[fanfic] World Without End, Amen - Chapter 7

[tiptoe39]

I think this might have 12 parts, not 11 after all. And to think I thought it'd be 7 parts total when I started!

Title: World Without End, Amen
Chapter: Seven
Author: tiptoe39
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural, some understated Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam and Bobby are off on a secret mission. Dean gets assaulted, and not just by screaming fans. Death comes to play, and he brings a friend.
Spoilers: Up through 5x10.
Previous Chapters: here.


World Without End, Amen - Chapter 7

When the phone rang, Sam took a look at Bobby. They shared a grimace, and Sam heaved a sigh before he pressed the button. "Yeah, hi."

"Where are you? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sam held the phone a good six inches from his ear. "Dean, calm down."

"The hell I will! You're going down there, aren't you? You're going to run right into his trap."

"Dean, you can listen to me now or I'll hang up and call you back when you're thinking straight. Your choice."

The silence from the phone was sourer than any grumbling.

"Good. Now. Here's the thing." Sam took a breath. "I need answers. I need to know where everybody stands on this thing, and I have a hunch Lucifer knows something that could be useful information. He thinks he can manipulate me, but I can manipulate him right back. I can get him to tell me what we need to know, Dean. I have the ultimate leverage over him."

"You think you can outsmart the devil. That's just great, Sammy. And you think I'm full of myself."

Irritated, Sam leaned forward in the seat and clutched the phone close to his ear. "You know something? I only just now realized you only call me Sammy when you're treating me like a kid. When you don't think I'm enough of a grownup to play this game."

"That's bull."

"No, it's not. Who do you think saved your ass by winning a poker game you couldn't win?" Bobby snickered next to him, but Sam went on. "I get that you're in angel school now, but I know how to do my job too, and that's what I'm doing. My job."

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" The voice on the receiver broke with a burst of static. "You're jealous because Cas is teaching me things. For once I'm the one with the power and the secrets, and you can't handle it."

"Give me that," Bobby said, making a swipe for the phone. He snatched it out of Sam's hand in one go. "Now listen to me, you ungrateful son of a bitch. We are doing this to help you." His voice shook with rage, but as he went on some other emotion took hold, and his tone lowered still wavering. "Now those are my people out there, and they are depending on you. So don't you get so caught up in being pissed off that you forget about them."

"Bobby. Bobby." Dean had lost his words. "Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Because this is your war, not mine," Bobby said softly. "That's the way of the world." He coughed, and his voice picked up steam. "Besides, your dumbass brother needs some backup."

Sam took back the phone. "Look, Dean, I need you to believe in me now. Believe that I'm not going down there to betray you. I'm going to help. Everything's going to be fine."

"I'm coming to get you, Sammy."

"Good. I'll see you there." Sam hung up the phone and tossed it into the cup holder between the seats. Dean's grumbling protestations rung in his ears as clearly as if the phone was still picking it all up.

Bobby glanced at him. "You didn't tell him everything."

"Of course I didn't tell him everything," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"I don't mean that." He frowned at Sam knowingly for a moment, then adjusted his cap and rolled his shoulders back. "I'm talking about Castiel," he said. "You're still going to try to pump Lucifer for information about him. Dean wouldn't like that."

"He wouldn't want to hear it. And besides, I don't actually think Cas is a bad guy. But I think there's more to him than meets the eye." He leaned across the dashboard and set his eyes on the horizon. "If I can find out what that is, we'll both be better off. And if what we're planning works, I'll have a chance to tell him."

"Hurm." Bobby followed his gaze. Storms were gathering in the rear view mirror, but ahead of them just lay miles of uninterrupted highway. The path had been cleared for them.

**

This would be a good time for Castiel to show up, Dean thought bitterly. A really damn good time.

There was no Castiel, though, and he wasn't even alone to punch his frustrations out on an inanimate object. No, he had people in his face wherever he went, asking him questions he didn't know the answers to, telling him information he didn't know what to do with, and constantly, constantly saying his name. For a guy with an ego the size of his, he thought sardonically, it was damn impressive that he was getting sick of hearing his own name.

It was only a six-hour drive for a single car down to Lawrence, but for a caravan of a hundred it would take more than that. And Dean didn't think for an instant they'd have an uninterrupted ride. It was important to keep everyone together, and protected, Taking a deep breath, he drew out an oversized map of the area and called the group together.

"We're going to go this far today," he said, jamming the point of a knife down into a spot, "stay at a motel that's been reserved for us. It's protected. We'll stop here for eats." Another jab of the knife. "If you spot something, don't panic. Get on the CB as soon as you can and let the rest of us know. The more of us that see it, the safer you'll be. I'll keep in touch on the road."

Nobody asked questions; everyone got right to work. It was kind of amazing, actually. Maybe there was something to this leader business after all.

His confidence lasted about as far as two and a half miles from the farm site where they'd lingered. He'd just put on his favorite Metallica tape and was happily singing away when he very nearly ran down some poor schmuck just standing there in the middle of the highway.

The Impala skidded, shrieking to a halt. He jumped from the car. Behind him, the CB radios crackled as the caravan came to a lumbering, thumping stop, but Dean didn't pay any attention to the fleet. He was busy plowing forward toward the man he'd nearly run down, a skinny fellow wearing a pristine white business suit now scuffed from the road. Dean reached out an arm to help him up and saw that he was wearing the oddest pair of glasses he'd ever seen. One lens was tinted dark, like sunglasses; the other was frosted white.

"Are you all right?" he said as the man got up and dusted himself off.

"Oh, yes, fine, absolutely," the fellow said. "Especially now that Sam's gone off and left you all alone."

Eyes flashed behind the mismatched lenses. Dean staggered back.

"Guns!" he managed to yell, but by then the highway itself was buckling, tossing cars over with a clatter of crashes. An engine burst into flame; Dean turned in time to see a family leaping from the vehicle just as it exploded. Elsewhere, a woman screamed. Dean whipped around. A swarm of black clouds had appeared out of nowhere and was surrounding one of the vehicles. A power line went down, sending blue sparks arcing through the air.

A moment later shots began to ring out, and under the cover of fire Dean grabbed the man and pushed him against the car. Fabric and human flesh burned against the hot engine, but the man's expression showed no pain. "Who are you?" Dean demanded.

"That all depends on your perspective," the man said, with a blithe, banal air that made Dean want to punch the snot out of him. "Some people say I'm the worst thing they've ever seen. Others, the best. Still others don't care one way or the other, and they're the ones I like best."

"Oh, great, another cryptic son of a bitch," Dean said. "Question. Why do you all have to dress like bankers? Is there a dress code for demons or something? Because that suit, man... it's just tired."

"Then how about me?"

Dean whirled. The man who'd appeared, was clad all in black, with stringy, matted hair as dark as his clothes and white skin that seemed nearly translucent. Dean thought for sure he could see the outline of the man's skull behind the long cut of his jawbone. Behind him stood what looked to be an army of old men in suits. Reapers, Dean realized, and he knew what he was up against.

"No, man, you're a cliche," he said, swaggering forward. He fingered the gun on the inside of his jacket pocket. "You look like you just came from a Marilyn Manson concert. Take a shower."

Death smiled, and again Dean thought he could see skeletal teeth, like an X-ray, behind his closed lips. "You insult us by calling us demons, you know," he said. "We're omens. That's much different."

Dean walked a short distance from the two of them, "Oh, yeah? Different how?"

"For one thing, we can't be killed. Humans have been trying for centuries, but there's no end to Death, or War, or Famine..."

"Or Evil," the man in the white suit said, stepping to the side to join his brother.

"For another, we can do something like this." Death snapped his bony fingers.

Instantly a dozen Reapers shot out toward the caravan. moving like rays of light. Slowly but surely, screams erupted from the convoy, and Dean heard the thump of bodies falling like sandbags. He looked up at Death with fire blazing in his eyes. "Stop it," he warned in a low voice.

"Sure." Death snapped his fingers again, and the Reapers retreated. Dean could hear wails of horror. God, how many folks had just lost their lives, just so this sick bastard could prove a point? "You know what, though, Dean? I have to say, your bringing this entourage has only made us stronger. You know my brother Evil has another name, right? There are some who also call him Righteousness."

"It's all in the way you look at it," Evil piped up in his thin, tin-whistle voice.

"So I brought the righteousness and you brought the evil?" Dean said.

"Or so it seems to you," Evil said.

"It makes no difference to me," said Death. "They all come to me sooner or later. But now that you're here--"

He raised a hand. The Reapers readied themselves.

"Now!" Dean shouted, and he hit the dirt.

A spray of salt and silver flew over his head. Rolling in the dirt, Dean pulled an iron stake from his jacket and crouched near the car. Dark and light streaks coursed above him, as the hunters sprayed their rounds and fell back to reload behind the next firing line. God bless Bobby and his annoyingly unswerving drills, Dean thought. It was hard enough to get two hardened hunters working together, but he'd managed to train them to work as a unit. A minute later, he remembered he was supposed to be mad at Bobby, and he took a half-second to frown and look at the ground.

That's when the Reaper went for his throat.

It all happened in a rush faster than a breath. Dean was choking, he saw the face of Death behind the Reaper's grim visage, he couldn't move, the light started to fade. The world was blinking out.

And then he saw nothing but light and he could breathe again. He staggered forward into charred, smoking air. "Thanks, Cas," he whispered through a grit-filled throat.

"Not a problem." The familiar voice was as even, as usual, and when Dean regained his feet he saw Castiel looking pretty much exactly as expected: staring down the horsemen with sheer disgust in his eyes.

"You've killed innocent people," he said.

"What have you, grown a soul or something?" Evil chuckled. "How many have you killed? How about that meat suit you are wearing?" Castiel only looked down for a moment, but it was long enough for Evil to chuckle. "Poor thing is so conflicted. If he could only realize there's no difference. It's all in how you look at it."

"Exactly," Castiel said.

And with a flash of light, he shattered the two-toned glasses.

Evil gave a scream, covering his eyes, and fell back. The army of Reapers quaked. Castiel fell into step next to Dean. "I think I may have upstaged you temporarily," he said, and when Dean looked over his shoulder he could see an army of stunned hunters all staring at the two of them.

Dean chuckled. "I'll live. But did that do it? Is that enough to stop him?"

"Him, perhaps. But not me."

Death stepped forward. The Reaper army had ceased to be one of kindly old men in suits. They growled like wild beasts; some dropped to all fours, some remained upright, growing grotesque claws. Black fur stood up glistening on their bodies. Their teeth were sharp and dripping with saliva. Their eyes were red and glowing with bloodlust.

"Go," whispered Death.

All hell broke loose.

**

When they crossed the border into Kansas, Sam doubled over in pain.

Bobby pulled the truck to the side. "Boy. Are you all right?"

Sam clutched his temples. "He's happy," he gasped. "God damn it... he won't stop laughing in my head."

You're almost here! I can't contain myself, Sam. We're going to have so much to talk about.

"Bastard," Sam whispered through tears and gritted teeth. "You'd better tell me what I need to know when I get there."

I have no secrets from you, Sam. I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just come home. Come home to where you belong.

Bobby was leaning over him, the comforting presence the only warmth he had in the face of the blizzard on the horizon. "Boy. Are you sure you want to do this?" Bobby said. "We could go back, wait another day."

Sam looked up at Bobby. "No," he gasped.  "You were right. It has to be now. Keep driving." He wiped the sweat from his brow. It wouldn't be much longer.

to be continued

Comments

[shiro01.livejournal.com]

Righteousness. Perhaps, that is what is affecting Bobby. And Sam for that matter. Still, I wonder how Bobby and Sam are going to react when they hear that they left Dean wide open with Death and Righteousness to deal with.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

It might be the horseman. Then again, it might be something more mundane. And I wonder how well they think Dean will be able to acquit himself. Do they doubt his ability to lead an army of hunters?

You ask very probing questions. I hope I can answer them all to your satisfaction in the remaining parts of the story. :)