Chapter Text
They were so close now, it was only right he armed his followers for the final battle. To Jo, he gave the bow and arrow gifted to him by Tess, and to Bobby, Dean gave him his dagger.
“You sure?” Bobby asked, taking it from him warily.
Dean nodded. He put a hand on the hilt of the sword his mother had given him before he had lost her for the final time.
“I have this, remember.”
It was a short walk to the top of the hill, but his legs felt close to collapse once they reached the gate. For three days he had walked, and fought, and killed, and played so many games with the man he had come to murder. He just wanted it to be over, really, so he could rest, so he could say to Sam he was sorry, and that he would never hurt him again.
There was a woman waiting for them. She was beautiful, almost goddess-like, in a flowing white gown with jewelled weapons attached to her waist.
“Who goes?” she said, with a voice like thunder.
“My name is Dean Winchester,” he said, letting his name wash over her, liking the way it made her eyes glaze with wrath. “I want to get into the city.”
She crossed her arms.
“Only demons may pass through the gates. You are not a demon, therefore you shall not pass.”
“There’s three of us,” he countered, “and only one of you. Do you really want to play this game?”
At this, she laughed.
“My name is Lilith. I helped build this city. I assembled this wall with my own hands. You are a boy. You are not even of this world. Your very presence here is a contamination. I will not let you into my home and have you taint it further. Take one more step towards me and it will be your last.”
Dean tried to think of something witty, something intimidating—anything, really, but he was floored.
He lowered his voice, edged himself towards Jo and Bobby.
“Guys…” he tried nervously, “what do we do?”
“You’ve gotten this far,” Bobby said. “How much of a challenge can she be?”
“You have the sword,” agreed Jo. “If it can kill a king, it can kill a haughty door guard.”
Lilith smirked, and looked at the Righteous Weapon hungrily.
“Beautiful weapon, really,” she said dreamily. “I would love to add it to my collection.”
Jo and Bobby were right. He could do this. He could kill her.
He had to.
“Come and get it, then,” he teased, and unsheathed it from his belt, the metal glowing like a light in the darkness.
She struck towards him, a golden scythe in her hand, ready to slice Dean into a thousand pieces. He dodged her strike, but only barely. Jo shot an arrow, missing Lilith by inches. She laughed, and swung her weapon towards her. It caught Jo in the arm, and she screamed in pain, clutching at the open wound. Bobby went for her, the dagger held far from him, like he was scared to have it in his hand. She countered it with her scythe easily, and threw her arm back with such force that it knocked Bobby to the ground. Dean stood, held the sword, and lunged. It was so much heavier than the dagger. He felt clumsy, almost drunk. She blocked his advances, countered his blows, laughed gleefully as he struck and missed.
After minutes, it almost felt as if she were simply toying with them.
But he couldn’t lose now, not when Sam was just beyond those doors.
They continued to battle her, fought with all their might—but she just kept going. The bloodier she got, the more powerful she seemed to be. Dean’s arms were begging for release, to throw that godforsaken sword off the side of the hill and be done with it.
“We can’t keep this up much longer!” he said, barely dodging another of Lilith’s blows.
It was true. Jo had one more arrow left; Bobby was barely standing. Dean could feel his arms beginning to falter.
Just keep going, keep going…
“Lilith!”
It was a voice he knew so well, of a woman who kept coming back to him, no matter what kept them apart.
Lilith paused, and wiped her face.
“Come to finish what you started, Meg?” she panted, blood dripping from her open mouth, a single finger beckoning the demon towards her. “You know what you have to do.”
Meg took the knife from Bobby, held it comfortably as she readied herself. The two women circled each other slowly, like two lions waiting to pounce.
The rest was a blur. Lilith was on Meg in seconds, slashing at her wildly, like the beautiful animal she was. Meg fought back, ferociously, viciously, so quick and lithe it was hard to keep up. Meg struck Lilith’s shoulder, and the door guard screamed. She threw Meg off of her and leapt on top. She thrashed, and stabbed, but Meg rolled from beneath her. She hit Lilith from behind, and was thrown to the ground as the woman beat her with a flying fist. They kept at this for what felt like years, slicing and beating—screaming at each other, begging for the other to die.
Lilith was injured now. Dying, even. She stumbled towards Meg’s broken form—raised her weapon for a final time.
“YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO!”
And with that, Meg had plunged the dagger into her heart while Lilith’s arms were still raised. She fell backwards, her jewels and weapons flying loose from her adorned body, and landing far and heavy around her. She landed on the ground, soundless and hollow—and the door guard was slaughtered, once and for all.
Her golden body lay fragile on the ground, so small in death, like a little girl.
Meg was panting, the demon’s blood on her face. She turned to Dean, barely able to get out her words.
“Are you all right?”
Jo stood between them, her bow raised in Meg’s direction, her final arrow ready to meet the demon between both eyes.
“Stay away from him!”
“No. Jo,” Dean said, putting a hand on the bow to lower it. “It’s okay.”
Jo scowled, but submitted. He turned his gaze to Meg.
“Where did you go?”
She shrugged awkwardly.
“Nowhere. Just… away from you.”
He sighed, and put a hand where his amulet should have been, before he had thrown it away after awakening from that beautiful, shameful dream.
“You knew the amulet was enchanted when you gave it to me, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” nodded Meg. “Castiel offered me a deal… one I couldn’t refuse. You have no idea just how persuasive that man can be…”
She was right, he did.
“When I gave you back your amulet,” she continued, “I regretted it the minute it was back around your neck. Like a coward, I ran. I couldn’t bear to see you like that.”
Jo scoffed, letting out a humourless laugh.
“And now you’re back,” she joked, “just as Dean reaches the kingdom, and while all three of us almost die doing it, you manage to slay the demon guard as easily as swatting a fly. How convenient.”
“I’ve been following you,” countered Meg, “I’ll admit it, since you returned from the island. I wanted to protect you, but I knew you’d never take me back, so I stayed hidden and only vowed to reveal myself if things took a turn. I was raised by a General. I grew up in war. You think I didn’t learn a few tricks along the way?” She looked at only Dean now, her voice soft. “I want you to get inside, Dean. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“She’s lying—” interrupted Jo, “don’t trust her!”
“No,” decided Dean, finally and forever. “Meg’s saved my ass more times than I can count. She’s not perfect, but she’s still my friend. So she stays.”
Meg smiled, and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you, Dean,” she whispered.
Their arms fell, and Meg smiled again. Dean fumbled in his pocket, and brought out a small bottle he had been keeping for this moment.
“Fire Breath, do you remember?”
It was her father’s potion. He was giving it to her.
“The dagger is for Bobby, but I won’t have you go in unarmed. Do you accept this?”
Meg grit her teeth, but gave Bobby back the knife.
“I suppose it’s only right,” she said.
Jo waited for Dean to go before she put her mouth to Meg’s ear.
“I’m watching you,” she said, quietly enough so only Meg could hear. “Every second until Dean wins this fight, I’m watching you. No one was ever turned into a demon for being loyal.”
“You’ll see,” she whispered back, twice as viciously. “When the time comes, you’ll learn exactly where my loyalties lie.”
Once he had reformed, his body shook from the bitter cold, a stench of rot and staleness bleeding into him from all around. Castiel walked over to the two broken figures huddled together on the ground, each other’s only source of warmth.
He cradled the man’s face, now hollowed and stained in filth.
“Chuck, my friend…” Castiel whispered kindly.
The Prophet’s glazed eyes tried to focus, but in the dark, through the thick choking fog of the Pool, all he could do was sink into the embrace and close his eyes.
“Castiel…”
“I’m so sorry,” Castiel said. “I’m so sorry, Chuck.”
“Why are you here?”
Castiel stiffened.
“I’ve come to take you away from here. You and Becky.”
The Prophet nodded, his wife letting out a silent tear.
“He’s close, isn’t he?” Chuck asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, he’s close.”
“He’s greater than any of us ever expected.”
Castiel let himself laugh at that, quiet and humbled, an odd sound in a terrible place.
“Yes,” he said, settling, “and worth losing a kingdom over, it seems.”
Chuck closed his eyes again. Those few words uttered had been enough to weaken him entirely. He was ready.
“Castiel,” he pleaded. “Take us home, please. We’re so tired.”
They had been punished for too long. The least they deserved was a little peace at the end.
“Of course, my friend,” the king said, their forms disappearing. “Goodbye.”
Dozens, hundreds of Lost Souls had appeared, cowering amidst the fog. They watched their king with awe, with hunger, with fear.
“You hear that?” Castiel shouted, letting his voice be carried through the nothingness. “You’re free. All of you. You’re all free. Death has awakened itself inside my labyrinth, and there is a fight coming to it. Go, hide with your families, or come to the city and kill. Choose your side. Choose yourselves. It does not matter anymore.”
There was nothing else standing in his way. With the door guard dead, the only thing left to do was to blow the whistle. Dean placed the ancient thing in his mouth, and blew. It was a shrill, piercing noise, that rang in his ears long after he had finished.
It took a mere moment after the ringing had stopped to notice a disturbance in the forest below. Hundreds of people, soldiers, and winged men, began to appear, their respective leaders trailing in front. It was a sight to behold. In three days, Dean had amassed an army big enough to unsettle even a king, a king who was just beyond these walls.
His army stopped, uniformly, at the top of the hill. He nodded to his allies.
“Tess. Tom. Anna. You’re here. All of you.”
“Of course we are, Dean,” said Anna. She was dressed in armour, fierce and beautiful. In her hands she held the flail, the one Castiel had forged his rebellion with. She seemed so unlike the delicate wraith he had met in the tower.
He studied those around him, shouted so his voice would carry.
“Once I open this door, there’s no turning back,” he said. “The rules have changed; some of you will die. Some of you will never leave this place no matter who wins in the end.”
“We don’t care. We want to fight,” a Tainted-soul said.
“We’re bound,” a Child said.
“Castiel needs to die,” Anna said woefully. “That’s all that matters.”
He looked at her sadly. He could not imagine what she must be feeling, have to fight against her own brother. It is what had been destined for him and Sam, until Castiel had changed their fate. Perhaps he should be grateful that they were brought here before their time, before they were forced to make that choice.
“Okay,” he said, settling. “Here’s how it’s gonna go down. Raphael and his quarter-souls are going to take to the air and fight from above. I want you to scout ahead and relay any obstacles we might meet.”
“Understood,” nodded Raphael.
“Tessa and the tainted-souls,” Dean went on, addressing the daughter of Death and her wayward troops, “your job is to create as much havoc as possible. Confuse them, go in all directions and just cause hell. We need them distracted more than anything.”
Tessa nodded fervently at this, the Tainted behind her grunting in eagerness.
“Tom and the Father’s Army,” he continued, “you are the brunt force of this attack. You’re to remain close-knit and ordered, mowing them down as you make one straight path to the castle. We want the demons to think that you’re protecting me.”
Tom raised a brow.
“We won’t be?”
“No,” he shook his head. “Anna, Jo, Meg, Bobby and me, we will separate ourselves from the rest of you, creating our own path. Our best chance of reaching the castle is by sneaking in. Running into demons here and there will be inevitable, but with three separate attacks keeping Castiel’s army distracted, we can get inside the king’s castle with little resistence—maybe even catch him unaware.”
Raphael bowed his head, his wings extending in anticipation.
“A strong plan. I cannot fault it.”
Dean’s heart beat quickly in his chest, the adrenaline surging through him. He felt proud. Strong. He was a leader, whose people respected him. He was a prince who was loved.
They were finally ready. They were finally going to kill Castiel. He looked over at his army, and nodded.
“We’re all agreed, then?”
The soldiers roared, a war cry that echoed until the end of the world. It was terrifying, and beautiful. It made him want to kill.
“Let’s open the gate,” he said.
He took one handle, and Bobby took the other. His boots sunk into the earth as they pried the doors apart. The gate opened in a loud, monstrous groan, like a horn signalling the beginning of a battle.
“Go,” called The Righteous Prince. “Go!”
His army stampeded past him. The war had begun.
As ordered, Raphael and the quarter-souls flew ahead. As quick as lightning, they soared to the ground like an eagle does a rat, and tore the demons apart with their teeth and fists. The Tainted mowed their enemy down, without order, without plan. They separated and stabbed and bit and annihilated their way through the crowds. Tom held up a finger to keep his soldiers in place. They watched him calmly until he gave the signal, then marched past Dean with their weapons raised, their eyes empty of anger or fear. Still—with a single purpose.
With his army inside, Dean and the others followed suit.
It was chaos.
Hundreds of bodies strew the streets, as if the battle had raged for hours instead of mere moments. The opening had emptied as the fight raged further. This was their opportunity to get to the castle unseen.
“This way,” he whispered, the sword feeling heavy in his hand.
They followed the side streets, snuck their way between crudely built huts and straw-houses. He had imagined all of Castiel’s city dwellers to have lived a life of luxury, but that had been foolish to imagine. A man as selfish as Castiel would never allow his slave’s comfort. For that’s what they were, and now they were dying for a king who despised them.
There were a few stragglers here and there, separated from their brethren in the ensuing chaos, or perhaps deserters, fleeing to save their own skin. It did not matter. If they saw a demon, they killed it—quickly and quietly.
They continued on, to a new part of the city, where the houses were grander. They must be close.
“Dean?”
He jumped at the sound of his name—but it was not one of his companions who had spoken it. It was another. A woman. A demon.
“Bela?”
He had met her, right at the beginning of his adventure, in the line outside Death’s Courtroom. She had been a Tainted, sentenced to be Turned for her thievery and deception. She had seemed so callous when he had met her that first time—gleeful, even, like she looked forward to become what she was now.
She was a shell of the woman he had met before. She looked dirty, and tired. Her once blonde hair was stained and hanging in rattails. She looked at him, like she was waiting to be saved.
“They told me you were coming,” she said, her voice cracking. “I should have known it was you. Dean, I—”
But she could not finish, because Meg had swallowed her father’s potion, and set the demon alight. She died, loudly, slowly, so torturously slowly… Dean could only stand there and watch in horror.
Finally, she crumpled to the ground, her body black and blistered. Dean had to choke back tears.
“Meg!” he cried incredulously. “Why did you do that? She wasn’t trying to fight us!”
The demon only shrugged.
“You don’t know that,” she said. “Let’s stop wasting time. The castle is only a few minutes away.”
He and Bobby exchanged glances, but said nothing. Bela did not deserve to be left there in the middle of the street, charred and smoking like old meat. But there was no time for a burial. He followed Meg towards the castle doors.
They continued forwards, the sounds of death all around them. Up ahead, he could see the doors to the castle. They were unguarded. He ushered the others with a wave of his hand, but before they could move, Anna put a hand on his.
“Wait. Dean.”
“What is it?”
“You’ve made it this far,” she said. “I know you will find your brother, and Castiel will die by your hand. I can’t be there to see it. He’s still my kin, after all.”
“Anna…”
“Go,” she ordered. She had made up her mind. “There is still a fight to be had outside. I am of much more use to you here than I am in my brother’s castle.”
She kissed him on the cheek quickly, and smiled, in that old mournful way.
“It would be nice to see you again. In a different life.”
She stood, and ran, before he had a chance to say goodbye. He watched as her red hair disappeared beyond the brick houses. Would he see her again? It was hard to imagine a world other than this one. It had only been three days, but it felt like he had been here for eternity.
He had to stop himself, will his thoughts away from the dreams in his head. He only had one purpose in this moment, and it was to get inside that castle. He motioned Meg, Bobby, and Jo. They ran to the door, opened it quickly, and rushed inside.
They were in a throne room, empty apart from one man. It was Crowley, the chubby, gloating demon Dean had met in Sam’s nursery, the one who read him the deal that sent him to this place. The sword began to vibrate, just as the dagger used to do when it wanted blood, only this time the pulsing was so intense he could barely hold it.
“Welcome, friends,” Crowley bowed.
The doors opened, and a dozen guards appeared, adorned with weapons and fine armour.
Meg took a few step forwards; Dean touched her arm.
“Meg,” he whispered, “stay back.”
“I’ve got this,” she said calmly. “Crowley, where’s Castiel?”
She walked until she was face-to-face with the man. The guards’ hands twitched for their weapons, but remained still.
“Meg,” called Dean, his heart thumping. “What are you doing?”
She ignored him.
“Where is he?” she asked again.
“In the room of stairs,” replied Crowley, “with the boy. He won’t bother us now. Meg. He went to the Pool. He released them all.”
“You mean…”
A woman, older than Meg, and twice as beautiful, appeared from behind the guards. She was short, with tan skin, and her hair was a thick, glossy black. She looked war-torn, but strong—menacing, even. Dean already knew she was a demon.
“Hello, Meg,” she smiled at the woman.
“Ruby!”
They ran to each other and embraced, Meg burying her face in the other’s neck.
“I thought I would never see you again,” Dean heard her say.
Something had changed. The sword was no longer pulsing for Crowley, or the guards, or even this black-haired woman. It wanted Meg.
“Meg,” Dean forced himself to say, catching Jo’s eye across from him, her bow drawn. “What’s going on?”
The demon sighed, and turned around.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” she said dejectedly, and her face had completely changed.
Before he could question it, the guards had shifted from their position, and had come down on Dean, Jo and Bobby so quickly, it was impossible for them to even react. Within a moment, his arms were behind his back, the sword no longer in his hand. Meg sighed again, regretful.
“I suppose you must be angry with me, and confused,” she said, walking towards him. “You see, Castiel took away so much when he defeated Lucifer. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of meeting you at last. For you will bring him back to me.”
No… not after everything they had been through. His first ally, the one who always came back to him, no matter how far away they seemed to be. Even after Jo’s warnings, the niggling voice in his head that told him never to trust a demon… they had been right, after all.
“Lucifer?”
“You had a lot of help to get where you are, Dean,” Meg said bluntly. “It was exhausting, really. A boy with no extraordinary talent defeating beings older than his own Earth… it seems rather implausible, doesn’t it? Did you really think you could defeat Death? Lilith? Kill my father, the most powerful demon in existence? No,” she shook her head. “They let you do it.”
Ruby placed her hands on Meg’s shoulder, urging her forwards.
“Just do it—” she nagged viciously, “just do it now!”
“No,” said Meg, putting up a finger. “Dean deserves to know why.”
Ruby could not hide her impatience, or her contempt. Regardless, she removed her hands from the younger woman and eyed Dean resentfully. Meg moved closer to him, her once pleasant features now sending ripples of disgust into the pit of his stomach.
“Lucifer knew his end was near,” Meg explained, “so he told his most loyal followers of a way to bring him back—only we would have to be patient, for it could not happen until his descendants arrived.”
Dean said nothing. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of his betrayal, of his anger. He simply kept his mouth shut and stared.
“I need your blood,” she said finally. “I need it for my king to come back to me.”
After everything, it came to this. Had he not bled enough for his place? Now it was needed of him again, only not to save his brother or his people, but to bring back another king who would seek to enslave the world.
She never wanted to help him, not really. She had used him, this whole time.
“You’re a monster,” he said.
“You’re right,” Meg nodded. “I am. Castiel saw it, too; that’s why he cast me away. That’s why he put Ruby in the Pool, to torture her for my mistakes. But you have to understand, I am doing this for the good of those who cannot leave. They deserve a better life than the one they’ve got now. That’s why I must bring Lucifer back.”
She smiled, as she had done so many times before, only now he could see the evil underneath, the ugly way her mouth curved into a disingenuous sneer.
There was a large red rug in the middle of the room. Meg lifted the corner and threw it to its side. Underneath, there was a painted sigil, stained into the stone ground.
“Dean,” she said softly, “hold out your hand. It’s just a bit of blood.”
Jo struggled from beside him, her body writhing, her face seething with rage.
“Dean, no!” she screamed.
“Lucifer will reward you for this,” Meg said, as if the room was silent.
It was not a request. The demon that held him grabbed his hand and offered it to the smiling demon. She took it, and with the prince’s own knife, slit a perfect line down his right palm. The blood formed immediately, and Dean grunted through the sting. Meg turned his hand over and let the liquid pour on to the painted ground, a submerging of flesh on stone.
All eyes were on the portal. Five seconds passed, then ten. Whatever the demons were waiting for, they weren’t getting it.
Ruby screeched in frustration.
“The portal, it’s not opening!”
Crowley sighed, and shook his head.
“It isn’t sated, Meg,” he said impatiently. “It needs more. Cut his throat and spill it all, just to be safe.”
Dean’s eyes widened. He was so close to Sam. He couldn’t die. Not now.
“No,” he heard Meg say, and his chest instantly lightened. “Dean belongs in the new age. I want him to see it with me.”
Crowley laughed cruelly. Was he the only person in the labyrinth not in love with Dean Winchester? He took a hold of Meg’s shoulders, and shook her into submission.
“After all this time, you’ll give up now?”
Meg tore his hands off her. She didn’t care that they were allies, Crowley was an insufferable, pompous coward, who would be the first to die when Lucifer took back his crown.
“I’m not giving up—” she screamed at him, “I am thinking!”
“You don’t need to think,” he screamed back, “just kill him!”
Meg suddenly let out a cry, a single sob—so painfully human Dean forgot for an instant what she was. She looked at him, then, conflicted, calculating, in a million different ways, just as she had done since the first moment they met. What a complicated creature she really was. In her mind, she was truly doing what she thought was right.
Loyal, he thought, for that’s what she was, only it wasn’t for him anymore.
“Dean is my friend,” she told the room, her brown eyes now black like a void, waiting to swallow him whole. “He told me that himself.”
She walked over to him again, the dagger outstretched, unfaltering.
“But I must do what is asked of me,” she said, addressing only him now, “even if it hurts. I’m sorry, Dean. For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry.”
“Meg, please…” It was a final attempt to reach the girl behind the night-black eyes.
She took a hold of his left hand, and pierced the flesh in another perfect line. The blood that fell now seeped together with the painted markings unnaturally, stirring the ground as it rumbled. There was a shift, an awakening. The incantations fell upon each other and ate themselves.
The ground began to open.
“I will look after your brother,” he heard Meg say, as she held the knife to his throat. “In Lucifer’s world, no harm will come to him.”
He felt the metal on his skin, the searing of flesh, the warmth of himself spilling on to the ground.
And then he heard something else—a struggle. A push. Screaming. Jo was no longer held down by her captives. She was free, and she had Meg in her hands. She threw the dagger before it could hit Dean’s jugular. The two of them struggled, as quick as a single moment. The portal was opening, unveiling a bright light, just a crack big enough to welcome its Master, to call to him from His cage.
He was not quick enough. Dean held out two bleeding hands, the portal cracking and splitting and begging for sacrifice.
Meg wanted more blood. She called to Dean, willed him to her. Jo dragged her away, but with no more ground for her to stand on. She was welcomed by the light, welcomed by Lucifer’s cage. Meg tried to remain balanced, but she, too, fell, down into the depths where her king was waiting.
“No!” Dean screamed.
He threw himself towards them, but the ground was whole again.
The portal had already closed.