch. I can totally take you with my awesome wings.” Dean shifted, and finally said, “We can leave her. Bobby’ll keep her safe. Pack whatever you need.”
“Jerk.” Sam obeyed without much complaint, which made Dean wonder if his subconscious influence was waning somewhat. He’d neutralized the ring not long ago, but he hoped it was waning anyway; he’d been a loner and a drifter a significant portion of his life, but to be physically shunned was altogether different and foreign, and not at all comforting.
The morning was dewy and uncomfortable, what with Bobby’s constant flickering glances towards Dean’s new appendages, and the sternness of Castiel’s expression. Dean had tried to ask, more than once, what he had been arguing with Gabriel about, but to no avail.
“There is something he isn’t…” Castiel had stopped himself, even with Dean gripping his arm, pulling it to him in uncharacteristic urgency. “When I know, so will you.”
“I’m gonna fucking hold you to that,” Dean told him. “You know that, right?”
“I do, Dean,” Castiel had said gravely, which hadn’t helped Dean’s concerns at all. “I will tell you when I can.”
So Dean had to leave it. So they loaded their arms, instead of the car, and Castiel extended his influence to Sam only, while Dean concentrated on what he knew of Austin, and reached backwards, the sinews of his wings bending in strange and not entirely physical ways. The process would never not be freaky for him.
A flap and a strange, ethereal shift later, they were there, and the light of the sun was peaking over the asphalt. Dean blinked, slowly.
“This is not good,” Sam said from behind him. His voice was hushed.
Dean nodded.
The city should have been awake by then. Should have been buzzing with commuters and morning runners and children going to school. Sam was right to be quiet. Because everything else was.
Instinctively, Dean tucked his wings close around him. They were on a bridge, and by all rights should have gotten mown down by a passing truck if it weren’t for the creepy silence and stillness that pervaded. Dean could see the panorama of Austin against the dawn. He breathed in.
“No sulfur,” he said. But there was something else. A low buzz, like a dying streetlamp but more organic than electric. A deep, earthly hum.
It had a direction too. Castiel’s head was cocked towards it.
“You hear that?” Dean said, already knowing the answer.
But Sam shook his head. “What?” he said.
“One of the Horsemen is here,” Castiel said.
“The news said meningitis. Could it be Pestilence?”
“I can’t tell. We’ll need to follow the sound.”
“It’s from over there.” Dean pointed. Across the bridge was a vaguely pyramidal corporate building, along with an array of others dissolving into the cityscape. Dean was looking at one that looked about a mile off, reflective glass panels going up about twenty stories. It looked totally ordinary, barely tall enough to be considered a skyscraper.
“Shall we?” Castiel said.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed.
Castiel reached for Sam again, and then they’re at the foot of the building.
“Remember when I said you looked dark, Dean?” Sam said, staggering slightly with the impact of landing and then looking up. “So does this.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Dean replied. And it was true. The city was bright with dawn light, but the building itself looked sullen with shadows, dull at the edges and less reflective than it should have been. The hum was louder here too, like standing next to a generator, or a pipe organ.
Castiel said quietly, “Dean. Look there.”
Dean turned to where Castiel was studying the window of a Starbucks across the street. He sucked in a breath. “That would explain the quiet,” he said.
In the window, a line of customers stood frozen along the counter, while the barista seemed halfway through wiping her brow and turning back to the espresso machine. A woman in a suit sat in the window with a cup halfway to her lips. The tips of her fingers were tinged blue. So were the barista’s lips, and the veins in a college kid’s temples. They weren’t moving. Nothing was.
“Are they dead?” Dean asked, voice rasping slightly.
Castiel shook his head. “In stasis, though not for much longer. Someone has stopped time for this city. For a population this large, it would take an extraordinary amount of power.”
“We haven’t seen power like that,” Sam said shakily. “Not from War, or Famine. Not even Lucifer.”
Castiel nodded. “There is only one truly eternal Horseman,” he said grimly. “Death is here.”
Dean looked back at the building they’d aimed for. “He’s in here,” he said. He could feel his own face go blank. “We’ve got nothing…we’re not—“
“If he wanted us dead, we would be dead,” Castiel said. “And so would everyone else in this place. He’s holding them all for a reason. I suggest we parlay.”
“Right,” Dean said, wings snapping closed. “Right.”
He started towards the revolving door. Sam grabbed his arm. “What, we’re gonna just walk in there?” he hissed.
“The guy has the power to freeze us in time. He probably knows we’re here already. What else do you want to do?” Dean replied.
Sam shook his head, but let go. In a neat line, they headed into the building, Dean in the lead.
There were several frozen figures in the lobby, one sitting amid the array of starkly modern leather chairs, another mid-stride with a cell phone clamped to his ear. Then there was the girl at the counter, who…wasn’t frozen at all. She was still, but Dean could see her chest move with slow, calm breath. He went up to her.
She looked up as he approached. “Good morning. You have an appointment?” she said sweetly. She had blond hair and a neat figure, wrapped in an expensive skirted suit and silk blouse. She looked the consummate professional, and utterly un-demonic. There wasn’t even the smell of violence about her. Just a cold sort of emptiness that made Dean wonder whether she was even real.
“I imagine so,” he said.
She looked at her computer screen. “Of course. Dean Winchester. It’s been requested that your friends stay in the lobby while you go up.”
“No fucking way,” Sam growled.
The girl gave him a patient, apologetic look. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Mr. Winchester. But rest assured, no harm will come to you or your brother while he’s in his meeting. And as you know well, Castiel, the stars always keep their word.”
“I know this of stars,” Castiel said lowly, “But not necessarily of fallen ones.”
The girl tutted. “All stars, Castiel. Fallen or no. And keep a civil tongue in your head, if you please. Now, Dean. If you’ll come with me?”
Dean glanced back at Sam and Castiel, the former looking enraged, the latter resigned. He shrugged. “See you guys in a bit,” he said.
“Dean,” Sam started.
“Let him go,” Castiel said quietly.
Sometimes Dean felt uncomfortable about Castiel’s trust in him at a sort of visceral, pre-programmed level, but this time he was pretty thankful for it. He nodded sharply at the girl, and followed her as she clicked away on sky-high stilettos towards the elevator. It slid open almost instantly, and carefully Dean followed her inside. He had to tuck his wings close to fit.
“That must get rather inconvenient at times,” the girl noted.
“It’s been interesting,” Dean agreed cautiously.
“Mm.”
The light at the top of the door flashed for floor eight, twelve, thirteen. There it dinged open.
“Great,” Dean muttered.
The girl looked at him amicably, and led the way out. On this floor were cubicles, mostly occupied by frozen employees, all of them looking serene and business as usual, except for how it wasn’t business as usual at all. Dean scanned over them and suppressed a gag reflex.
The girl opened a set of heavy mahogany double-doors at the end of the hall and gestured for him to go inside. “He’ll be with you in a moment,” she said.
“Thanks, I think.”
She closed the doors behind him, leaving him to stare at the vacant office. It looked like any number of corporate douchebag offices—dark wood furniture, leather chairs, the odd rubber plant stashed in the corner for liveliness. Silver hardware in ergonomic shapes on the cabinets. Dean thought back to being Dean Smith, and shuddered slightly.
Then suddenly the hum seemed to grow. Dean had almost managed to tune its pervasiveness out, but now it swelled, like feedback from the world’s loudest electric guitar, reaching a fever pitch. Dean instinctively bent his head, shoulders and wings coming up to shield and muffle, half expecting the windows and electronics to short out like they did when Cas spoke, but everything just trembled instead, holding together with some otherworldly force of will as the sound rose and rose…
…and then cut out, the rug pulled out from under it.
The silence was more deafening than the sound, enough for Dean to wince.
The double doors opened again, and the girl stepped through, again. What Dean noticed immediately, though, was that she wasn’t the same girl, not really. Her eyes glowed silver, and she held herself like she was taller than she was; broader, too. Her smile was the same though.
“Dean. Have a seat, if you please. We have much to talk about.”
Dean ran a hand along studded leather without taking his eyes off her, following her to her seat behind the polished and over-lacquered desk. It was just too surreal and too dangerous to do anything else. “You’re Death?”
“That is what I have been called of late, yes,” she said peaceably. “And I meant what I said, Dean. No harm will come to you while you’re here.”
“What about all these people you’ve frozen?” Dean said, swallowing. “They gonna get off scot-free after days without oxygen in their bloodstream?”
“Very specific, that,” she said, “I see you’re taking after my brother like a duck to water. Anyone ever tell you they remind you of Wormwood?”
“Not in recent memory, no,” Dean replied.
“Pity. Because I do see him in you. You’re wearing something that isn’t yours, but you’re wearing it well, I’ll give you that.”
“What do you want?” Dean growled. “And why did you use Alistair’s calling card?”
Death crossed her legs primly, smoothing her skirt over her thighs in a perfunctory but still feminine manner. “Consider that a test. I was rather curious to see whether you’d respond to one of your other given names.”
“That name was never given to me. Not by him or anyone else.”
“You inherited it, same difference,” she said dismissively. “The point is that you recognized the name as a call for you, which I find quite interesting.”
“And six thousand people had to die for you to be interested?”
“Dean.” She spread her hands, and the buzz seemed to return and expand between before dissipating. “I am Death. And Death is the language I speak.”
Dean felt his wings give an involuntary shudder. He tried to sound steady despite it. “You couldn’t have sent a letter?”
She smiled, lips razor-like.
“What do you want?” he asked again.
“I want the rings back. For when my brothers are ready to reclaim them.”
“No fucking way. I’m in the business of stopping Armageddon, not starting it up again, thanks.”
“You misunderstand me. You have disabled my brothers, of course, but you’ve also severed their bindings to Lucifer. They will be thankful for that. Thankful enough that at my word, they will refuse to influence Earth any more with the promise of their powers back again. Give me the rings, and I will see the Horsemen restored, but with their attentions elsewhere.”
“There’s still Pestilence,” Dean said.
“Sever his ring from him and his situation will be the same.”
“And your authority over them is, what, absolute? So far as I remember, you’re still under Lucy’s thumb.”
“A thoroughly vexing predicament, I agree,” Death replied, for the first time looking vaguely irritated despite her strange and essential calm. “But one which can easily be amended.”
She laid her hand delicately on the desktop. A ring, heavy silver with a curl of crest flat on its top, adorned her middle finger. Then she reached into a drawer, and extracted a hammer and chisel. Those she laid beside her hand. She looked at Dean, as unfathomable as ever.
“Shall I go first, or you?”
Dean stared at her. “I’m gonna need a few more conditions attached to this agreement,” he said finally.
“Name them,” she said coolly.
“You let all of these people go,” he started.
“They’re at the mercy of Lucifer’s orders. Their lives entirely depend on my freedom,” she pointed out.
“So I free you, and they live,” he amended.
“Very well.”
“And all of your brothers, the Horsemen, leave Earth the hell alone.”
“Well, only as much as Lucifer is concerned,” Death corrected. “You have human wars, you see, human disease and famine and death. We’ll have to be there for that.”
“Nothing Apocalyptic, then,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Done.”
“And you tell us how to find Pestilence and how to disable him.”
“That’s the only way I can buy his freedom, isn’t it?” Death said with an air of impatience. “That will always be part of the bargain. No need for any special clause.”
“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Then my final condition is that you tell us how to either destroy Lucifer or lock him back up in hell where he belongs. You do that, and you can have my finger and my wings, if you want them.”
“I think the wings suit you, personally,” Death commented lightly. “And no doubt, you’ll be keeping those, with or without the ring. It’s taken quite a liking to you, it seems. I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered Alistair’s offer? To become something properly powerful, like him?”
Dean closed his eyes briefly. “I’ve tried it. It didn’t suit me, in the end.”
“Pity. You could have done great things, I believe. But nonetheless, your conditions are suitable. Give me your ring, and sever mine, and I shall give you the road to Pestilence and the way to Lucifer’s undoing. And the people of this city will resume their lives. Are you satisfied with this deal?”
Dean thought, in a panic, in a way that made his brain scream at him you’re missing something, you’re missing something important, but he couldn’t think of it, so he said, “Yeah, that’ll do.”
“Then I have one condition of my own. You let Sam wear Famine’s ring for twenty-four hours. No less. And then I’ll collect it.”
Dean jerked away violently, and she let him, like it didn’t even matter. “No fucking way,” he whispered.
“It will make him strong enough to repel Lucifer,” Death said reasonably. “Neither you nor he will be a viable vessel anymore. Don’t tell me that’s not what you want.”
“You’ll make him a monster,” Dean snarled.
“He already was one, unlike you,” Death said, not budging an inch.
“That’s not true. He’s not—“ Dean stopped himself, and drew a hard breath. “One of us has to be human for this. One of us, or this shit isn’t going to go down the way it should.”
“And tell me, Dean, what way is that?” Her voice was sincerely curious. “There are a limited number of ways for these things to happen. One: you play your roles, Michael and Lucifer have their slapfest, and the world burns. That can’t happen anymore, seeing as you’ve taken up my brother’s gauntlet and negated your chance of being a vessel.”
Dean made an inarticulate noise, deep in his throat. “Option two?”
“Two: You and Sam become disciples of the Horsemen, and throw Lucifer back into the Pit. The forces of Heaven will come down upon you, but they will not be able to destroy you. There will be a paradigm shift among the gods, but Man will be safe. Well, as safe as they can be.”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific about that last part,” Dean said.
Death shrugged, impatience growing. “The supremacy of Heaven, at least in the West, has been fairly absolute for the past few centuries. If their Apocalypse doesn’t go as planned, it’s a serious sign of weakness. And the weakness of one pantheon will be sensed by every other. Like it or not, Dean, you are opening up a power grab.”
He stared at her. “You’re telling me that since I can’t be Michael’s angel condom, I’ve basically started a war among gods?”
She weighed it for a moment, and then nodded. “Inelegant, but fairly precise, yes.”
“And let me guess, that shit’s gonna come down on us.”
“The collateral of the gods does very often tend to be their followers,” Death agreed. She gave an apologetic twitch of lips. “More work for me.”
“What’s option three?” Dean demanded.
She looked at him levelly. “There is no option three.”
He stood up abruptly. “I won’t accept that,” he hissed. “I’m not letting that happen.”
“If I can’t convince you, someone else will,” Death said, sitting back in her leather office chair. “But I should add that if I can’t convince you, the entire population of this city will die in vain.”
“That’s under Lucifer’s orders,” Dean protested.
“And still my choice to use as a bargaining chip,” Death answered, as if Dean was a slow child.
“No. I’m willing to deal with you, but Sam is not on the table. I’ll chisel off that finger for you—gladly, I might add—and I’ll give you the other rings, but this giant cosmic powerplay that’s gonna fuck us up just as much as the dickbags in Heaven is not on. And neither is turning Sam into Famine.”
“You would choose your brother over an entire population?” Death asked curiously. “757,688 people, Dean. That’s the population of Austin. They will choke to death as soon as I start the clock.”
Dean closed his eyes. “Is there anything else. Anything other than Sam.”
Death drummed her hands lightly on the table.
“You truly intend to create a third option?” she asked finally.
“You of all things should know that that’s basically the story of my life,” Dean said, cursing his voice for how it wavered.
“Fine.”
Dean blinked. “Fine?” he echoed.
“Yes, fine,” Death said, shifting from calm to listless. “It figures that you would be as stubborn as the angel at your back. A wasted favor, as I thought.”
“What’s the new condition then?” Dean asked, utterly bewildered. The whole conversation had just reeled into another dimension that he just wasn’t comprehending.
“Just that you pass on a message,” Death said. “Tell Gabriel that Azrael did as he requested, and is wondering what he thinks he’s doing.”
Dean gave her a strange look. “O…kay,” he said. “I can do that.”
“Good.” And all the irritation wiped away. Death offered her hand to shake.
Dean accepted it, his own hand trembling, and nothing even remotely portentous happened.
“Now,” Death said, picking up the hammer and chisel and offering them to Dean, “Shall we?”
***
“Something’s wrong. I can feel it,” Sam said, pacing, shuddering every time he caught the frozen businessman still mid-conversation out of the corner of his eye.
Castiel watched him impassively.
“We should go up there,” Sam added, not for the first time.
“Death will likely kill us for doing so,” Castiel said. “He was very definite in his terms.”
“We shouldn’t have let him—“
“There was no ‘let’ involved, Sam,” Castiel said firmly. “We were given parameters, and we had no choice but to obey them.”
Suddenly the elevator dinged.
Dean exited whole, looking shell-shocked but calm. His hands were covered in blood, and one was wrapped in what looked like the remnants of a scrap of silk.
“Oh my god, are you okay, Dean?” Sam blurted out.
“I’m fine,” Dean said absently, looking vaguely pained but not much else. “She said it’ll probably grow back, considering. Um. We can go now.”
Sam goggled at him. “That’s it? Did you talk to Death? What did he say?”
“She,” Dean corrected. “It was the girl at the desk. Or, you know, he hung out inside her for the meeting. Sam, where’d you put Famine’s ring?”
“Bobby’s safe,” Sam answered, still shaking his head like that will make things make sense. “But what does that matter, what did Death say to you, Dean?”
“She said get out of here before everyone comes back to life and wonders how the hell we got here and why there’s a dude with wings in the lobby,” Dean said irritably. “You coming or not?”
“Dean,” Castiel said warningly.
“In a second, Cas,” Dean said, and he took a breath. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Chapter Six.
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Action/Adventure/Horror, possibly Dean/Castiel
Rating: R for violence
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 5.14-ish? It goes AWOL from there.
Word Count: No idea yet, but probably 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 discreet. They are neutral. Dean Winchester is not built like them.
A/N: This is basically my homage to, in my opinion, the very best part of season 5, which I have now cherry-picked and remixed. So yeah. Also, I still don't know where I'm going. But it's interesting figuring it out, lemme tell you.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Dean looked at the Impala with something akin to sorrow. Sam smothered a laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” Dean snapped.
“It really sort of is,” Sam replied.
“We’ll make it work.”
“You could just zap it over there with us.”
“I might hurt her,” Dean said petulantly.
“So try smaller things first. It will probably still be quicker than driving.”
“I don’t—“
“Dean. Man up.”
“Shut up, bitch. I can totally take you with my awesome wings.” Dean shifted, and finally said, “We can leave her. Bobby’ll keep her safe. Pack whatever you need.”
“Jerk.” Sam obeyed without much complaint, which made Dean wonder if his subconscious influence was waning somewhat. He’d neutralized the ring not long ago, but he hoped it was waning anyway; he’d been a loner and a drifter a significant portion of his life, but to be physically shunned was altogether different and foreign, and not at all comforting.
The morning was dewy and uncomfortable, what with Bobby’s constant flickering glances towards Dean’s new appendages, and the sternness of Castiel’s expression. Dean had tried to ask, more than once, what he had been arguing with Gabriel about, but to no avail.
“There is something he isn’t…” Castiel had stopped himself, even with Dean gripping his arm, pulling it to him in uncharacteristic urgency. “When I know, so will you.”
“I’m gonna fucking hold you to that,” Dean told him. “You know that, right?”
“I do, Dean,” Castiel had said gravely, which hadn’t helped Dean’s concerns at all. “I will tell you when I can.”
So Dean had to leave it. So they loaded their arms, instead of the car, and Castiel extended his influence to Sam only, while Dean concentrated on what he knew of Austin, and reached backwards, the sinews of his wings bending in strange and not entirely physical ways. The process would never not be freaky for him.
A flap and a strange, ethereal shift later, they were there, and the light of the sun was peaking over the asphalt. Dean blinked, slowly.
“This is not good,” Sam said from behind him. His voice was hushed.
Dean nodded.
The city should have been awake by then. Should have been buzzing with commuters and morning runners and children going to school. Sam was right to be quiet. Because everything else was.
Instinctively, Dean tucked his wings close around him. They were on a bridge, and by all rights should have gotten mown down by a passing truck if it weren’t for the creepy silence and stillness that pervaded. Dean could see the panorama of Austin against the dawn. He breathed in.
“No sulfur,” he said. But there was something else. A low buzz, like a dying streetlamp but more organic than electric. A deep, earthly hum.
It had a direction too. Castiel’s head was cocked towards it.
“You hear that?” Dean said, already knowing the answer.
But Sam shook his head. “What?” he said.
“One of the Horsemen is here,” Castiel said.
“The news said meningitis. Could it be Pestilence?”
“I can’t tell. We’ll need to follow the sound.”
“It’s from over there.” Dean pointed. Across the bridge was a vaguely pyramidal corporate building, along with an array of others dissolving into the cityscape. Dean was looking at one that looked about a mile off, reflective glass panels going up about twenty stories. It looked totally ordinary, barely tall enough to be considered a skyscraper.
“Shall we?” Castiel said.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed.
Castiel reached for Sam again, and then they’re at the foot of the building.
“Remember when I said you looked dark, Dean?” Sam said, staggering slightly with the impact of landing and then looking up. “So does this.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Dean replied. And it was true. The city was bright with dawn light, but the building itself looked sullen with shadows, dull at the edges and less reflective than it should have been. The hum was louder here too, like standing next to a generator, or a pipe organ.
Castiel said quietly, “Dean. Look there.”
Dean turned to where Castiel was studying the window of a Starbucks across the street. He sucked in a breath. “That would explain the quiet,” he said.
In the window, a line of customers stood frozen along the counter, while the barista seemed halfway through wiping her brow and turning back to the espresso machine. A woman in a suit sat in the window with a cup halfway to her lips. The tips of her fingers were tinged blue. So were the barista’s lips, and the veins in a college kid’s temples. They weren’t moving. Nothing was.
“Are they dead?” Dean asked, voice rasping slightly.
Castiel shook his head. “In stasis, though not for much longer. Someone has stopped time for this city. For a population this large, it would take an extraordinary amount of power.”
“We haven’t seen power like that,” Sam said shakily. “Not from War, or Famine. Not even Lucifer.”
Castiel nodded. “There is only one truly eternal Horseman,” he said grimly. “Death is here.”
Dean looked back at the building they’d aimed for. “He’s in here,” he said. He could feel his own face go blank. “We’ve got nothing…we’re not—“
“If he wanted us dead, we would be dead,” Castiel said. “And so would everyone else in this place. He’s holding them all for a reason. I suggest we parlay.”
“Right,” Dean said, wings snapping closed. “Right.”
He started towards the revolving door. Sam grabbed his arm. “What, we’re gonna just walk in there?” he hissed.
“The guy has the power to freeze us in time. He probably knows we’re here already. What else do you want to do?” Dean replied.
Sam shook his head, but let go. In a neat line, they headed into the building, Dean in the lead.
There were several frozen figures in the lobby, one sitting amid the array of starkly modern leather chairs, another mid-stride with a cell phone clamped to his ear. Then there was the girl at the counter, who…wasn’t frozen at all. She was still, but Dean could see her chest move with slow, calm breath. He went up to her.
She looked up as he approached. “Good morning. You have an appointment?” she said sweetly. She had blond hair and a neat figure, wrapped in an expensive skirted suit and silk blouse. She looked the consummate professional, and utterly un-demonic. There wasn’t even the smell of violence about her. Just a cold sort of emptiness that made Dean wonder whether she was even real.
“I imagine so,” he said.
She looked at her computer screen. “Of course. Dean Winchester. It’s been requested that your friends stay in the lobby while you go up.”
“No fucking way,” Sam growled.
The girl gave him a patient, apologetic look. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Mr. Winchester. But rest assured, no harm will come to you or your brother while he’s in his meeting. And as you know well, Castiel, the stars always keep their word.”
“I know this of stars,” Castiel said lowly, “But not necessarily of fallen ones.”
The girl tutted. “All stars, Castiel. Fallen or no. And keep a civil tongue in your head, if you please. Now, Dean. If you’ll come with me?”
Dean glanced back at Sam and Castiel, the former looking enraged, the latter resigned. He shrugged. “See you guys in a bit,” he said.
“Dean,” Sam started.
“Let him go,” Castiel said quietly.
Sometimes Dean felt uncomfortable about Castiel’s trust in him at a sort of visceral, pre-programmed level, but this time he was pretty thankful for it. He nodded sharply at the girl, and followed her as she clicked away on sky-high stilettos towards the elevator. It slid open almost instantly, and carefully Dean followed her inside. He had to tuck his wings close to fit.
“That must get rather inconvenient at times,” the girl noted.
“It’s been interesting,” Dean agreed cautiously.
“Mm.”
The light at the top of the door flashed for floor eight, twelve, thirteen. There it dinged open.
“Great,” Dean muttered.
The girl looked at him amicably, and led the way out. On this floor were cubicles, mostly occupied by frozen employees, all of them looking serene and business as usual, except for how it wasn’t business as usual at all. Dean scanned over them and suppressed a gag reflex.
The girl opened a set of heavy mahogany double-doors at the end of the hall and gestured for him to go inside. “He’ll be with you in a moment,” she said.
“Thanks, I think.”
She closed the doors behind him, leaving him to stare at the vacant office. It looked like any number of corporate douchebag offices—dark wood furniture, leather chairs, the odd rubber plant stashed in the corner for liveliness. Silver hardware in ergonomic shapes on the cabinets. Dean thought back to being Dean Smith, and shuddered slightly.
Then suddenly the hum seemed to grow. Dean had almost managed to tune its pervasiveness out, but now it swelled, like feedback from the world’s loudest electric guitar, reaching a fever pitch. Dean instinctively bent his head, shoulders and wings coming up to shield and muffle, half expecting the windows and electronics to short out like they did when Cas spoke, but everything just trembled instead, holding together with some otherworldly force of will as the sound rose and rose…
…and then cut out, the rug pulled out from under it.
The silence was more deafening than the sound, enough for Dean to wince.
The double doors opened again, and the girl stepped through, again. What Dean noticed immediately, though, was that she wasn’t the same girl, not really. Her eyes glowed silver, and she held herself like she was taller than she was; broader, too. Her smile was the same though.
“Dean. Have a seat, if you please. We have much to talk about.”
Dean ran a hand along studded leather without taking his eyes off her, following her to her seat behind the polished and over-lacquered desk. It was just too surreal and too dangerous to do anything else. “You’re Death?”
“That is what I have been called of late, yes,” she said peaceably. “And I meant what I said, Dean. No harm will come to you while you’re here.”
“What about all these people you’ve frozen?” Dean said, swallowing. “They gonna get off scot-free after days without oxygen in their bloodstream?”
“Very specific, that,” she said, “I see you’re taking after my brother like a duck to water. Anyone ever tell you they remind you of Wormwood?”
“Not in recent memory, no,” Dean replied.
“Pity. Because I do see him in you. You’re wearing something that isn’t yours, but you’re wearing it well, I’ll give you that.”
“What do you want?” Dean growled. “And why did you use Alistair’s calling card?”
Death crossed her legs primly, smoothing her skirt over her thighs in a perfunctory but still feminine manner. “Consider that a test. I was rather curious to see whether you’d respond to one of your other given names.”
“That name was never given to me. Not by him or anyone else.”
“You inherited it, same difference,” she said dismissively. “The point is that you recognized the name as a call for you, which I find quite interesting.”
“And six thousand people had to die for you to be interested?”
“Dean.” She spread her hands, and the buzz seemed to return and expand between before dissipating. “I am Death. And Death is the language I speak.”
Dean felt his wings give an involuntary shudder. He tried to sound steady despite it. “You couldn’t have sent a letter?”
She smiled, lips razor-like.
“What do you want?” he asked again.
“I want the rings back. For when my brothers are ready to reclaim them.”
“No fucking way. I’m in the business of stopping Armageddon, not starting it up again, thanks.”
“You misunderstand me. You have disabled my brothers, of course, but you’ve also severed their bindings to Lucifer. They will be thankful for that. Thankful enough that at my word, they will refuse to influence Earth any more with the promise of their powers back again. Give me the rings, and I will see the Horsemen restored, but with their attentions elsewhere.”
“There’s still Pestilence,” Dean said.
“Sever his ring from him and his situation will be the same.”
“And your authority over them is, what, absolute? So far as I remember, you’re still under Lucy’s thumb.”
“A thoroughly vexing predicament, I agree,” Death replied, for the first time looking vaguely irritated despite her strange and essential calm. “But one which can easily be amended.”
She laid her hand delicately on the desktop. A ring, heavy silver with a curl of crest flat on its top, adorned her middle finger. Then she reached into a drawer, and extracted a hammer and chisel. Those she laid beside her hand. She looked at Dean, as unfathomable as ever.
“Shall I go first, or you?”
Dean stared at her. “I’m gonna need a few more conditions attached to this agreement,” he said finally.
“Name them,” she said coolly.
“You let all of these people go,” he started.
“They’re at the mercy of Lucifer’s orders. Their lives entirely depend on my freedom,” she pointed out.
“So I free you, and they live,” he amended.
“Very well.”
“And all of your brothers, the Horsemen, leave Earth the hell alone.”
“Well, only as much as Lucifer is concerned,” Death corrected. “You have human wars, you see, human disease and famine and death. We’ll have to be there for that.”
“Nothing Apocalyptic, then,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Done.”
“And you tell us how to find Pestilence and how to disable him.”
“That’s the only way I can buy his freedom, isn’t it?” Death said with an air of impatience. “That will always be part of the bargain. No need for any special clause.”
“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Then my final condition is that you tell us how to either destroy Lucifer or lock him back up in hell where he belongs. You do that, and you can have my finger and my wings, if you want them.”
“I think the wings suit you, personally,” Death commented lightly. “And no doubt, you’ll be keeping those, with or without the ring. It’s taken quite a liking to you, it seems. I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered Alistair’s offer? To become something properly powerful, like him?”
Dean closed his eyes briefly. “I’ve tried it. It didn’t suit me, in the end.”
“Pity. You could have done great things, I believe. But nonetheless, your conditions are suitable. Give me your ring, and sever mine, and I shall give you the road to Pestilence and the way to Lucifer’s undoing. And the people of this city will resume their lives. Are you satisfied with this deal?”
Dean thought, in a panic, in a way that made his brain scream at him you’re missing something, you’re missing something important, but he couldn’t think of it, so he said, “Yeah, that’ll do.”
“Then I have one condition of my own. You let Sam wear Famine’s ring for twenty-four hours. No less. And then I’ll collect it.”
Dean jerked away violently, and she let him, like it didn’t even matter. “No fucking way,” he whispered.
“It will make him strong enough to repel Lucifer,” Death said reasonably. “Neither you nor he will be a viable vessel anymore. Don’t tell me that’s not what you want.”
“You’ll make him a monster,” Dean snarled.
“He already was one, unlike you,” Death said, not budging an inch.
“That’s not true. He’s not—“ Dean stopped himself, and drew a hard breath. “One of us has to be human for this. One of us, or this shit isn’t going to go down the way it should.”
“And tell me, Dean, what way is that?” Her voice was sincerely curious. “There are a limited number of ways for these things to happen. One: you play your roles, Michael and Lucifer have their slapfest, and the world burns. That can’t happen anymore, seeing as you’ve taken up my brother’s gauntlet and negated your chance of being a vessel.”
Dean made an inarticulate noise, deep in his throat. “Option two?”
“Two: You and Sam become disciples of the Horsemen, and throw Lucifer back into the Pit. The forces of Heaven will come down upon you, but they will not be able to destroy you. There will be a paradigm shift among the gods, but Man will be safe. Well, as safe as they can be.”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific about that last part,” Dean said.
Death shrugged, impatience growing. “The supremacy of Heaven, at least in the West, has been fairly absolute for the past few centuries. If their Apocalypse doesn’t go as planned, it’s a serious sign of weakness. And the weakness of one pantheon will be sensed by every other. Like it or not, Dean, you are opening up a power grab.”
He stared at her. “You’re telling me that since I can’t be Michael’s angel condom, I’ve basically started a war among gods?”
She weighed it for a moment, and then nodded. “Inelegant, but fairly precise, yes.”
“And let me guess, that shit’s gonna come down on us.”
“The collateral of the gods does very often tend to be their followers,” Death agreed. She gave an apologetic twitch of lips. “More work for me.”
“What’s option three?” Dean demanded.
She looked at him levelly. “There is no option three.”
He stood up abruptly. “I won’t accept that,” he hissed. “I’m not letting that happen.”
“If I can’t convince you, someone else will,” Death said, sitting back in her leather office chair. “But I should add that if I can’t convince you, the entire population of this city will die in vain.”
“That’s under Lucifer’s orders,” Dean protested.
“And still my choice to use as a bargaining chip,” Death answered, as if Dean was a slow child.
“No. I’m willing to deal with you, but Sam is not on the table. I’ll chisel off that finger for you—gladly, I might add—and I’ll give you the other rings, but this giant cosmic powerplay that’s gonna fuck us up just as much as the dickbags in Heaven is not on. And neither is turning Sam into Famine.”
“You would choose your brother over an entire population?” Death asked curiously. “757,688 people, Dean. That’s the population of Austin. They will choke to death as soon as I start the clock.”
Dean closed his eyes. “Is there anything else. Anything other than Sam.”
Death drummed her hands lightly on the table.
“You truly intend to create a third option?” she asked finally.
“You of all things should know that that’s basically the story of my life,” Dean said, cursing his voice for how it wavered.
“Fine.”
Dean blinked. “Fine?” he echoed.
“Yes, fine,” Death said, shifting from calm to listless. “It figures that you would be as stubborn as the angel at your back. A wasted favor, as I thought.”
“What’s the new condition then?” Dean asked, utterly bewildered. The whole conversation had just reeled into another dimension that he just wasn’t comprehending.
“Just that you pass on a message,” Death said. “Tell Gabriel that Azrael did as he requested, and is wondering what he thinks he’s doing.”
Dean gave her a strange look. “O…kay,” he said. “I can do that.”
“Good.” And all the irritation wiped away. Death offered her hand to shake.
Dean accepted it, his own hand trembling, and nothing even remotely portentous happened.
“Now,” Death said, picking up the hammer and chisel and offering them to Dean, “Shall we?”
***
“Something’s wrong. I can feel it,” Sam said, pacing, shuddering every time he caught the frozen businessman still mid-conversation out of the corner of his eye.
Castiel watched him impassively.
“We should go up there,” Sam added, not for the first time.
“Death will likely kill us for doing so,” Castiel said. “He was very definite in his terms.”
“We shouldn’t have let him—“
“There was no ‘let’ involved, Sam,” Castiel said firmly. “We were given parameters, and we had no choice but to obey them.”
Suddenly the elevator dinged.
Dean exited whole, looking shell-shocked but calm. His hands were covered in blood, and one was wrapped in what looked like the remnants of a scrap of silk.
“Oh my god, are you okay, Dean?” Sam blurted out.
“I’m fine,” Dean said absently, looking vaguely pained but not much else. “She said it’ll probably grow back, considering. Um. We can go now.”
Sam goggled at him. “That’s it? Did you talk to Death? What did he say?”
“She,” Dean corrected. “It was the girl at the desk. Or, you know, he hung out inside her for the meeting. Sam, where’d you put Famine’s ring?”
“Bobby’s safe,” Sam answered, still shaking his head like that will make things make sense. “But what does that matter, what did Death say to you, Dean?”
“She said get out of here before everyone comes back to life and wonders how the hell we got here and why there’s a dude with wings in the lobby,” Dean said irritably. “You coming or not?”
“Dean,” Castiel said warningly.
“In a second, Cas,” Dean said, and he took a breath. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Chapter Six.
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Date: 6 Jun 2010 14:16 (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 Jun 2010 21:41 (UTC)We'll find out!
yeah!
Date: 6 Jun 2010 15:49 (UTC)Anyway, that was great and I can't wait to see what will happen next!! :D
Winged Golden Tiger
Re: yeah!
Date: 7 Jun 2010 21:41 (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 6 Jun 2010 17:36 (UTC)I like that you kept Death reasonable. That was really one of my favorite characterizations of the season, mostly because I was afraid the writers were going off in totally a different direction with Death.
Death wants Sam to wear the Famine ring ... so that there are two Horseman hybrids? I'm wondering how that furthers her goals, but I could see where having replacement Horseman available could be very useful if she is the only truly eternal one of the Four... the scary thing is that Sam might have agreed, since he is demonstrably willing to go along with *stupid* plans (and indeed, often comes up with them himself.
“Tell Gabriel that Azrael did as he requested, and is wondering what he thinks he’s doing.”
What *did* Gabriel get up to? I bet it's related to whatever he and Castiel drew blades over. For an archangel, Gabriel's willing to do some pretty stupid stuff...
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Date: 7 Jun 2010 21:44 (UTC)Death was one of my absolute favorite parts of S5. He was so badass, couldn't-give-a-shit-about-you-puny-gods-and-your-puny-wars, it was amazing. So I'm glad you liked this incarnation as well--I tried to keep to that spirit.
Gabriel is a tricky bastard, I'm telling you! We'll see what mayhem he's been up to soon.
Thanks!
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Date: 7 Jun 2010 03:25 (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 Jun 2010 21:44 (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 Jun 2010 08:10 (UTC)I love that Dean always tries to find another option besides the ones on the table.
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Date: 7 Jun 2010 21:46 (UTC)That is basically Dean's thing. It's awesome.
Thanks for reading :)
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Date: 9 Jun 2010 06:12 (UTC)And just what IS Gabe doing? Intriguing. I'll be waiting eagerly for more!
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Date: 9 Jun 2010 11:58 (UTC)Glad you're enjoying, and thank you for reading :)
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Date: 9 Jun 2010 12:01 (UTC)As for a fanmix, well...there's always the music I listen to in order to help me write. Since you're so awesome, I may post it at some point ;) But be warned, my musical taste is schizophrenic at best.
Thanks for reading, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it!
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Date: 10 Jun 2010 16:37 (UTC)Dean thought, in a panic, in a way that made his brain scream at him you’re missing something, you’re missing something important, but he couldn’t think of it
It's just one of those things you always get when characters make deals with the supernatural :)
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Date: 11 Jun 2010 10:29 (UTC)BTW, I've had a ridiculous week so I haven't gotten to look over your story thoroughly yet, but so far I'm enjoying it immensely. I'll give you proper comments when I finish :)
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Date: 11 Jun 2010 10:45 (UTC)no subject
Date: 11 Jun 2010 10:56 (UTC)no subject
Date: 11 Jun 2010 17:15 (UTC)no subject
Date: 11 Jun 2010 23:16 (UTC)I'm happy that death is a woman but why death doesn't occupy her body?
I find it very interesting that dean can be see like the heir of alastair (well it is what i understand ).
What i find sad it's they obey at lucifer ( i want them to be independent ).
I hope it will be a dean/Castiel.
Oh i find the word using for the horsemen horible (frankly monstrosity )
no subject
Date: 12 Jun 2010 20:30 (UTC)Thanks for reading!