Nobody's Soldier (Book 2)

by Anonymousewrites

Summary:

Found Family! Supernatural x Teen! Reader
Castiel x Dean Winchester (Slow Burn)

The Devil has risen, even after Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) fought against it for so long. Now, the battle of Heaven and Hell is underway. The Apocalypse rocks the world, bringing more danger to the hunters than ever, but while demons and Horsemen rise, so do angels, lies, and secrets. The Winchesters and (Y/N) must fight for the sake of their world and their family if they are going to see another day.

I own only my ocs
Follows the events of season 5

Chapter 1: Chapter One: Lucifer's Rise

            “What the devil is your name?”

            “S-S-S—Uh, Yosemite Sam!”

            “Yosemite Sam? Hm, let’s see.”

            (Y/N) blinked, the ringing in their ears and the blinding light in their eyes fading rapidly. They shook their head and grimaced as it pounded. Looking around, they saw a cartoon playing on an…airplane TV?

            “What the hell?” said Dean, eyes wide with confusion.

            “I don’t know,” said Sam, still tense.

            “Are we dead?” asked (Y/N) hesitantly, hand flying to their still-warm-to-the-touch necklace.

            “Folks, quick word from the flight deck,” said the pilot’s voice over the cabin speakers. “We’re just passing over Ilchester, then Ellicott City, on our initial descent into Baltimore…”

            “Ilchester?” repeated Dean. “Weren’t we just there?”

            “Definitely not dead, then,” said (Y/N). How depressing would it be if you had to go through TSA to get into Heaven?

            “So if you’d like to stretch your legs,” continued the pilot, “now would be a good time to—Holy crap!”

            Outside the window, a blaring, blinding light shot up from the ground. It was the very same light Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) had someone teleported away from. The entire plane pitched to the side, and the metaling whining reverberated. (Y/N) covered their ears and screamed, voice mixing with the painful ringing and burning as deeply as their spirit quartz amulet did.

 

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            A strange few hours later that were becoming a pattern of a strange life, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) were back in the impala after a lucky emergency landing in Ilchester itself.

            “—And Governor O’Malley urged calm, saying it’s very unlikely an abandoned convent would be a target for terrorists, either foreign or homegrown.”

            (Y/N) frowned at the radio.

            “Change the station,” said Dean.

            Sam clicked to the next station.

            “Hurricane Kinley, unexpectedly slamming into the Galveston Area—”

            Click.

            “—Announced a successful test of the North Korea nuclear—”

            Click.

            “—Baffled—”

            Click.

            “—Swine Flu—”

            Sam shut the radio off. Evidence of Lucifer’s rise was everyone, it seemed.

            “Dean, (Y/N)—” Sam spoke in the silence.

            “Don’t. Don’t say anything,” said Dean. “It’s okay. We just got to keep our heads down and has this out, alright?”

            “Yeah. Okay.” Sam’s guilt weighed on him despite Dean’s words. He glanced in the rearview mirror and watched (Y/N), bruised with stab wounds beneath their shirt. One of those wounds was from Ruby. Many of them were. They had nearly died because of the demon he’d foolishly trusted. Sam swallowed.

            “First things first,” said Dean. “How did we end up on ‘Soul Plane?’ ”

            “Angels, maybe?” wondered Sam. “I mean, you know, beaming us out of harm’s way?”

            “I didn’t think the angels were fans of ours,” said (Y/N). Probably want us dead.

            “Well, whatever,” said Dean. “It’s the least of our worries. We need to find Cas.”

            “Where is he?” asked Sam.

            “We were at Chuck’s place,” said (Y/N). “And he…held off an archangel.” They grimaced.

 

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            Chuck’s house looked like a hurricane had blown through, but the blood splattered across the floor spelled another truth. The hunters walked through the rooms, trying to find a sign of Cas or Chuck. They heard a creak and narrowed their eyes. Sam stepped forward, and someone jumped out of nowhere, swinging for his head.

            Sam stumbled back. “Geez! Ow!”

            “Sam,” said Chuck, staring with wild eyes. He had bruises and cuts over his body, too, equally as disheveled as his house. “So…so you’re okay?”

            “Well, my head hurts,” said Sam.

            “No, I mean—I mean, my-my last vision, you went, like, full-on Vader,” said Chuck. “Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heartrate was two hundred. Your eyes were black.”

            “Your eyes went black?” questioned Dean.

            (Y/N) stiffened instinctually, and Sam swallowed at the instant displays of worry.

            “I didn’t know,” he said softly.

            “…Okay,” said (Y/N). It unnerved them, but Sam had no reason to lie at the moment. They doubted he had the energy, either.

            “Where’s Cas?” demanded Dean.

            Chuck swallowed. “He’s…dead. Or gone.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            “The archangel smote the crap out of him,” said Chuck.

            Cas is gone? (Y/N) couldn’t believe it. They had known he wasn’t invincible, but Castiel had seemed so strong. And, out of all the angels, he truly seemed to care, despite the factory reset, too. He cared about Dean, and he had helped Dean and (Y/N) to help Sam. (Y/N) had liked him. And now yet another person they cared for was gone, dead.

            “You’re sure?” said Dean, voice harsh. His expression betrayed no emotion, but on the inside…Castiel’s loss hit hard.

            “I’m sorry.” Chuck shook his head.

            “I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something,” said Dean, trying to create a scenario where he was alright.

            “Oh, no, he, like, exploded,” said Chuck with absolutely no tact (and he was an author). “Like a water balloon of chunky soup.” He took in a deep, trembling breath. “This has been a really stressful day.”

            “It can’t be as worse as our day,” sighed (Y/N), running a hand through their hair. The exhaustion was starting to catch up to them.

            “Cas, you stupid bastard,” said Dean, voice croaking ever-so-slightly.

            “Stupid? He was trying to help us,” said Sam, turning on Dean.

            “Yeah, exactly!” snapped Dean. And as usual, it got someone killed.

            “What do we do now?” asked (Y/N), too tired for another fight.

            “I don’t know,” said Dean, shaking his head.

            “Oh, no,” said Chuck suddenly.

            “What?” said all three hunters.

            “I can feel them,” said Chuck, looking down.

            “Thought we’d find you here.”

            (Y/N), Sam, and Dean turned to find Zachariah standing in Chuck’s destroyed kitchen. (Y/N) themself had never met Zachariah, but they’re heard about the weaselly angel and thoroughly disliked him.

            “Playtime’s over, Dean,” said Zachariah. “Time to come with us.”

            “You just keep your distance, asshat,” barked Dean.

            Zachariah looked taken aback. “You’re upset.”

            “Yeah—a little,” said Dean with an unpleasant smile. “You son of a bitches jumpstarted Judgement Day!”

            “We let it happen. We didn’t start anything,” corrected Zachariah.

            “Wow, they should be lawyers with the amount of loopholes they find,” grumbled (Y/N). Angels were such dicks.

            “Watch your tongue when you speak to an angel of the lord, urchin,” said Zachariah, and (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Besides, shouldn’t you be upset with Sammy? He’s the one who ‘jumpstarted’ everything.” He looked at Dean. “You had a chance to stop your brother, and you couldn’t. So let’s quibble over who started what. Let’s just say it was all our faults and move on. Cause like it or not…it’s Apocalypse Now.” He grinned. “And we’re back on the same team again.”

            “Is that so?” remarked Dean with a heavy dose of snark.

            “You want to kill the Devil,” said Zachariah. “We want you to kill the Devil. It’s Synergy.”

            “And I’m just supposed to trust you?” scoffed Dean. “Cram it with walnuts, ugly.”

            “This isn’t a game, son,” said Zachariah. “Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike now, hard and fast—before he finds his vessel.”

            “His vessel?” said (Y/N). Like Jimmy Novak as Cas’s? “He needs one?”

            “He is an angel,” said Zachariah, talking down to the “idiot human.” He chuckled. “Them’s the rules. And when he touches down, we’re talking Four Horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies—the greatest hits. You can stop him, Dean. But you need our help.”

            “You listen to me, you two-faced douche,” said Dean. “After what you did, I don’t want jack squat from you!”

            “You listen to me, boy!” Zachariah’s calm, charismatic façade broke in an instant. “You think you can rebel against us?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “As Lucifer did?” He frowned suddenly. “You’re bleeding.”

            (Y/N) looked down to see blood dripping from Dean’s hand.

            “Oh, yeah.” Dean grinned. “A little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up.” He turned, pulled a sliding door open, and revealed Anna’s familiar sigil. The angels’ eyes widened, and Dean slammed his hand down on it. Light exploded from it and blasted the angels away.

            “Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch,” said Dean to the air. He glanced at the others to check on them.

            “This sucks ass.” Chuck summed up the thoughts of everyone.

 

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            Dead loaded and unloaded and reloaded every gun he owned a hundred times in the lonely motel room. (Y/N) sat staring out the window, unmoving. They had opened it, letting the wind brush them comfortingly. Sam entered the room, and (Y/N) glanced back.

            “Hey,” said Dean.

            “Hey,” said Sam.

            “Hey,” said (Y/N).

            “Here.” Sam tossed two bags to Dean and (Y/N). “Hex bags. No ways the angels will find us with those. Demons, either, for that matter.”

            “Where’d you get ‘em?” asked Dean.

            “I made them,” said Sam.

            “How?” asked Dean.

            “I…I learned it from Ruby,” said Sam quietly.

            (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace. Dean cleared his throat.

            “Speaking of…how you doing?” asked Dean, looking at Sam. “Are you jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?”

            “I-It’s weird,” said Sam. “Uh, tell you the truth, I’m fine. No shakes, no fever. It’s like…whoever put me on that plane cleaned me right up.”

            “Supernatural methadone,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, I guess,” said Sam. He hesitated. “Dean—”

            “Sam,” Dean cut him off. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

            “Well, that’s good. Because what can I even say?” said Sam. “ ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘I screwed up?’ Doesn’t really do it justice, you know? Look, there’s nothing I can do or say that will ever make it right—”

            “So why do you keep bringing it up?!” snapped Dean.

            “Dean,” said (Y/N) quietly. Sam felt bad. He wanted them to know that.

            “Dean, I have to say it,” said Sam. “Let me.”

            Dean swallowed. He wasn’t good at these vulnerable moments. His only option was to get quiet.

            “(Y/N), I’m…sorry for what Ruby did to you,” said Sam.

            “You didn’t control that,” said (Y/N), shaking their head.

            “No, but I asked her if you were alright after the hotel, and she said you were fine. She lied, and I couldn’t see it. I walked right past where she—” Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

            They were glad he was saying it, and they smiled slightly. “It’s okay.” They shrugged. “And I got her back for it. I killed her. Felt really good, especially after she started talking about my parents.”

            Sam and Dean’s heads snapped towards them. “What?”

            “Yeah, apparently she was one of the demons that murdered my parents,” said (Y/N). “She really shouldn’t have told me that. I had a lot of motivation to murder her.”

            “Just another reason I’m glad the bitch is gone,” said Dean.

            “Yeah,” said Sam, nodding. He had really cared for Ruby, and she had used him. He had to funnel that grief and betrayal into anger and determination, otherwise he’d collapse.

            “Are we good now?” asked Dean, and Sam nodded. “Okay, no more putting this under a microscope. We made a mess. We clean it up. That’s it. Alright? So, say this is just any other hunt. You know? What do we do first?”

            “We’d, uh, figure out where the thing is,” said Sam.

            “Alright,” said Dean. “So we just got to find…the Devil.”

            “We’ve got to be the stupidest hunters in the world,” said (Y/N).

 

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            “But then how would you explain an earthquake, a hurricane, and multiple tornadoes, all at the same time, all around the globe?” asked a reporter on the tv while Dean watched. Sam leafed through a book on lore, and (Y/N) picked apart the hex bag before retying it. (It might have been Ruby who made it, but (Y/N) wanted to know how to hide from demons and angels in the future if they needed to).

            A knock on the door grabbed all of their attentions, and they looked up. Dean grabbed his gun, (Y/N) grabbed a knife, and Sam headed to the door with a weapon. Cocking the gun, Sam opened it slightly. A short blond woman gasped as she saw Sam.

            “Are you okay, lady?” asked Sam.

            “Sam…is it really you?” Her voice broke with emotion. She touched his chest as if testing if he was real. She laughed nervously. “And you’re so firm.”

            “Do I know you?” asked Sam, creeped out.

            “No. But I know you,” said the woman. “You’re Sam Winchester. And you’re—” she frowned when she saw Dean. “Not what I pictured.” She looked at (Y/N). “And I have no idea who you are. Are you a fake?”

            “Not sure what I would be faking,” said (Y/N).

            “I’m Becky,” said the woman, barging in brightly. “I read all about you guys. And I’ve even written a few—” she giggled “—anyway. Mr. Edlund told me where you were.” She sighed. “I wish I knew who you were, but I guess you’re a new character! That’s so exciting!”

            “Chuck?” said Dean.

            “I’m (Y/N),” said (Y/N), refusing to remain nameless.

            “He’s got a message, but he’s being watched,” said Becky.

            “By who?” asked Sam.

            “Angels,” said Becky. “Nice change-up to the mythology, by the way. The demon stuff was getting kind of old.”

            “And you’re telling the people who live it,” said (Y/N).

            Sam cleared his throat. “So, um, what’s the message?” he prompted.

            “He had a vision,” said Becky ominously. “ ‘The Michael Sword is on Earth. The angels lost it.’ ”

            At least she’s a fangirl who quotes exactly, thought (Y/N).

            “The Michael Sword?” repeated Dean.

            “Like the archangel?” said (Y/N). That would be intense. And powerful.

            “Becky, does he know where it is?” asked Sam, eyes wide.

            “In a castle, on a hill made of forty-two dogs,” said Becky.

            “Forty-two dogs?” said Dean incredulously.

            “Are…you sure you got that right?” said Sam doubtfully.

            “It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what he said,” said Becky.

            Wow, she hasn’t even looked at Dean and me since she came in. Becky’s eyes were glued to Sam.

            “I memorized every word…for you.” She rubbed his pec strangely.

            “Um…” Sam cleared his throat. “Becky, uh, can you quit touching me?”

            “No,” said Becky.

            “Hands off or I’ll shoot,” said (Y/N).

            Becky jumped back, and (Y/N) grinned. They weren’t even holding a gun, and they had still scared her.

 

 

 

Mouse Note: Welcome back already! This is going to be another fun ride! As ever, please feel free to comment. It brings joy to this old writer’s heart (not very old, but there we go). Hope you guys all enjoy!

Chapter 2: Chapter Two: The Michael Sword

            The next time they opened the motel door, it thankfully did not reveal a fangirl. Instead, it was a much more welcome face: Bobby Singer.

            “Hey, Bobby,” said Dean, opening the door and hugging Bobby.

            “Good to see you all in one piece,” said Bobby, patting Dean on the back, doing the same to Sam, and doing the same for (Y/N). They smiled and hugged him back, glad to see him.

            “You weren’t followed, were you?” asked Dean.

            “You mean by angels, demons, or Sam’s new superfan?” asked Bobby wryly.

            Sam scoffed. “You heard.” He smiled.

            “I heard, Romeo,” teased Bobby. “So, Sword of Michael, huh?”

            “You think we’re talking about the actual sword from the actual archangel?” said Dean.

            “You better friggin’ hope so,” said Bobby. He opened his bag and pulled out a book. Flipping to a page, he pointed at an angel illustration. “That’s Michael—toughest sumbitch they got.”

            “You’re kidding me, tough? That guy looks like Cate Blanchett,” said Dean.

            “And Zachariah looks like a rat, so I’m not trusting appearances,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N)’s right, you wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley, believe me,” said Bobby. “He commands the Heavenly Host. During the last big dust-up upstairs, he’s the one who booted Lucifer’s ass to the basement. Did it with that sword. So if we can find it—”

            “We can kick the Devil’s ass all over again,” said Sam. “Alright, so where do we start?”

            “Divvying up and start reading. Try and make sense of Chuck’s nonsense,” said Bobby.

            Sam nodded and went to the stack of books. He hesitated as he stood there, and he let out a long sigh.

            “Kid?” said Bobby. “You alright?”

            Sam faced him. “No, actually. Bobby, this is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

            “Sam—” Dean thought they had handled this.

            “Lilith did not break the final seal,” said Sam. “Lilith was the final seal.”

            “Sam, stop it,” said Dean sharply.

            “I killed her, and I set Lucifer free,” said Sam.

            “You what?” said Bobby.

            “You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, and I didn’t listen,” continued Sam, apologies running from him in a waterfall of guilt. “Ruby even almost killed (Y/N). I brought this all on.” He breathed shakily as he finished. Bobby stood and approached him.

            “You’re damn right you didn’t listen,” scolded Bobby. “You were reckless and selfish and arrogant.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Sam, feeling like a small child.

            “Oh, yeah?” Bobby stepped closer. “You’re sorry you started Armageddon? This kind of thing don’t get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off, I want you to lose my number. You understand me?”

            Sam swallowed and nodded, lowering his gaze and unable to speak. He was five years old and getting yelled at by John again.

            (Y/N) stared. Bobby had seemed like such a father figure, how could he say that?”

            “There’s an old church nearby,” said Sam, fighting back the tremble of grief in his voice. “Maybe I’ll go read some of the lore books there.”

            “Yeah. You do that,” said Bobby.

            Sam swallowed and grabbed his coat, heading towards the door.

            “Hey, I’ll join you, Sam,” said (Y/N), grabbing their coat.

            “You don’t have to,” said Sam softly.

            “I want to,” said (Y/N), not taking no for an answer.

            Sam just nodded curtly and let them leave the motel room with him.

            “Bobby shouldn’t have said that,” said (Y/N), glancing at Sam as they walked.

            Sam swallowed. “He’s right.”

            “He’s right that you messed up, but people make mistakes. Not usually this big, but…you’re really sorry,” said (Y/N). “And I know you’ll do anything to make up for it, so I’m not worried.”

            “You seriously forgive me? After everything?” said Sam softly.

            “Yeah.” (Y/N) smiled at Sam.

            He reached out and squeezed their shoulder. They paused. “Thank you, (Y/N).” He hesitated and then hugged them. (Y/N) smiled and hugged him back.

 

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            Sam’s phone rang as they read. It was Dean, so (Y/N) glanced up as Sam paused and answered.

            “Y—” His eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet. “We’re on our way.”

            “What happened?” said (Y/N) instantly.

            “A demon was possessing Bobby,” said Sam as they ran for the door. “The demon Meg appeared—” (Y/N) recognized the name of one of the Witnesses, so they gathered that was the demon who possessed her before her death “—and there was a fight. He’s hurt. Bad.”

            (Y/N) pushed themself to run faster.

 

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            “Help!” shouted (Y/N) as Sam and Dean supported Bobby behind them. Nurses looked up from the ER desk to them. They spotted the large wound on Bobby’s stomach and darted towards him.

            “What happened?” asked the nurse.

            “He was stabbed,” said Dean.

            “Can we get a gurney?” shouted the nurse, and a gurney was brought over.

            Bobby was relieved to fall down into it as the boys let go. He was barely conscious as he looked up at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). The nurses rolled him away, and the hunters went to follow.

            “Just wait here,” said the nurse.

            “No, no, we—we can’t just leave him!” cried Sam.

            “Just don’t move,” said the nurse. “I’ve got questions.”

            “Sammy, we got to go,” said Dean, knowing any questions that were asked had no good answers. The entire situation was suspicious to anyone outside of the hunter community.

            “No. No way, Dean,” said Sam, running a hand through his hair.

            “What if Bobby—”

            “The demons heard where the Sword is,” said Dean.

            He figured it out?! (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            “We got to get to it before they do, if we’re not too late already,” said Dean. “Come on.”

            Sam cast a forlorn look in the direction Bobby had been taken before following Dean out.

 

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            Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) looked at the “24-Hour Castle Storage” sign flashing neon in the darkness. Sam and (Y/N) kept their weapons close at hand while Dean picked the lock, and they all slipped inside. Within, dead bodies littered the group on top of sigils. The question was whether or not they were demons, angels, or humans.

            “I see you told the demons where the sword is.” Zachariah, flanked by another angel, appeared, looking condescending as usual.

            Ah, the bodies are demons. No harm, then, thought (Y/N).

            “Oh, thank god. The angels are here,” said Dean with sarcastic brightness.

            “And to think. They could have grabbed it any time they wanted,” remarked Zachariah. He raised a hand, and the door of the storage unit closed behind them. “It was right in front of them.”

            Sam furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

            “We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck’s skull, but it happened to be true,” said Zachariah. “We did lose the Michael Sword. We truly couldn’t find it. Until now. You’ve just hand-delivered it to us.”

            We have it? (Y/N) frowned.

            “We don’t have anything,” said Dean.

            Zachariah nearly rolled his eyes. “It’s you, Chucklehead.” He stepped forward. “You’re the Michael Sword.”

            Dean’s the Michael Sword? (Y/N) looked at Dean in surprise.

            “What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer?” Zachariah nearly laughed out loud. “You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing? No.” He scoffed at the ridiculous presumption. “You’re just a human, Dean. And not much of one.”

            “What do you mean, I’m the Sword?” demanded Dean, words sharp.

            “You’re Michael’s weapon,” said Zachariah. “Or, rather, his…receptacle.”

            “He’s Michael’s vessel?” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow.

            “He’s the vessel,” said Zachariah.

            “How? Why—why me?” said Dean.

            “Because you’re chosen!” said Zachariah. “It’s a great honor, Dean.”

            “Yeah, life as an angel condom,” scoffed Dean. “That’s real fun. I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

            Zachariah shook his head. “Joking. Always joking. Well…no more jokes.” He raised his hand in a pretend gun. He pointed at Sam’s leg. “Bang!”

            A snap echoed, and Sam shouted as he fell to the ground. “God!”

            “You son of a bitch!” shouted Dean.

            “Bang,” said Zachariah calmly.

            (Y/N)’s ankle twisted, and they cried out and hit the ground. They curled up to grab their ankle, and their necklace felt red-hot.

            “Stop it!” snapped Dean.

            “Keep mouthing off, and I’ll break more than their legs,” warned Zachariah. “I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun. We don’t have our general. That’s bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the Adversary. You understand me?”

            “How many humans die in the crossfire, huh?” challenged Dean. “A million? Five, ten?”

            “Probably more. If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die?” retorted Zachariah. “All of them. He’ll roast the planet alive.”

            Dean hesitated and tried to think. He paused. “There’s a reason you’re telling me this instead of just nabbing me.” He remembered a crucial piece of information they’d learned from Jimmy Novak. “You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin.”

            Zachariah’s jaw twitched and tensed. Clearly, that fact irritated him. “Unfortunately, yes.”

            “Well, there’s gotta be another way,” said Dean.

            “There is no other way,” said Zachariah. “There must be a battle.”

            Fuck that, thought (Y/N) as the throbbing in their ankle ebbed as they held it and took deep breaths.

            “Michael must defeat the serpent,” emphasized Zachariah. “It is written.”

            “Yeah, maybe,” gritted out Dean. “But, on the other hand…eat me. The answer’s no.”

            “Okay. How about this?” Zachariah pounced on another vulnerability. “Your friend Bobby—we know he’s gravely injured.”

            (Y/N)’s head jerked up. Dean straightened and tensed at the mention.

            “Say yes, and we’ll heal him,” said Zachariah. “Say no, he’ll never walk again.”

            Dean swallowed hard. “No.” Bobby would never want him to give into the angels like this.

            “Then how about we heal you from…Stage 4 Stomach Cancer?” suggested Zachariah.

            Dean doubled over, coughing up blood. He supported himself flimsily on the ground. “No,” he croaked hoarsely.

            “Then let’s get really creative,” said Zachariah, and (Y/N) was disgusted to see he was enjoying himself. “Hm…let’s see how Sam does without his lungs.”

            Sam gasped for air, choking on it as he was unable to draw it in. He collapsed to the ground, heaving hoarsely.

            “And let’s see how (Y/N) does without a heartbeat,” said Zachariah.

            (Y/N) fell back, and their veins suddenly felt cold. Every limb felt heavy, and their vision blurred. As they hit the ground, their crystal bounced on their chest, and the sound reverberated in (Y/N)’s chest like the heartbeat they lacked.

            Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Warmth against their cooling skin. They gasped and struggled, turning over. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. They held onto the ground, keeping themself rooted in reality.

            “Are we having fun yet?” said Zachariah, irritated with how much trouble he was going to for Dean. He grabbed Dean’s chin. “You’re going to say yes, Dean.”

            “Just kill us,” croaked Dean through his own blood.

            “Kill you?” tutted Zachariah. He stood. “Oh, no. I’m just getting started.”

            A rumble and a flash of light erupted at his words. He whirled, and his eyes widened. An angel’s sword was stuck through his companion’s neck, and the body fell. Castiel stood tall and defiant. The other angel at Zachariah’s side lunged for Castiel, but he hit him. The angel grunted and swung back, and Castiel kicked him into the edge of the storage container. He grabbed his arm, hit his wrist, and knocked the sword to the ground. The angel fought back harder, but it all ended in Castiel pinning him and striking. The sword went through his back, and another light shone as the angel was killed with a scream. Two pairs of wings were burned into the ground of the storage facility.

            “How are you…?” Zachariah stared at Castiel warily.

            “Alive?” finished Castiel. “That’s a good question. How did these three end up on a plane? Another good question. Cause the angels didn’t do it. I think we both know the answer, don’t we?”

            “No,” breathed Zachariah. “That’s not possible.”

            “It scares you,” said Castiel evenly. “Well, it should. Now, put these three back together and go. I won’t ask twice.”

            With a flutter of wings, Zachariah disappeared. Castiel breathed out and relaxed. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N)’s bodies went limp for a moment as all of their health was returned. Pushing themselves to their feet, they looked at Castiel.

            “You three need to be more careful,” he said somberly.

            “Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” said Dean. “Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought.”

            “I don’t mean the angels,” said Castiel. “Lucifer is circling his vessel. And once he takes it, those hex bags won’t be enough to protect you.”

            He lifted his hands and placed them on Dean and Sam’s ribs. A strange sizzling sound grew and then faded. Dean and Sam held their ribs and stared at Castiel.

            “What the hell was that?” said Dean, voice strained.

            “Enochian sigil,” said Castiel, approaching (Y/N). They tensed, and he put a hand on their ribs. He paused and frowned, focusing. He glanced at (Y/N) and then back to their ribs. “It’ll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer.”

            After he spoke, the sizzling began, and (Y/N) grimaced at the weird sensation of a sigil being put on them. Honestly, the feeling of the magic wasn’t bad. It was warm, kind of tingly. The placement felt like a really bad cramp, though. When he let go, they stretched awkwardly.

            “What, you just brand us with it?” said Dean.

            “No, I carved it into your ribs,” said Castiel.

            “That explains what it felt like,” said (Y/N).

            “Hey, Cas, were you really dead?” said Sam hesitantly.

            “Yes,” said Castiel.

            “Then how are you back?” asked Dean. He was glad his…friend was back, but still, it was strange.

            Castiel paused and looked between the three. He disappeared a moment later.

            “Good to know he’s still Cas,” said (Y/N). Mysterious as ever.

 

l

 

            “ ‘Unlikely to walk again?!’ ” shouted Bobby. “Why, you snot-nosed son of a bitch! Wait till I get out of this bed! I’ll use my game leg and kick your frickin’ ass!”

            The doctor fled from his room at the abuse (better to let the truth sink in for his patient before returning).

            “Yeah, you better run!” huffed Bobby.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged glances. It seemed one of Zachariah’s threats had gone through anyways.

            “You believe that yahoo?” grumbled Bobby.

            “Screw him. You’ll be fine,” said Dean, refusing to believe differently.

            (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace.

            “So, let me ask the million-dollar question,” said Sam, trying to change the topic. “What do we do now?”

            “Well…” Bobby pursed his lips. “We save as many as we can for as long as we can, I guess. It’s bad. Whoever wins, Heaven or Hell, we’re boned.”

            “Why can’t we win?” said (Y/N). The three men looked at them. “I mean, long odds, but screw the demons and the angels and their hard-on for the Apocalypse. They can kill each other, but they can leave us the hell alone. I vote kill the Devil. Or Michael. Or both. Both would be better.”

            “And how are we supposed to do all this, genius?” said Bobby.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “No idea. I’d rather die trying to find out, though. Who wants to role over and play dead until we’re dead for a bunch of dicks?”

            Bobby guffawed slightly and looked at Dean and Sam. “I’m glad you kept them.”

            “Oh, yeah,” agreed Dean, looking proudly at the teenager who had just spouted the craziest idea in the world.

            Sam smiled slightly and nodded. They were determined and good. He was proud of them as a hunter and a person.

            (Y/N) grinned. “I’ve got to be helpful for something.”

            Dean stepped forward and patted Bobby’s shoulder. “Alright then. You stay on the mend. We’ll see you in a bit.” He stared to leave the room.

            “Sam,” said Bobby, and Sam paused. “I was awake. I know what I said back there. I just want you to know that…that was the demon talking. I ain’t cutting you out, boy. Not ever.”

            Sam let out a sigh that released all of his worry and grief over Bobby’s words. That was more than his own father had ever done for him. “Thanks, Bobby.”

            “You’re welcome,” said Bobby. “I deserve a damn medal for this, but you’re welcome.”

            Sam smiled honestly before he, Dean, and (Y/N) finally left.

            Once they were in the parking lot, he spoke. “You know, I was thinking, Dean—maybe we can go after the Colt.”

            “What’s the Colt?” asked (Y/N).

            “A gun that can kill any monster,” said Dean. “Not that it would make a difference.”

            “What? Come on,” said Sam.

            “Listen, I agree with (Y/N)—let’s not just roll over and die now,” said Dean. “But, come on, let’s at least be honest. I mean, we don’t stand a snowball’s chance, and we all know that.”

            (Y/N) scowled, and their hands balled into fists at their sides. They wanted to beat Lucifer. Why not? Why wasn’t their a way to do it? Why would God save their lives if there wasn’t a reason? If (Y/N) was alive, they were going to fight.

            “I mean, Sam, you of all people know that,” said Dean, brushing past him.

            “Dean…Is there something you want to say to me?” said Sam. Dean had been avoiding the subject of Sam’s mistake. Only other people were allowed to talk about it, and even then, he resisted.

            Dean hesitated a long moment before taking a breath and speaking. “I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can’t keep pretending that everything’s alright. Because it’s not.” Sam swallowed. “And it’s never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother, and look what happened.”

            (Y/N) looked at the ground. Sam might have been addicted and manipulated, but choices did still have consequences. Just because they forgave his actions didn’t make it okay overall.

            “I would give anything—anything—to take it all back,” said Sam.

            “I know you would,” said Dean. “And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man…You were the one I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can’t even…” His words broke as he sucked in a breath. He shook his head and licked his lips. “I’m just-I’m having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?”

            Sam nodded. He knew. He understood. “What can I do?” he said softly.

            Dean chuckled mirthlessly. “Honestly? Nothing. I just don’t…I don’t think that we can ever be what we were. You know?”

            Sam looked down as the words cut into his heart.

            “I just don’t think I can trust you,” said Dean.

            That destroyed Sam’s heart most of all.

Chapter 3: Chapter Three: A Search for God

            (Y/N)’s gaze softened as they watched Bobby stare out of his hospital window. Profound sadness hung in the air around him, and the wheelchair he sat in spoke volumes as to why.

            “What’s it been, like three days now?” said Dean, looking at Bobby with a frown.

            Sam sighed.

            “We got to cheer him up,” said Dean. “Maybe I’ll give him a back rub.”

            “Dean,” said Sam, preparing to give him a bitch-face.

            “Well, what then?” said Dean.

            “Look, we might have to wrap our heads around the idea that Bobby might not just bounce back this time,” said Sam.

            Dean didn’t respond. (Y/N) glanced at him and then the envelope at his side.

            “What’s in there?” they asked.

            “Went to radiology,” said Dean, opening it. “Got some glamor shots.” He showed x-rays of his ribs. “Let’s just say the doctors are baffled.”

            (Y/N) and Sam looked at the ribs, inscribed with tiny Enochian words. “Yeah, that would do it.”

            “Holy crap,” said Sam.

            “Yeah, well, Cas carved you guys one, too,” said Dean.

            Sam grimaced at the reminder, and then his phone rang. Pulling it out, he answered, “Hello?” He frowned. “Castiel?”

            “Speak of the devil,” said Dean.

            “I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” remarked (Y/N).

            “Uh…St. Martin’s Hospital,” said Sam. “Why? What are you—Cas?” He looked at his phone, sighed, and pocketed it.

            A second later, Castiel was walking down the hall towards them. At this point, the hunters were growing unfazed by the sudden appearances and disappearance of angels.

            “Cellphone, Cas, really?” said Dean. “Since when do angels need to reach out and touch someone?”

            “You’re hidden from angels now—all angels,” said Castiel. “I won’t be able to simply—”

            “Enough foreplay,” barked Bobby from inside the room. “Get over here and lay your damn hands on.” He glared at Castiel. “Get healing, now.”

            Castiel looked at him. “I can’t.” To his credit, he seemed to regret that fact.

            “Say again?” said Bobby, staring.

            “I’m cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven’s power.” Castiel approached Bobby. “Certain things, I can do. Certain things, I can’t.”

            “You’re telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?!” snapped Bobby.

            “I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

            “Shove it up your ass,” retorted Bobby.

            “Well, at least he’s talking now,” murmured Dean.

            “I heard that,” grumbled Bobby.

            “Little early for jokes,” said (Y/N).

            “I don’t have much time.” Castiel turned to Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) again. “We need to talk.” He looked directly at Dean, like he did in almost every interaction.

            “Okay,” said Dean.

            “Your plan to kill Lucifer,” said Castiel.

            “Yeah, you want to help?” said Dean.

            “No. It’s foolish. It can’t be done,” said Castiel.

            “Thanks for the support,” grumbled (Y/N).

            “But I believe I have the solution,” continued Castiel. “There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer, strong enough to stop the Apocalypse.”

            “Who’s that?” asked Sam.

            “The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane,” said Castiel. “The one who began everything. God. I’m going to find God.”

            “Well, that’s one option,” said (Y/N). Somehow, they doubted God was going to be very recipient. If He hadn’t shown up yet, they doubted He would soon.

            Dean closed the door of Bobby’s room. “God?” he repeated.

            “Yes,” said Castiel. “He isn’t in Heaven. He has to be somewhere.”

            “Try New Mexico. I hear he’s on a tortilla,” said Dean sarcastically.

            “No, he’s not on any flatbread,” said Castiel seriously.

            “Yeah, that’s Jesus,” added (Y/N).

            Dean nearly rolled his eyes at Castiel’s inability to understand sarcasm. “Listen, Chuckles, even if there is a god, He is either dead—and that’s the generous theory—”

            “He’s out there, Dean,” said Castiel firmly.

            “—Or He’s up and kicking and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us,” said Dean. “I mean, look around you, man. The world is in the toilet. We are literally at the end of days here, and he’s off somewhere drinking booze out of a coconut. Alright?”

            “Enough,” snapped Castiel. “This is not a theological issue. It’s strategic. With God’s help, we can win.”

            “It’s a pipe dream, Cas,” said Dean.

            Castiel took a step closer to Dean, expression grave. “I killed two angels this week. My brothers. I’m hunted. I rebelled. And I did it—all of it—for you.”

            Dean blinked and searched Castiel’s gaze for a lie, but Castiel was speaking the truth. He’d committed the ultimate crime for an angel for Dean. The hunter wasn’t sure how to feel.

            “And you failed,” said Castiel. “You and your brother and your child destroyed the world. And I lost everything for nothing.” Dean swallowed. “So you keep your opinions to yourself.”   He trembled with the force of his anger and grief and ferocious determination.

            “You didn’t drop in just to tear us a new hole,” said Bobby, successfully pulling the intensity of the conversation off of Dean. “What is it you want?”

            “I did come for something.” Castiel’s gaze hadn’t left Dean. “An amulet.”

            “What kind?” asked Bobby.

            Dean glanced back at Bobby, and that forced Castiel to pay attention to another human in the room. Honestly, if it wasn’t the end of the world, (Y/N) would be focused on the gay angel (not that they had confirmed it, but it was…likely. (Y/N)’s gaydar didn’t lie).

            “Very rare, very powerful,” said Castiel. “It burns hot in God’s presence. It’ll help me find Him.”

            “A God EMF?” said Sam incredulously.

            Castiel nodded.

            “Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Bobby.

            “All I have is this,” said (Y/N), gesturing to their own pendant. “But it’s definitely not that.”

            “I know,” said Castiel. “You don’t.” He looked at Dean and then down at his chest—down at his chest where a small amulet did rest. He looked back up.

            “What, this?” said Dean doubtfully.

            “May I borrow it?” asked Castiel.

            “No,” said Dean.

            “Dean. Give it to me,” said Castiel.

            The pair had an uncomfortably long staring contest until Dean capitulated.

            “Alright, I guess,” he said, pulling the amulet over his neck. He gently held it out. “Don’t lose it.”

            Castiel nodded slightly, and, satisfied, Dean handed it to him.

            “Oh, great, now I feel naked,” said Dean, joking gruffly to throw off the discomforting vulnerability of the previous moment.

            “I’ll be in touch,” said Castiel. With a whoosh of wings, he disappeared.

            “When you find God, tell him to send some legs!” shouted Bobby to the air.

            “Try again as a prayer to make sure he hears,” said (Y/N) impishly, and Bobby glared (with very little true ire). Bobby grumbled until his phone rang. One thing after another, thought (Y/N). But, ya know, it is the end of the world.

            “Hello?” said Bobby. “Ruf—I can’t hear you.” He frowned. “Where are you? Colo-Colorado? River Pass, Colorado? Rufus? You there?” He went still as he heard gunshots. He looked at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “Get to River Pass, Colorado.” The hunters tensed. “Demon infestation.”

            They were on the road five minutes later.

 

l

 

            Pulling up to River Pass, Colorado, Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) were forced to come to a halt in the impala as they reached a broken bridge. Getting out of the car, they surveyed the damage.

            “This is the only road in or out,” said Dean, frowning.

            “That means everyone in the town is trapped,” said (Y/N). Strategic on the side of the demons, but it would definitely prove a problem for them.

            “No signal, either,” said Sam, testing their phones.

            “Rufus was right,” said Dean, referencing Bobby’s old…friend(?) that had called for help. “Demons got this place locked down.”

            “Looks like we’re hiking in,” said Sam.

            “One win after another for us today,” said (Y/N).

            With backpacks slung over their shoulders, they headed into town on foot. Crossing the river wasn’t difficult, but it cut them off from escape. Each step on the road into town, they expected a demon to appear and attack. Instead, they found nothing and no one. It was a literal ghost town, complete with overturned cars, broken windows, and destroyed doors marking a mysterious battle. With their guns, (Y/N), Sam, and Dean would check under various hiding places and inside the windows of the stores they passed, but, still, there was no sign of human or demonic life.

            However, as they came across a crossroads, they found blood splatters. Looking around, the trails went everywhere, but the massive stains of blood told of the fight that had gone down and how many lives were lost, even if no bodies were visible.

            A gun cocked behind them, and the three hunters whirled, raising their own guns. Immediately, Dean and Sam’s eyes widened, and their posture relaxed.

            “Ellen?” said Sam.

            “Hello, boys,” said a middle-aged woman. She looked at them carefully before lowering her gun.

            “Ellen, what the hell’s going on here?” asked Dean.

            Ellen splashed holy water directly into his face, and he spluttered. She watched him with her gun raised again, and (Y/N) tensed.

            “We’re us,” said Dean, wiping his face.

            That appeased Ellen. “Let’s get out of the street.” She looked around warily. “I can explain there. And you can explain why the hell you have a kid with you.” She walked towards the nearby church without another word.

            Dean and Sam followed. (Y/N) glanced around, a strange feeling overcoming them, and they frowned. Seeing nothing, they followed Ellen, Sam, and Dean. She led them over a demon trap and a salt line—real preparations against demons.

            So they are here, thought (Y/N). Weird that we didn’t see any.

            Ellen turned to them and spoke shakily, the tone speaking volumes of her worry and exhaustion. “Real glad to see you boys.” She hugged Dean tightly. Then, she hit him across the face. “The can of whup-ass I ought to open on you. Would it kill you to pick up a phone? And bringing a kid? Here?!”

            “Ow…Sorry, Ellen,” said Dean, working his jaw.

            “What’s your name?” asked Ellen.

            “I’m (Y/N),” said (Y/N). “I’m a hunter.”

            Ellen nearly hit Dean again. “You’re letting a kid—”

            “It’s a long story, Ellen,” said Sam. “Trust me, I didn’t like it either. They don’t have much of a choice.”

            “Long story short: demons killed my parents, here I am,” said (Y/N). “I’ve made it a year.” They shrugged.

            Ellen still looked furious and doubtful.

            “They’re a good hunter, Ellen. And we’ve got their back,” said Dean. He and Sam would protect (Y/N) when they couldn’t.

            Ellen grimaced but nodded. There wasn’t much to be done about it now. “(Y/N), I’m Ellen. I ran a roadhouse for hunters.”

            (Y/N) nodded in understanding.

            “What’s going on here, Ellen?” asked Dean.

            Ellen nodded her head to the stairs and headed down with them. “More than I can handle alone.”

            “How many demons are there?” asked Sam.

            “Pretty much the whole town, minus the dead people and these guys.” She looked at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “So, this is it? End Times? It’s got to be.”

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged glances.

            “Seems like it,” said Sam uncomfortably.

            Ellen frowned but turned to the door. She knocked. “It’s me.”

            Someone opened a makeshift peephole, confirmed it, and opened the door. Inside were a small group of people. A few men, a few women, a pregnant woman and her husband, a priest, and a few other people populated the room, each nervous and on edge.

            “This is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N),” said Ellen. “They’re hunters, here to help.”

            “You guys hip with the whole demon thing?” asked one man, holding a gun.

            “Yeah. Are you?” retorted Dean.

            “My wife’s eyes turned black. She came at me with a brick,” said a man with glasses. “Kind of makes you embrace the paranormal.”

            “Alright, catch us up,” said Dean, looking at Ellen.

            “I doubt I know much more than you,” said Ellen. “Rufus called, said he was in town investigating omens. All of a sudden, the whole town was possessed. Me and Jo were nearby—”

            “You’re hunting with Jo?” questioned Dean.

            “Yeah, for a while now,” said Ellen. “We got here, and the place—well, the place was like you see it. Couldn’t find Rufus. Then me and Jo got separated. I was out looking when I found you.”

            “Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” said Sam.

            “Wonder why they chose this town. Doesn’t seem to have a…strategic value for the demons,” said (Y/N).

            “We’ve lost good people,” snapped the armed man. “We might not be some damn rich ass town, but we’re fighters.”

            (Y/N) nearly rolled their eyes. “I’m just saying that if demons were going to take half a town, I’m surprised they didn’t take New York. Or the military.”

            “They’re demons,” said Dean, narrowing his eyes. “Torture and scare the little people first.”

            (Y/N) considered and nodded. Still, their point stood.

            “Either way, these people can’t just sit here,” said Sam. “We got to get them out now.”

            “No, it’s not that easy,” said Ellen. “I’ve been trying. We already made a run for it once.”

            “What happened?” asked Sam.

            “There used to be twenty of us,” said Ellen grimly.

            The hunters looked up. There were nine civilians left.

            “Well, there’s four of us now,” said Dean.

            “You don’t know what it’s like out there,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “Demons are everywhere. We won’t be able to cover everybody.” She looked pointedly at the pregnant woman cradling her belly.

            “What if we get everyone guns?” suggested Sam.

            “Can they even shoot?” wondered (Y/N).

            “More salt we can fire at once, more demons we can keep away,” explained Sam.

            Dean nodded absently as he considered. “There’s a sporting good’s store we passed on main on the way in. I bet they got guns.”

            “Alright. You and (Y/N) stay,” said Sam, looking at Ellen. “We’ll go.”

            “What about—”

            “If Jo and Rufus are out there, we’ll bring them back,” said Sam.

            “I have to stay?” hissed (Y/N), following Sam and Dean into the hall.

            “It’s safer,” said Sam.

            “I’ve done worse,” said (Y/N).

            “This could be a bloodbath. You don’t need to be near that,” said Dean. “Ellen would really kick my ass for that.”

            “If something happens to us, you’ve got to be here with Ellen to keep those people safe,” said Sam, looking at (Y/N). “Okay? We need you to take care of them.”

            (Y/N)’s shoulders sagged as they realized he was right, and they nodded. “Right. I can do that.” They weren’t sure that they could, but they would try. That’s what a hunter did, right? They protected people who couldn’t protect themselves from the creatures that went bump in the night.

            (Y/N) reentered the room and looked over the assembled group. Fiddling with their necklace, they nodded to Ellen. “I’ll help you plan, if you want.”

            Ellen nodded. “Great.”

            They ignored the strange looks they got as they, the teenager, walked beside the seasoned hunter. From the pregnant woman’s worry over her own child turning out like that to the man with glasses watching them while fiddling with his ring, (Y/N) had to turn away. They didn’t need looks of pity. They were a hunter.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) grimaced as yet another man failed at quickly loading a shotgun. At this rate, none of them were making it out of River Pass. It wasn’t their fault, these were mostly civilians, they weren’t soldiers.

            “Okay, Roger, try again,” said Ellen, trying to remain patient.

            Roger, the man with the glasses, nodded nervously and fumbled his gun. Returned from the town, Sam showed the couple how to defend themselves. (Y/N) and Ellen had made more salt rounds, and they were working as fast as possible to ready themselves. Dean spoke to the wary man who had greeted them.

            “You know your way around a gun at all?” said Dean. The man picked it up and expertly looked it over, taking it apart piece by piece. He knew how to do it by heart. Dean nodded approvingly. “Where’d you serve?”

            “Fallujah, two tours,” said the soldier. “Got back a little over a year ago. Takes one to know one. Where’d you serve?”

            “Hell,” said Dean.

            The soldier chuckled. “No, seriously.”

            “Seriously,” said Dean. “Hell.”

            The soldier went silent, and Dean walked away. He joined Sam as they watched the group.

            “Hey.” He sat down. Dean glanced at Sam. “What’s wrong?”

            “Just…at the store,” said Sam. He could still remember the faces of the demons he’d killed. “Those demons were possessing teenagers. I mean, I had to slit some kid’s throat.”

            “Come on, Sam. You had to,” said Dean.

            “I know, but…Dean, they were (Y/N)’s age,” said Sam. He looked at (Y/N) working on a gun by the pregnant woman’s side, showing her how to hold it.

            Dean paused and nodded. “Yeah.” He hadn’t…made that connection. It was so easy to forget that (Y/N) wasn’t just a hunter, they were a kid, too. Too young for this but stuck in it.

            “I just…wish I could save people, like I used to,” said Sam. At least then he didn’t have to kill someone (Y/N)’s age, just another kid pushed into something by monsters.

            “What—you mean when you were all hopped up on demon blood?” said Dean.

            “I-I didn’t say that,” said Sam.

            “I’ll be back.” Ellen interrupted before the conversation could continue.

            “Where you going?” asked Dean.

            “I can’t sit here on my ass,” said Ellen. “My daughter’s out there somewhere. I’m not back in half an hour, go. Get these people out of here.”

            “No, wait.” Sam stood. “I’ll go with you.”

            “Whoa, hold on.” Dean stood. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He pulled Sam out of the room without another word.

            “What was that about?” asked Ellen, crossing he arms.

            “They’re having a moment,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “It’s been a long year.” And it was only going to get longer.

            “What’s happened?” asked Ellen, frowning worriedly.

            “I don’t really think it’s my place to talk about it,” said (Y/N). “Long story short? Demons are the worst.”

            “That I can believe,” said Ellen. “Have you been doing alright, kid?”

            “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” they said.

            Ellen paused and pursed her lips. That was a way too hunter-y answer for someone so young.

Chapter 4: Chapter Four: War

            “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” The endless sermon of the priest continued in the small church room. “He layeth me down in green pastures, and He raiseth me up again.”

            Dean paced as everyone else listened to the sermon, knowing it may be their last thoughts before they faced their deaths. Dean turned away as the preacher continued and walked to where (Y/N) sat, eyes closed.

            “You listening to this, too?” said Dean.

            “Yea, I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—”

            (Y/N) opened their eyes, hand around their necklace. “Not really. But I’m praying.”

            “To God?” scoffed Dean.

            “To the world, I guess,” said (Y/N). “I feel like it listens.”

            “Even when it’s going to shit?” said Dean, sitting down beside them.

            “I think so,” said (Y/N). “And I feel better after.” Something was listening, even if not someone, even if just the wind, even if just (Y/N)’s own ears. It was enough.

            Knock

            Everyone looked at the door, and Dean bolted towards it. (Y/N) stood, antsy to see Sam and Ellen back safely. The pounding grew louder until he opened the door. Only Ellen entered.

            “Where’s Sam?” said Dean and (Y/N) at the same time.

            Ellen looked at them and shook her head slightly.

            “Demons took him?” said the pregnant woman, eyes widening. “Oh my god. What if they’re in here, the demons?!”

            “Could they get in?” said the priest.

            “No,” said Dean. He grabbed his gun. “Everybody sit tight.” He headed the door, brash and ready to fight anyone and anything for Sam. He paused at the door, hesitated, and looked back. He made eye-contact with (Y/N), and they sat up. Dean swallowed and walked back to the table. “Okay, we need to get a plan together. Tell me everything.” He had allies—friends—here.

            Ellen nodded curtly and recounted the fight she and Sam had been in. He had been accosted by several demons in strong men, and Ellen…she had faced someone she couldn’t hurt.

            “One of them’s in Jo,” said Ellen. “We got to get it out without hurting her.” She scoffed. “It called me a bitch.”

            “Bruise a little easy, don’t you think?” said Dean.

            “No, that’s not what I mean,” said Ellen, shaking her head. “It called me a black-eyed bitch.”

            (Y/N) frowned.

            “What kind of demons are these?” wondered Ellen. “Holy water and salt roll right off. My daughter may be an idiot, but she’s not stupid. She wears an anti-possession charm. It’s all kind of weird, right?”

            “Do any other monsters have black eyes?” asked (Y/N), trying to think.

            “No,” said Dean.

            “Then it doesn’t make sense. If these are demons, they should have the weaknesses of demons,” said (Y/N), frowning. Something was off about these monsters.

            “The whole thing’s off,” agreed Dean, narrowing his eyes.

            “What’s your instinct?” asked Ellen.

            “My instinct? My instinct is to call Bobby and ask for help. Or Sam,” said Dean.

            “Well, tough. All you got’s me, and all I got’s you,” said Ellen.

            “I’m here, too,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. “And I’m pretty sure I know what Bobby would say.”

            “What?” asked Ellen, amused.

            (Y/N) cleared their throat and spoke in a gruff voice. “ ‘You idjits went in with no clue why Rufus went there or what the hell happened before the demons showed up, and you think you can put them back? Do your research, idiots.’ ”

            Dean grimaced, but a spark of amusement was in his expression. “Sounds like him.”

            “So, why’d Rufus come to town?” (Y/N) looked at Ellen. “Did he hear about demons or an omen?”

            “He said something about water,” said Ellen. “That’s all I know.”

            “Padre.” Dean glanced back at the priest. “Do you know what she’s talking about, the water?”

            “Uh, the-the river ran polluted all of a sudden,” said the priest.

            (Y/N) tilted their head. “That’s not a normal demonic omen.”

            “When?” asked Dean.

            “Last Wednesday,” said the priest.

            “And the demon thing started up the next day,” added the soldier.

            “Anything else? Anything,” said Dean.

            “Maybe,” said the soldier, hesitating. “But it’s pretty random.        

            “Good. Random’s good,” said Dean.

            “Shooting star. Does that count?” asked the soldier. “Real big, same night. Wednesday.”

            “Yeah, that definitely counts,” said (Y/N). If there was one thing they’d figured out as a hunter, it was that the world responded to the supernatural. Nature was in tune with it, and when something was wrong, nature was strange, whether with witches and magic, demonic omens, or, like this, shooting stars.

            Getting up, (Y/N) searched the shelves for a Bible and brought it back to the table. This was the only source of lore on them, but, hey, it was the Apocalypse, where else did they need to look for omens?

            “Are you sure we should be letting a kid lead here?” asked the soldier.

            “I can read,” said (Y/N), skimming the pages.

            “What do you know about fighting?” said the soldier.

            (Y/N) didn’t look at him, rolled up their shirt, and casually revealed the nasty scar on their side. Dropping the shirt, they didn’t look at the reactions of the adults. “I know enough.”

            Ellen glanced at Dean questioningly, but Dean was looking at the soldier. “They know what they’re doing,” said Dean sharply, protectively.

            Ellen raised a brow in surprise. So, this wasn’t just a kid. They were close with the Winchesters. Ellen knew that type of protectiveness. She felt the same about Jo.

            “So, uh, you think that all this comes from outer space?” said the soldier, looking at Dean.

            “This isn’t ‘X Files,” pal,” said Dean.

            “Listen,” said (Y/N), pointing at a passage on the page. “ ‘And there fell a great star from Heaven, burning like a torch, and it fell upon the river, and the name of the star was Wormwood, and many men died.’ That fits the omens.”

            “Revelation 8:10,” said the priest knowingly. “Are you saying that this is about the Apocalypse?”

            “You could say,” said Dean. “And these specific omens, they’re prelude to what?”

            “The Four Horsemen,” said the priest.

            “And which one rides the red horse?” said Dean. He knew that one came first.

            “War,” said the priest shakily.

            (Y/N) straightened. “Wait, you’re talking about the car on main.”

            Dean nodded. “Cherry red mustang.”

            “You can’t think that a car—”

            “It’s the way I’d roll,” said Dean, interrupting the priest. “I mean, think about it.” He stood. “It all makes sense. If War is a dude and he’s here, maybe he’s messing with our heads.”

            (Y/N) tilted their head. “Jo called Ellen a black-eyed bitch. If she sees Ellen as a demon, and Ellen sees her as a demon, then I don’t think there are any demons. War is just twisting our heads and making us kill each other.” A shiver ran down their spine. The power of the Horsemen was already clear.

            “Wait, just back up,” said the priest. “It’s the Apocalypse?”

            “Sorry, Padre,” said Dean.

            “Yeah. Devil and demons are kinda on the loose,” said (Y/N).

            The priest stared in shock, and the unbelievable facts hovered over everyone. (Y/N) looked at the crowd. They blinked and frowned. Something was off about the group.

            “So, what, now you’re saying there are no demons and that War is a guy?” the soldier scoffed, unwilling to believe it.

            (Y/N) didn’t pay attention to him. What’s wrong with the picture?

            “You believed crazy before,” said Dean.

            (Y/N)’s necklace rested heavy and warm against their neck. They fiddled with it absently. If only they could put their finger on what was off…

            An abrupt pounding at the door startled them out of their thoughts.

            “Open up! Let me in!” shouted Roger. “It’s me!”

            When did he leave? (Y/N) frowned as he was let in, but the thoughts fluttered from their mind as they saw his disheveled, panicked appearance.

            “I saw them, the demons!” said Roger. “They know we’re trying to leave! They said they’re gonna pick us off one-by-one.”

            Several frightened gasps went up, and other people held weapons tightly.

            “Wait, wait, wait. What?” said Dean, frowning.

            “I thought you said there were no demons,” said the soldier suspiciously.

            (Y/N) was suddenly extremely aware of the anger and suspicion turning towards them. The townspeople were staring at them with wariness and aggression.

            “There’s not,” said Dean sharply. “Where did you go?”

            “I thought someone should go out and see what’s going on!” said Roger.

            “Where did you see demons, and what did they say exactly?” demanded Dean.

            “We just sit here, we’re gonna be dead,” said the soldier.

            Everyone’s focused on having a war. (Y/N) straightened in alarm, eyes going to each person suspiciously.

            “No, we’re not,” snapped Dean, trying to keep control of the situation as it spiraled towards wild fervor for a fight.

            “They’re gonna kill us!” cried the pregnant woman. “Unless we kill them first.”

            “Okay, hold on, hold on,” said Dean.

            “No, man, we got people to protect,” said the soldier.

            “If War is here, you guys are all falling for his game!” said (Y/N), cutting in. “You guys were listening to reason, and as soon as someone says it’s time for killing, you’re jumping at it!”

            “We can’t risk it. The demons are weird, but it’s the Apocalypse. They could be evolving,” said Ellen.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your roll,” said Dean in alarm as even Ellen started falling for the effects of War’s magic and influence, wherever he was. Unfortunately, Ellen had been there longer than them, so she had been under War’s influence longer.

            “The able-bodied go, hunt some demons,” said Ellen decisively.

            “This is not a demon thing,” said Dean as people handed out guns.

            (Y/N) ran a hand through their hair. Proof, proof, come on, what was off—Their eyes landed on Roger. “You.” Roger looked at them, and (Y/N) stepped towards him. “You got out. Now you’re back at the exact moment we got people to listen, and they’re gearing up for war.”

            Roger grinned darkly. “Nice spotting, but…” He twisted his ring and put on a terrified face. “Look at their eyes!” He sprang back from Dean and (Y/N). “They’re demons!”

            Shit.

            (Y/N) stepped back as the civilians stared in shock at Ellen, Dean, and (Y/N). To them, the hunters’ eyes were black. People screamed, and the priest grabbed a shotgun.

            “Go, go!” said Dean, grabbing (Y/N) and hauling them towards the door. Shots went off behind them, and (Y/N) ducked as they ran out of the church.

            “What do we do?” said (Y/N), casting wary looks behind them in case someone came after them.

            “We need to get to Sam,” said Dean.

            “And Jo and Rufus,” said Ellen. Fortunately, getting turned on by War helped get some sense back into her.

            “Jo and Rufus think we’re demons,” said (Y/N). “If they’re under War’s influence, they’ll try to kill us.”

            Ellen shook her head. “I wasn’t going to kill Jo when I thought there was a demon in her. She won’t try to kill me.”

            “That’s great,” said (Y/N). “But not helpful for me.”

            “Then we’ll handle Rufus and Jo, and you’ll get to Sam,” said Dean. “He knows we’re not demons.”

            “Okay,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            Dean looked back at the church. “We need to hurry. They’re going to start killing each other soon.”

            (Y/N) thought of all the blood on River Pass’s streets. Human blood, not demon. They swallowed and nodded.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) watched Dean throw a makeshift bomb through the window Jo and Rufus were holed up in, and the entire building shook. They watched figures move towards the broken wall. A young blond woman, an older black man, and a few hesitant people stared from higher windows, the civilians.

            (Y/N) moved around back, keeping tight to the house. Pushing a back window open, (Y/N) rolled in and dropped to the ground. They heard shouting, hoped Dean and Ellen were alright, and searched each room they could find. They found stairs leading downwards, and they went for it. Where else would someone keep a “demon?”

            “(Y/N)?” Sam’s eyes widened as he saw them.

            “Hey, Sam!” said (Y/N), pulling their knife out to free him.

            “(Y/N), it’s not demons—”

            “It’s War,” said (Y/N), nodding. “We know.”

            “The ring,” said Sam. “His ring gives him his powers.”

            (Y/N) remembered the ring War had fiddled with as “Roger.” “Right. Let’s tell Dean.”

            “Rufus and Jo think we’re demons,” said Sam, standing.

            “Then let’s hope Ellen and Dean knock some sense into them,” said (Y/N).

            The door to the basement opened, and (Y/N) turned, knife in hand. They pointed it at the doorway.

            “Whoa, let me keep my head,” said Dean.

            “Dean,” said Sam in relief.

            “Hey, Sammy. You okay?” he asked.

            “Salty, but yeah,” said Sam.

            “Sorry about all that,” said Rufus, appearing behind Dean.

            “Apologize later,” said Dean, and Sam and (Y/N) emerged from the basement. “We’ve got a problem.”

            “More than just War.” The blonde woman, Jo, appeared with Ellen. “Civilians are outside.”

            “He’s going to make them kill each other,” said (Y/N) worriedly.

            “Dean, it’s his ring. We’ve got to get rid of it,” said Sam.

            “We’ll stop the townspeople from killing each other,” said Ellen.

            “We’re commanding these folk in the house. We’ll handle it,” said Rufus. “Go.”

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam took off through the back door, heading towards main street. The red mustang awaited them.

            “Who’s the kid?” said Rufus, shouldering his gun.

            “(Y/N),” said Ellen. She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

 

l

 

            War walked confidently towards his mustang. One town down, and now the entire world awaited. His touch never failed. Humans were so eager to kill, anyways. This was the perfect test, and now War was ready to take his place in the spotlight of the Apocalypse. Sure, his brothers would follow, but he was what people paid attention to.

            A powerful grip grabbed his shoulders and threw him. War stumbled into a chokehold, and Dean Winchester pinned his arm. Sam Winchester held a knife, and the little hunter, (Y/N), watched him warily. War gritted his teeth slightly. Of course the Winchesters wouldn’t fall under his influence too easily. They lived in War; they recognized him too quickly. However, War recalled Dean was not who called him it out. It was the teenager with the ferocious eyes.

            How troublesome, thought War. Outwardly, however, he chuckled. “Whoa.” He looked at the demon knife Sam held. “That’s a sweet little knife. But come on. You can’t kill War, kiddos.”

            “Oh, we know,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) grabbed War’s arm and pinned it down on his car. Sam slammed his knife down, and War’s ring finger fell to the ground. The golden ring bounced on the pavement, rolling to a stop.

            No more gunshots echoed in the air, and no more screams pierced the town. Dean started, hands now empty. Sam stared at the space where the car and War had once been. Without ring and power, though, the Horseman was gone.

            (Y/N) knelt and picked up the bloody ring. It was heavy and tingled like magic on their skin. (Y/N) slipped it into their pocket without another thought. War had been defeated. One Horseman bringing the end of the world was gone.

 

l

 

            “Pitstop to Mount Doom?” said Dean, looking at the ring as (Y/N) held it. They sat around a picnic table, safely out of River Pass.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I’m gonna keep it with us. Who knows what happens if a demons finds it.”

            Sam and Dean nodded. Dean took a swig of something hardy, and Sam shifted.

            “Listen—”

            “Sam, let’s not,” said Dean, recognizing his brother’s tone.

            “No, listen. This is important,” said Sam. “I know you don’t trust me.”

            (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace, knowing this was one of those conversations.

            “Just…now I realize something,” said Sam. “I don’t trust me, either. From the minute I saw that blood, real demon blood or not, only thought in my head…” He shook his head. “And I tell myself it’s for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it-it feels good, you know? But I think, underneath…I just miss the feeling.”

            (Y/N) looked at Sam as he spoke honestly. They respected it. He knew he had a problem and wanted to do something about it. That was one step forward, at least.

            “I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am,” he continued. “Thing is, the problem’s not the demon blood. Not really. I mean, what I did, I can’t blame the blood or Ruby or…anything. The problem’s me. How far I’ll go. There’s something in me that scares the hell of me. And that last couple of days, I caught another glimpse.”

            “So, what are you saying?” asked Dean.

            (Y/N) watched Sam as he composed himself before replying.

            “I’m in no shape to be hunting,” said Sam. “I need to step back cause I’m dangerous. Maybe it’s best we…go our separate ways.”

            (Y/N) straightened. What? “You’re leaving?” they asked.

            Sam nodded. “I think I have to.” He glanced worriedly at Dean.

            Dean was silent for a moment. “Well, I think you’re right,” he said finally.

            (Y/N) and Sam both looked at him in surprise.

            “I was expecting a fight,” said Sam.

            “Truth is, I spend more time worrying about you than about doing the job right,” said Dean. And he and Sam had someone else to look after, too. (Y/N) needed them to be at their best. “And I just—I can’t afford that, you know?” (Y/N) couldn’t afford that. “Not now.”

            Sam nodded, and he felt the same importance in the unsaid words as Dean. “I’m sorry, Dean.” He looked to (Y/N). “I’m sorry to you, too, (Y/N).”

            “I get it, Sam,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            “I know you are, Sam,” said Dean.

            Sam nodded, swallowed, and stood.

            “Hey,” said Dean suddenly. As much as he knew this was right, he wanted his brother by his side. “You, uh…want to take the impala?” The biggest gesture he could give.

            “That’s okay,” said Sam. He walked a few steps away and looked back at them. “(Y/N), Dean…Take care of yourselves, okay?”

            “Yeah, you, too, Sammy,” said Dean.

            “Be careful, Sam,” said (Y/N).

            Sam nodded, hoisted his backpack onto his back, and walked away. He left (Y/N) and Dean behind.

Chapter 5: Chapter Five: Raphael

            It was strange working cases without Sam. (Y/N) still couldn’t pass as an FBI agent, so Dean had to do interviews on his own, now. They did the majority of the research. Still, they handled more than their fair share of monsters. Dean and (Y/N) were still hunters. However, Sam’s absence hung over them. He wasn’t in the passenger seat of the impala or ready with lore or there with an empathetic word for a victim. It was (Y/N) and Dean, alone.

            (Y/N) felt Dean’s discomfort, but they didn’t say anything. It wasn’t their place. Instead, they tried to be the best “substitute Sam” they could be. No one could replace him, but (Y/N) could do their job properly so they weren’t a burden to Dean. Even when their birthday came and went, (Y/N) worked on a case. They said nothing.

            (Not that they particularly wanted to celebrate their birthday. It didn’t bring happy memories. It marked a year since their parents’ deaths. Who wanted to remember that, let alone celebrate it?)

            On his part, Dean was glad (Y/N) didn’t say anything about Sam. He missed his brother, too, even if it was for the best. He was glad he still had (Y/N), too. He and Sam were both fond of the kid. They were a good hunter and a good friend. Dean trusted (Y/N), and he cared about the kid. Seeing them get stronger made him feel good. It meant they were going to last longer in this life, and Dean wanted that. They deserved to live.

            “Did the vamp get you?” asked Dean as he headed to clean his jacket of blood.

            “Nope,” said (Y/N). “Tried to get me with a knife, but I got his head first.”

            Dean grinned. “Good job, kid.”

            (Y/N) shrugged, but they sat a little straighter at the compliment.

            Dean bent over the bathroom sink and began to scrub at his jacket. When he looked in the mirror, he jumped and tensed. “God!”

            (Y/N) looked over worriedly but then relaxed. “Oh, Cas.”

            “Don’t do that,” grumbled Dean, looking at Castiel in the mirror. The angel stood directly behind him.

            “Hello, Dean. Hello, (Y/N),” said Castiel.

            Dean turned around to face him. He had to clear his throat and avert his eyes as he realized how close Castiel and he were standing. “Cas…We’ve talked about this. Personal space?”

            Castiel nodded. “My apologies.” He took a step back.

            “How’d you find us?” asked Dean, walking away from the sink. “I thought we were flying below angel radar.”

            “You are. Bobby told me where you were,” said Castiel. He frowned and looked around. “Where’s Sam?”

            “Me and Sam are taking separate vacations,” said Dean bitterly.

            “He and Sam split up,” mouthed (Y/N) to Castiel, and Dean glared. (Y/N) shrugged and said out loud, “It’s true.” They felt bad about it, too, but there wasn’t really a point in avoiding the truth.

            “So,” said Dean, eager to move on from the topic before the question of “why” came up. “Did you find God yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?”

            “No, I haven’t found him,” said Castiel. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

            “With a God hunt?” asked (Y/N).

            “It’s not God. It’s someone else,” said Castiel, brow furrowed.

            “Who?” asked Dean.

            “It’s an archangel,” said Castiel. “The one who killed me.”

            Dean and (Y/N) stared.

            “Excuse me?” said Dean.

            “His name is Raphael,” said Castiel.

            “You were wasted by a Teenager Mutant Ninja Angel?” said Dean, barely containing a smile.

            (Y/N) sighed.

            “I’ve heard whispers that he’s walking the earth,” continued Castiel despite Dean’s teasing. “This is a rare opportunity.”

            “For what, revenge?” asked Dean.

            “Information,” said Castiel.

            “What, you think if you find this dude, he’s just gonna spill God’s addressed?” scoffed Dean.

            “Yes,” said Castiel.

            “Sounds like God doesn’t want to be found,” said (Y/N). “Or bothered about all this.” Not exactly a great God, if you ask me. You’d think He’d care the Apocalypse is coming.

            “Because we are going to trap him and interrogate him.” Castiel looked with his usual intensity at Dean.

            “You’re serious about this,” said Dean.

            “Yes.” Castiel’s expression didn’t waver.

            “So, what, I’m Thelma and you’re Louise, and we’re just gonna hold hands and sail off this cliff together?” said Dean.

            What an image, thought (Y/N).

            Castiel frowned, unfamiliar with the reference.

            Dean sighed. “Give me one good reason I should do this? Or one good reason I should let (Y/N) get involved.”

            “Because you’re Michael’s vessel and no angel will dare harm you,” said Castiel. “And (Y/N) is smart. They notice what we do not.”

            (Y/N) brightened. “Thanks, Castiel.”

            “Don’t give them an ego, it’ll get them killed,” said Dean sternly, and (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “And I don’t want to be your bullet shield.”

            “I need your help,” repeated Castiel. “Because you are the only one who will help me.” It was earnest and vulnerable, and (Y/N) respected it. “Please.”

            Dean managed to resist only a moment longer. “Alright. Fine. But (Y/N) hangs back. I don’t them getting hurt, and they don’t have immunity.”

            Castiel nodded while (Y/N) huffed.

            “Now, where is he?” asked Dean.

            “Maine,” said Castiel. “Let’s go.” He lifted a hand towards Dean.

            “Whoa, whoa.” Dean batted it away.

            “What?” asked Castiel.

            “Last time you zapped me someplace, I didn’t poop for a week,” grumbled Dean. “We’re driving.”

 

l

 

            Now, when (Y/N) was left behind in the weird, abandoned house, they had expected any number of things. Mostly, they expected a ghost or something to pop out of the woodwork and interrupt their (boring) reading of lore. After all, while in Maine, Dean and Castiel were taking point. They had to do the interviews and pose as law enforcement. (Y/N) was left to wander and read in the protected little house. However, with this amount of boredom, (Y/N) was tempted to pray for a monster to turn up, if only for a little excitement.

            “Where’s Dean?”

            (Y/N) jumped at Castiel’s voice. “Jesus!”

            “No, that’s my half-brother,” said Castiel. “Where’s Dean?”

            “Stilling running down a few leads or grabbing something to eat,” said (Y/N). “You dipped on him, you know.”

            “I did not ‘dip’ anything,” said Castiel. “I had to find something.” He held up a jug in an old vase.

            “What is that, from an archaeology dig?” asked (Y/N).

            “It’s oil,” said Castiel. “It’s very special and very rare.”

            “Will it trap Raphael?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Castiel. “At sunrise, Dean and I will summon him.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “Okay.” They paused. “Are we going to survive this?”

            “Dean will,” said Castiel.

            Grimacing, (Y/N) nodded. “Got it.”

            “But I will protect you as much as I can,” said Castiel.

            “I’m not sure it’ll do much, but thank you anyways,” said (Y/N), smiling at Castiel. “Honestly, didn’t think you’d care.” They shrugged.

            Castiel frowned. “Just because you are not Dean Winchester does not mean you have no worth.”

            What a way with words. “I know, Cas.” Still, they weren’t Dean. They were just some kid.

            “(Y/N).” Castiel sat down beside (Y/N) on the bed. “You are a worthy human. You are diligent and brave, far beyond your years.”

            (Y/N) stared at Castiel, surprised at his words. They shifted, and heat rushed to their cheeks in embarrassment at the outright praise. “Thanks, Cas. Um, for what it’s worth, you’re my favorite angel. You’re a good person.”

            Castiel smiled softly. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

            He liked the child. They had been an unexpected edition to Sam and Dean Winchester’s life, and many angels had argued that they should be steered away, but Castiel knew they deserved to stay. Of course, he saw Sam and Dean’s worry and understood a human so young should not be fighting in the war of Heaven and Hell, but he believed that Sam and Dean would be better for having them around. (Y/N) was smart and young and sharp and strong. Their soul shone brightly, like fireworks. (Y/N) had extraordinary potential, Castiel knew it. And they were using it for good.

            “Here you are.”

            (Y/N) and Castiel looked up as Dean entered the room.

            “Where were you?” asked Dean.

            “Getting oil,” said Castiel, holding up the archaic jug.

            Dean looked at (Y/N), who shrugged. “It’s to help trap Raphael. Apparently won’t do much, and Cas and I might be dead by the morning.”

            Dean’s gaze snapped to Castiel, infuriated, and Castiel shook his head. “I will shield (Y/N) with my life if I must.”

            Okay, wow. (Y/N) stared at him. This was going on a list of reasons they legitimately liked Castiel.

            Dean looked a little taken aback, but he was glad to hear Castiel’s words. Honestly, Dean would rather he get killed than (Y/N), but since Dean’s death was off the table, at least (Y/N) had some protection. “Okay…so you might be a dead man?”

            Castiel nodded solemnly.

            “Well, last night on earth,” said Dean. “What, uh, what are your plans?”

            “I just thought I’d sit here quietly,” said Castiel.

            “Dude. Come on. Anything?” asked Dean. Castiel didn’t respond. “Come on, there has to be something. Everyone has their ‘last night on Earth thing.’ (Y/N), what’s yours?”

            “Right now? Try getting drunk,” said (Y/N). “Twenty-one feels really far way with all the shit going on.” Sneaking out’s an option. (Y/N) considered. When they get me a fake ID as an FBI agent…I could get into a bar. They brightened.

            “There you go, booze,” said Dean. “So, what is it for you, Cas? Booze, women?”

            “Men?” said (Y/N). They certainly weren’t one to judge (not with their identity and their preferences).

            Castiel just looked down.

            “…You have been with someone before, haven’t you?” asked Dean, recognizing the uncomfortable look on Castiel’s face. “Or an angel at least?”

            Castiel rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

            Dean leaned down, and (Y/N) covered a laugh at Castiel’s obvious awkwardness over the conversation. “You mean to tell me you’ve never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?”

            “Could you make it any more gross?” groaned (Y/N).

            “Look, I’ve never had occasion, okay?” said Castiel.

            Dean straightened and considered. “Alright. Let me tell you something. There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay.” (Y/N) nodded in agreement solemnly. “Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch. Let’s go. (Y/N), watch the house.”

            (Y/N) gave a thumbs up while Dean walked out the door and Castiel felt he had no choice but to follow.

 

l

 

            “How’d it go?” asked (Y/N), yawning as Dean drove them to the hospital Raphael’s vessel had ended up in—mind broken from an archangel in his head.

            Castiel grimaced, and Dean grinned, about to burst out laughing again. “He got scared of the ‘den of iniquity’ and got us thrown out.”

            “Sounds like a fun final night on Earth,” teased (Y/N).

            Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down. That had (Y/N) and Dean grinning again.

 

l

 

            Dean carefully closed the blinds of the hospital room. Castiel poured the holy oil in a circle around the broken man in the wheelchair. (Y/N) watched and fiddled with their pendant as they waited for some instruction or strange occurrence.

            “When the oil burns, no angel can touch or pass through the flames,” said Castiel.

            “Okay,” said Dean warily.

            “Cool,” said (Y/N). Who knew when that might come in helpful again. “So we’re trapping him in holy fire.”

            “But one question,” said Dean. “How the hell do we get him here?”

            “There’s, well, almost an open phone line between an angel and their vessel,” explained Castiel. “One just has to know how to dial.”

            He leaned down beside the vessel and whispered in Enochian to him. Dean and (Y/N) exchanged looks as he spoke, and Castiel switched to English for his final message.

            “I’m here, Raphael,” he said. “Come and get me, you little bastard.”

            “So dialing him up is less magic and more provoking him. Got it,” said (Y/N).

            “Just out of curiosity, what is the average customer wait time to speak to an archangel?” said Dean as Castiel stepped back out of the ring of oil.

            “Be ready,” said Castiel. He struck a match, dropped into onto the oil, and watched fire spring to life.

            (Y/N) tensed as the watched the flames dance. Each second, they expected an angel to appear in their holy glory and douchebag-iness.

 

l

 

            “Well, that’s a day I’ll never get back,” said Dean.

            They had waited an entire day, sunrise to sunset, but Raphael hadn’t appeared. He parked the impala outside the little abandoned house. He headed for the front door, and (Y/N) followed. Pushing the door open, they stepped inside.

            “Dean, (Y/N),” said Castiel suddenly, pushing into the house in alarm.

            The electricity still running in the old lights, despite not being on, crackled, and sparks showered down on them. (Y/N)’s eyes widened. The electricity collected into wing-like structures, and, supported in the center, was Raphael’s vessel. He had arrived.

            “Castiel,” said Raphael darkly.

            “Raphael,” replied Castiel.

            “I thought you were supposed to be impressive,” said Dean, stepping forward. “All you is blackout the room?”

            “And the eastern seaboard,” said Raphael. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed in another display of power.

            Okay, a little more impressive, thought (Y/N).

            “It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don’t smite you here and now,” said Raphael.

            “Or maybe you’re full of crap,” said Dean before Raphael’s ire could come down on Castiel. Raphael’s gaze turned on him, and Dean swallowed before continuing. No way was an angel going to make his sass go away. “Maybe you’re afraid that God will bring Cas back to life again and smite you, you candy-ass skirt.”

            What does that even mean? wondered (Y/N).

            “By the way, hi, I’m Dean,” said Dean.

            “I know who you are,” said Raphael. “I know who you all are. And now, thanks to him, I know where you are.”

            “You won’t kill him,” said Castiel.

            “I could kill the child,” said Raphael.

            Dean tensed, moving in front of (Y/N) slightly. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

            “Our Father saved them from Lucifer’s rising, just as he did Sam and Dean Winchester,” said Castiel. “Do not risk His ire.”

            Raphael looked to Castiel. “I may not kill Dean Winchester or the child—”

            Can I be anything else than that, please? thought (Y/N).

            “—but I will take him to Michael,” said Raphael.

            “Well, that…sounds terrifying,” said Dean.

            “Yeah,” agreed (Y/N).

            “But, uh, I hate to tell you, I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Dean. He casually opened a beer and began to drink.

            “Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer,” said Raphael. “And he took the child’s heartbeat.”

            (Y/N)’s hand went to their heart, remembering the chilling feeling. Dean’s eyes had a dark glint in them as he faced Raphael.

            “Yeah. That was—that was hilarious,” he said, but he knew that if Raphael tried anything, Dean would try to kill him.

            “Yes, well…he doesn’t have anything close to my imagination,” said Raphael.

            “Enlighten me,” said (Y/N) sarcastically.

            Dean nearly glared at them for drawing the attention of the archangel. It was better for Dean to handle it; he was safer than they were. Raphael took a singular step forward, and Dean spoke up to bring the attention back to him.

            “I bet you didn’t imagine one thing,” he said.

            “What?” said Raphael.

            “We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch,” said Dean.

            The sound of a lighter clicking echoed, and Raphael’s eyes snapped to Castiel. Too late. It dropped, and a ring of holy oil went up in flames. Raphael stared at the fire and then at Dean.

            “Hey, don’t look at me. It was his idea,” said Dean, looking at Castiel. That was a lie, (Y/N) had suggested having a ring of holy oil ready in case Raphael tried to surprise them back at the house, but Dean wasn’t going to tell Raphael that, was he?

            Castiel stared at Dean, affronted at the wrath of Raphael being thrown at him. The moment he saw Dean glancing worriedly at (Y/N), though, Castiel had to resign himself. He could see Dean’s protective instinct had taken hold.

            “Where is He?” asked Castiel, moving on to his reason for risking all this to begin with.

            “God?” said Raphael. Castiel nodded. “Didn’t you hear? He’s dead, Castiel. Dead.” Lightning flashed.

            Not what I expected, thought (Y/N), frowning.

            “He’s gone for good,” said Raphael.

            “You’re lying,” said Castiel.

            “Am I?” responded Raphael. “Do you remember the twentieth century? Think the twenty-first is going any better? You think God would have let any of that happen if He were alive?”

            “Who knows? If He raised you guys and you guys are dicks, He might be capable of anything,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Careful,” said Raphael, voice low. “That’s my father you’re talking about, child.”

            “Yeah, and you’re one of His kids that started the Apocalypse,” said (Y/N). “We’re both disappointing Him.”

            Dean was torn between wanting to chew his the kid out for sassing an angel and being proud of their audacity.

            “He ran off and disappeared,” said Raphael. “He left no instructions and a world to run.”

            Okay, so he doesn’t really care what God thinks. Got it, thought (Y/N).

            “So Daddy ran off and disappeared?” repeated Dean, furrowing his brow. “He didn’t happen to work for the post office, did He?”

            “This funny to you? You’re living in a Godless universe,” said Raphael.

            “And?” said (Y/N), truly unconcerned.

            “What, you and the other kids just decide to throw an Apocalypse while he’s gone?” said Dean, joining their sass.

            “We’re tired,” said Raphael. “We just want it to be over. We just want…Paradise.”

            “Go to a beach and get drunk, then,” said (Y/N). “Leave humanity alone.”

            “That is not how this works,” said Raphael.

            “No? How does it? God leaves you in charge and you think you can do whatever you want?” snarled Dean.

            “Yes,” said Raphael. “And whatever we want, we get.”

            Angels disgusted (Y/N).

            Thunder crashed, and the windows shattered as wind whipped through. Castiel covered Dean and (Y/N), pulling them to aside as glass cut through the air. Rain swept in, and (Y/N) pushed wet hair from their eyes.

            “If God is dead, why have I returned?” shouted Castiel over the howling wind. “Who brought me back?”

            “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?” responded Raphael.

            “No,” said Castiel.

            “Think about it,” said Raphael. “He needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up.”

            “No, it doesn’t,” snapped (Y/N). “You angels think it’s all black and white. You’re either standing with Heaven without question, and you guys have so much disdain for us humans that of course anyone with a heart would question you, and Castiel does that. That doesn’t make him evil like Lucifer. He wouldn’t work with him.”

            “You humans are always so foolish,” said Raphael. “As if you could ever understand the will of God.”

            “You’re not Him,” said (Y/N) stoutly.

            “Let’s go,” said Castiel as Raphael’s eyes narrowed. He turned away.

            “Castiel,” said Raphael. “I’m warning you. Do not leave me here. I will find you.”

            “Maybe one day,” said Castiel. “But today, you’re my little bitch.” He left the house without another word.

            (Y/N) grinned at Castiel’s boldness, smirked at Raphael, and left. Dean grinned.

            “What he said.”

 

l

 

            “Hey, man, you okay?” asked Dean, glancing at Castiel.

            (Y/N), relegated to the backseat again, watched Castiel stare into space. After Raphael’s claims, it was no wonder he had a lot on his mind.

            “Cas, you should know, we know this crusade is crazy. Who knows where God might be if He’s around, but…” (Y/N) met Dean’s gaze in the rearview mirror, and he nodded for them to continue. “You’re not doing something bad. You should know that.”

            “Right,” said Dean, nodding. “And…I do know a little something about missing fathers.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Castiel, and (Y/N) watched Dean, curious about whether or not he was actually going to get vulnerable or not.

            “I mean there were times when I was looking for my dad when…” Dean shook his head “All logic said that he was dead. But I knew, in my heart, that he was still alive. Who cares what some ninja turtle says, Cas. What do you believe?”

            “I believe He’s out there,” said Castiel firmly.

            “Good,” said Dean. “Then go find him.”

            Castiel looked at Dean. “What about you?”

            “What about me?” said Dean, shrugging. “I don’t know. Honestly? I’m good. I can’t believe that I’m saying that, but I am. I’m…I’m really good.”

            “Even without your brother?” asked Castiel.

            (Y/N) watched Dean pause. “Especially without my brother,” he said firmly. He cleared his throat. “Well, if we’re all sharing, (Y/N), how are you doing?”

            “Doing great. Turning fifteen without watching people dying felt good,” said (Y/N).

            Dean nearly turned in his seat. “You turned fifteen? When?”

            “A week ago,” said (Y/N) casually.

            Dean swore. “And you didn’t say anything?”

            “Not that important,” said (Y/N).

            Dean recognized the same words he told himself when he was their age. “Yeah, no, kid, what food do you want?”

            “Huh?” asked (Y/N).

            “Is the something you want to eat?” asked Dean. “Not gas station food.”

            (Y/N) considered. “It can be cheap, I don’t care, but, uh…maybe Indian? Something with spice.” Their mom always used a lot of spices when she cooked.

            “You got it,” said Dean.

 

l

 

            Dean watched (Y/N) tuck into chana masala happily, and Dean smiled to himself. At least, despite all the stress of hunting, (Y/N) could still be a kid and have a smile. They deserved it. And Dean, ever the older brother, wanted them to have that smile.

            “Happy late birthday, (Y/N),” said Dean.

            (Y/N) smiled at Dean, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you, Dean.” They had turned fifteen. Maybe their birthday didn’t have to be forever a bad memory. Maybe it could be a combination of remembering their parents but be thankful for who was there for them now. Even if it was different.

Chapter 6: Chapter Six: Five Years in the Future

            (Y/N) and Dean got out of the impala as he pulled up alongside their motel after another long case. Dean grabbed their bags from the back and tossed (Y/N)’s to them. They headed towards the door, and a street preacher stepped up.

            “Excuse me, have you had much time to think about God’s plan for you?” he asked.

            “Too friggin’ much, pal,” sighed Dean.

            “Don’t really think He has one for me,” said (Y/N) cheerfully as they headed inside.

            Heading upstairs, Dean’s phone rang, and he answered the call as they entered their room. He frowned. “Slow down. Slow down. What? A gun? Yeah—We’re talking about the colt, right? I mean, as in the colt?”

            “Who is it?” asked (Y/N).

            “Cas,” said Dean. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense. I mean, why would the demons keep around a gun that, uh, kills demons?” He put in on speaker for (Y/N).

            “What? What?” said Castiel, the sound of a car driving by whistling through the phone. “I didn’t-I didn’t get that.”

            Dean chuckled, and (Y/N) shook their head with a grin.

            “You know, it’s kind of funny,” said Dean. “Talking to a messenger of God on a cellphone.”

            “Wonder if that’s how Gabriel talks to people,” said (Y/N), remembering the name of the messenger of God.

            “This isn’t funny,” said Castiel crossly. “The voice says I’m almost out of minutes.”

            “Okay, alright,” said Dean. “I’m telling you, Cas. The mooks have melted down the gun by now.”

            “Well, I hear differently,” said Castiel. “And if it’s true and if you’re still set on the insane task of killing the Devil, this is how we do it.”

            “Where do we start?” asked (Y/N) eagerly.

            “Where are you now?” asked Castiel.

            “Kansas City,” said Dean. “Century Hotel, Room 113.”

            “I’ll be there immediately,” said Castiel.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on, man,” groaned Dean. “We just drove like sixteen hours straight, okay? We’re human. And there’s stuff we gotta do.”

            “What stuff?” asked Castiel.

            “Eat,” said Dean.

            “Sleep,” said (Y/N) with a yawn.

            “I need like four hours once in a while, okay?” said Dean. “And (Y/N) needs like…six? I don’t know. We need to sleep.”

            “I see,” said Castiel.

            “Okay, so you can pop in tomorrow morning,” said Dean.

            “Yes,” said Castiel.

            “See you tomorrow, Cas,” said (Y/N), and Dean closed his phone.

            “Let’s head to bed,” yawned Dean, stretching. “Knowing Cas, he’s going to be here in exactly four hours.”

            “Great,” sighed (Y/N), basically falling right down on their bed and curling up in it.

            Dean smiled, shook his head, and followed suit in his own bed. He was out like a light.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) and Dean woke up when his phone went off, and they groaned. Dean picked it up, and his eyes widened.

            “Sam?” he said, answering. “Hold on, hold on. What?” He looked at (Y/N) in alarm and turned speakerphone on.

            “I’m his vessel,” said Sam’s voice, panicked and sleep-deprived.

            “Lucifer’s wearing you to the prom?” said Dean.

            “Dean,” groaned (Y/N), yawning. It was too early and this was too big a deal to joke about (yet).

            “That’s what he said,” said Sam.

            “Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, eh, Sammy?” said Dean.

            “So, that’s it? That’s your response?” said Sam.

            “What are you looking for?” said Dean.

            “I don’t know. A-A little panic, maybe?” said Sam.

            “I guess I’m a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations,” said Dean.

            “Are you okay, Sam?” asked (Y/N).

            “I’m…fine,” said Sam. As fine as he could be when the literal devil came in the form of his ex-girlfriend to tempt him into saying yes. “What are we going to do about this?”

            “What do you want to do about it?” asked Dean.

            “I want back in, for starters,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) straightened hopefully.

            “Sam—”

            “I mean it,” said Sam. “I’m sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches. I’m going to hunt him down.”

            “Oh, so we’re back to revenge then, are we? Yeah, cause that worked out so well last time,” said Dean.

            “Dean, we’re trying to kill Lucifer,” yawned (Y/N) tiredly.

            “I want redemption, not revenge,” said Sam.

            “What, you’re gonna walk right back in and we’re gonna be the triumphant trio again?” scoffed Dean.

            “Look, Dean, I can do this,” said Sam firmly. “I can. I’m gonna prove it to you and (Y/N).”

            Dean closed his eyes, counted to five, and responded, “Look, Sam…It doesn’t matter. Whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we’re the…fire and oil of Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere…stay away from each other for good.”

            “Wait,” said (Y/N), breaking in. “That’s stupid! The angels and demons want you to give in and fight and do all that shit, but you’re just going to give up like this? Just cause you say no, that doesn’t solve the problem, and the Winchesters are stronger together. You can fight it together.”

            “No,” said Dean firmly. “Not together. We aren’t stronger together. Sam and I…when we’re together…we’re weaker. Because whatever we have between us—love, family, whatever it is—they are always going to use it against us.” He looked at (Y/N), staring back at him with so much earnestness that he could see a young, much younger Sammy looking back. “Always.” They’d used Sam against Dean, they’d use Dean against Sam, and now (Y/N) was in the mix, the horrible mix that was being close to the Winchesters. “We’re better off apart.” If only Dean had somewhere safe to put (Y/N). “We got a better chance at dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways.”

            “Dean, don’t do this,” said (Y/N) and Sam at the exact same time, voices echoing from phone and room.

            “Bye, Sam,” said Dean, closing his phone.

            (Y/N) rolled over in their bed, grumbling.

            “(Y/N), this is for the best,” said Dean tiredly, knowing they were going to argue.

            “Whatever. You know it’s wrong. You’re just mad at Sam and can’t move on,” huffed (Y/N).

            “He messed up. I can’t trust him,” said Dean sharply.

            “Okay? Let him try to earn it again,” said (Y/N). “Hell of a lot better than you two abandoning each other to demons or angels or whatever the hell wants the Apocalypse” They refused to say another word.

 

l

 

            Dean woke up to find himself on a bed with only springs. No mattress was beneath him. Frowning, he sat up. The sun shone in on the room, showing that many hours had passed, not just the four he had wanted. He looked over, but the other bed was empty, stripped of mattress and sheets.

            “(Y/N)?” Dean was on his feet in a moment. He opened the door of the hotel and called out. “(Y/N)?” Nothing. He ran to the window and looked out. His face dropped.

            The entire world was a mess of destruction. Buildings crumbled and were clearly abandoned. Trash, broken cars, and debris littered the streets. Dark clouds rolled over the skies, and the buildings of cities in the distance burned. This truly looked like the Apocalypse.

            And Dean had no idea where (Y/N) was.

 

l

 

            Dean pulled himself through a gap in the chain link fence around the street, panting. A sign above him read “Croatoan Virus Hot Zone.” That would have been good to know before he had to run from infected people all day. And, no matter where Dean went, there was no sign of (Y/N). It was like they had just…disappeared, along with the rest of the world.

            Dean needed to figure out if this was a dream or a nightmare or something else. And that meant getting somewhere he knew, somewhere with answers, not an infected city. So, hotwiring the nearest car, Dean set out.

            As he drove, he tried the radio, but only static buzzed. “That’s never a good sign.”

            “ ‘Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia.’ ”

            Dean jumped as Zachariah’s weaselly voice spoke. He narrowed his eyes and held the wheel tightly. “I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap.”

            “ ‘President Palin defends bombing of Houston,’ ” read Zachariah, listing yet another headline. “Certainly a buyer’s market in real estate. Let’s see what’s happening in sports. That’s right, no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What’s left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me.”

            “How did you find us?” demanded Dean.

            “Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources of late,” sighed Zachariah. “Human informants. We’ve been making inspirational visits to the fringer Christian groups. They’ve been given your image, told to keep an eye out.”

            Dean groaned. “The Bible freak outside the motel. He, what, dropped a dime on us?”

            “Onward Christian soldiers,” said Zachariah.           

            “Okay, well, good, great. You’ve had your jollies,” snapped Dean. “Now send me back and get (Y/N) back, you son of a bitch.”

            “Oh, you’ll get back—all in good time,” said Zachariah. “And the urchin is fine. We just need you to…marinate a bit.”

            “Marinate?” repeated Dean.

            “Three days, Dean,” said Zachariah. “Three days to see where this course of action takes you.”

            “What’s that supposed to me?” questioned Dean.

            “It means that your choices have consequences,” said Zachariah. He flourished the newspaper of apocalyptic headlines—dated five years in the future. “This is what happens to the world if you continue to say ‘no’ to Michael. Have a little looksee.” He disappeared before Dean could ask him another question.

 

l

 

            Dean sat beside the empty wheelchair in Bobby’s house. His fate…was clear, and Dean had to swallow back his grief. This had to be Zachariah’s trick. It had to be. This couldn’t be the future.

            Solemnly, Dean stood and headed to the fireplace. Pulling back the cobwebs, he opened the secret drawer. Flipping through Bobby’s hidden journal, Dean arrived at a startling picture. It showed Bobby alongside other hunters as soldiers—including Castiel, dressed in a hunter’s outfit and carrying a gun, and (Y/N), older than Dean knew them. He swallowed and focused.

            “Camp Chitaqua,” he read off the sign.

            Dean knew where he had to go.

 

l

 

            Dean grimaced as he looked at his beloved impala, run into the ground at Camp Chitaqua.

            “Oh, baby, what did they do to you—”

            Dean slumped forward as something heavy hit his head.

 

l

 

            Dean opened his eyes, and he groaned. His arms hurt, and when he tried to move them, he found himself restrained. The cool metal of cuffs blocked his movement. He grumbled and looked out as the click of a gun echoed. Dean’s eyes widened. “What the hell?”

            A man with his exact same face looked back. “I should be asking that question, don’t you think? In fact, why don’t you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t gank you right here and now?”

            Dean grimaced. “Because…you’d only be hurting yourself.”

            “Very fun,” said End! Dean darkly.

            “Look, man,” said Dean. He chuckled nervously. “I’m no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?”

            “Yeah, I know. I did the drill while you were out,” said End! Dean. “Silver, salt, holy water—nothing. But you know what was funny…was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance while you’re at it?”

            Dean took a deep breath. He might as well go big or go home at this point. It wasn’t as if Zachariah was going to let him die here. He needed to “say yes to Michael.”

            “I’m you from five years ago,” said Dean.

 

l

 

            After showing proof that he was who he claimed he was, Dean managed to get some answers from End! Dean. Unfortunately, nothing was good news. Not only was Bobby gone, but the Croatoan virus and many other monstrous catastrophes had and continued to sweep over the world. There had been a showdown in Detroit, the real show for Heaven and Hell, and…Sam hadn’t made it. Dean’s own brother was dead in this world.

            “You weren’t…with him?” said Dean, unable to believe that. He was Sam’s older brother. It was his job to be there for Sam, and if his brother was dying, why wasn’t he there to help him?

            “No,” said End! Dean, keeping his expression cold. “No, me and Sam…we hadn’t talked in…Hell, five years.”

            “We never tried to find him?” said Dean, knowing the truth as it settled like sickness into his skin.

            “I got other people to worry about,” said End! Dean, picking up his gun.

            Dean straightened. “Is (Y/N) alright?” he asked desperately. They couldn’t be gone too…

            End! Dean paused and looked at Dean. “How old is (Y/N) for you?”

            Dean frowned. He didn’t know what that had to do with anything. “They’re fifteen.”

            End! Dean’s jaw worked, and Dean furrowed his brow as End! Dean hesitated in answering. “(Y/N) is alright.” He turned towards the door.

            “Where you going?” asked Dean, pulling forward.

            “I got to run an errand,” said End! Dean.

            “Whoa, you’re just gonna leave me here?” protested Dean.

            “Yes,” said End! Dean. “I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an Apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of The Parent Trap. So, yeah, you stay locked down.”

            “Okay, alright, fine,” said Dean. “But you don’t have to cuff me, man. Come on, don’t you trust yourself?”

            “No,” scoffed End! Dean. “Absolutely not.” He disappeared out the door.

            “Dick,” grumbled Dean, proceeding to pull at the loose wooden boards until he had a makeshift lockpick. End! Dean was right to distrust him.

 

l

 

            “What are you, a hippie?!” Dean stared at the Castiel of this world, unkempt and sleeping with…multiple people. He had thought Chuck as a warrior was weird, but this was even worse. It can’t get weirder than this. It really can’t.

            “I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me,” said Castiel, stretching before facing Dean.

            “Cas, we got to talk,” said Dean.

            “Whoa.” Castiel stared at him. “Strange.”

            “What?” Dean frowned.

            “You…are not you. Not ‘now’ you, anyway,” said Castiel.

            “No! Yeah. Yes, exactly,” said Dean, surprised that Castiel could tell but a little flattered.

            “What year are you from?” said Castiel.

            “Five years ago,” said Dean.

            Castiel stared at him. “Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?”

            “Yes,” said Dean.

            “Interesting,” said Castiel, stroking his unkempt stubble.

            “Oh, yeah, it’s friggin’ fascinating,” said Dean. “Now, why don’t you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?”

            Castiel chuckled and turned away. It turned slightly hysterical and bitter, and he glared at Dean. “I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but, I’m sorry, no dice.” Castiel started laughing again.

            “What, are you stoned?” said Dean incredulously.

            “Uh, generally, yes,” said Castiel.

            Dean stared at Castiel. “What happened to you?”

            “Life,” said Castiel. He stretched again.

            Dean huffed and moved to the door. If this was Castiel, he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Castiel followed him, curious about where this man from the past was going.

            On the road outside, a dirty van was pulling up. Dean slowed as he arrived at the corner of the road where it entered the compound. It was End! Dean returning to camp. He and several other men jumped out of the van while other people grabbed stuff from the van. End! Dean tossed a beer to another man, and the man opened it. He took a drink and coughed awkwardly. End! Dean grabbed his gun, cocked it, and aimed at the back of the man’s head.

            Dean’s eyes widened. “Hey. Hey! Watch out!”

            The man turned. Bang! He crumpled, dead.

            Dean stared at End! Dean in shock at the murder of another person. The two men with End! Dean stared in confusion between End! Dean and Dean.

            “Okay, what the hell?”

            Dean looked to the van, and his eyes widened. It was (Y/N). Older than he knew them, and a bit older than the picture he’d found, but (Y/N)—twenty years old. Dressed in dark pants and a purple top, familiar necklace around their neck, but with a weight in their eyes Dean hated to see. Their gaze went between End! Dean and Dean warily.

            End! Dean sighed. “Damn it.” He looked at the men. “I’m not gonna lie to you. Me and him—it’s a pretty messed-up situation we got going. But, believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it.”

            The men knew that was a dismissal and quickly hurried away. (Y/N) didn’t move, crossing their arms.

            “Someone’s going to explain to me what’s going on,” said (Y/N), voice sharp.

            “(Y/N)—”

            “Dean, you know you can’t order me around.” (Y/N) rolled their eyes.

            “Fine. Into the cabin,” said End! Dean, gesturing to the compound.

            Dean watched (Y/N) and End! Dean pass him by and followed. Please, he thought to the world. Let (Y/N) still be (Y/N).

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: Zachariah's Lesson

            “What is he?” demanded (Y/N) the moment the cabin door was closed. “I can’t tell, but he can’t be—”

            “He’s human,” said End! Dean. “He’s me from five years in the past.”

            (Y/N) halted. “Five years? You mean, before…?”

            “Yes,” said End! Dean.

            (Y/N) glanced at Dean, and he furrowed his brow at the wariness of their look. Yes, he hadn’t faced this level of Apocalypse, but he wasn’t a danger, least of all to them.

            “Don’t worry, (Y/N). Nothing’s gonna happen,” said End! Dean firmly.

            “I’m not worried for myself. You know I can handle anything,” said (Y/N).

            Dean felt something like relief, despite all his confusion and the horror of this world. (Y/N) was still surviving. Okay, that was good. Okay.

            “What the hell was that back there?” demanded Dean. If (Y/N) was (Y/N), then he could focus on the cold-blooded murder his future self had committed. “You just shot a guy in cold blood.”

            “We were in quarantine zone, got ambushed by some crotes on the way out,” said End! Dean. Seeing Dean’s confusion, he clarified, “Crotes—Croatoans. One of them infected Yager.”

            “How do you know?” said Dean.

            “The beer,” said (Y/N). “They’re…If someone is infected and drinks one, it tastes bad. His couldn’t handle it, so he was infected.”

            Dean furrowed his brow. Was (Y/N) lying to him? They seemed to tell the truth, but that didn’t make sense because “The can wasn’t open. How does that work?”

            End! Dean exchanged a look with (Y/N), and he spoke instead of them. “It does.”

            Dean sensed that he wasn’t going to say anything more. “So you just killed him?”

            “We can’t keep them here to test cures,” said (Y/N) coldly.

            “No point in troubling a good man with bad news,” said End! Dean.

            “ ‘Troubling a good man?’ ” repeated Dean incredulously. “You just blew him away in front of your own people.” He looked at (Y/N), the usual voice of some sort of reason. “Doesn’t that matter?”

            “No,” said (Y/N). “Crotes die every day. It spreads every day. I’d rather try to stop it from stopping more.”

            “You don’t care about human life?” said Dean, beginning to see the fundamental differences between the (Y/N) he knew and this one.

            (Y/N) scoffed, and their lip curled. “I care about keeping the lives of as many sane people alive as possible. If you’re infected, you’re gone.”

            Dean grew frustrated. “Alright, look—”

            “No, you look,” snapped End! Dean. “This isn’t your time. It’s mine. You don’t make the decisions. I do. So when I say stay in, you stay in.” He paced to the counter where he could pour himself a drink. (Y/N) glanced at Dean, that same wariness still present, and went to End! Dean.

            Dean frowned and strained to listen. If he took a step closer, they’d stop talking. Only a few words were hearable, but it was clear what they were planning.

            “Is there…send him back?” asked End! Dean.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “…Research…He’d know…Still a year…”

            They were trying to send him back but couldn’t. Dean cleared his throat. He didn’t want everyone in this world to hate him. If they did, it was his fault. Zachariah said this was what his choices led to.

            “Alright, look, I’m sorry,” said Dean, stepping forward. “Look, I’m not trying to mess with your or me or (Y/N) or…whatever.”

            “I know,” said End! Dean, pouring three drinks.

            “It’s just been a really whacky weekend,” said Dean.

            End! Dean handed out the drinks. (Y/N) took theirs, and their sleeve slipped down slightly to reveal more tattoos. They were plant life, and Dean thought fondly about how (Y/N) from six years ago (One year ago for him) had said they’d “get over” their fear of needles. Apparently, they had in this world.

            “Tell us about it,” said End! Dean.

            “What was the mission, anyway?” asked Dean, taking a drink.

            End! Dean opened his bag and pulled out a gun.

            “The colt?” said Dean, staring at it.

            “The colt,” confirmed End! Dean.

            “Where was it?” asked Dean.

            “It got moved around a lot,” said (Y/N).

            “Took us five years, but…we finally got it,” said End! Dean. “And tonight…tonight, I’m gonna kill the Devil.”

            “Dean, I still think—”

            “No, you’re not going,” said End! Dean.

            “I have a better chance than you,” said (Y/N).

            “Against the Devil?” said Dean. “No way.” Even if it was true, and there was no reason it would be, Dean would never let them go up against someone like that.

            “No way,” said End! Dean at the same time, agreeing completely with Dean.

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Unbelievable. If you get killed, what then?”

            “Then you have to take care of the camp,” said End! Dean. “Last line of defense, remember?”

            (Y/N) deflated and sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

l

 

            Dean, End! Dean, Castiel, and (Y/N) sat around a map in the center of the table. The colt lay on top of it.

            “If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it,” said End! Dean.

            “Great. Then we need to find Lucifer,” said Dean. “Any way to do that?”

            “We know where he is already,” said (Y/N).

            “The demon we caught last week—he was one of the…Big Guy’s entourage,” said Dean. “He knew.”

            “You trust the demon?” said End! Dean.

            “He had a lot of reasons to be truthful,” said (Y/N), and their smirk spoke volumes that, honestly, sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.

            “What, did you use Dean’s ways of getting the truth or your own?” said Castiel, amused.

            “At least one of us is still useful here,” said (Y/N) with a “cheerful” smile.

            Dean furrowed his brow.

            End! Dean pointed at the map. “Lucifer is here. Now, I know the block, and I know the building.”

            “Oh, good, it’s right in the middle of a hot zone,” said Castiel sarcastically.

            “Crawling with crotes, yeah,” said End! Dean. “You saying my plan is reckless?”

            “Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the crotes, and we shoot the Devil?” retorted Castiel.

            “Yes,” said End! Dean.

            “Okay, if you don’t like, uh, ‘reckless,’ ” snarked Castiel, “I could use ‘insouciant,’ maybe.”

            “Are you coming?” said End! Dean.

            “Of course,” sighed Castiel as if he was bored. “But why is he?” He glanced at Dean. “I mean, he’s you from five years ago. If something happens to him, you’re gone, right?”

            “He’s coming,” said End! Dean.

            “Okay,” said Castiel, knowing he couldn’t argue with him.

            “And I stay here,” said (Y/N) bitterly.

            “You know why,” said End! Dean.

            “We’d have a better chance if I…” They glanced at Dean, cleared their throat, and looked at End! Dean. “I could help. You know it.”

            “We don’t know what will happen. We don’t know what he’ll do to you,” said End! Dean sharply. “You stay here. You protect the camp.”

            (Y/N)’s hands curled into fists, and Dean frowned as he saw scars or burn marks on their fingers. The amount of work (Y/N) had put into getting this information was clear. Demons, torture, what else had (Y/N) learned to do in this world? What else had they had to do?

            Dean swallowed at the idea.

            “Well, uh, I’ll get the grunts moving,” said Castiel, voice absent as he stood.

            “We’re loaded and on the road by midnight,” said End! Dean.

            “Alrighty,” said Castiel.

            “I’m going to…” (Y/N) waved a hand. “Whatever.”

            “Don’t leave the camp,” said End! Dean.

            (Y/N) didn’t respond as they left, and End! Dean frowned.

            “Do they…try to leave?” asked Dean worriedly. “That’s dangerous.”

            “(Y/N) is…” End! Dean sighed. “You know them.”

            “Yeah, I do.” That was why Dean worried just as much as End! Dean did. He cleared his throat. “So, why are you bringing me?”

            “You’re coming because I want you to see something,” said End! Dean. “I want you to see our brother.”

            Dean furrowed his brow. “Sam? I thought he was dead.”

            End! Dean swallowed, and his jaw clenched. “Sam didn’t die in Detroit. He said, ‘Yes.’ ”

            “ ‘Yes?’ ” repeated Dean. His eyes widened slightly. “Wait. You mean—”

            “That’s right,” said End! Dean. “The big ‘yes!’ To the Devil.” Bitterness was written in his every word and expression. “Lucifer’s wearing him to the prom.”

            “Why would he do that?” said Dean.

            “Wish I knew,” said End! Dean. “But now we don’t have a choice. It’s in him, and it’s not getting out. And we’ve got to kill him, Dean. And you need to see it—the whole damn thing, how bad it gets—so you can do it different.”

            Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

            “Zach said he was gonna bring you back, right?” said End! Dean.

            “Yeah,” said Dean.

            “Well, when you get back home, you say ‘yes,’ ” said End! Dean. “You hear me? Say ‘yes’ to Michael.”

            “That’s crazy,” said Dean instantly. “If I let him in, then Michael fights the Devil. The battle’s gonna torch half the planet.”

            “Look around you, man,” said End! Dean. “Half the planet’s better than no planet, which is what we have now! If I could do it over again, I’d say ‘yes’ in a heartbeat!”

            “So why don’t you?” snapped Dean.

            “I’ve tried!” shouted End! Dean. “I’ve shouted ‘yes’ until I’m blue in the face! The angels aren’t listening! They just…left, gave up!”

            “No.” Dean shook his head.  “There’s got to be another way.”

            “Yeah. That’s what I thought,” said End! Dean bitterly. “I was cocky. Never actually thought I’d lose. But I was wrong. Dean…I was wrong. I’m begging you. Say ‘yes.’ ” He searched Dean’s gaze. “But you won’t. Cause I didn’t. Because that’s just not us, is it? You’ll say no and make us—me, you, Bobby, Cas, (Y/N)—live through all of this again. And it’ll be our fault again.”

 

l

 

            Hours later, Dean stared at End! Dean in shock and horror. The plan was…evil. He was going to feed his friends—Castiel—to demons and monsters as decoys so that End! Dean and Dean could go in the back and not get found immediately.

            “Oh, man, something is broken in you,” breathed Dean, staring at End! Dean. No one other than him was supposed to make it back. Unless, what if they had come? “You’re making decisions that I would never make. I wouldn’t sacrifice my friends! If (Y/N) had come with us, would you be letting them die, too?!” He had to believe End! Dean wanted them to stay back because he didn’t want them to get hurt, but what if—what if Dean had completely lost himself in this future?

            End! Dean shoved Dean. “Don’t talk about (Y/N). Through everything, at least they’re alive, and they’re not even—” End! Dean curled his hands into fists. “You wouldn’t make these decisions. That’s right. It’s one of the main reasons we’re in this mess, actually.”

            “Those people count on you. They trust you,” said Dean.

            “They trust me to kill the Devil and to save the world, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” said End! Dean.

            “No. Not like this you’re not,” said Dean. “I’m not gonna let you.”

            “Oh, really?” scoffed End! Dean.

            “Yeah—”

            End! Dean’s fist met the side of Dean’s face, and he collapsed.

 

l

 

            Dean watched in shock as his older self was killed by a foot breaking his neck. HE swallowed and looked up, over the crisp white suit Lucifer wore, all the way up to—Dean blinked and tensed, unable to get over the grief of Sam’s face staring back at him. And yet, instead of killing him, Lucifer just…apologized.

            “I’m sorry,” said Lucifer. “It must be painful…speaking to me in this…shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be.” He reached to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean stepped back. Instead, Lucifer grew his hand back. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I’m going to do?” Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed as Lucifer walked past Dean to his rosebushes.

            “I don’t know. Deep-fry the planet?” snapped Dean.

            Lucifer frowned and looked back at Dean as if that was a ridiculous suggestion. “Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing, beautiful in a trillion different ways, the last perfect handiwork of God?” He considered Dean. “You ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?”

            “Oh, good god, you’re not gonna tell me a bedtime story, are you?” groaned Dean. “My stomach’s almost out of bile.”

            “You know why God cast me down?” asked Lucifer. “Because I loved Him. More than anything.” He spoke softly, reverently. “And then God created…” He chuckled, and the warmth fled into disdain. “You. The little…hairless apes. And then He asked all of us to bow down before you, to love you more than Him.” Lucifer shook his head. “And I said, ‘Father…I can’t.’ I said, ‘These human beings are flawed, murderous.’ And for that God had Michael cast me into Hell.” He collected himself. “Now, tell me, does the punishment fit the crime? Especially when I was right? Look at what six billion of you have done to this thing. And how many of you blame me for it?”

            Dean swallowed. “You’re not fooling me, you know that?” Lucifer furrowed his brow. “With this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are.”

            “What am I?” said Lucifer.

            “You’re the same thing, only bigger,” said Dean. “The same brand of cockroach I’ve been squashing my whole life—an ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego.”

            Lucifer smiled condescendingly. “I like you, Dean. I prefer (Y/N), much more…interesting, but…I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye. We’ll meet again soon.” He turned away from Dean.

            “You better kill me now!” shouted Dean.

            Lucifer glanced back. “Pardon?”

            “You better kill me now,” said Dean. “Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won’t stop.”

            “I know you won’t,” said Lucifer. “I know you won’t say ‘yes’ to Michael, either. And I know you won’t kill Sam. Whatever you do…you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up…here.”

            A tear dripped down Dean’s cheek; he was unable to hold it back any longer.

            “I win,” said Lucifer. “So, I win.”

            “You’re wrong,” said Dean, his voice breaking over the words.

            Lucifer smirked. “See you in five years, Dean.”

            A lightning flash blinded Dean, and when he could see again, Lucifer had disappeared.

            A crack of a branch had Dean whirling, and Zachariah reached suddenly for Dean’s forehead.

 

l

 

            Dean stumbled back from Zachariah, back in the motel room. (Y/N) jumped from where they were waking up and scrambled for a weapon. Dean took deep breaths, steadying himself on the hotel kitchenette counter.

            “(Y/N),” he said, seeing them.

            “Dean?” said (Y/N), looking warily at Zachariah.

            Dean’s eyes landed on them—thank god, fifteen, the weight of the world and the apocalypse not hounding their gaze—and he moved forward. Before (Y/N) could say anything or react, Dean hugged them. This was the kid that he had missed.

            “You’re okay,” said Dean, more to himself than (Y/N).

            (Y/N) hugged him back, surprised. “Are you okay, Dean?” they asked, concerned.

            “Dean saw the truth,” said Zachariah.

            Dean tensed and let go of (Y/N), turning on Zachariah with a glare.

            “He sees that the world is Lucifer’s when he resists Michael,” said Zachariah. “Bobby, Sam, Chuck, ‘Cas,’ and (Y/N) are going to be destroyed by Lucifer because Dean says ‘no’ to Michael, and the world loses.”

            Dean swallowed, hands curling into fists.

            “He’s the only person who can prove the Devil wrong,” said Zachariah. “Dean…Just say ‘yes.’ ”

            “How do I know the whole thing isn’t one of your tricks?” said Dean forcefully. “Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?”

            “The time for tricks is over,” said Zachariah gravely. “Give yourself to Michael. Say ‘yes’ and we can strike. Before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die.

            “Dean, don’t,” said (Y/N). “If the future is written, then Zacky here wouldn’t care.”

            Dean looked at them, and the image of twenty-year-old (Y/N), war-worn and angry, dangerous, appeared before his eyes.

            “You know what’s right,” said (Y/N).

            Dean swallowed. He stood straightened. “Nah.”

            “ ‘Nah?’ ” repeated Zachariah in disbelief. “You telling me you haven’t learned your lesson?”

            “Oh, I’ve learned a lesson alright,” said Dean. “Just not the one you wanted to teach.”

            “Well, I’ll just have to teach again,” snapped Zachariah, walking towards Dean again. “Because I got you now, boy, and I’m never letting you—”

 

l

 

            (Y/N) and Dean blinked as they found themselves on the side of roadway. Dean let out a laugh, and (Y/N) grinned at the escape from Zachariah. Castiel stared at them and their reaction, confused by humans once again.

            “That’s pretty nice timing, Cas,” said Dean, looking at him in relief. He had saved him from another trip to the future and was Dean’s Cas. Well, not Dean’s, but the point was there. He wasn’t stoner-orgy-having-depressed Castiel.

            “We had an appointment,” said Castiel. He smiled slightly.

            Dean smiled back. He put a shaky hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t ever change.” He pointed at (Y/N). “You either.”

            “Don’t plan to,” said (Y/N), smiling. From what Zachariah had said, they had gathered something of what Dean had gone through. Whatever he had seen in the future, it wasn’t going to happen. (Y/N) would make sure of it. And whoever they were in the future, they weren’t going to exist. (Well…except for any badass parts. (Y/N) wouldn’t mind that).

            “How did Zachariah find you?” asked Castiel.

            “Long story,” said Dean, pulling out his phone. “Let’s just stay away from Jehovah’s Witnesses from now on, okay?”

            “Fine with me, they’re not a fan of my identity,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “What are you doing?” asked Castiel.

            “Something I should have done in the first place.” Dean held the phone to his ear.

            (Y/N) straightened hopefully.

 

l

 

            In the morning sun, (Y/N) and Dean leaned back on the impala. On the dirt road, another car slowly pulled up over the gravel. The engine shut off, and the door opened. Sam stepped out. The three walked towards each other.

            “Sam,” said Dean. He pulled the demon knife from his jacket. Sam stared at it warily. “If you’re serious and you want back in…you should hang onto this. I’m sure you’re rusty.”

            Sam stared at Dean, the knife, and Dean again. He took the knife solemnly, understanding all the vulnerability the action of giving it to him signified.

            (Y/N) smiled as he took it, glad to have him back.

            “Look, man, I’m sorry,” said Dean. “I don’t know. I’m…whatever I need to be. But I was, uh…wrong.”

            “What made you change your mind?” asked Sam, glancing at (Y/N) questioningly.

            Dean sighed.

            “Going to the future, hating it, deciding to do something about it,” said (Y/N), summarizing what they had figured out.

            Dean nodded. He had been in the wrong, and there was one thing that could fix things. He and Sam hadn’t talked in five years when he was Lucifer. Sam and (Y/N) were right. Maybe, just maybe, the Winchesters were stronger together. Dean had to consider that.

            “The point is…maybe we are each other’s Achille’s heel,” said Dean, acknowledging his thoughts. “Maybe they’ll find a way to use us against each other.” He gestured to himself, Sam, and (Y/N). “I just know we’re all we’ve got. More than that…We keep each other human.”

            “Thank you,” said Sam. “Really. Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

            “Oh, I know it,” said Dean. “I mean, you are the second-best hunter on the planet.”

            Sam chuckled.

            “What am I?” said (Y/N).

            “Not even close to the top, kid,” said Dean.

            “What was older-me?” said (Y/N). If they were going to be a hunter—and they were—they were going to become one of the best.

            “…They were one of the best,” said Dean. He still couldn't erase the cold look in their eyes, the way that humanity seemed to be lacking within them. “But you’re not going to be them.”

            “How? What do we do now?” asked Sam.

            “We make our own future,” said Dean.

            Sam and (Y/N) nodded. Sam squared his shoulders. “Guess we have no choice.”

Chapter 8: Chapter Eight: Cards for Years

            “So?” asked (Y/N), lying in the backseat of the impala as Dean and Sam got back in after checking on the body of Xavier. They were dressed as CDC agents, which meant, of course, (Y/N) was stuck in the car.

            “Guy in his twenties is old and wrinkly and died of old age,” said Dean, getting into the car. “Weird, right?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), nodding. “Any idea what does that instead of just killing someone?”

            “We should check in with Bobby,” said Sam, getting in. He had been back for a few cases now, and, fortunately, things were still going smoothly, and the angels hadn’t bothered them (yet).

            Dean nodded and opened his phone. “You were right about this one. It’s definitely a job,” he said. He put it on speaker.

            “Thought so,” said Bobby. “Any other stiffs in town?”

            “Just the one,” said Dean.

            “Anything else?” asked Bobby.

            “Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size,” reported Dean.

            “Well, check ‘em out,” said Bobby.

            “Do you think they’re connected?” asked (Y/N).

            “Call it a hunch,” said Bobby.

            “You got it,” said Dean. “And, by the way, how you doing?”

            “Doing?” huffed Bobby.

            “Yeah,” said Dean awkwardly. “You know, just…in general?”

            “Oh, you mean my legs,” sneered Bobby. “Well, I’m just weepin’ in my haagen-dazs.” He hung up.

            (Y/N) grimaced. Bobby was not doing alright.

 

l

 

            “We’ve got a lead,” said Dean after they spoke to a woman with a missing husband. The pair had been together for decades, and he had gone missing in the past few days. “The old ‘working late’ excuse.”

            “Huh?” said (Y/N).

            “There’s a receipt for a brothel,” said Sam. “So Cliff Whitlow’s been going there instead of working late.”

            “Oh, got it,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Neither of your parents do that?” said Dean.

            “Why would I know that?” said (Y/N), incredulously

            Dean shrugged. “Hunters are hunters.”

            “My parents had a happy marriage,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. “So, are you guys going to track the guy down?”

            “Yeah,” said Sam, nodding as Dean pulled onto the street. “You’ll—”

            “Have to watch the car, I know,” groaned (Y/N). “I still don’t pass for an adult.”

            “Still two years,” said Sam.

            “One,” corrected (Y/N). “I turned fifteen a few weeks ago.”

            “What?” Sam twisted around in his seat and looked at them. He’d missed—

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), shrugging. They looked a little older than they had at fourteen, but fifteen still didn’t look adult. They appeared androgynous enough, which helped them look more “mature,” but all the same, they weren’t cutting it. One more year. Then they could get a nice suit and interview witnesses.

            “Don’t worry, Sam. If you’re guilty, you can buy us food after the case,” said Dean, grinning.

            Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the money came from the same place. However, he smiled. “It’s a deal.”

            (Y/N) grinned.

 

l

 

            “Is Cliff dead?” asked (Y/N) as Dean and Sam emerged from the establishment.

            “Oh, he’s very much alive,” said Dean. “Alive and kicking.”

            “And barely in his thirties,” said Sam.

            “One guy gets old, the other gets young? What can do that?” asked (Y/N). Those were the opposite.

            “No idea,” said Dean, calling Bobby. “Let’s ask.” He repeated the information. “It sounds crazy, right?”

            “No. There’s lore on it,” replied Bobby. “Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. ‘Course, most folks lose.”

            “Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse,” said Dean.

            “Card games for years?” repeated (Y/N). “Why would someone play with that?” It seemed silly. There had to be other ways to stay young—even other magic. Plenty of witches stayed young in a variety of ways. Honestly, this was just a lack of creativity on humans’ parts.

            “Who doesn’t want to be young after being geriatric?” asked Dean. “Cliff is living his best life.”

            “Supposedly, this player’s a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank,” said Bobby.

            “You find the bar he’s working in yet?” asked Dean. “There’s a lot of dives in this town. We’re gonna have to split up.”

            “Well, why you still talking to me?” Bobby hung up abruptly, still in a bad mood.

            “I’m going to be stuck at the motel, aren’t I?” said (Y/N).

            “Can you get into a bar?” said Dean. “No.”

            “Sorry, (Y/N),” said Sam. “This might be a boring case for you.”

            “We’ll find something to keep you busy,” said Dean cheerfully.’

            (Y/N) grumbled. That meant stupid chores.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) finished cleaning the gun they held and put it back together. They groaned and flopped back on their bed. They were so bored, and it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. Dean and Sam were still out at the bars, and (Y/N) was moping in the motel. They wanted to be awake to hear what had happened when they returned, but they were also exhausted.

            Finally, there was a knock at the door. (Y/N) jumped up, holding a knife just in case, and opened the door.

            “…What the hell?” It seemed (Y/N) wasn’t going to have a boring case, either.

 

l

 

            “I got your call, (Y/N),” said Sam, entering the motel room with worry written on his features. “What’s wrong?”

            “I think you’ll be able to tell,” said (Y/N), grinning and gesturing to the darker corner of the room.

            “Quite joking,” said a crabby old voice.

            Sam furrowed his brow and looked. There was an old man in Dean-like clothes sitting next to Bobby, who was there for some reason.

            “Oh my god,” said Sam, staring at them. He looked at (Y/N). “He’s—”

            “Old as shit, yeah,” said (Y/N), grinning.

            “Hey. Respect your elders,” said Dean.

            “Do you want to be elders?” scoffed (Y/N), and Dean scowled.

            “Either of you want to tell me what happened?” asked Sam, knowing he was about to sigh in exhaustion at whatever mess Bobby and Dean had gotten themselves into.

            “Bobby’s an idiot, that’s what happened,” snapped Dean.

            “And so are you,” pointed out (Y/N).

            “Nobody asked you to play!” shot back Bobby, glaring at Dean.

            “Right. I should have just let you die,” scoffed Dean.

            “And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose,” huffed Bobby.

            Sam grinned and shook his head. “I can see why you’re enjoying this,” he said, looking at (Y/N). They nodded with a similar smile at the entertainment the grumpy old men provided.

            “Shut up,” said Dean and Bobby.

            “What the hell were you thinking?” said Dean, looking at Bobby. “He’s a witch.”

            “That makes sense,” said (Y/N), and Sam nodded. The old men could argue; they could focus on the case.

            “He’s been playing poker since guys wore tights,” said Dean.

            “You just don’t get it,” snaped Bobby.

            “Yeah, I get it, Bobby,” said Dean. “You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting.” He scoffed. “I can imagine.”

            “No, you can’t,” said Bobby forcefully.

            “You got me,” snarked Dean, irritated with the whole situation. “I never been paralyzed. But I tell you something—I’ve been to Hell, and there’s an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk’s rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?”

            “I mean, yeah, you are,” said (Y/N).

            Dean scowled, opened his mouth to respond, and groaned. “Oh…” He winced and sat down. “I’m having a heart attack,” he said, voice strained.

            “No, you’re not,” scoffed Bobby.

            “What is it?” groaned Dean.

            “Acid reflux,” said Bobby. “You’re paying for that burger from earlier. Guys your age can’t digest certain foods.” Dean pouted. “So, you wanna keep emoting or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours?” Bobby looked at (Y/N) and Sam. “It’s got to be about the chips.”

            “I slid ‘em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up quick,” said Dean, gesturing to Bobby.

            “So you guys think it’s just magic chips?” asked (Y/N). “Not just ‘Patrick’s’ magic?”

            “Definitely,” said Bobby.

            “You remember what he chanted?” asked Dean.

            “Yep. Every word,” confirmed Bobby.

            “Alright, then. Let’s find out where he stashes his chips,” said Sam.

            “And steal me fifty,” said Dean. “Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?”

            “I think I get to actually do something on this case,” said (Y/N).

            “Try not to look so happy about my situation,” grumbled Dean.

            “Next time, don’t gamble if you’re not gonna win,” said (Y/N).

            “Like you would have?” shot back Dean.

            (Y/N) grinned. “Absolutely.”

 

l

 

            Sam, Dean, Bobby, and (Y/N) craned their necks to watch Patrick, dressed in a smart suit, emerge from the bar he was in. He stood on the sidewalk, checked his watch, and stepped into the street.

            Wham!

            A convertible hit him, and Patrick hit the ground. The hunters watched in surprise as the driver got out, panicked.

            “Get some help!” cried the driver, looking around for help. “He came out of nowhere!” He ran towards a payphone.

            Patrick, neck healing, stood up. He rolled his neck and walked to the convertible. He got in, revved the engine, and drove off.

            “I got to say,” laughed Dean. “I kind of like the guy.”

            “He’s got style,” admitted (Y/N).

 

l

 

            Tailing Patrick, the hunters arrived at a skyrise of apartments. Keeping an eye out, they waited until they saw him leave, probably to go to another bar and win more years, before getting out of the car. They headed in and, after seeing the elevator was out, had to leave Bobby behind while they checked the records at the front desk and headed upstairs towards Patrick’s room—of course, nearly penthouse suite.

            Poor Dean was panting and nearly going to faint by the time they reached Patrick’s floor while Sam and (Y/N) waited for him. Low jazz music played inside the apartment, and (Y/N) picked the lock while Sam kept a hand on his gun.

            They stepped inside and found a modern apartment. However, it was lit only by candles on every surface, and (Y/N) suspected witchcraft was the only reason the candles could be left burning without fear of setting of the flat on fire.

            Keeping an eye out for any witchy traps, (Y/N) started searching for the poker chips. They remained unconvinced the chips were the solution since who knew where the magic was really at work in the game. As they headed farther back in the apartment, they found more antique furniture, cabinets with handles that sent shivers up their spine the moment they touched them, and mirrors that were faded. (Y/N) chose not to look into them.

            Opening a cabinet, (Y/N) found a row of crystals, and they frowned. They could name them all—crystals for protection, purification, concentration, empowerment, and all sorts of others. (Y/N) carefully closed the cabinet doors. They weren’t going to touch what a witch had worked with—that was a recipe for disaster.

            “Sam? (Y/N)?” Dean’s voice echoed.

            (Y/N) headed towards him, and Sam and they entered the room. Dean had found a hidden safe within a black cabinet.

            “Dime-store model,” said Dean, examining it. “Piece of cake.” He tried to crack it, but the moment he spun the dial, he groaned. His vision was very poor.

            “It’s like Mission: Pathetic,” said Sam, pushing Dean out of the way. “Watch out.” He quickly spun the dial of the safe, listening carefully before opening it. Stacks and stacks of poker chips stood within.

            “I could have done that,” grumbled Dean.

            (Y/N) reached in and took a few chips. Sam pulled more out, but (Y/N) frowned as they held the chips. They didn’t feel magical. Well, (Y/N) knew there wasn’t really a feeling to magic, but they couldn’t shake that they just felt like regular chips.

            “What are you doing?”

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) turned to find a woman—appearing to be mid-thirties, but (Y/N) didn’t believe that—with blonde hair looking at them.

            Dean frowned. “Aren’t you the chick from the bar?”

            “I’m a lot more than that,” said the woman. She raised a hand and curled it into a fist.

            Dean groaned as his insides clenched, and Sam gasped in pain. (Y/N) grimaced as what felt like horrible cramps gripped them, and they curled their hands into the cabinet door.

            “Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” said Patrick, running in. “It’s alright. They’re harmless.” He stepped forward, smirked, and crossed his arms. “You want chips? Take ‘em. They’re just chips, Einsteins. It’s showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It’s in nine-hundred-year-old witch.”

            “Told you,” groaned (Y/N) as the cramps subsided.

            Patrick chuckled as Dean and Sam scowled. “You want years? Score ‘em the old-fashioned way. Texas Hold ‘Em.”

            “Fine. Let’s do it,” said Dean.

            Patrick held up an eight of hearts card. “What card am I holding up?” Dean frowned and peered at it. He gave up. “That’s what I thought. If your eyesight’s that bad, what about your memory?” He shook his head. “I’m not a murderer.” He looked at Sam. “You, on the other hand…”

            “No, Sam,” said Dean.

            “Dean…” sighed Sam.

            “What, Sam not much of a player?” goaded Patrick. “What about the kid? They’ve got plenty of years left on them, I’m sure.”

            (Y/N) tilted their head, fiddling with their necklace as they considered. “How many—”

            “No,” said Sam and Dean together.

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes.

            “Okay, well, happy trails, Dean,” said Patrick. “Enjoy the twilight of your life.” He grinned smugly. “Should have taken better care of the ticker, though.” He gestured to the door. “You’re free to go.” He watched them head to the door. “Oh, but Sam, (Y/N). Dean’s situation, that’s punishment enough. But I can’t let you leave without a small parting gift.” He clapped his hands together solemnly four times.

            (Y/N) held onto their crystal, frowning as it warmed beneath their fingers.

            “What was that?” questioned Sam.

            Patrick winked. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

            “Let’s get out of here, Sam, (Y/N),” said Dean.

            (Y/N) watched the door swing closed behind them.

 

l

 

            As they headed out the doors of the apartment building, Sam suddenly grimaced, and Dean and (Y/N) watched him walk awkwardly.

            “Dude. I think the witch gave you the clap,” said Dean.

            Sam groaned. “Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t feel anything.”

            Sam sighed. That was just his luck.

 

l

 

            Sam rolled Bobby up towards their motel while Dean and (Y/N) walked. Morning had come, and with it, no success in getting Dean’s years back.

            “You know, I still think I should play,” said Sam.

            “Or I could,” said (Y/N).

            “No,” said Sam and Dean.

            “No to both of you,” said Dean. “You’re not good enough—” Sam scoffed “—and since when do you know how to play?”

            “My mom liked poker,” said (Y/N).

            “Right, of course, hunter,” said Dean. “But you—’

            “Know how to play,” said (Y/N).

            “You’re definitely not doing it,” said Sam. “But I can.”

            “No way,” said Dean. “I’m better. Bobby’s way better. We both lost.”

            “Exactly,” said Bobby.

            “So what? I don’t get a say in this anymore?” said Sam.

            “I don’t, so you don’t either,” said (Y/N).

            “Knowing the game is not enough,” said Bobby sternly. “It’s not about playing the cards.”

            “It’s about playing the other guy. I know that,” said Sam.

            “They say it in every movie or piece of advice,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes.

            “Well, hooray for you,” said Bobby sarcastically. “All I’m saying is I’ve played this guy. I know this guy. I can take him.”

            “No, Bobby, you don’t have enough years in the bank,” said Dean.

            “And you do?” scoffed (Y/N).

            “You and Dean will die if you lose,” said Sam.

            “So what if I do, huh?!” said Bobby, his outburst loud. “What exactly am I living for, huh?! The damn Apocalypse?! Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can’t take a step to help them?”

            (Y/N)’s gaze softened.

            “Bobby…” said Dean.

            “No, no. It’s the facts,” said Bobby sharply. “I’m old.” His words came bitter and resentful. “And broke down. And I can’t—” his voice broke on the words “—I ain’t a hunter no more. I’m useless. And if I wasn’t such a coward, I’d have stuck a gun in my mouth the day I got home from the hospital.”

            No one could say anything after Bobby finished. All of his built up frustration and grief had finally spilled over, and there was no way for them to help him.

            Sam swallowed. “Bobby, you are not playing again. I’m not…letting you do that.” None of them were letting him do that. “There’s another way out of this. There’s gotta be. And I’m gonna find it.” He turned away.

            “Sam—” began Dean.

            “I’mg oing to find a solution,” grumbled Sam, walking away.

            Dean sighed and walked towards their motel. Sam would be back, and the game wasn’t the solution, so as long as he didn’t go there, he would be alright. Dean opened the door of their motel room, and Bobby wheeled himself in. Still sullen from having their idea shut down, (Y/N) entered last

            All three drew up short, staring at the woman, Patrick’s partner, sitting on a bed. She held up a piece of paper.

            “Take it,” she said. “It’ll help you.”

            Bobby and Dean watched her suspiciously, but (Y/N) stepped forward, took the paper, and examined it.

            “A spell?” they said in surprise. The ingredients would fit.

            “The most powerful reversal spell you’ve ever laid your eyes on,” she confirmed.

            “And it reverses what?” said Dean suspiciously.

            “Patrick’s work. All of it,” said the woman.

            “You-You saying I could be normal again?” said Dean.

            “You and everyone else he’s ever played,” she said. “Who’s still alive.”

            Dean crossed his arms. “Why the hell should we trust you?”

            “Trust me, don’t trust me, I don’t care,” she sighed. “The spell is real.”

            “If it affects everyone, won’t it affect your guy, too?” asked (Y/N), frowning as the woman stood.

            “And me, too,” she said solemnly. She shrugged. “I look good for my age.”

            “Wait,” said (Y/N), looking at the list. “To get this, we’ll have to get close.”

            “Yes,” the woman. “Someone will have to risk themselves while the others work.” She glanced at Bobby and Dean. “He won’t play you two, though.”

            Dean scowled, and Bobby grimaced.

            “So that leaves me,” said (Y/N).

            “Or Sam,” said Bobby.

            Dean didn’t like either option. “Can’t we just jump him?”

            “Jumping a witch is a stupid idea,” said (Y/N). “I can distract him. I have the most years left. I literally have the best chance at losing but walking away okay. What’s the worst that happens, I lose twenty-five years or something and catch up to you guys?”

            “No,” said Dean and Bobby.

            “They are right,” said the woman. “Patrick will be thinking of how many years he can score off them. And they are more protected than you are.” She pointed at (Y/N)’s necklace. “Spirit quartz and silver for protection. If Patrick attempts spells during the game, they are less likely than you are to be affected.”

            “This is just a gift, it doesn’t actually do anything,” said (Y/N), frowning and touching their necklace.

            The witch raised a brow. “It’s magic. I can feel it,” she said. “Don’t you?”

            (Y/N) fiddled with it. “I mean…it’s weird sometimes, but I never paid attention.”

            The witch sighed. “Hunters.”

            “Listen, can’t (Y/N) give the magic necklace or whatever to one of us so they’re not the one going against Patrick?” said Dean. He was glad that their parents had been proactive enough to get (Y/N) protection, even if it was weird and a little witchy, but his priority was keeping them away from Patrick’s ire altogether.

            “It won’t work for anything else,” said witch. “Whoever gave them that gift ensured the magic would only serve them.”

            “I don’t like this,” said Bobby. “Lady, this don’t add up for squat. How do we know you’re not tricking (Y/N) to play and lose so that you and Patrick get a ton more years?”

            “I have my reasons,” said the woman, voice softer. She fiddled with her locket, and (Y/N) wondered what was within. “Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow.” She disappeared out the door.

            (Y/N) looked at Bobby and Dean. “Listen, I’m not happy about this—”

            “Don’t lie to me,” said Bobby. “You are damn happy about this.”

            “Yeah, okay, I am,” said (Y/N). “But you know I have to. And I’m happy because I want to help you guys.” They held out the list of ingredients. “Get Sam to help you with this.”

            “I can handle it,” protested Dean. He was pissed about the turn of events.

            “I don’t think you’re the age for digging up graves,” said (Y/N).

            Dean grumbled.

Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: Poker

            “What are you up, like thirteen years, Hesh?” said Patrick, looking at the old man across from him at the table. “What do you say we call it a day?”

            Hesh was surprised but smiled, pulling the chips towards him. “Thanks, Patrick.”

            Patrick glanced up. “Hesh here is gonna leave to see his granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah,” he said.

            Hesh turned in surprise to find a fifteen-year-old standing behind him.

            “Isn’t that right, Hesh?” said Patrick.

            “Thanks again, Patrick,” said Hesh, nodding and getting up.

            “Shalom, my friend, shalom,” said Patrick.

            “Congratulations,” said (Y/N) softly to him as he walked by.

            They didn’t approve of Patrick’s games, but they were glad that he’d let the old man go. For a nine-hundred-year-old witch with hundreds of years stored in the bank, thirteen wasn’t much to lose in one day. He’d gotten fifty from Dean, after all.

            (Y/N) looked at Patrick. “You let him go.”

            “I’m a nice guy,” said Patrick casually, shuffling. “Here on your own, kiddo?”

            “I want to win back Dean’s years,” said (Y/N) firmly.

            Patrick grinned, and (Y/N) knew he believed an easy mark stood before him. “Sit. Join the game.”

            (Y/N) sat down. Patrick began to shuffle, and (Y/N) watched him deal the cards.

 

l

 

            “I got your call,” said Sam. “We need ingredients for a spell?”

            Dean nodded. “Mrs. Patrick gave us a gift. We’re gonna trust it.”

            “So, get to digging,” said Bobby, gesturing to the grave in front of them.

            “Me?” said Sam.

            “Do we look like we got enough muscle to do that?” said Bobby.

            “Hey, I got muscles,” said Dean.

            “Dean, bending over with snap your back,” said Sam. He picked up a shovel. “(Y/N) getting other ingredients?” Dean and Bobby exchanged glances. Sam narrowed his eyes. “Dean. Bobby. Where is (Y/N)?”

            “…Getting an ingredient,” said Dean.

            “Where?” said Sam.

            “Well, we need Patrick’s DNA,” said Bobby. “And he’s always chewing that toothpick, so—”

            “Tell me you didn’t,” said Sam.

            “I didn’t like it either,” said Dean.

            Sam’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly where (Y/N) was.

 

l

 

            “You know, I like your spunk,” said Patrick as he and (Y/N)’s game begun. (Y/N) knew it would be more conversation than play. That was part of the game, wasn’t it? The “thrill” for Patrick. The people were interesting, not the game he won so often. “You’re smart, and you’re willing to sneak off from your hunter friends to play against a witch.” He tossed the toothpick down, and (Y/N) saw it.

            They kept their eyes on their cards. “What can I say? Can’t stand smug bastards,” said (Y/N) coolly.

            Patrick chuckled, unfazed by the insult. “I can tell a lot about someone by looking.”

            “What, is this nine-hundred years of experience or just a witch reading my mind?” sighed (Y/N). They kept their attitude, but they were curious to know if he could read their mind. If he could, they were screwed. If not, (Y/N) had a chance.

            “Reading your mind? No, not at all. That would be cheating,” scoffed Patrick. “No point taking the fun out of the game.”

            “Okay. So intuition,” said (Y/N). They raised their eyes from the chips and cards to Patrick. “What do you think about me?” They taunted him to start speaking, knowing he wanted to rattle them.

            Patrick grinned. “I think you have no idea what you’re doing.”

            “What told you that? My age? How perceptive,” said (Y/N), voice bored.

            “What told me that was the little pendant you keep around your neck,” said Patrick, pointing at it. “Something so small but a lot of magic packed into it.”

            (Y/N) glanced at him. “It’s a necklace.”

            No point in Patrick knowing his girlfriend had already told them it was magic. Now, (Y/N) wasn’t sure yet what to do with that information, but they’d process later. Honestly, they thought they should be shocked or confused that their parents, hunters, were willing to use magic to protect them, but (Y/N) was just…honored. Their parents were protecting them from beyond the grave.

            “No, it’s protection,” said Patrick. “Silver and spirit quartz. It packs a punch. Couldn’t even curse you earlier.” His grin split his face. “Not that it’ll protect you from losing. You said yes to the rules of the game.”

            “I did,” said (Y/N). “I don’t expect a necklace to protect me from that.” They placed a few more chips in. “Bet five.”

            “You didn’t even ask why the necklace tells me you have no idea what I’m doing,” said Patrick. He picked up a stack of chips. “I raise.” He put them in. “Don’t you want to know?” (Y/N) met his gaze, and Patrick smirked. “I’ll tell you. You are trying to be a tough little hunter, but here you are, holding magic around your neck, and you had no clue. That tells me you have no idea what you are, what you’re doing.”

            (Y/N) looked at Patrick. “I’m following in my parents’ footsteps. They protected me, and this necklace does now. That’s all I need to know.” They picked up the equal stack of chips. “I call.” It was daring, and Patrick raised a brow, impressed and entertained.

            “There’s the spunk I liked,” chuckled Patrick. “And Sam and Dean and Bobby wanted to bench you.” He tsked. “You’ve got more potential than that.” He grinned. “But, still, you might be brave, but I’m still gonna kick your ass into a nursing home.”

            “Keep trying the armchair-psychology,” said (Y/N). “I’m fifteen years old. I’m pretty sure I’ve thought way worse things about myself on the daily. Overanalyzing shit is a specialty of teenagers.”

            “Maybe. But I’m not the one who’s losing,” said Patrick, smirking.

            For now, thought (Y/N).

            The rounds continued, and the game of banter continued. Finally, as (Y/N) sat with Patrick, the witch woman entered the room. Patrick smiled at her and put his toothpick down again. Patrick and his girlfriend kissed, and (Y/N) swiped it. Patrick looked back at them.

            “Little break?” he said.

            (Y/N) took it.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) emerged from the bar backroom—sneaking it had been easy.

            “How’s it going in there?” asked Dean.

            “It’s going great,” lied (Y/N). “Do you have everything we need?”

            “Just witch DNA,” said Sam.

            “Oh, hi, Sam,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N),” said Sam in the tone of “we’re having words later.”

            “Here you go,” said (Y/N), holding out the toothpick. “Hopefully he didn’t switch it. Stay tuned.”

            “Keep him busy and be careful,” said Sam. “We’ll get this done as quick as we can.”

            “(Y/N). Don’t lose,” said Dean worriedly.

            “Don’t worry,” said (Y/N), lying through their teeth. They disappeared back inside the building.

            “They know poker, but I’m worried,” said Sam.

            “You’re telling me,” said Dean, frowning.

 

l

 

            Back in the game, (Y/N) and Patrick were in another game. Behind Patrick, his girlfriend, now introduced to them as “Lia,” stood watchfully. Patrick dealt another hand, and (Y/N) looked at their cards carefully. Hopefully, the spell would be finished soon, and they’d be done with this.

            “Question,” said Patrick, and (Y/N) glanced up at him. He pulled a toothpick from his pocket. “Is this what you meant to give the Winchesters?”

            Shit. He switched them. (Y/N)’s hand curled into a fist, and Patrick smirked.

            “The one you gave them never passed my lips,” said Patrick smugly. Behind him, Lia tensed and looked at (Y/N) worriedly, knowing just how Patrick would react to the teenager’s transgression against him. “Won’t do a scrap of good.” He tsked. “I don’t like cheating (Y/N).”

            “Didn’t realize that counted as cheating,” said (Y/N) casually. They were in deep shit, but it couldn’t get worse than whatever Patrick was going to do to them for this.

            Patrick’s eyes narrowed, and he lifted a hand. Curling it into a fist, Patrick watched in satisfaction as (Y/N) choked. They grabbed their throat as their gasps for breath grew more panicked. Their pendant bumped against their chest, warm, and (Y/N) pushed back from the table. Patrick’s face screwed with concentration, and (Y/N) coughed.

            Lia grabbed Patrick’s arm. “Stop it, Patrick! Let them go!”

            “They tried to kill us,” snapped Patrick.

            “They’re a child!” said Lia.

            “They’re a hunter,” said Patrick.

            “I did it!” she cried. “I gave them the spell!”

            Patrick’s concentration broke, and (Y/N) gasped for air as Patrick stared at Lia. “What?” he said, standing to face her. He cupped her face, and (Y/N) was surprised to hear true grief. “Why? Why would you do that?”

            “You know why,” replied Lia mournfully. She held her locket. “You know.”

            Patrick let go of her and stepped back. He looked from her to (Y/N), and they swallowed as they saw the dark, angry look in his gaze that came from mourning Lia’s betrayal and the impetus of it—whatever it was. Slowly, Patrick sat down. There was no smug overconfidence on his face now, it was only fury.

            “Keep…playing.” He spoke slowly, controlling each word as he focused all his anger into the game.

            Shit, shit, shit. Well, (Y/N) might die. Oh, well. They might as well go out playing the best game of poker they ever had.

 

l

 

            Sam continued to tear apart Patrick’s apartment in search of a source of DNA—a damn hair in a hairbrush—but found nothing. He was furious with Dean and Bobby for letting (Y/N) go and play, angry at (Y/N) for being stupid enough to volunteer themself, and scared to death that (Y/N) was going to lose so many years they died.

            “First witch I ever heard of didn’t spew bodily fluids all over the place,” grumbled Dean into the phone with Bobby.

            “Toothbrush, comb, anything!” said Bobby.

            “We’re trying!” said Sam and Dean.

 

l

 

            “Getting even bolder, I see,” said Patrick. He had some of his playfulness back, but he and (Y/N) both knew he was as serious as this game as he had ever had been about a game in his long life. “I mean, you’re betting enough, but you get bold when you like your hand. Overconfident teenager. You still have a lot to learn.” He put his cards down. “I fold.” He leaned forward. “Pair of ladies, I’m guessing.”

            (Y/N) pulled the chips to them. They looked at Patrick and flipped over a three and a five. Lia barely suppressed a smirk, and Patrick furrowed his brow for a moment.

            “Nice bluff,” he said, nodding. “If we had time, I could make a real player out of you. Teach you all sorts of tricks. You’ve got the potential.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N) calmly.

            Patrick glanced at Lia, who narrowed her eyes at him. Patrick smirked. “You have no idea. Pity we don’t have time.”

            “I do,” said (Y/N). They still had their chips.

            “Maybe. But I can’t say the same for Dean,” said Patrick, “pouting” in sympathy. “He’s gonna be dead soon.”

            (Y/N) looked up, startled.

            Patrick smirked. “And when I say ‘soon…’ ” he leaned forward. “I mean minutes.” The dark look in his eyes was enough to have (Y/N) scrambled to stand. Patrick raised a hand, curled it into a fist, and pulled down. (Y/N) was forced back into their seat. “The game’s not over till I say it is.” (Y/N) sat still. “Blinds,” barked Patrick, and they both threw in years. The game wasn’t over.

 

l

 

            “Sammy!” said Dean, and Sam ran into a room. “Wine glass.”

            Sam could’ve thanked god when he saw the glass smudged by lips on the side. “Good find.” He moved towards it.

            Dean groaned, doubled over, and fell to the ground. Sam whirled and ran to him.

            “Dean? Dean!”

 

l

 

            (Y/N) looked at their cards for only a moment before betting.

            “Still brazen but more decisive when you’re worried, aren’t you?” said Patrick, still goading them. “So emotional that you’re running on instinct. Well, it’ll help you one day. Or, it would have.” He didn’t intend to let them walk out the door. “This’ll be a real loss of potential.”

            “Quick talking and play,” said (Y/N). They looked him dead in the eye. “All-in.” They pushed their chips in. Lia sucked in her breath, staring at them worriedly as the child, that was all Lia could see, risked everything before her very eyes.

            Finally, (Y/N) got a reaction out of Patrick. He sighed. “Don’t do this, (Y/N).”

            “What’s the matter, Patrick?” (Y/N) leaned forward. “Play the game.”

            “There’s poker, and there’s suicide,” said Patrick.

            “Play,” hissed (Y/N), and their necklace was ice-cold around their neck.

            The witches’ exchanged glances, and Patrick sat back, staring into the intense eyes of a teenager centuries his junior but somehow staring with the bravery and fearlessness of someone thousands of years old.

            “Fine,” said Patrick coldly.

            He pushed chips in—equivalent to (Y/N)’s all-in. Honestly, (Y/N) thought they saw way more years than they were going to live, but they didn’t care. They wanted to take whatever he bet off him. The more the better.

            Patrick flipped over the river. An ace of spades, a four of hearts, a four of clubs, a seven of diamonds, and a nine of spades lay on the table. Patrick and (Y/N) stared at one another.

            Patrick broke eye-contact and flipped over his own ace of diamonds and ace of clubs. “I’m sorry, kids. Aces full.”

            (Y/N) stared at it, Patrick looked at them solemnly, and Lia’s hand went to her mouth. She wanted to look away, knowing what was going to happen to (Y/N).

            They looked at her and watched tears quiver in her eyes. “You’re crying,” they said, tilting their head. Patrick swallowed as he saw Lia’s grief. (Y/N) smiled at her. “You’re nice. Especially for a witch. Don’t worry. It’s okay.” They looked at Patrick. “You had a great hand.”

            Patrick shook his head. “I warned you it was suicide.” He reached for the chips.

            “Hey,” said (Y/N), and Patrick paused. “I said yours was great.” They leaned forward, and they flipped over their cards. Patrick and Lia’s eyes widened. “Just not as great as mine.” Their four of spades and four of diamonds faced the light.

            Patrick let out a breath and stared at the hand. Slowly, he began to nod. “Well-played. You know, that whole…angry act…very method.” He looked at (Y/N) long and hard. “Well, there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

            “Can I cash in some of these for Bobby?” asked (Y/N).

            “It won’t bring back his legs,” said Patrick. “That didn’t come from age.”

            (Y/N) frowned. They had thought they could help him… “Fine. Cash in fifty of these for Dean.” They pointed at the chips. “Please.”

            Patrick raised his glass. “With pleasure.”

            He had lost the game. He honored the terms. He held his hand out, and he murmured in old Irish. (Y/N) felt a shiver run down their spine as the magic hung in the air. The chips lit up with golden flames. (Y/N) watched them, and they quietly pushed that Dean get his years back, even if they had no control over it. The flames flickered and burned darker, turning to a violent vibrant violet. They died down, and Patrick and Lia looked at (Y/N).

            “Is that it?” said (Y/N). “It’s done?”

            “You got yourself a bunch of years,” said Patrick, gesturing to the pile that still remained.

            “Take them,” said (Y/N). “I’m fine with what I got.” They stood. “Besides, I’m young enough.”

            Patrick raised a brow. “Giving up your winnings?”

            “I got what I needed,” said (Y/N). “Can I go now?”

            “The game is over,” said Patrick.

            (Y/N) nodded and headed towards the door.

            “(Y/N),” said Patrick, and Lia glanced at him warningly as (Y/N) turned back. “Do try not to get killed too soon. You’re too interesting to lose now. It would be a real loss for us.”

            (Y/N) looked at him. “No offense, as exciting as this was, I’d rather not meet again.”

            Patrick chuckled. “Maybe. Maybe not. I look forward to another game if we do.”

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes and left.

 

l

 

            In the alley, (Y/N) called Dean frantically. They needed to know he was okay. Come on, come on, come on. He wasn’t picking up.

            “(Y/N).”

            (Y/N) turned around to see the impala down the street. Their eyes widened as the driver’s door and passenger’s door opened. Sam stood, and Dean got up. He was young again. He grinned and held out his arms, spinning.

            “How do I look?” he teased.

            “Your age,” said (Y/N), grinning in relief. They ran forward and hugged him. Dean caught them and chuckled. Sam smiled at them.

            “Idjits,” said Bobby, shaking his head fondly.

            “What happened in there?” asked Sam. “Dean collapsed; we didn’t have the DNA.”

            (Y/N) grinned.

 

l

 

            “No tricks—you actually beat that guy?” said Bobby, staring at (Y/N) in astonishment. Dean and Sam wore identical expressions.

            (Y/N) grinned. “Duh.”

            “How the hell?” said Dean.

            “Lucky,” said (Y/N), grinning. “And I played the player. I went all-in since he was used to me being overconfident, and I was just fine.” Maybe not just fine, but no need to worry them more.

            “You went all-in?!” said Dean and Sam in alarm.

            “I was fine,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “As soon as you’re old enough, you’re hustling,” said Dean, pointing at them.

            “Dean, that is not the lesson here,” said Sam.

            “It might be. Patrick said he’d play me again if we meet again,” said (Y/N).

            “No,” said Sam sternly.

            “I’m going to agree with Sam,” said Dean.

            “Relax, he’ll probably keep away from us,” said (Y/N). “We’re hunters.”

            “At least we all got our years,” said Bobby, sighing.

            “Right,” said Sam. He grabbed his coat.

            “Where are you going?” asked Dean.

            “Nowhere,” said Sam. Everyone raised a brow suspiciously. “Okay, fine, to get a booster shot.” Patrick’s little curse on him hadn’t gone away.

            Dean, Bobby, and (Y/N) grinned.

            “Don’t laugh,” grumbled Sam. “I’ll grab Indian food on the way back.”

            (Y/N) perked up. “I love Indian food.”

            “Consider it a late birthday present,” said Sam, smiling before he left.

 

l

 

            “Thanks, Sam,” said (Y/N), happily eating.

            “We might be hunters, but no reason not to celebrate,” said Sam, looking at them. They deserved a childhood.

            “You survived a whole year,” said Bobby. “And you took down a witch today.” He chuckled. “You got balls, kid.”

            “Someone here has to,” said (Y/N) teasingly.

            “Did your necklace end up helping you?” asked Dean curiously.

            “No, it was my skill,” said (Y/N). “You heard Lia—Patrick’s girlfriend—” (Y/N) saw their confusion “—it’s just minor protection from smaller bits of magic.”

            “Wait, what?” asked Sam.

            (Y/N) explained what Lia had revealed. “It turns out my parents were worried about me.” They smiled. “It’s kinda cool. Like they’re still here.” Still protecting me.

            “What a birthday present,” said Bobby. “Magic. Your parents must’ve been crazy hunters before settling down.”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N) fondly, smiling. They held their necklace tightly. They loved it even more now.

Chapter 10: Chapter Ten: Dr. Sexy, MD

            “What are you watching?” (Y/N) stared at the TV where a doctor and nurse were making out intensely.

            “It’s a hospital show,” said Dean, eyes not leaving the TV. “ ‘Dr. Sexy, MD.’ I think it’s based on a book.”

            “When did you hit menopause?” said Sam, chuckling.

            Dean cleared his throat. “It’s called channel-surfing.” He switched the TV off. “You ready?”

            “Are you?” asked Sam, putting on his suit jacket. It was an FBI day, which meant no work for (Y/N) (boredom).

            “Yep,” said Dean. “(Y/N)—”

            “I’ll watch motel room,” said (Y/N).

            “And no leaving this time,” said Sam. They had a bad habit of sneaking out occasionally. It was going to get them into trouble soon enough.

            “Yeah, yeah,” said (Y/N).

 

l

 

            “Do you think the Incredible Hulk actually killed this woman’s husband?” asked (Y/N), unloading and reloading a gun in complete boredom.

            Dean was back in regular clothes and looking through online articles. “No clue, but it’s a weird thing to say, so it’s a case for us.”

            “Wonder if Sam’ll find anything,” said (Y/N).

            As if on cue, the door opened, and Sam entered. (Y/N) looked up with Dean.

            “Find anything?” asked Dean.

            “Well, uh, I saw the house,” said Sam.

            “And?” asked (Y/N), seeing his strange expression.

            “And there is a giant eight-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be,” said Sam. “Almost like…”

            “A hulk-sized hole,” said Dean.

            “Maybe,” sighed Sam. That would be weird—and a bit out of their wheelhouse. “What do you got?”

            “Well, it turns out Bill Randolph had quite the temper,” said Dean. “He’s got two counts of spousal battery, beer brawls, and court-ordered anger-management sessions. You might say you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

            “Sounds like karma got him.” (Y/N) frowned. “Do any monsters do that?”

            Sam grimaced and chuckled bitterly. “Just desserts? Oh, yeah, it makes sense.”

            “Huh? How does it make sense?” Dean wasn’t making a connection yet.

            “Well, I found something else at the crime scene,” said Sam. He held up shiny foil. “Candy wrappers. Lots of ‘em. Just desserts, sweet tooth…”

            “Screwing with people before you kill them. We’re dealing with the Trickster, aren’t we?” said Dean.

            “Sure looks like it,” said Sam.

            “The Trickster?” repeated (Y/N). “What’s that?”

            Sam and Dean groaned.

            “The Trickster likes to play practical jokes on people that end up in their deaths,” explained Sam. “He sent frat boys who hazed other boys to be probed by aliens, got a scientist who did cruel animal testing killed by an alligator, and—”

            “Made Sam relive a day over-and-over where I got killed like a cartoon character,” grumbled Dean.

            “Yikes,” said (Y/N). “But he’s still alive?”

            “He’s an immortal demigod,” said Sam. “He creates things out of thin air. Kinda difficult to deal with.”

            “Wow,” said (Y/N).

            “Been wanting to gank that mother since Mystery Spot,” said Dean.

            “Well…” Sam hesitated. “I’ve been thinking.”

            “What?” said Dean, furrowing his brow.

            “Are we sure we want to kill him?” asked Sam.

            “Son of a bitch didn’t think twice about icing me—a thousand times,” said Dean.

            “No. I know.” Sam had hated that day. “I-I mean, I’m just saying…”

            “What do we do if we don’t kill him? He’s kinda killing people. Bad people, but, you know, people,” said (Y/N). Honestly, if an abusive person or two or three got what was coming to them, (Y/N) didn’t really mind, but it was technically their duty as a hunter to handle monsters.

            “Talk to him,” said Sam.

            “What?” said Dean incredulously.

            “Think about it,” said Sam before the others could jump at him. “He’s one of the most powerful creatures we’ve ever met. Maybe we can use him.”

            “For what?” asked Dean.

            “Okay, Trickster’s like a-like a Hugh Hefner type, right?” said Sam. “Wine, women, song. Maybe he doesn’t want the party to end. I mean, maybe he hates this ‘angels and demons’ stuff as much as we do. Maybe he’ll help us.”

            “You’re serious?” said Dean.

            “Work with the Trickster?” repeated (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said Sam.

            “A bloody, violent monster,” said Dean. “And you want to be Facebook friends with him? Nice, Sammy.”

            “It’s not the worst idea,” said (Y/N). “The world is ending. We need all the help we can get.” They shrugged. “And we can kill him if he doesn’t cooperate, right?”

            Sam gestured to (Y/N) with emphatic agreement, and Dean sighed with resignation.

            “How are we gonna find this guy anyway?” he asked.

            “Well, he never takes just one victim, right?” said Sam. “He’ll show.”

            “I’ll make a stake,” said Dean. Might as well have more weapons.

            “I’ll listen to the police scanner,” said Sam.

            “I’ll do more of nothing,” grumbled (Y/N).

 

l

 

            “Uh, Dispatch?” Finally, after hours of waiting, a confused voice came over the police scanner. “I got a possibly One-Eighty-Seven out here at the old paper mill on Route 6.”

            “Hey,” said Sam, getting Dean and (Y/N)’s attention.

            “Roger that,” said Dispatch. “What are you looking at, son?”

            “Honestly, Walt, I wouldn’t even know how to begin to describe what I’m seeing. Just, um, send everybody,” said the confused, and slightly frightened, voice of the police officer.

            Dean furrowed his brow. “That sounds weird.”

            “Regular weird or our weird?” asked (Y/N).

            “Let’s check it out,” said Sam.

 

l

 

            The three hunters got out of the impala and looked around. Strangely, there were no police cars there yet. (Y/N) frowned.

            “There was a murder here,” said Dean, referring to the one-eighty-seven referenced in the call. “But there’s no police cars, there’s nobody. How does that look to you?”

            “Crappy,” said Sam.

            “Suspicious as hell,” said (Y/N).

            Dean nodded, opened the trunk, and handed stakes to each person. They headed towards the door of the paper mill. They paused, Dean took ahold of the doorknob, and he wrenched it open. The three rushed through…

            And they entered a hospital.

            Sam and Dean wore white doctor’s coats, and (Y/N) wore purple nurse scrubs. Faint, pleasant music played from nowhere, and a front desk where doctors and nurses crowded stood in front of them.

            “What the hell?” said Dean.

            “This is weird,” said (Y/N). Nervously, they went to fiddle with their necklace, but they found it missing. Instantly, they were even more on edge. They felt naked and unprotected without it.

            “Doctor,” greeted a pretty doctor woman as she walked by.

            “Doctor,” said the pretty nurse behind her.

            “ ‘Doctor?’ ” repeated Sam.

            Dean turned, opened the door they’d come through, and found a janitor’s office—complete with two nurses making out. He closed the door quickly.

            “Watch out, doctor incoming,” said (Y/N). They could not keep this act up.

            The doctor walked up to Sam, and he cleared his throat. “Doctor,” he greeted.

            Slap! She hit him across the face. “Seriously?”

            “What?” said Sam, holding his cheek.

            “Seriously, you’re brilliant, you know that?” said the doctor. “And a coward. You’re a brilliant coward.”

            “Uh…What are you talking about?” said Sam awkwardly while Dean and (Y/N) stared.

            The doctor slapped him dramatically again. “As if you don’t know.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

            “Okay, where are we?” said (Y/N).

            “I don’t believe it,” said Dean, staring after the doctor.

            “What?” said Sam.

            “That was Dr. Piccolo,” said Dean.

            “Who?” said Sam.

            “Dr. Ellen Piccolo,” said Dean. “The sexy-yet-earnest doctor at…” He trailed off as he saw a sign telling them what hospital they were in. “Seattle Mercy Hospital.”

            “Uh, Dean, what the hell are you talking about?” said Sam.

            “We’re in the show,” said (Y/N). “We’re in Dean’s medical drama show.”

            “It’s not my show, it’s ‘Dr. Sexy, MD,’ ” grumbled Dean.

            “No way,” said (Y/N), but they knew it was true.

            “Nurse.”

            (Y/N) stiffened anxiously as someone walked up to them. “Uh, yes?”

            “You’re such an inspiration,” said the nurse, looking at (Y/N). “So young but using your genius to help others. So much lies on your shoulders.” After those dramatic words, she disappeared.

            (Y/N) stared. “What am I, the stereotypical prodigy?”

            “What other role would you fit? A little young for a doctor,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) grimaced. “This is better than patient, I guess. But still, what the hell?”

            “I don’t know,” said Sam.

            “No, seriously, I agree with (Y/N), what the hell?” said Dean.

            “I don’t know,” repeated Sam.

            “One theory. Any theory,” said Dean.

            “Uh, the Trickster trapped us in TV land,” said Sam.

            “That’s your theory? That’s stupid,” said Dean.

            “I’m sorry, but it’s not stupid if we’re literally in a TV show,” said (Y/N), gesturing around them.

            “Yeah, but TV land isn’t TV land,” said Dean. “I mean, there’s actors and lights and crew members. You know? This looks real.”

            “It can’t be,” said Sam. “How can this possibly be real?”

            “Trickster tricks?” said (Y/N). “You said he was powerful.”

            “There goes Dr. Wang, the sexy-but-arrogant heart surgeon,” said Dean, a grin appearing on his face. He looked at a sad man sitting on a cot at the end of the hall. “And there’s Johnny Drake. Oh, he’s not even alive. He’s a ghost in the mind of…” A doctor went out to Johnny and comforted him. “Of her, the sexy-but-neurotic doctor over there.”

            “What, are they all sexy?” said (Y/N) sarcastically.

            “So this show has ghosts?” Sam scoffed. “Why?”

            “I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “It is compelling.”

            “I thought you said you aren’t a fan,” teased Sam.

            “He’s a liar,” said (Y/N), grinning.

            “I’m not.” Sam and (Y/N) stared at Dean, unconvinced. “I’m not.” He huffed and looked away. “Oh boy.” Dean stared.

            “What?” said Sam.

            “It’s him.” Dean stared at a man with a beard and longer hair walking down the hall. “It’s him. It’s Dr. Sexy.” He looked giddy.

            Bisexual-ass panic, thought (Y/N).

            “Doctor.” Dr. Sexy confronted Dean.

            “Doctor,” said Dean, shyly ducking his head, unable to make eye-contact with how excited and nervous he was.

            Wow, thought (Y/N) incredulously. There was a lot of repression if Dean wasn’t aware of what type of thoughts provoked that result.”

            “Doctor,” Dr. Sexy greeted Sam.

            Sam awkwardly nodded, and Dean nudged him. Sam sighed and said, “Doctor.”

            “Nurse.” Dr. Sexy looked at (Y/N).

            “Doctor?” said (Y/N) awkwardly.

            Dr. Sexy looked back to Dean. “You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to do the experimental face transplant on Mrs. Blaine?” he questioned.

            Dean floundered for an answer. “One reason? Sure.” He cleared his throat nervously and looked down. Suddenly, he frowned and looked back up. Abruptly, he shoved Dr. Sexy into the wall. “You’re not Dr. Sexy.”

            “You’re crazy,” said Dr. Sexy.

            “Really?” Dean was no longer nervous. “Cause I swore part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots, not tennis shoes.”

            “Yeah, you’re not a fan,” scoffed Sam, amused.

            That’s a lot of thought about what makes a guy sexy, thought (Y/N), grinning.

            “It’s a guilty pleasure,” huffed Dean.

            “Suuuure,” said (Y/N).

            “Call security,” said Dr. Sexy.

            “Yeah, go ahead, pal,” said Dean. “See, we know what you are.” Abruptly, everyone froze, the tv-show was put on pause. Dean frowned.

            Dr. Sexy’s face melted into that of a man with short, strawberry-blonde hair. He grinned. “You guys are getting better.” The Trickster had arrived.

            “Get us the hell out of here,” said Dean forcefully.

            “Or what?” said the Trickster. He pushed Dean away easily, much stronger. “Don’t see your wooden stakes, big guy.”

            “That was you on the police scanner, right?” said Sam, narrowing his eyes. “This is a trick.”

            “Helloooo?” teased the Trickster. He gestured to himself. “Trickster?” He grinned. “Come on. I heard you two yahoos were in town, and I heard you had a new addition to the team! I gotta meet them! How could I resist?”

            “I’m fine not meeting you,” said (Y/N).

            “Boo, no fun,” said the Trickster. “And you could be so much fun!” He moved past Dean, but Dean moved back, and Sam moved over so that (Y/N) was blocked slightly. “Aw, I just want to say hi to the kiddo.”

            “I can promise you, this is enough of a ‘hi,’ ” said (Y/N), gesturing around them.

            “You like it?” The Trickster grinned. “It’s all homemade. My own sets, my own actors. Call it my own little idiot box.”

            “How do we get out?” demanded Dean.

            “That, my friend, is the sixty-four dollar question,” said the Trickster.

            “Whatever,” said Sam. “We just-We need to talk to you. We need your help.”

            “Hmm…” The Trickster pretended to think. “Let me guess. You three muttonheads broke the world, and you want me to sweep up your mess?”

            “Please,” said Sam. “Just five minutes. Hear us out.”

            “Sure,” said the Trickster. “Tell you what. Survive the next twenty-four hours, we’ll talk.”

            “Survive what?” said (Y/N).

            “The game,” said the Trickster, grinning madly.

            “What game?” said Dean.

            “You’re in it.” The Trickster winked.

            “How do we play?” sighed Dean, irritated with the vagueness.

            “You’re playing it,” said the Trickster.

            “What are the rules?” said Dean, gritting his teeth.

            The Trickster wiggled his eyebrows and disapepraed.

            “Son of a bitch,” said Dean.

            “I’m getting why you want to kill him,” said (Y/N) as the TV show began to “play” again.

            “By the way?” said Dean, looking at Sam. “Talking to monsters? Hell of a plan.”

            “Just…what do we do now?” said Sam, focusing on the giant issue at hand: being stuck in the Trickster’s game.

            “You know what I’m doing? I’m leaving,” said Dean.

            “Good plan. Not even that interesting a show,” said (Y/N).

            “It’s compelling,” protested Dean.

            Suddenly, Dr. Piccolo appeared and swung at Sam. He blocked her slap.

            “Lady, what the hell?” he said.

            “You are a brilliant, brilliant—”

            “Yeah, a coward,” interrupted Sam. “You already said that. But I got news for you. I am not a doctor.”

            Dr. Piccolo gasped. “Don’t say that. You are the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met, and I have met plenty. So that girl died on your table.”

            “Oh my god,” said (Y/N) in disbelief at the melodramatic turn.

            “It wasn’t your fault,” said Dr. Piccolo. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.”

            Sam stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re saying to me.”

            “You’re afraid.” Dr. Piccolo shook her head sadly. “You’re afraid to operate again, and you’re afraid to love.” She stomped away with those dramatic words.

            “It’s definitely a soap-opera,” said (Y/N), watching her go.

            “We’re getting out of here,” grumbled Sam, taking a few steps forward.

            “Nurse,” said a woman, appearing from a room.

            (Y/N) sighed. “Yes?” they snapped.

            “I wanted to apologize. I thought because of your age you would be incompetent and idiotic,” said the woman. “My son’s life was so important, and I didn’t trust you.” Tears were in her eyes, and she grabbed their hands. “But you saved his life. You diagnosed him when no one else saw what was wrong. Thank you. Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome?” said (Y/N).

            “And he wants to thank you,” said the woman.

            “Uh…he doesn’t need to. It’s just my job,” said (Y/N), trying to get out of the conversation.

            “He wants to ask you out—”

            “Oh, wow, no thanks,” said (Y/N), pulling their hands away.

            “Yeah, no, nope,” said Dean, steering (Y/N) away protectively while Sam looked at the woman in surprise and grimaced at the melodrama of it all.

            The woman called after them, “I’d heard you were afraid to be young! I’m so sorry for you. I hope you heal!”

            “I don’t like the Trickster,” said (Y/N) firmly.

            “No dating,” said Dean.

            “You’re not in charge of that,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes. “Not like I’ve got the time, anyways.”

            “Doctor?”

            Dean groaned as someone talked to him. “Yes?” His tone was irritated.

            “My wife needs that face transplant,” said the man.

            “Okay. You know what, pal?” said Dean, over the Trickster’s game. “None of this is real, okay? And your wife doesn’t need jack squat. Okay?” He turned and walked away. Sam and (Y/N) quickly followed.

            “Hey, Doctor!” said the man.

            Bang!

            Sam and (Y/N) jumped and turned. The man ran off, and Dean stumbled as blood bled from his wound.

            “Real!” he groaned. “It’s real!”

            He collapsed, and Sam caught him.

            “No, no, no,” he said. “Hey! We need a doctor!”

            “…Sam,” said (Y/N). “You are the doctor.”

            Sam stared, and Dean groaned, knowing this wasn’t going to end well.

Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven: Trickster's Game

            Dean stared at the floor as he lay on the surgery table, bloody back exposed. (Y/N) stared at their gloved hands and tugged at the surgical mask around their face. Sam stared at Dean, confused about how to proceed as the operating surgeon. Awkwardly, he patted cotton over the wound to staunch some of the bleeding.

            “BP is eighty over fifty and dropping,” warned a nurse.

            Sam nodded despite having no idea what that really meant other than “bad.”

            “Doctor?” said another nurse, looking at Sam.

            “Sam, you’ve got to do something,” whispered (Y/N).

            “Come on,” said Dean, grimacing.

            “I don’t know how to use any of this crap,” whispered Sam as he stared at the strange devices people offered to him.

            “Figure it out!” said Dean.

            “Ask for something else then. You’re in charge,” said (Y/N). They looked outside the room and saw two people making out. “And it’s not like any of these people are normal.”

            “Sam! Come on, I’m waiting!” said Dean.

            “Okay, okay. Um, I need a…” Sam cleared his throat. “Penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey.” Everyone stared at him.

            “Stat!” shouted (Y/N). That scared the nurses into moving.

            Finally, when Sam had his supplies, he got to “operating” and properly handled Dean’s wound as a hunter, not a doctor. And the entire time, Dr. Piccolo stood at the window, tears in her eyes, mouthing “I love you.”

            This place is so weird, thought (Y/N).

            “Okay. We’re done,” said Sam.

            “What now?” asked (Y/N).

            The lights began to flash, and they looked around. Sam frowned as indistinct voices began to shout and clamor. Dean lifted his head.

            “What the—”

            Back in their regular clothes, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) stood on platforms in a gameshow atmosphere. They were locked in place with buttons in front of them and a lever on the ground. A man appeared from a door behind them to applause.

            “Let’s play Nut Cracker!” he said in Japanese. He pumped the air with his fist.

            “We’re on a gameshow?” said (Y/N) incredulously.

            “What the hell?” said Dean. And he had thought the last one was weird.

            “Sam Winchester!” said the host. He cleared his throat and read in Japanese, “What was the name of the demon you chose over your own brother?” He pointed at Sam.

            “What? Uh…” Sam looked at Dean and (Y/N) helplessly, and the timer behind him began to count down. “What am I supposed to say?”

            “You think I know?” said Dean.

            “He said ‘akuma,’ which means ‘demon,’ but that’s all I know,” said (Y/N).

            “You know Japanese?” said Dean.

            “I know anime,” corrected (Y/N).

            Sam tried to speak to the host. “I don’t-I don’t understand, uh, Japanese.”

            The host repeated his question, and the two women, dressed in devil horns, giggled.

            “Is he screwing with me?” said Sam.

            “The Trickster definitely is,” said (Y/N) unhelpfully.

            “I-I-I can’t speak Japanese,” said Sam.

            The alarm sounded; time was up.

            The host tutted. “The answer is…Ruby!” The audience groaned, and the girls pouted. “I’m sorry, Sam Winchester.”

            “Sorry? Sorry for what?” said Sam.

            The host covered his mouth and laughed.

            “Dean,” said Sam worriedly.

            (Y/N) cleared their throat. “Good luck, Sam.” They knew what was coming.

            “What—OW!” The level flew up and hit Sam’s…well, it cracked Sam’s nuts.

            “Nut Cracker!” shouted the host, and Dean covered his mouth as Sam groaned and doubled over in pain.

            “Sam?” said Dean, eyes wide.

            Sam groaned.

            “Chikato-san?” said one of the girls.

            “Hai?” Chikato, the host, walked over to her. She held up a package of snacks and began giving an advertisement to the audience with him.

            Suddenly, a banging echoed to the game, and lights flashed at the entryway the host had come through. Dean groaned.

            “Now what?” he said.

            The doors opened, and Castiel walked through, looking around in confusion.

            “Cas?” said Dean.

            “Is this another trick?” said Sam.

            “Welcome to the show,” said (Y/N) sarcastically.

            “It’s me. What are you doing here?” said Castiel, looking at them.

            “Us? What are you doing here?” asked Dean.

            “Looking for you. You’ve been missing for days,” said Castiel.

            “Get us the hell out of here, then,” said Sam.

            “Please,” agreed (Y/N).

            The audience groaned as Castiel approached to touch them each and fly them away. Before he could get to them, he glitched and disappeared, just as the Trickster had.

            “Cas!” exclaimed Dean.

            “Shit,” said (Y/N).

            “No, no, no, no,” scolded Chikato. “Mr. Trickster does not like pretty-boy angels.” He cleared his throat and took out another cue-card with a question. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

            How the hell does he know my last name? They had barely used it since their parents died. Literally, they had only told Sam, Dean, and Bobby it.

            “Do you know the real reason your parents died as a seal?” asked Chikato in Japanese.

            (Y/N) stared, no clue about what he was saying.

            “Countdown!” said Chikato.

            “What do I do? I don’t want to get hit!” said (Y/N).

            “Will it even hurt?” asked Dean.

            “Anything like that will hurt,” shot back (Y/N).

            “J-Just—Wait,” said Sam.

            “What?” said (Y/N).

            “I played a doctor,” said Sam. “(Y/N), you acted as a nurse.”

            “Huh?” said Dean.

            “In ‘Dr. Sexy,’ I played a doctor. I operated,” said Sam.

            “Explain faster!” said (Y/N), watching the countdown.

            “So, I played the role the Trickster wanted me to play,” said Sam. “M-Maybe we just have to go along with it.

            “Go along with what?” said Dean.

            “With the game. I mean, we’re on a gameshow, right?” said Sam. “So just answer the question.”

            “In Japanese?!” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah!” said Sam.

            “I don’t know Japanese!” said (Y/N).

            “Try,” said Sam.

            “Shit,” said (Y/N) again, pressing the button right before the countdown finished. The siren blared, (Y/N) grimaced, and everyone looked at them. Pretending they could speak Japanese, they said, “The answer is…No?” It came out “The answer is…Iie?”

            Chikato consulted his card, and (Y/N) tensed. Finally, he nodded and began to cheer. “(Y/N) (L/N)—Nut Cracker Champion!”

            “How did you do that?” said Dean, staring at them.

            “I have no idea; I thought I was speaking English,” said (Y/N), relieved.

            “So, that’s it. We play our roles; we survive,” said Sam.

            “Yeah. Play our roles for how long?” said Dean.

            Everyone grimaced. “Good question,” said Sam.

 

l

 

            A woman performed yoga by a lake. “I’ve got genital herpes.”

            An old man sat on a couch. I’ve got genital herpes.”

            Sam shot a basketball into a hoop and turned to face the camera. “Seriously?”

            Dean jogged passed him. “Hey, you’re the one who said to play our roles.”

            “Where’s (Y/N)?” said Sam.

            “Too inappropriate for a kid,” said Dean. “They don’t fit the story. Hurry up so we get back to them. So, uh…”

            Sam grimaced. “Yeah. Right.” Dean clapped him on the back, and Sam put his hands on his hips. “I’ve got…genital herpes.”

            The woman doing yoga sat in another pose. “I tried to be responsible.”

            “Did I try,” said the old man.

            Sam glared at the camera. “But now I take twice-daily herpexia to reduce my chances of passing it on.”

            “Ask your doctor about taking herpexia,” said the yoga woman.

            Dean’s voiceover appeared while joyful videos of the woman, the old couple, and Sam played. “Patients should always consult with a physician before using herpexia. Possible side effects include headache, diarrhea, permanent erectile disfunction, thoughts of suicide, and nausea.”

            “I’m doing all I can to slightly lessen the spread of…genital herpes,” sighed Sam. “And that’s a good thing.”

 

l

 

            (Y/N) sat across from Sam and Dean at a dinner table, the lights dim. “Oh, you guys are back.”

            “Where’d you go?” asked Dean instantly.

            “Dunno. I just…paused for a minute or two,” said (Y/N). “It was weird. I guess wasn’t right for the role.”

            “Yeah…let’s not talk about it,” said Sam.

            “What’s this?” said Dean, looking around.

            (Y/N) groaned. “It looks like the night I came out to my parents. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to do.” They gestured to Sam and Dean. “Let’s get it over with.”

            “Okay,” said Sam, clearing his throat. “What did you want to tell us?”

            “You know you can tell us anything,” said Dean, the words coming out of nowhere, but they were playing the roles correctly.

            “…I’m not—I’m not your (̸̡̧̦͖̩_̡̨̛̬̖̜͑̔ͤ̎̈́̒ͯͣ̚_̶̢̡̙̹̮̪̝̹̖̠̳̍̓̓̍̍͛̽͊̍̓̅̃ͮ͑ͯ̃͌ͯ͌͢͝͠͠͠ͅͅ-̛͖̝̀̎̔̌͊_-̸̶̵̢̨̡̛͍͍͇̹̪͎̯̻̲̖̭̝̪̟̭̑ͯ͌̄ͯͦ̆ͮ̎ͦ͛͒͗̄͌̉̐͒̓̾ͥͥ̚͢͝_̳͚̮̳́ͫ̐̂̽̿͜)͝,” said (Y/N). Thankfully, the words glitched to everyone’s ears. Okay, so the Trickster can at least respect my identity enough to not make me out myself like that. They managed to relax a little. “I’m…nonbinary. I just—I don’t feel like a…” They trailed off and gestured vaguely. They looked down at their hands and swallowed.

            “That’s okay,” said Sam. “We just want you to be happy.”

            “And it doesn’t change who you are,” said Dean. “Who cares about that stuff, anyways?”

            (Y/N) relaxed and smiled at them. “Thank you…You have no idea what that means.”

            “Whatever you need, we’re here to support you,” said Sam.

            “Always,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) stood, circled the table, and hugged them. They pretended for a moment they ere hugging their parents like they had when they really came out.

 

l

 

            “ ‘Supernatural’ is filmed before a live audience,” said Dean’s voice as a camera zoomed in on a cheerful motel.

            Within, Dean shut a fridge door full of sandwich ingredients. The audience applauded as they saw him, and Dean grinned at a giant sandwich he’d made. “I’m gonna need a bigger mouth,” he decided, and the audience laughed.

            The door of the motel opened, and Sam and (Y/N) appeared. More applause played.

            “Hey, there, Sam, (Y/N),” said Dean, grinning. “What’s happening?”

            “Oh, nothing,” said Sam. “Um…just the end of the world.” The pun was stupid, but the laugh track played anyway.

            (Y/N) looked at the sandwich. “You’re gonna need a bigger mouth,” they said.

            The laugh track played, and Dean gestured at them in agreement.

            “Hey, uh, have you done your research yet?” asked Sam.

            Dean coughed awkwardly and glanced away. “Oh, yeah,” he said, lying through his teeth obviously. “All kinds of research. All night.”

            “Yeah? Huh.” Sam didn’t believe it.

            The audience oohed as the bathroom door opened and a woman in her underwear walked out.

            “Oh, Dean,” she said. “We have some more ‘research’ to do.”

            The audience oohed.

            “Dean,” said Sam, crossing his arms, and the audience laughed at Dean getting caught.

            “Son of a bitch,” said Dean.

            The audience cheered as the opening sequence played for “Supernatural.” Cheerful, jaunty piano played. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) investigated in the dark, bumped into one another, jumped, and then laughed. They found ghosts that looked like bedsheets, laughed all the time, and had silly, scooby-doo like adventures instead of true danger. They rode on a bicycle together down a sunny street, played football, and generally had a wonderful time.

            “We now return to ‘Supernatural,’ ” said Dean’s voice.

            “Son of a bitch,” said Dean again.

            Sam grimaced once they were back. “I am really, really, very sorry. But…” he cleared his throat and guided the woman to the door. “We’ve got some work to do.”

            “But we did do work. In depth,” she said, winking at Dean as she passed.

            “Ew,” said (Y/N), and the laugh track played.

            Sam shut the door securely.

            “How long do we have to keep doing this?” said Dean through a strained smile.

            “I don’t know,” said Sam with the same smile.

            The cheers and applause of the audience continued.

            “Maybe forever?” said Sam.

            “I don’t want to die in here,” said (Y/N) with a terse smile, and the audience laughed.

            “How is that funny?” said Dean incredulously, but the laughter continued. “Vultures.”

            The door swung open, and Castiel stumbled in, face cut and bleeding. The audience cheered and clapped at his entrance.

            “You okay?” said Dean quickly.

            “I don’t have much time,” said Castiel.

            “What happened?” said Sam.

            “I got out,” said Castiel.

            “From where?” asked (Y/N).

            “Listen to me. Something is not right,” said Castiel. “This thing is much more powerful than it should be.”

            “What thing, the Trickster?” said Dean.

            “If it is a trickster,” said Castiel ominously.

            “What do you mean?” said Sam.

            Castiel’s body flung itself backwards into the wall, and he hit the ground. The audience gasped, and the Trickster ran in through the open door.

            “Hello!” he said dramatically, and the audience clapped. “Thank you!”

            Castiel pushed himself up, but duct tape covered his mouth. He stared at the Trickster.

            “Hi, Castiel,” greeted the Trickster brightly.

            Castiel just stared, and (Y/N) saw it was recognition. The Trickster waved a hand, and Castiel disappeared.

            He knows the Trickster? thought (Y/N). “You know him?”

            “Where did you just send him?” demanded Dean forcefully.

            “Relax. He’ll live,” said the Trickster casually. “Maybe.”

            “I’m done with the monkey dance, okay?” snapped Dean as the laugh track played. “We get it.”

            “Yeah? Get what, hotshot?” said the Trickster snarkily.

            “Playing our roles, right? That’s your game?” said Dean.

            “That’s half the game,” said the Trickster.

            “What’s the other half?” demanded (Y/N).

            “Those two have to play their roles out there,” said the Trickster, waving a hand.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Dean.

            “You know,” said the Trickster. “Sam, starring as Lucifer. Dean, starring as Michael. Your celebrity deathmatch. Play your roles.” He looked at (Y/N). “No starring role for you yet. You should work on that.”

            “I’m just fine, thanks,” snapped (Y/N).

            “You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?” exclaimed Sam. He definitely wasn’t going to be able to get the Trickster on their side, then.

            “Hells, yeah,” said the Trickster. “Let’s light this candle!”

            “We do that, the world will end,” snapped Sam.

            “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” said the Trickster, looking at him. “Who popped Lucifer out of the box, huh? Look, it’s started. You started it. It can’t be stopped. So, let’s get it over with.”

            “Heaven or Hell—which side you on?” demanded Dean.

            “I’m not on either side,” said the Trickster.

            “Yeah, right,” scoffed (Y/N). “You just want indiscriminate death and destruction?” That’s a big word, they thought.

            “I want this to get a move on and finish,” said the Trickster.

            “You’re grabbing ankle for either Michael or Lucifer,” said Dean. “So who is it?”

            The Trickster took a step forward. “You listen to me, you arrogant dick. I don’t work for either of those S.O.Bs, believe me.”

            “Hm.” Dean smirked. “You’re somebody’s bitch.”

            The Trickster grabbed Dean and shoved him into the wall. “Don’t you ever, ever presume to know what I am.” This was true anger, not a show, not anything. He held Dean to the wall with a hand. “Now, listen very closely. Here’s what going to happen.” He looked warningly at Sam and (Y/N), who tensed. “You’re gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the role that destiny has chosen for you.”

            “And if they don’t?” snapped (Y/N).

            The Trickster smirked. “Then you’ll stay here in TV land…forever. Three hundred channels and, uh, nothing’s on.” He snapped his fingers.

Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve: Gabriel

            The Trickster snapped, and the scene changed. A body lay on the ground, dead with a bloody wound in its stomach. People took pictures of the crime scene, and a moon hung high in the sky. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) stood with sunglasses on the side of the scene.

            “Oh, come on,” complained Dean.

            “What do you think?” An officer walked up to them.

            Dean whirled on him. “What do I think? I think go screw yourself, that’s what I think.”

            The officer frowned, and Sam awkwardly cleared his throat. “Can you give us a sec, please? Thanks.” He turned Dean away. “You’ve got to calm down.”

            “Calm down?” snapped Dean. “I am wearing sunglasses at night. You know who does that? No-talent douchebags.” Sam and (Y/N) had to nod in agreement. “I hate this game. I hate that we’re in a procedural cop show. And you want to know why? Because I hate procedural cop shows. There’s like three hundred of them on television. They’re all the freakin’ same. It’s like, ‘Oooh, a plane crashed here!’ Oh, shut up!”

            “Hey,” said (Y/N), having tuned out from Dean’s venting. “There’s someone with a sweet tooth over there.” A man was sucking on a lollipop as he worked.

            Dean turned to follow their gaze. “Think that’s him?”

            “Follow my lead,” said Sam, straightening. He put on his sunglasses, and (Y/N) and Dean followed suit. They walked towards the crime scene, examining the body.

            “Yeah…” said (Y/N), staring at it as if they understood what was happening. “What do we got?”

            The man with the lollipop looked at his report. “Well, apart from the ligature marks around his neck, he has what appears to be a roll of quarters jammed down his throat.”

            “Put his money where his mouth is,” said (Y/N). “That’s for sure.”

            “Well, I say…jackpot,” said Sam with some terrible acting.

            The man gestured to the blood on the body’s abdomen. “There was a stab wound to the lower abdomen there.”

            Dean poked the body with a stick, dramatically took his sunglasses off, and said, “Well, I say…no guts, no glory.” He took the stick and jammed it through the man’s chest as he chuckled at the puns. The man cried out and fell back, bleeding.

            Behind the group, a man chuckled and laughed. They turned, and an officer’s face melted into that of the Trickster.

            “You got the wrong guy, idiot!” laughed the Trickster.

            “Did we?” said (Y/N).

            Sam shoved a stake through the Trickster’s back. They had tricked him. The entire park around them glitched, and they appeared back in the abandoned paper mill they’d originally tried to walk into. The body of the Trickster lay in front of them. They looked at one another. Were they out?

            (Y/N) touched their necklace, glad to feel its familiar cool sides. They hoped they were out.

 

l

 

            “I’m worried,” said Dean, finishing brushing his teeth in the motel.

            (Y/N) rinsed their toothbrush in the sink. “Cas?”

            “Yeah. That SOB actually hurt him,” said Dean. “And where is he?” He turned and headed into the room. He frowned. “Sam?”

            (Y/N) poked their head out, finished. “Where is he?”

            “I’ll try to call him,” said Dean. He dialed Sam, but nothing came through except the voicemail.

            “Check the impala?” said (Y/N), and Dean nodded. They headed down to the parking lot, but there was still no sign of Sam.

            “Where the hell did he go?” said Dean, getting into the driver’s seat of Baby.

            “Dean?” said Sam’s voice out of nowhere.

            (Y/N) and Dean looked around.

            “Sam?” said (Y/N). “Hello?”

            “Where are you?” said Dean.

            “I don’t know,” said Sam. “Oh, crap.”

            Dean and (Y/N) stared at the dashboard of Baby as parts of it lit up with Sam’s words.

            “I don’t think we killed the Trickster,” said Sam, sighing.

            “This is…new,” said (Y/N). Sam was the car.

 

l

 

            The impala (or Sam) drove back to the paper mill (or was Dean in control of the car? (Y/N) had no idea).

            “Okay, stake didn’t work,” said Sam.

            “So, what? This is another trick?” wondered Dean.

            “I don’t know,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) frowned. “You know, if the stake didn’t work, maybe he’s not a trickster.”

            “What do you mean?” said Sam and Dean.

            “Well, Cas said he’s too powerful for a trickster. Plus, they recognized each other. And the Trickster knew who Lucifer and Michael’s vessels are you guys,” said (Y/N).

            “Put it all together, and that’s suspicious,” said Dean.

            “So, what are we dealing with?” asked Sam.

            “Isn’t it obvious?” said (Y/N).

 

l

 

            Dean pulled off the road at a nature reserve and parked. Getting out, (Y/N) began with their arrangements while he looked over their supplies in the trunk.

            “Um, Dean?” said Sam.

            “Yeah?” said Dean.    

            “That, um, feels really uncomfortable,” said Sam.

            Dean rolled his eyes and slammed the trunk closed.

            “Ow,” said Sam. “(Y/N), you sure this is gonna work?”

            “What else are we gonna do?” asked (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Want to do the honors or should I?” said Dean, looking at them.

            “It’s you he wants to say ‘yes’ to Michael,” said (Y/N).

            Dean nodded. He cleared his throat and looked around himself. “Alright, you son of a bitch! Uncle! We’ll do it!”

            “Should I honk?” said Sam.

            Dean and (Y/N) looked at Sam, deadpan, even if they didn’t know if he could see it.

            “Wow.” The Trickster’s voice had them all turn back around. “Sam, get a load of the rims on you.”

            “Eat me,” said Sam.

            “Later.” The Trickster grinned. “Okay, boys, ready to go quietly?”

            (Y/N) looked at Dean nervously. They had to play their part if this was going to work.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast,” said Dean. “Nobody’s going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs.”

            “What’s the difference?” said the Trickster. “Satan’s gonna ride his ass one way or another.”

            Dean and (Y/N) glared, and the Trickster rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers, and the passenger door of the impala opened. Sam stepped out, human again.

            “Happy?” said the Trickster, and Sam glared.

            “Tell me one thing,” said Dean. “Why didn’t the stake kill you?”

            The Trickster smirked. “I am the Trickster.”

            A lighter clicked. “But maybe not.” (Y/N) tossed the lighter down, and a ring of holy fire circled the Not-Trickster. “Maybe you’ve always been an angel.”

            The Not-Trickster laughed as if this was stupid. “A what?! Someone put something in your drink, kid?”

            “Jump out of the holy fire and I’ll personally apologize for my mistake,” said (Y/N).

            The Not-Trickster laughed, but it came out more nervously, now. It died, and he lost his smile. The world glitched, and they were returned to the paper mill, the building they’d never left. The angel clapped sarcastically.

            “Well played. Well played,” said the angel. “Where’d you get the holy oil?”

            “Oh, you might say we pulled it out of Sam’s ass,” said Dean, cheerful with his pun. Sam stared at him. His brother was an idiot.

            “Where’d I screw up?” said the angel.

            “You didn’t,” said Sam. “But nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did.”

            “Mostly it was your whole Apocalypse speech,” said (Y/N).

            “Meaning?” said the angel.

            “Well, call it personal experience,” said Dean. “Nobody gets that angry unless they’re talking about their own family.”

            “So, which one are you?” asked (Y/N). “Sneezy? Douchey? Sleepy? Tricky or something snakey?”

            The angel looked at them, and, without the laughter or carefree smile, he looked somber, like so many other angels.

            “Gabriel, okay?” he said. “They call me Gabriel.” The name seemed to pain him, so old and unused.

            “Gabriel? The Archangel?” said Sam in disbelief.

            “Guilty,” said Gabriel.

            “Not what I imagined,” said (Y/N), looking him up and down.

            “Okay, Gabriel,” said Dean. “How does an archangel become a trickster?”

            “My own private witness protection,” said Gabriel. “I skipped out on Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world, till you two screwed it all up.” He gestured to (Y/N). “And then you come along and see through it now.”

            (Y/N) was tempted to bow, just to stick it in his face a little. They resisted the urge valiantly.

            “And what did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?” said Dean.

            “Daddy doesn’t say anything about anything,” said Gabriel, voice sneering but too bitter to be forceful.

            “Then what happened? Why’d you ditch?” said Sam.

            “Well, can you blame him? I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douche-nozzles,” said Dean.

            “Shut your cake hole,” snapped Gabriel. “You don’t know anything about my family. I loved my Father, my brothers—loved them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other’s throats? I couldn’t bear it, okay?! So I left. And now it’s happening all over again.”

            “Then do something about it! Help us stop it!” snapped (Y/N).

            Gabriel looked at them. “It can’t be stopped.” The words were bitter, clipped with tiredness.

            “You want to see the end of the world?” said Dean forcefully.

            “I want it to be over!” shouted Gabriel. “I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other, thanks to you! Heaven, Hell—I don’t care who wins! I just want it to be over!”

            “So you’re giving up?” said (Y/N). “Not even trying to pull the plug, get Lucifer and Michael to just stop?” They might be on the side of “try to kill Lucifer,” but if they were Gabriel and didn’t want to mourn family, they’d try to do something instead of speeding it up.

            “Oh, you do not know my family,” scoffed Gabriel. “What you guys call the Apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That’s why there’s no stopping thing. Because this isn’t about a war. It’s about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. You think you’d be able to relate.”

            “What are you talking about?” said Sam, glaring.

            Gabriel clicked his tongue, his “good humor,” or façade of it, returning. “You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels?” He looked at (Y/N). “Tell me you get it.”

            “The story,” said (Y/N). “How they fit the…parts.” They didn’t believe in that fate bullshit, but they understood why the brothers fit as the vessels.

            “The roles,” said Gabriel. “Exactly. At least one of you idiots worked it out.” He looked at Dean. “Michael—the big brother, loyal to an absent father.” He looked at Sam. “Lucifer—the little brother, rebellious to Daddy’s plan. You were born to this, boys. It’s your destiny! It was always you!” He gestured to the sky. “As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth. One brother has to kill the other.”

            “What the hell are you saying?” said Dean, and a sinking feeling gathered in (Y/N)’s stomach.

            “Why do you think I’ve always taken such an interest in you?” said Gabriel. “Because from the moment Dad lipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always.”

            Dean and Sam looked at each other; (Y/N) held their amulet.

            “No,” said Dean. Gabriel looked at him in disbelief. “That’s not gonna happen.”

            “I’m sorry.” Gabriel shook his head. “But it is.” He sighed. “Guys, I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow. But this is real. And it’s gonna end bloody for all of us. That’s just how it’s got to be.” His shoulders sagged, and no smile came to his face. He was defeated with that truth.

            He cleared his throat as the hunters said nothing in response. “So, boys,” said Gabriel, trying to put on his cheery, carefree attitude once again. “Now what? Stare at each other for the rest of eternity?”

            “Well, first of all, you’re gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him,” said Dean firmly.

            “Oh, am I?” said Gabriel, scoffing.

            “It’s that or you’re getting dunked in holy oil and we’re seeing what a deep-fried angel looks like,” said (Y/N).

            “Geez,” said Gabriel. “Anyone ever tell you you’re intense, kid?”

            (Y/N) glared. Gabriel looked at Sam and Dean, and their faces were equally serious. Clearly, (Y/N)’s threat wasn’t an empty one. Irritated, Gabriel lifted a hand and snapped. Cas appeared out of nowhere, panting. Dean turned to him.

            “You okay?” he asked.

            “I’m fine,” said Castiel, eyes not leaving Gabriel. “Hello, Gabriel.”

            “Hey, bro,” said Gabriel with exaggerated pleasantness. “How’s the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful.” Castiel just glared evenly at Gabriel, who made a face and shrugged.

            “Okay, we’re out of here,” said Dean. “Come on, Sam, (Y/N).” He turned to the door, and (Y/N) and Sam followed suit.”

            Gabriel chuckled nervously. “Okay. Hey—guys? So—So, what? You’re just gonna—you’re just gonna leave me here forever?”

            Dean paused in the doorway. “No, we’re not. Cause we don’t screw with people the way you do. And for the record…this isn’t about some prizefight between your brothers or some destiny that can’t be stopped! This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!” His voice rose into an impassioned shout. He turned his back on Gabriel with those final words and left the room.

            (Y/N) pulled the fire alarm as they left, and a soft shower of water fell down around Gabriel to free him. “There. You get to leave.” They were gone before he could say anything more, though.

            (Y/N) caught up to Dean, Sam, and Castiel.

            “All that stuff he was spouting in there—you think he was telling the truth?” said Dean.

            “I think he believes it,” said Sam.

            “So, what do we do?” said Dean.

            “I don’t know,” said Sam.

            “I’ll tell you one thing,” said Dean. “Right about now, I wish I was back on a tv show.”

            “Yeah, me too,” said Sam.

            “Not me,” said (Y/N). Sam and Dean looked at them. “What? We get to actually make decisions in the real world. A tv show has a script. No thanks.” They’re rather write their own story.

Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen: The Colt

            “I still think we should let him publish one more book,” said (Y/N) from the backseat of the impala.

            “No way,” said Sam.

            “If he writes one, he’ll a million more,” said Dean. “No way.”

            “And he does not need more fans,” said Sam, nose wrinkling as he thought of Becky and the rest of the fans at the weird convention they’d ended up at.

            (Y/N) groaned. “But everyone pays attention to you and I don’t get to be in any of the funny fan theories or stories.”

            “Maybe you will now,” said Dean. “He used the idea of a teenager character to keep people in the convention room.”

            “Says the character everyone was flirting with,” shot back (Y/N). “I’m just the diversity hire.” They grumbled, and Dean chuckled.

            “At least Chuck and his…fans were good for something,” said Sam. “Got us a lead.”

            “Right. Bela didn’t give the Colt to Lilith, she gave it to Lilith’s right-hand-man-slash-boytoy-slash-whatever ‘Crowley,’ ” said Dean, recapping what Becky had remembered from a book. He held Baby’s steering wheel tighter. “And we’re going to get it back.”

            “We don’t even know where he is, though,” said (Y/N).

            “Don’t worry,” said Dean, grinning. “I got Cas on it.”

            “Oh. Right. Cause he’s subtle,” said (Y/N).

            “Don’t diss him. He’s capable,” said Dean.

            “He’s a warrior. He knows what he’s doing,” said Sam.

            “I hope so. We have no idea what Crowley is like,” said (Y/N).

            “Just another demon,” said Dean. “We can handle him.”

            (Y/N) certainly hoped so.

 

l

 

            “Cas found Crowley,” said Dean, sitting down to eat his burger. “Apparently, guy has a mansion, complete with security demons.”

            “A demon with a mansion? What, he doesn’t like roughing it like the rest?” said Sam.

            “Apparently not,” said Dean. “Cas said he let a subordinate organize a deal but sealed it himself.”

            “A businessman,” said (Y/N).

            “Right,” said Dean. “Problem is, with that mojo, it’s gonna be hard getting into the house. We’ll need a distraction or something, a way in.”

            “I have an idea,” said Sam. “And someone who would be up for it.”

            Dean and (Y/N) looked at him with a frown.

 

l

 

            At the gate of a large mansion, Jo walked up to the gates and pressed the intercom button.

            “Yeah?” said a guard.

            “Hello? My car broke down,” said Jo, shivering in her black dress.

            “We’ll be down in a minute,” said the guard, and the gates opened a moment later.

            Two guards strolled down the driveway towards Jo, and she straightened, gaze still doelike but secretly careful.

            “Evening, pretty later,” greeted one demon guard. “Get yourself on in here.”

            “I just need to make a call,” said Jo.

            “You don’t need to call anyone, baby,” said the demon taking the lead. “We’re the only help you’re ever gonna need.”

            “You know what? I…I think I should wait by my car,” said Jo, turning away.

            The demon grabbed her shoulder. “We said get your ass in here.”

            Jo shoved his arm off her and slashed him with a hidden knife. Knocking him down, Jo stepped back. The other guard stepped forward, but he gasped and burnt out of his meatsuit when Sam stabbed him with the demon knife. He pulled it out and stabbed the demon on the ground, killing him.

            “Nice work, Jo,” said Dean.

            “Thanks,” said Jo.

            (Y/N) pulled some wire cutters and a lockpicking set from their back. “You guys ready?”

 

l

 

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam crouched in the dark hallways of the demonic mansion. They watched from their hiding spots as Crowley walked through the corridor. He wore the body of a short man with a carefully tailored suit keeping him sharp and businesslike at all times. Clearly, Crowley liked the finer things, what with the smell of a cigar and aged bourbon on the air. Sam met (Y/N) and Dean’s gaze, and Dean nodded.

            “It’s ‘Crowley,’ right?” said Sam.

            Crowley paused. “So, the Hardy Boys and Nonbinary Nancy Drew finally found me.” Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) stepped out into the hall to face him properly, weapons in hand. “Took you long enough.” He had a British drawl, making him exotic even for a demon. He took a few steps forward, spotted a rumbled rug, and paused. He knelt and turned it over.

            Shit, thought (Y/N), Sam, and Dean.

            Crowley lifted the rug to reveal a demon trap that he had not fallen for. He tsked and stood. “Do you have any idea how much this rug costs?”

            (Y/N) felt arms circle them, and they yelped as a demon literally hauled them off their feet. Sam and Dean were similarly restrained, but they were not lifted off their feet (they were a little too tall for that).

            “This is it, right?” said Crowley, casually lifting a silver gun. “This is what it’s all about.” He pointed it at (Y/N). They tensed.

            Bang! The demon behind (Y/N) jerked and fell to the ground to die. They stared at Crowley, and he aimed at Sam and then Dean. Bang! Bang!

            The demons holding Sam and Dean fell. They stared at the bodies then at Crowley.

            “We need to talk,” said Crowley. “Privately.”

            This is officially the weirdest demon I’ve met, decided (Y/N) then and there. They had a feeling it would be true no matter who they met.

            Crowley turned and led the way into an ornate writing room with a desk and a piano of all things.

            “What the hell is this?” demanded Dean.

            “Do you have any idea how deep I could have buried this thing?” said Crowley, holding up the colt. He waved a hand, and doors shut. “There’s no reason you or anyone should know this even exists at all. Except that I told you.”

            “You told us?” said Sam.

            “Rumors, innuendo…sent out on the grapevine,” said Crowley.

            “What, you hang out in Supernatural chatrooms?” said (Y/N) with a smirk.

            Sam gave (Y/N) a warning look about backtalking a demon. “Why? Why tell us anything?”

            Crowley “playfully” held the gun up and pointed at Dean, then Sam, then (Y/N), but (Y/N) didn’t trust him at all. He was a demon, and someone new, so (Y/N) disliked him on principle.

            “I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face,” said Crowley.

            Now, (Y/N) would continue to dislike him, but they liked that idea. They weren’t ready to trust it yet.

            “Uhuh. Okay,” said Dean doubtfully. “And why exactly would you want the Devil dead?”

            Crowley lowered the colt. “It’s called…survival.” He placed it down on the desk. “But I forgot—you three, at best, are functional morons.”

            “Yeah, you’re functioning…morons,” said Dean.

            “Really showed him,” said (Y/N).

            “Really? Right now?” said Dean, looking at them.

            (Y/N) shrugged.

            “Lucifer isn’t a demon, remember?” said Crowley, answering the question at hand. “He’s an angel—an angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you’re just…filthy bags of pus.” He picked up a glass of bourbon. “If that’s what he thinks about you…what can he think about us?” He gestured to himself.

            “But he created you,” said Sam, furrowing his brow.

            “To him, we’re just servants,” said Crowley. “Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate mankind, we’re next.”

            “Let me guess,” said (Y/N). “You want a chance at being the boss once he’s gone?” They didn’t doubt for a second there was a selfish reason behind Crowley’s action, one hidden beneath survival.

            Crowley smirked. “I want the Devil dead. You want the Devil dead. So…help me?”

            It wasn’t an answer to (Y/N)’s observation, but they weren’t going to get one. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged glances as Crowley watched them.

            “Let’s all go back to simpler, better times,” said Crowley. “Back to…when we could all follow our natures. I’m in sales, damn it. So, what do you say?” He picked up the colt. “What if I give you this thing, and you go kill the Devil?” He wiggled the colt.

            Sam reached out and took it. “Okay.”

            “Great,” said Crowley.

            “You wouldn’t happen to know…” said Sam slowly, unsure how to interact with this bizarre demon. “Where the Devil is, by chance, with you?”

            “Thursday,” said Crowley abruptly. He picked up his glass. “He has an appointment in Carthage, Missouri.”

            “Great. Great. Thanks,” said Sam. He lifted the colt, pointed it, and fired. Click. Sam’s face fell as he realized the grave mistake he’d just made, and Crowley wore a shit-eating grin.

            Dean grimaced, unsure about how the demon would react now. (Y/N) watched cautiously, hand trailing to their belt and their knife.

            “Oh, yeah, right, you probably need some more ammunition,” said Crowley as if he had been amiss to have “forgotten.” Casually, like Sam hadn’t tried to murder him, he rummaged through his drawers.

            Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, excuse me for asking, but aren’t you kind of signing your own death warrant. I mean, what happens to you. If we go up against the Devil and lose…”

            “Number One, he’s gonna wipe us all out anyway,” said Crowley practically. “Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three, how about you don’t miss?! Okay?! Morons!” He threw the ammunition at them.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) tore the pack open to look at the amount of bullets left. When they looked back up, Crowley was gone.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) watched Ellen take a shot in Bobby’s kitchen. Beside them, Jo also watched and sipped a beer. Ellen turned her shot glass over and looked at Castiel, who watched in confusion.

            “Alright, big boy,” said Ellen. “Let’s go.”

            Castiel took a shot. Then another. Then another. In the span of a thirty seconds, Castiel took five shots back-to-back, which only added to the dozen he’d already had in this strange competition with Ellen. ((Y/N) suspected the competition was one-sided since Castiel was just following Ellen’s lead).

            Castiel stared at his audience. “I think I’m starting to feel something.”

            Jo grinned in astonishment, and Ellen shook her head. “Angel’s are something else,” she said.

            “That’s impressive,” said (Y/N). They didn’t have an idea of what being drunk felt like (Sam and Dean said no to that), but they knew nearly twenty straight shots in half an hour should do something to a person, and Castiel was nearly completely sober. (They had argued that, since it could be their last night on earth, they should get one drink for fun, but that hadn’t work. Oh, well. (Y/N) would just have to survive then)

            In the other room, Sam and Dean spoke in far more subdued, somber tones.

            “It’s got to be a trap, right?” said Sam, looking at Dean.

            He chuckled mirthlessly. “Sam Winchester having trust issues with a demon. Well, better late than never.”

            “Yeah, and thank you again for your continued support,” said Sam, smiling. He and Dean clinked their beers together.

            “You’re welcome,” said Dean. “And, you know, trap or no trap, we got a snowball’s chance, we got to take it, right?”

            “Yeah, I suppose,” said Sam.

            “Besides, I’m not sure it is a trap,” said Dean. “Check it out.” He gestured to news articles across the table. “Carthage is lit up like a Christmas tree with Revelation omens. And look at this. There’s been six missing persons reported in town since Sunday. I think the Devil’s there.” He took a swig of his beer.

            “Okay,” said Sam.

            Dean cleared his throat. “Look, when you think about it…you can’t come with.”

            Sam sighed. “Dean.”

            “Look, I go against Satan and screw the pooch…Okay. We’ve lost a game piece. That, we can take,” said Dean. “But if you’re there…then we are handing the Devil’s vessel right over to him. That’s not smart.’

            Sam scoffed. “Since when have we ever done anything smart?”

            “I’m serious, Sam,” said Dean.

            “So am I,” said Sam. “Haven’t we learned a damn thing? If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it together.”

            Dean let out a long sigh. “Okay. That’s a stupid friggin’ idea.”

            “But…I don’t think we should bring (Y/N),” said Sam.

            “They won’t like that,” said Dean.

            “No, but they’re a kid,” said Sam. “This is the Devil. If we die, then they at least won’t die with us.”

            Dean looked into the kitchen, and Sam turned around with him. (Y/N) sat on the counter by Jo as they watched Castiel and Ellen, laughing. They grinned and talked to Jo, and the one closest to their age smiled back. They really looked like one of the family gang.

            “Yeah. I don’t want them to go either,” said Dean. “But they—”

            “They’re not going to stay here,” said Sam. Both brothers knew it. (Y/N) had stubbornness built into them equal to that of a Winchester.

            “Everybody, get in here!” shouted Bobby from the living room. “It’s time for the lineup.” Everyone walked in, and Bobby finished setting up the camera. “Usual suspects, in the corner.” He jerked his thumb to the Winchesters.

            “Oh, come on, Bobby,” said Ellen. “No one wants their picture taken.”

            “Hear, hear,” said Dean.

            “Shut up. You’re drinking my beer,” said Bobby. “Anyway.” He rolled himself back to the group. “I’m gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by.”

            “Ha!” said Ellen. “Always good to have an optimist around.”

            Bobby sat in the middle, Ellen on one side of him, and Castiel beyond her. On his other side stood Jo. Dean and Sam stood at the back, arms around (Y/N), who stood behind Bobby, and Castiel.

            “Bobby’s right,” said Castiel. “Tomorrow we hunt the Devil.” He stared into space, a bit buzzed on alcohol. “This is our last night on Earth.”

            The camera flash went off, and the picture was captured. There were no smiles.

 

l

 

            It was raining in Carthage when the impala and Ellen’s truck pulled up on main street. No one could be seen, and their phones had no signal. (Y/N) felt themself instinctually stiffen as wariness settled into their bones.

            “You getting a signal?” said Sam.

            “No, nothin’,” said Dean.

            “Nope,” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “Nice and spooky,” said Dean, looking at the seemingly abandoned town.

            “Lots of missing persons,” said (Y/N), watching each telephone pole go by. It was covered in pictures. (Y/N) suspected those how had put the signs up were missing now, too.

            Dean pulled to the side so that Jo and Ellen could pull up beside them.

            “Place seem a little empty to you?” said Ellen.

            “We’re gonna go check out the PD,” said Dean. “You guys stay here, see if you can find anybody.”

            “Okay,” said Ellen, nodding.

            Dean pulled away and drove the impala farther into town. He parked outside of the police department, and, armed, the three hunters headed inside. Again, no one was inside.

            “More missing persons reports,” said Sam, looking at desks.

            “I don’t see any signs of…anything. It’s like everyone got up and walked out,” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “I was expecting more…blood and destruction from the Devil,” said Dean, looking around.

            “That just means he hasn’t gotten around to it yet,” said (Y/N). It meant something worse was going on. Their necklace felt warm against their neck, and (Y/N) frowned. Nothing good was coming their way.

            They left the police department, and Ellen’s truck turned the corner. She slowed to a stop in front of Dean, Sam, and (Y/N).

            “Station’s empty,” said Dean.

            “So is everything else,” said Jo. They’d driven the whole town and see nothing.

            “Have you seen Cas?” asked Ellen.

            “What? He was with you,” said Sam, frowning.

            “Nope,” said Ellen. “He went after the reapers.”

            “He saw reapers?” repeated (Y/N). “Where?”

            “Well, kind of…everywhere,” said Jo.

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam glanced at each other. That definitely wasn’t a good sign.

            “Time to go and take a look around ourselves, then,” said Ellen, getting out of her truck and grabbing a gun. “Cas headed that way.” She jerked her head farther into town. “And then disappeared, but, you know.” They might as well follow.

            Holding their guns tightly, they kept walking. The sun beat down on them, but no one appeared, not even an enemy so far. (Y/N) wondered how often they were passing reapers by.

            “Well, this is great,” said Dean. “We’ve been in town for twenty minutes. We’ve already lost the angel up our sleeve.”

            “You think, uh…You think Lucifer got him?” said Sam.

            “I don’t know what else to think,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace with one hand. Hopefully, Castiel wasn’t dead. Lucifer was a thousand times more powerful than him.

            “There you are.”

            The hunters whirled and faced the demon. She smirked, wearing a brown leather jacket and a purple shirt that exposed a necklace with a sigil. Demonic magic, no doubt.

            “Meg!” shouted Sam.

            “You shouldn’t have come here,” said Meg, tutting despite her smirk.

            “Yeah? Well, I could say the same thing for you.” Dean stalked towards Meg and lifted the gun.

            “Didn’t come here alone, Dean-o,” said Meg, smirking. She glanced to the side, and an invisible thing growled and pawed at water, causing it to splash in a puddle. More growls and snarls went up around the group, and (Y/N) stiffened.

            “Hellhounds,” said Dean, gaze wavering as he remembered his death.

            “Yeah, Dean. Your favorite,” said Meg. “Come on, boys. My father wants to see you.”

The hellhounds snarled, and (Y/N) looked for the source of the sounds warily. It was impossible to fight an invisible foe, however.

            “I think we’ll pass, thanks,” said Sam.

            Meg shrugged. “Your call. You can make this easy, or you can make it really, really hard.” Her hellhounds growled.

            Dean looked back at his friends and family. Ellen nodded at him, Sam remained resolute, Jo held her gun tightly, and (Y/N)’s gaze didn’t falter. Dean looked back at Meg.

            “When have you known us to ever make anything easy?” said Dean. Bang! He shot at the space next to Meg, and blood burst from a hellhound’s hide. “Run!”

            Barks and growls echoed through the street as the hunters turned and ran as fast as they could away from the demon with the hellhounds on their heels. Something barreled into (Y/N), and they fell.

            “(Y/N)!” shouted Sam.

            (Y/N) let out a yelp as they felt a claw tear at their arm. It sunk into their skin, and they cried out. Twisting, they stabbed with a knife. The hellhound yelped and snarled, and (Y/N) flinched as they saw the flicker of a giant, bloody dog growling down at them. They blinked, and the vision was gone. (Y/N) pulled their knife down, drawing blood.

            Bang!

            The dog yelped, and the pressure on (Y/N) left them. They scrambled up, and Sam, who had shot, wrapped an arm under them and hauled them to their feet to keep running. A hellhound jumped on Dean next, and he hit the ground while the others headed towards store doors.

            “Dean!” said Jo.

            “Jo, stay back!” shouted Dean, but Jo just fired round after round at the hellhound.

            A force knocked Jo over as a third hellhound revealed itself. Jo hit the ground with a cry, and she screamed as her side was torn open.

            “No!” shouted Ellen. She fired, and the hellhound yelped.

            Dean scooped Jo up and ran for the store while (Y/N), Sam, and Ellen gave them cover. (Y/N) backed up, threw the doors of a corner market open, and let the others in. They darted inside, and Sam grabbed a chain to pull the doors closed. The hellhounds snarled outside. The hunters were trapped. And Jo…(Y/N) swallowed. Jo leaned against shelves as her mother knelt beside her. Jo was bleeding out.

Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: Ritual of Death

            Jo lay against the shelves of the store, holding her stomach. Hellhound claws and teeth had torn her own, and blood poured from her, staining the ground, her shirt, and her skin. She let out a low breaths, and Ellen knelt beside her. (Y/N) tensed, holding their arm as it ached from their own hellhound encounter.

            “Alright. Okay, okay, okay,” said Ellen, voice hushed with panic. “Breathe.”

            “I’m fine,” coughed Jo. “I’m fine.” The lies were palpable.

            Sam and Dean ran to the salt bags in the store and shook heavy lines out in front of the doors and windows. The growls of the hellhounds echoed inside, but they could no longer get in.

            “You alright?” said Sam, looking at (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N) breathlessly, nodding.

            “Let me see your arm,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) held out their arm, but instead of mangled flash, it was just a deep bite, nothing torn from their flesh. Sam furrowed his brow, but he nodded. They were lucky. The attack had looked much worse—it had felt worse—and it had been worse for—

            “Boys! Need some help here!” shouted Ellen.

            Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) ran from the front of the store where they’d blocked the door and windows with salt lines. Sam slowed and stared at Jo. Dean swallowed, her blood staining his front from when he’d carried her in.

            The blood wouldn’t stop, pouring like a faucet from inside Jo. Ellen tried to block the flow, but it flowed live a red river between her fingers. Ellen looked helplessly up at the others. No one could say anything to her. She knew what it meant. And still, she swallowed and grabbed the meager first aid in the store. She pushed bandages up against Jo, even as her breaths became shallower and her gaze lowered with exhaustion. Sam tried to help, but he couldn’t watch Jo like that, and Ellen, her mother, was the one who could take care of her. Dean focused on making a radio to get through to Bobby, and (Y/N)…they felt the air of death around them, the stench of blood, and they swallowed. They had seen a scene like this before in their very home.

            “How’s she holding up?” said Dean, keeping his gaze securely on his work.

            Sam let out a breath that sounded as somber as the grave. “The salt lines are holding up.” That was all he could say.

            “Safe for now,” said Dean.

            “We’re trapped, that’s what we are,” said (Y/N), channeling their grief and pain into anger.

            “Hey, you heard Meg,” said Dean, voice clipped and harsh. “Her father’s here. This is our one shot. We got to take it, no matter what.”

            “We know, Dean,” said (Y/N) just as forcefully.

            “There,” said Dean, ignoring them and staring at the radio as it blinked on.

            “Sam, some help here, please?” called Ellen.

            Sam cast a glance at Dean and (Y/N) before heading over. Dean and (Y/N) listened to the radio intently and, finally, there was answer.

            “KC5 Fox Delta Oscar, go ahead,” said Bobby.

            “Bobby, it’s Dean,” said Dean. “We got problems.”

            There was a sigh of relief upon hearing his voice. “It’s okay, boy,” said Bobby. “That’s why I’m here. Is everyone alright?”

            Dean swallowed and opened his mouth. He couldn’t speak.

            “No,” said (Y/N), starting the conversation for Dean.

            He swallowed again and continued, “Uh, i-it’s—it’s Jo.” He forced himself to speak steadily. “Bobby, it’s pretty bad.”

            “Okay. Copy that.” Bobby had to stay strong for them. “So now we figure what we do next.”

            “Bobby, I don’t think she’s—” Dean couldn’t finish the sentence. (Y/N) put a hand on his arm, and they held their necklace anxiously in the other.

            “I said, ‘What do we do next,’ Dean,” repeated Bobby, giving him something to focus on.

            “Right,” said Dean. His hand covered (Y/N)’s gratefully before he forced himself to straighten. “Okay. Right.”

            “Now. Tell me what you got,” said Bobby slowly and steadily.

            Dean slowly told Bobby what had happened, and (Y/N) filled in details when he faltered. Together, they made the report clear and complete.

            “Before he went missing, did Cas say how many reapers?” asked Bobby.

            “I-I don’t know. He said a lot of things, I guess,” said Dean. “What does the number matter?”

            “Devil’s in the details, Dean,” said Bobby.

            “Ellen and…Jo told us he saw a lot,” said (Y/N). “Like, everywhere.”

            Ellen tapped Dean’s shoulder, red staining her fingers. She nodded to the radio, and Dean and (Y/N) sat back to let her speak.

            “Bobby, it’s Ellen,” she said. “The way he was looking, the number of places Cas’s eyes went, I’d say we’re talking over a dozen reapers—maybe more.” She was a hunter. She could do her job. She turned away, unable to take any more time apart from Jo.

            “I do not like the sound of that,” said Bobby.

            “No one does,” said (Y/N). “But what does it mean?” It had to mean something.

            “It sounds like Death, kid,” said Bobby. “I think Satan’s in town to work a ritual. I think he’s planning to unleash Death.”

            “You mean, like, as in this dude and taxes are the only sure thing?” said Dean.

            “As in Death—the Horseman, the pale rider in the flesh,” said Bobby.

            “ ‘Unleash?’ ” repeated (Y/N). “I thought Death existed.”

            “Hell, I died several times myself,” said Dean incredulously.

            “Not this guy,” said Bobby. “This is—This is the Angel of Death, Big Daddy Reaper. They keep this guy chained in a box six hundred feet under. Last time they hauled him up, Noah was building a boat. That’s why the place is crawling with reapers. They’re waiting on the big boss to show.”

            (Y/N) let out a breath. “Anything else we should know about?”

            “Well, in a manner of a speaking,” said Bobby. “I’ve been researching Carthage since you’ve been gone, trying to suss out what the Devil might want there. What you just said drops the last piece of the puzzle in place. The Angel of Death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage. Now, back during the Civil War, there was a battle in Carthage—a battle so intense the soldiers called it ‘The Battle of Hellhole.’ ”

            “Where’d the massacre happen?” said (Y/N). That had to be where the ritual and the magic would take place.

            “On the land of William Jasper’s farm,” said Bobby.

            “Okay. Thanks, Bobby,” said Dean.

            “Boy,” said Bobby. “Be careful. You, Sam, and the kid. Be careful.”

            Dean swallowed. “Right.” He hung up.

            (Y/N) shifted, an itch beneath their skin to do something. They’d rather do something than be careful. This waiting around…it couldn’t go on. They had to get to William Jasper’s farm. Sam spotted Dean looking at him somberly and walked over. Dean explained the situation as quickly as possible. Whatever they did had to be soon, the night was nearly upon them, and midnight would be quick on its heels.

            “So, now we know where the Devil’s gonna be, we know when, and we have the Colt,” said Dean.

            Sam sighed. “Yeah.” He glanced at Jo and Ellen. “We just have to get past…eight or so hellhounds and get to the farm by midnight.”

            “Yeah, and that’s after we get Jo and Ellen and (Y/N) the hell out of here,” said Dean.

            “What?” said (Y/N) sharply.

            “It’ll be safer—”

            “No,” hissed (Y/N), and their pendant felt hot against their skin as they spoke. “I’m not leaving. I’m here to stay. I’m here to fight. You can’t take that away from me.”

            “(Y/N), we want you to be safe,” said Sam firmly. He had walked away once when (Y/N) nearly died. He hadn’t known it, but it still weighed on him. He wouldn’t do it again. “Let us keep you safe.”

            “Come on, kid,” said Dean. “Let us do something right.” (Y/N) was family important. They deserved to live.

            But (Y/N) wanted something more. “I can’t run away. Not now. Now when other people are fighting with all they have.” Fighting to the death. They’d rather die than be a coward when the time came for bravery.

            Sam swallowed. Right. They were one of the Winchesters them. They weren’t going to give up easily. “Okay. Okay.” But he vowed to do whatever it took to keep them safe.

            Dean’s jaw clenched, and he glanced at Jo. He couldn’t stand what had happened, and if it happened to more people, to (Y/N)—Dean decided to just nod. “Fine.” He couldn’t stop them, but he’d fight to keep them safe.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N), nodding sharply. “Then we focus on getting Jo and Ellen out.”

            “Won’t be easy,” said Sam.

            “Stretcher?” said Dean.

            Sam nodded. “I’ll see what we got.”

            “Stop,” said Jo before they could do anything. “Guys, stop.” Ellen looked at Jo, and Jo swallowed. “Can we, uh, be realistic about this, please?”

            They approached Jo, and she inhaled sharply, the pain clear on her face, blood all over her body.

            “I can’t move my legs,” said Jo. “I can’t be moved. My guts are being held in by an ace bandage. We got to—” she swallowed “We got to get our priorities straight here.” She let out a shaky breath. “Number One—I’m not going anywhere.”

            Ellen stiffened. “Joanna Beth, you stop talking like that—"

            “Mom.” Jo’s tired eyes landed on Ellen. “I can’t fight. I can’t walk. But I can do something.” Ellen’s lip trembled, but Jo continued. “We’ve got propane, wiring, rock salt, iron nails—everything we need.”

            “Everything we need?” asked Sam.

            “To build a bomb, Sam,” said Jo.

            (Y/N) swallowed. Jo was going to sacrifice herself for them.

            “No,” said Dean. “Jo…no.”

            “You got another plan?” said Jo. “You got any other plan?” She knew they didn’t. “Those are hellhounds out here, Dean. They’ve got all of our scents. Those bitches will never stop coming after you.” Her voice broke. “We let the dogs in, you guys hit the roof, make a break for the building next over, and I can wait here with my finger on the button. Rip those mutts a new one. Or at least get you a few minutes’ head start, anyway.”

            “No,” said Ellen, voice breaking over the words. “I…I won’t let you.”

            “This is why we’re here, right?” said Jo, looking at Ellen, and she shook her head. “IF I can get us a shot on the Devil…Dean, we have to take it.”

            “No!” Ellen shook her head furiously. Tears trembled in her eyes. “That’s not—”

            “Mom,” said Jo, firmly but quietly. “This might literally be your last chance to treat me like an adult.” She smiled through tears. “You might want to take it.”

            Ellen looked at Jo, who offered a small smile and nodded. Ellen forced herself to nod. It was her only choice. Her daughter was going to be brave in the face of death. The least she could do was support her.

            Ellen looked shakily at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “You heard her. Get to work.”

            They did. They collected nails into buckets, poured propane and salt and silver and iron all together, and rigged an incendiary device of batteries, wiring, propane, and a doorbell. Each pail was filled to the brim with shrapnel that would destroy the building and surrounding area if the explosion itself didn’t hit. It would do damage to the hellhounds, that was for certain.

            By the time they had finished, night had fallen. But it was time to continue. Sam squeezed Jo’s hand before standing, his solemn goodbye. Jo’s eyes landed on (Y/N), and they nodded to her. They couldn’t draw closer. They were not—They had not earned that right with her. But she was already a friend, and Jo was stronger than they could be. Dean swallowed and knelt by Jo, taking her hand as she stared at the device that would bring her death.

            “Okay, this is it,” said Dean. Jo smiled through her pain. “I’ll see you on the other side. Probably sooner than later.” He wouldn’t make her cry in these final moments.

            Jo smiled. “Make it later.”

            Dean cupped her hand and gave her the detonator. He gazed at her longingly, and Jo swallowed and nodded. Dean cupped her face and kissed her forehead. Jo’s lips trembled. Then, Dean leaned in and kissed her lips, a goodbye. He stood, leaving Jo with that final moment.

            Ellen was the last to sit with her daughter. She smiled gently at Jo and squeezed her hand. Jo tried to smile back, but her strength broke, and she cried in fear to her mom. But Ellen just smiled and shook her head. Jo stared, her lip trembled, and her voice broke in a sob.

            “Mom, no,” she said.

            “Somebody’s got to let them in,” said Ellen, her expression gentle but resolute. “And like you said, you’re not moving. You got me, Jo.” She wasn’t leaving her daughter. She’d rather die beside her than live to see her go. “And you’re right. This is important. But I will not leave you here alone.” This was a mother.

            (Y/N)’s heart ached for theirs.

            “Get goin’ now,” said Ellen to Dean, Sam, and (Y/N).

            “Ellen?” said Dean.

            “I said go,” said Ellen, eyes not leaving Jo. “And Dean…kick it in the ass. Don’t miss.”

            Dean nodded solemnly. He, (Y/N), and Sam left for the roof. They didn’t look back as they climbed upwards. They stood on the roof, and Sam jumped to the next building. He turned back, and (Y/N) leapt next. They landed, and Sam steadied them. Dean was the last over. They cast glances behind them, and they heard from below the snarl of hellhounds. They climbed down the fire escape of the building, arriving in the alleyway and running down it.

            Boom! Light and sound shook the very air.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) turned. The store was up in flames, glass shards falling over the street, wreckage left behind as fires caught. (Y/N) stared and sent a quiet prayer to the air for Ellen and Jo’s safety on the other side. They tore their eyes away and ran towards the woods.

 

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            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) crept through the woods. They came to a stop as they heard the sound of a shovel in dirt. They knelt behind bushes and trees and peered out. People, demons, were standing in a wide circle as a single man threw dirt in a giant pit. (Y/N) felt the air thicken around them, and they knew in a moment that Lucifer stood before them.

            “I guess we know what happened to some of the townspeople,” said Dean quietly.

            Sam swallowed and looked at Lucifer. “Okay.”

            “Okay,” said Dean.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N). They all knew what needed to be done.

            “Last words?” said Sam.

            (Y/N) was silent for a moment. “No thanks.”

            “I’m good,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, me too,” said Sam.

            “Here goes nothin,” said Dean. He drew the Colt from his belt.

            (Y/N) took a deep breath, and Sam and Dean straightened. Sam walked out into the open while Dean and (Y/N) crept along the side of the clearing.

            “Hey!” shouted Sam. All the demons and Lucifer turned to him, and Sam walked forward. “You wanted to see me?!”

            Lucifer turned to Sam with an unnerving smile. He put his shovel down. “You don’t need that gun here, Sam. You know I’d never hurt you. Not really.”

            Dean stepped out of the shadows; the Colt raised to Lucifer’s head. “Yeah? Well, I’d hurt you.” He cocked the gun, and Lucifer’s gaze turned onto him. “So suck it.”

            Bang! Lucifer’s body crumpled. (Y/N) stepped hesitantly out of the woods. Dean stared at them and Sam.

            That can’t be it, thought (Y/N).

            A gasp pierced the night as Lucifer opened his eyes. “Ow!”

            The hunters stiffened, and Lucifer got to his feet. He made a show of groaning and holding his head.

            “Where did you get that?” Lucifer looked at Dean, who wore a horrified expression, and the Colt.

            Without giving Dean a moment, Lucifer threw out an arm. Dean flew backwards and hit a tree. His head snapped against the wood and slumped to the ground. (Y/N) ran to his side, eyes wide.

            “Oh, look, another pest,” said Lucifer.

            (Y/N) stiffened as they felt Dean’s head for blood, and they looked up to meet Lucifer’s gaze. Lucifer tilted his head, and (Y/N) didn’t break his gaze. They couldn’t exactly run now, so they might as well stare back bravely (and foolishly).

            Lucifer raised a hand, and (Y/N) felt a force close around them. Before they could think, they were flung backwards. They hit the ground, and their head cracked against a stone. Their amulet was hot around their neck, and the world blurred above them.

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            Death, whispered their mind and the air. Not coming for them, but coming for the world all the same.

            (Y/N) jerked up, eyes wide. Behind them, Dean held their shoulders.

            “Are you—”

            He was cut off as the world rumbled and shook. (Y/N)’s gaze snapped up, and they saw Lucifer standing above his bit—death, they knew, lay within it, the missing townspeople—and spoke.

            “We offer up our lives, blood, souls,” said Lucifer, and all his dutiful demons joined him. “To complete this tribute.”

            Each of the townspeople’s bodies flashed with light as the demons were killed from within in “self” sacrifice. Like demented fireflies, the bodies lit up and collapsed, empty. Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) stared at Lucifer.

            “What?” scoffed Lucifer. “They’re just demons.”

            The ground rumbled once more, and (Y/N) stood as they felt the air stir. They looked at Sam and Dean helplessly, and their eyes widened as they found Castiel looking at them. Castiel put a finger to his lips and knelt. He took them by the hands and delivered them to safety. Lucifer was left to await Death. The chill settling over (Y/N) was not helped despite their warm necklace.

 

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            Dean, Sam, (Y/N), and Bobby stood side-by-side in front of Bobby’s fireplace. Solemnly, Dean held the picture of them, Ellen, and Jo. He tossed it into the fire. The flames ate at the edges of the picture, crawling towards the faces. They had no bodies for a funeral. But they had this.

Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen: Arrow of Cupid

            “How’d it go?” asked Dean as Sam reentered after interviewing the victim’s sister—she and her boyfriend had literally eaten each other alive.

            “Uh, no EMF, no sulfur,” said Sam. “Ghost possession and demonic possession are both probably out.”

            “Hm. That’s where I was puttin’ my money,” said Dean.

            “Nope,” said Sam.

            “Well, what did you find, Dean?” asked (Y/N). “The bodies show anything?”

            Dean made a face. “You didn’t see them. I mean, these two started eating and they just…kept going. I mean, their stomachs were full. Like—Like…Thanksgiving-dinner full.”

            “That’s one way to interpret wanting to ‘eat your partner up,’ ” said (Y/N). Dean snorted, and (Y/N) grinned.

            Sam gave them a deadpan look. “Well, we got our feelers out. Not much more we can do tonight.” He shrugged. “I’m just gonna go through some files.”

            “I hate this part of cases,” groaned (Y/N). It was so boring.

            Sam laughed. “Dean, you can go ahead and go out.”

            “Sorry?” said Dean.

            “Go ahead. Unleash the kraken,” said Sam. “See you tomorrow morning.”

            Dean frowned. “Where am I going?”

            “Dean, it’s Valentine’s Day,” said Sam. “Your favorite holiday, remember? I mean, what do you always call it—unattached drifter Christmas?”

            “You are so weird,” said (Y/N), looking at Dean.

            “I am not,” said Dean. “I don’t even feel like going out.” He shrugged apathetically. “It’s not my year.”

            “So you’re not into bars full of lonely women?” said Sam.

            “Statements that shouldn’t be made,” said (Y/N). And only women?

            “I guess I’m not,” said Dean, shrugging and opening a beer. He didn’t feel much interest in anything these days. Sam frowned, and Dean sighed. “What?”

            “It’s when a dog doesn’t eat, that’s when you know something’s really wrong,” said Sam, watching him in concern.

            “And eating is sleeping with random women?” said (Y/N). Hunters were weird.

            “Remarkably patronizing concern duly noted,” said Dean. “Nothing’s wrong. (Y/N)’s right, the whole thing’s weird. We gonna work or not?”

            Sam and (Y/N) exchanged glances.

 

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            “Wait, wait, wait,” said (Y/N), leaning out the impala window. “You guys should sneak me in.”

            “If we get caught in the coroner’s office with fresh vics and a random kid, that’s the end of that,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) groaned. “Please? I’m so bored. And it’s 2am. Who is going to be there?”

            “Sixteen,” said Dean. “Then you get to play FBI.”

            (Y/N) let out a long sigh. “If you don’t let me in, I’m going to take a gun from the trunk and start playing target practice in the alley.”

            “You wouldn’t,” said Dean, knowing a fake threat when he heard on.

            “I’ll wander off and somehow get into trouble,” said (Y/N).

            Sam grimaced. That was likely. “Fine. We’ll sneak you in a side door if we’re left alone. You need to get experience with the bodies anyways.”

            (Y/N) had won a battle.

 

l

 

            “Whoa, cool,” said (Y/N), staring at the autopsy table and the Tupperware filled with hearts and entrails.

            “Not cool. Gross,” said Dean. “Very gross.”

            “Cool,” said (Y/N). Sure, a little weird, but, hey, got to embrace it? Plus, they didn’t feel grossed out yet, so they’d work with that.

            “Gloves,” said Sam, pointing, and (Y/N) grabbed some from a container.

            They sat down. “So, what do we look for? Weird stuff?”

            “You know the job,” said Dean, sitting down.

            Each took a container and began to look at the organs within it. (Y/N) looked at a heart.

            “Talk about ‘be my valentine,’ ” they said, picking it up. “Hey.” They frowned. “It feels weird.”

            “What?” said Dean.

            “Let me see,” said Sam. He frowned and peered at the heart. “You’re right. There’s a mark.”

            “What does the other vic’s heart look like?” asked (Y/N).

            Sam slid the container over, and (Y/N) looked at it closer.

            “The same mark,” they said. “Identical.”

            “Here.” Sam pulled a magnifying glass over. “There. It looks like some kind of letter.” Sam blinked. “Oh, no.”

            “What?” said Dean.

            “I think it’s Enochian,” said Sam.

            “You mean angel language?” said (Y/N), thinking of their ribs. “Like our fun-looking ribs?”

            “I don’t know,” said Sam.

            “Ah, hell.” That meant one option. Dean sighed and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number. “Cas, it’s Dean. Yeah, Room 31-C, basement level—” the sound began to echo “—St. James Medical Center.”

            Castiel, hand on his phone, had already appeared. “I’m there now.” He and Dean stared at each other.

            Dean nearly sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

            “I’m gonna hang up now,” said Castiel awkwardly

            “Right,” said Dean

            They switched off their phones. (Y/N) and Sam exchanged knowing glances.

            “Uh, Cas,” Sam cleared his throat. “Could you take a look at these hearts?” Castiel picked one up, gloveless. (Y/N) raised a brow. Sam just sighed and continued, “We think they have Enochian marks.”

            Castiel examined the heart. “You’re right, Sam. These are angelic marks,” he confirmed. “I imagine you’ll find similar marks on the other couples’ hearts as well.”

            “So, what are they? I mean, what do they mean?” asked Sam.

            “It’s a mark of union,” said Castiel. “This man and woman were intended to mate.”

            (Y/N) wrinkled their nose. “Who cares about that enough to put them there?”

            “Well, your people call them ‘cupid,’ ” said Castiel.

            “A what?” said Sam.

            “On theme,” said (Y/N), thinking about Valentine’s Day.

            “What human myth has mistaken for ‘cupid’ is actually a low order of angel,” explained Castiel. “Technically, it’s a cherub—third class.”

            “Cherub?” said Dean.

            “Yeah, they’re all over the world,” said Castiel. “There are dozens of them.”

            “You mean the little flying fat kid in diapers?” said Dean.

            “I somehow doubt that’s what they look like,” said (Y/N).

            “Indeed. They are not incontinent,” said Castiel.

            “Okay, anyways,” said Sam. “So, what you’re saying—”

            “What I’m saying is a cupid has gone rogue,” said Castiel. “And we have to stop him before he kills again.”

            “Naturally,” said Sam.

            “Of course we do,” said Dean.

            “Hell of a day to try to find one cupid,” said (Y/N).

 

l

 

            Dean, Sam, (Y/N), and Castiel sat in a nice restaurant decorated with a variety of red hearts, pink streams, and other Valentine’s Day paraphernalia. The whole group was dressed up to appear like a family going out on a holiday (Who are the dads, who’s the uncle? thought (Y/N). I’m the kid) A waitress set down their food, smiled, and walked away.

            “So, what, you just happen to know he likes cosmos at this place?” said Dean, glancing at Castiel.

            “This place is a nexus of human reproduction,” said Castiel. “It’s exactly the kind of…” he trailed off and stared strangely at the Dean’s hamburger “Garden the cupid will come to—to pollinate.”

            “New metaphor, please,” said (Y/N), taking a bite of their pasta.

            Dean just sighed and put his burger down. He pushed his plate away, suddenly finding it all unappetizing. (Y/N) frowned. That was odd.

            “Wait a minute,” said Sam, noticing the same thing. “You’re not hungry?” He looked incredulously at Dean.

            “No,” said Dean. Sam and (Y/N) exchanged a look. “What? I’m not hungry.”

            “Then you’re not gonna finish that?” said Castiel suddenly. He took the plate and almost took a bite.

            “Since when do you eat?” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow.

            Castiel opened his mouth to respond but straightened. “He’s here.”

            “Where?” said Sam. “I don’t see anything.”

            Castiel narrowed his eyes. “There.” He stared at a couple growing closer.

            “You mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?” said Dean as the pair began making out.

            “Meet me in the back.” Castiel disappeared.

            The hunters sighed and went out back. They found Castiel standing with his arm up, using his magic to keep an invisible form in place.

            “Cas, where is he?” asked Sam.

            “I have him tethered,” said Castiel. “Zoda kama mahrana. Manifest yourself.” He let his arm fall. Nothing appeared.

            “So, where is he?” said Dean. Abruptly, two arms latched around his middle and hugged him.

            “Here I am!” sang a silly-looking man.

            Sam and Castiel stared, (Y/N) closed there eyes. The cupid was naked. Ew, ew, ew.

            “Help!” said Dean. This was a terrible feeling and situation all around.

            “Help is on the way,” laughed the cherub. “Yes it is, yes it is.” He continued laughing until he spotted Castiel, let go of Dean, and walked over—still naked. He hugged Castiel, and the others grimaced.

            “This is cupid?” said Dean. He was not a fan.

            “Yes,” said Castiel, voice strangled as the cupid squeezed him.

            “And look at you, huh?” said the cupid, turning to Sam.

            “No,” said Sam.

            “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” The cupid hugged Sam before he could escape.

            “Is this a fight? Are we in a fight?” said Dean.

            “This is…their handshake,” said Castiel.

            “I don’t like it,” said Dean.

            “No one likes it,” said Castiel.

            “And look at you!” The cupid turned to (Y/N).

            They pulled out a knife. “Don’t even think about. That would be all kinds of weird and illegal.”

            The cherub put his hands up. “Whoa. Not in the spirit, huh? Okay, no problem. What can I do for you?”

            “Why are you doing this?” said Castiel.

            “Doing what?” wondered the cupid.

            “Your targets—the ones you’ve marked—they’re slaughtering each other,” said Castiel.

            “What?” The cupid’s smile fell into shock that (Y/N) was inclined to believe was legitimate. “They are?”

            “Listen, Birthday Suit, we know, okay?” said Dean, getting snappily to the point. “We know you been flittin’ around, popping people with your poison arrow, making them murder each other!”

            “What we don’t know is why,” said Castiel.

            The cherub’s eyes widened. “You think that I…Well, uh…” His voice broke. “I don’t know what to say.” He sobbed.

            (Y/N) was still looking up instead of down and sighed. This was getting incredibly emotional, and (Y/N) wasn’t a fan.

            “Should…” Sam trailed off. “Should somebody maybe go talk to him?”

            “I’m good,” said (Y/N).

            “I think it’s a good idea.” Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder. “Give ‘em hell, Cas.”

            Castiel wasn’t happy about it but walked towards the cupid. “Um…look. We didn’t mean to, uh…” He looked back at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N), and they gave varying gestures of encouragement. “Hurt your feelings,” he finished lamely.

            The cupid continued sobbing but hugged Castiel. “Love is more than a word to me, you know. I love love. I love it! And if that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right!”

            “Yes, yes, of course,” said Castiel, placating the cupid. “I, uh…I have no idea what you’re saying.”

            The cupid let go of Castiel, thankfully. “I was just on my appointed rounds. Whatever my targets do after that, that’s nothing to do with me. I-I was following orders. Please, brother. Read my mind. Read my mind. You’ll see.”

            The two angels stared at each other, and (Y/N)’s fingers twitched impatiently. They tugged on their necklace, a furious itch to move or do something in their bones.

            “He’s telling the truth,” said Castiel.

            “Jiminy Christmas,” sighed the cupid. “Thank you.”

            “Wait, wait,” said Dean. “Hold on.” He looked at the cupid. “You said you were just following orders.”

            “Mhm.” The cupid hummed and nodded.

            “Whose orders?” questioned Dean harshly.

            “Heaven, silly,” laughed the cupid. “Heaven.”

            “Why does Heaven care if Harry meets Sally?” said Dean.

            “Oh, mostly they don’t,” said the cupid, jovially giving more information. “You know, certain bloodlines, certain destinies.” He brightened. “Like yours.”

            “What?” said Sam.

            “Yeah, the union of John and Mary Winchester—very big deal upstairs, top priority arrangement,” said the cupid.

            “Are you saying that you fixed-up our parents?” said Dean, narrowing his eyes.

            “Well, not me,” said the cupid. “But yeah.” He chuckled. “Well, it wasn’t easy, either. Ooh, they couldn’t stand each other at first. But when we were done with them—perfect couple.”

            “Perfect?” repeated Dean, and (Y/N) and Sam winced at his tone.

            “Yeah,” said the cupid.

            “They’re dead!” snapped Dean.

            “I’m very sorry,” said the cupid. “But the orders were very clear. You and Sam needed to be born. Your parents were just, uh, meant to be.” He smiled and sang, “A match made in Heaven! Heaven!”

            Dean swung and hit him across the face. The cupid frowned. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed, holding his fist. It had felt like punching a brick wall.

            Sam looked at Dean, furious at him having angered the cupid, and looked up to apologize. It was too late, the cupid had disappeared.

            “Where is he? Where’d he go?” said Dean.

            “I believe you upset him,” said Castiel.

            “Upset him?!” snapped Dean incredulously.

            “Yeah, hitting someone usually does that,” said (Y/N), sarcastically.

            “Oh, please, he could take it,” scoffed Dean.

            “Dean!” said Sam forcefully. “Enough.”

            “What?” said Dean. “I punched a dick!”

            Sam let out a barely contained groan. “Okay, are we gonna talk about what’s been up with you lately or not?”

            “Or not,” said Dean forcefully, stalking past them all without another word.

 

l

 

            “Eight suicides,” said (Y/N), sitting beside Dean in the impala while Sam reported on the latest weird death—a man stuffing himself to death on cakes. “That’s way too high.”

            “And this guy wasn’t marked by a cupid, so that’s ruled out,” said Sam.

            “Checked the police records,” said Dean. “On top of the suicides, there’s nineteen ODs since Monday. It’s all way out of the seasonal batting average.”

            “Yeah, if there’s a pattern here, it ain’t just love,” said Sam. “It’s a hell of a lot bigger than we thought.”

            “Yeah, alright,” said Dean. “We’ll see you in ten.”

            “Yeah, okay,” said Sam.

            They hung up. (Y/N) huffed, the itchy feeling of a need to do something settling in.

            “So we’re just gonna sit at the motel again?” said (Y/N).

            “And make a guess about what we’re up against? Yeah,” said Dean. “You know that’s how we work.”

            “We could be out there doing something,” argued (Y/N).

            “Like what?” said Dean.

            “No clue, but sitting here is so pointless,” grumbled (Y/N). They fiddled with their necklace fervently to relieve the energy.

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: Famine

            “What’s that?” asked (Y/N).

            Sam had entered the motel room with a briefcase. He put it down. “A demon had it.”

            “A demon’s here?” said Dean sharply.

            “I killed it,” said Sam. “Don’t worry.” He put the briefcase down. “And now I have his…stuff.”

            Everyone frowned down at it

            “What the hell does a demon got to do with this, anyway?” said Dean.

            Sam sighed. “Believe me. I got no idea.”

            (Y/N) watched Sam’s eyes glance at the ground before back at the briefcase, almost guiltily. “You okay?” they said.

            “Yeah, yeah.” Sam collected himself. “I’ll be alright.”

            “Let’s crack her open,” said Dean. “What’s the worse that can happen, right?”

            “We die?” said (Y/N). “We open Pandora’s Box? We—”

            “You know, your sarcasm is out of control today,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “Whatever.”

            Sam leaned over and clicked the fasteners of the briefcase open. The lid flipped open, and the entire thing glowed with silver-white light, blinding.

            “Whoa!” said Dean, leaning away.

            Sam blinked through the light, and (Y/N) shielded their eyes. When the light died, they stared.

            “What the hell was that?” said Dean.

            “It’s a human soul,” said Castiel, doing one of his disappearing-reappearing acts. He stood in the motel room with a takeout bag of hamburgers. “It’s starting to make sense.” He munched on one burger.

            “Now, what about that makes sense?” said Sam.

            “And when did you start eating?” said Dean, calling out the strange behavior again.

            “Exactly,” said Castiel. “My hunger—it’s a clue, actually.”

            “For what?” said (Y/N).

            “This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect. It’s suffering from hunger,” said Castiel. “Starvation, to be exact—Specifically, Famine.”

            (Y/N) felt he said it with a capital letter, Famine.

            “Famine?” repeated Sam. “As in the Horseman?”

            “Great. That’s freaking great,” said Dean.

            “I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food,” said Sam.

            “Yes. Absolutely,” said Castiel. The food in his arms was evidence of that. “But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something—sex, attention, drugs, love…”

            “Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that cupid shot up,” said Dean.

            “Cupid shoots them to want love; Famine made them willing to kill over it. Or die,” said (Y/N).

            “Okay, but what about Cas?” said Dean. “I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?”

            Castiel stared at the food. “It’s my vessel—Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine’s effect.”

            Yeah, right, this is your hunger to feel human. You’re curious about it, and here it is in your face, thought (Y/N).

            “So, Famine just rolls into town, and everybody goes crazy?” said Dean.

            “ ‘And then will come Famine riding on a black steed,’ ” quoted Castiel. “ ‘He will ride into a the land of plenty, and great will be the Horseman’s hunger, for he is hunger. His hunger will seep out and poison the air.’ ”  He faced the hunters. “Famine’s hungry. He must devour the souls of his victims.”

            “So, that’s what was in the briefcase—the twinkie dude’s soul?” said Dean, looking back at the briefcase.

            “Lucifer has sent his demons to care for Famine, to feed him, make certain he’ll be ready,” warned Castiel.

            “Ready for what?” asked Sam.

            “To march across the land,” said Castiel ominously.

            “Like War wanted to,” recognized (Y/N). They frowned. “Is Famine going to start affecting us?”

            “It likely already has,” said Castiel. “If I am feeling the effect, you are, too. Even if you haven’t figured out what.” He paused. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared and reappeared with a new bag of food.

            (Y/N) tilted their head, trying to identify what was going on with them. They didn’t feel that weird. Just antsy to get this case on the road. They always felt that way. As they thought, (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace, and it warmed beneath their fingers.

            Sam took a deep, shaky breath. He turned to the sink of the kitchenette and splashed water on himself. “So, what, this whole town is just gonna eat, drink, and screw itself to death?”

            “Or whatever else they crave,” said Castiel. He munched on a burger. “We should stop it.”

            “Yeah, that’s a great idea. How?” said Dean, nearly rolling his eyes at the obvious question.

            “How did you stop the last Horseman you met?” asked Castiel.

            “We cut his ring off his finger,” said (Y/N). “Well, I cut his finger off. Ring came with it.” They went to their back, dug around for a second, and pulled it out. “He had no power after that, so he ran.”

            “And everyone in the town, it was like they woke up from a dream,” said Dean. “You think Famine’s got a class ring, too, Cas?”

            “I know he does,” said Castiel.

            “Well, okay,” said Dean. “Let’s track him down and get to chopping.”

            “Yeah.” Castiel was barely paying attention and looked with more interest at his food.

            “What are you, the Hamburglar?” said Dean.

            (Y/N) glanced to the side. Sam had drifted in the bathroom and was splashing water on himself repeatedly, shoulders shaking.

            “I’ve developed a taste for ground beef,” said Castiel.

            “Have you even tried to stop it?” said Dean. “Look at me and (Y/N). We’re both fine.”

            “I’m an angel. I can stop any time I want,” said Castiel in a bald-faced lie.

            “Whatever,” said Dean. “Sam, let’s roll.”

            “Dean, I…I can’t,” said Sam, swallowing and looking at Dean while he shook. “I can’t go.”

            “What do you mean?” said Dean.

            “I think it got to me, Dean,” said Sam. “I think I’m hungry for it…” He trailed off.

            “Hungry for what?” said Dean.

            “What do you think, Dean,” said (YN), shifting as they watched Sam look at the ground with shame. “Demon blood.”

            “You got to be kidding me,” said Dean. He looked at Castiel. “You got to get him out of here. You got to beam him to, like, Montana. Anywhere but here.”

            “It won’t work,” said Castiel. “He’s already infected. The hunger is just gonna travel with him.”

            “Well, then, what do we do?” said Dean.

            “You go cut that bastard’s finger off,” said Sam. He didn’t want to fall into his addiction again. He twisted a washcloth in his hands.

            (Y/N) looked at Dean. “You heard him.”

            “But before you go…” Sam let out a shaky breath. “You better lock me down. But good.”

            Dean nodded solemnly and grabbed handcuffs to lock Sam up. Sam sat down in the bathroom and let Dean lock him to the sink.

            “Alright, hang in there,” said Dean. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

            “Be careful,” said Sam. “And hurry.”

            “Problem. Do we have any idea where Famine even is?” said (Y/N).

            “We’ll figure that out,” said Dean.

            “You know, Ruby—” they ignored Dean, Sam, and Castiel’s strange looks as they brought her up “—did a spell once to find Dean when Uriel took him. Could we use that?” (Y/N) wasn’t usually bold enough to bring it up, but it could be helpful to use magic in this moment.

            “No.” Sam cleared his throat. “You need something that belongs to the person you’re tracing.”

            “That sucks,” said (Y/N).

            “We don’t need witch-shit,” said Dean. “We’ll figure it out.” He stood, left the bathroom, and closed the door. Castiel pushed a dresser in front of it. “Let’s go.”

 

l

 

            One trip to the mortuary and an examination of another body, Dean, (Y/N), and Castiel sat in the impala, waiting for the latest vic’s soul to be harvested. Then they could follow it back to Famine. While they waited, though, Castiel’s hunger was getting worse. He was devouring an insane amount of beef. Dean still felt nothing, and (Y/N)’s restlessness grew worse.

            Nothing could help it. It’s like they were starving but they had no idea for what. It was disconcerting, and it wasn’t…they should have acted on something by now, right? So what was going on with them? It freaked (Y/N) out. Was something wrong with them that they weren’t reacting like they should?

            “Are you serious?” said Dean, watching Castiel.

            “These make me very happy,” said Castiel cheerfully.

            “How many is that?” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “I lost count,” said Castiel. “It’s in the low hundreds.”

            “You are so lucky you’re an angel and are going to survive that for now,” said (Y/N).

            “What I don’t understand is where is your hunger?” Castiel looked at the humans.

            “Huh?” said Dean.

            “Well, slowly but surely, everyone in town is falling pray to famine, but, so far, you two seem unaffected,” said Castiel.

            “Hey, when I want to drink, I drink,” said Dean. “When I want sex, I go get it. Sam goes for a sandwich or a fight. So…” He shrugged.

            “You’re saying you’re just well-adjusted?” said Castiel.

            “As if,” said (Y/N).

            “No,” said Dean. He wasn’t stupid. “I’m just well-fed.”

            Castiel was skeptical but didn’t argue. “(Y/N), have you been feeling anything?”

            Dean twisted to look back. If they were in danger, he wanted to know so he could protect them.

            (Y/N) thought of all the weird feelings, like their bones wanted to jump from their skin, something stuck beneath their flesh. “I don’t know. I feel weird, but I don’t know what I want. I don’t have a craving for something specific.” They shrugged. “I think I’m good.”

            Castiel frowned. He had strange humans around him. “Look.” He saw someone coming out of the medical clinic. It was time to focus and find Famine.

 

l

 

            They pulled up outside a diner where lots of cars were lined up in the parking lot. That wasn’t a surprise—where else would be go to gorge themselves to death once affected by Famine? He’d have lots of souls to consume before he needed to go out and collect more. He had gotten stronger before he needed to send demons out to collect victims’ souls.

            “Demons,” said Dean, watching men in suits mill about. “You want to go over the plan again?”

            (Y/N) watched Castiel pay more attention to the empty foil of his last hamburger than Dean. “Hey, Cas.” They snapped their fingers in his face. “The plan?”

            “I take the knife, I go in, I cut off the ring finger of Famine, and I meet you back here in the parking lot,” said Castiel.

            (Y/N) grumbled at their inability to do anything yet again. They were restless.

            “Well, that sounds foolproof,” sighed Dean as Castiel disappeared.

            “He’s not gonna make it,” said (Y/N).

            “Sure he is. He’s stronger than some demons,” said Dean.

            “And now in a place full of burger meat,” said (Y/N).

            Dean grimaced, and as a few minutes passed, he had a terrible suspicion that (Y/N) was right. “This is taking too long.”

            “Then let’s go,” said (Y/N), getting out of the car before Dean even had a chance to get out.

            “Wait, (Y/N), wait,” hissed Dean, grabbing his gun. There was definitely something weird going on with them.

            He led the way around back, and (Y/N) picked the lock to the kitchen entrance of the diner. They snuck in and found the lights off. Everything was cold and dark, and no one could be seen. Food was still cooking, overdone and burning, but there was no one around. Dean narrowed his eyes and kept his gun out. (Y/N) held their tightly. They grimaced as they came upon a man with his face dunked in a fryer—another victim lost to Famine.

            They grimaced and emerged to where they could see the seating area of the diner. Other bodies had been moved to the side of the room, but one person was still moving—a familiar person in a familiar trench coat.

            “Cas!” snapped Dean.

            Castiel didn’t move as he shoveled raw meat into his mouth. (Y/N)’s face twisted in disgust. Movement caught their eye, and (Y/N) spun. The reflection of a demon had given him away, and they slammed their gun into his face. Another one appeared, and Dean hit it, but as soon as their backs were turned, demons grabbed them and threw them into the wall. Their guns hit the ground and skidded away. Demons grabbed their arms, keeping a tight hold on them. They were caught.

            Dean and (Y/N) were dragged out to the dining area, past Castiel, who couldn’t pull himself away from his famine for red meat.

            “The other Mr. Winchester and the pet hunter,” croaked a man.

            (Y/N) knew in an instant this was Famine. He sat in a wheelchair, a blanket over his lap, but even though he was hooked to oxygen and appeared gaunt and weak, there was an aura of control around him. The itch within their bones grew to a fire, and (Y/N) felt like they wanted to tear their skin off to release whatever energy was trapped inside.

            “What did you do to him?” said Dean, looking worriedly at Castiel.

            “You sicced your dog on me. I just threw him a steak,” said Famine, smirking.

            (Y/N) despised the self-satisfied look on the old man’s face. “What, that’s your big trick?” They couldn’t hold the words back. “Make a few people cuckoo for cocoa puffs?”

            “Doesn’t take much. Hardly a push,” said Famine.

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Then it isn’t much a trick. Kinda pathetic.”

            Famine let out a wheezing laugh, and (Y/N) scowled. “Your kind always has a tongue on them.” They rolled their eyes while Famine continued. “But the trick is this country. Oh, America—all-you-can-eat, all the time. Consume, consume. A swam of locusts in stretch pants. And yet, you’re all still starving because hunger doesn’t just come from the body, it also comes from the soul.”

            “It’s funny, it doesn’t seem to be coming from us,” said Dean, pulling the attention from (Y/N). He hated when monsters focused on them. It meant he couldn’t protect them.

            “Well,” Famine smirked, “You do not hunger. I noticed that. Have you wondered why that is? How you could even walk in my presence?”

            “Well, I like to think it’s because of my strength of character,” said Dean with mock cheerfulness.

            “I disagree,” said Famine. He rolled forward, and Dean squirmed against the demons holding him. Famine placed his over his chest, and Dean gasped as he felt a strange energy in him twist. “Yes. I see. That’s one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can’t fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex.”

            “Oh, you’re so full of crap,” said Dean, refusing to let Famine get one over on him.

            “Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me,” said Famine. “I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are.”

            (Y/N) glanced worriedly at Dean as he stiffened.

            “How defeated,” continued Famine. “You can’t win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just…keep going through the movements. You’re not hungry, Dean, because inside you’re already…dead.”

            Dean swallowed, and (Y/N)’s anger rose at his discomfort. He was family their friend. “Shut up, you old creep,” they snapped. “I’m not that hungry either, so maybe your mojo’s off.” They were wrong, and they knew it, but they’d be damned before they just let Famine continue hurting Dean without them doing anything.

            “You? Not hungry?” His wheezing laugh echoed in the silence. “Oh, your soul hungers."

            “I ‘hunger’ to kick your ass,” grumbled (Y/N).

            Famine’s cracked lips spread into a grin. “You hunger for what you don’t even understand. I wonder…” he lifted a hand, and (Y/N) gasped as their insides twisted as he reached for their soul.

            “Get away from them,” snapped Dean, pulling against the demons as (Y/N) gritted their teeth against the invasive sensation. That was the kid he and Sam took care of, and a monster was just—!

            “Ah. Locked away,” said Famine. “Still growing…I wonder how its need to get free—its endless hunger for release—will eat away at you.” Famine grinned and let his hand fall. (Y/N) took several deep breaths, the twisting itch of something trying to explode from within their skin growing stronger. “I look forward to consuming your soul once it consumes you.”

            “Let them go.”

            Famine abruptly turned around, and (Y/N) and Dean’s eyes widened. Sam stood in the diner. Blood smeared his chin, and he took slow, deep breaths as he glared at Famine. (Y/N) swallowed. He hadn’t escaped Famine’s influence after all.

            “Sam…” said Famine.

            The demons at Famine’s side surged forward, Sam lifted a hand, and Dean’s eyes widened in alarm.

            “Sammy, no!” he shouted. If Sam used his abilities with the demon blood, his addiction would never leave.

            “No!” shouted Famine. “No one lays a finger on this sweet little boy. Sam…I see you got the snack I sent you.”

            Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You sent?”

            “Don’t worry,” said Famine. “You’re not like everyone else. You’ll never die from drinking too much. You’re the exception that proves the rule. Just the way Satan wanted you to be. So…” He grinned and gestured to the demons. “Cut their throats. Have at them.”

            “Sammy/Sam, no!” shouted Dean and (Y/N).

            “Please, be my guest,” said Famine, tempting Sam with his addiction, his hunger.

            Sam raised a hand, closed his eyes, and leveled his abilities towards the beings in front of him. (Y/N) stiffened, the itch in their veins a rush.

            Smoke poured from the demon’s mouths. (Y/N) and Dean were released, and Dean scrambled to pull (Y/N) away from the demons. (Y/N) felt the rushing in their veins move to their heads, their heartbeat a thundering sound in their ears.

            “(Y/N)?” said Dean as he watched them stare into space.

            Famine’s excitement as his strength growing, and their heartbeat pounded like a drum in their ears. Their chest felt tight, and (Y/N) heaved for a breath. The necklace around their neck felt heavy, and (Y/N)’s fingers snapped against each other as they sought to expel the energy burst from within.

            As Sam’s power pulled the demons from their meatsuits, the lights in the diner flashed on and then burst, sending a shower of glass. (Y/N)’s fingers stopped snapping, and they let out a breath, exhaling some of the energy that swirled like a storm within.

            Dean saw them unresponsive, and he kept his grip on them tight and secure in case something happened. Whatever hunger Famine was threatening them with, it was growing. Dean held onto his the kid tightly.

            The demons dropped one-by-one as Sam expelled them from their bodies. Sam took several deep breaths from exertion.

            “No,” he said.

            Famine’s self-satisfied smile fell. “Well…If you don’t want them, then I’ll have them.” He sucked in a breath, and smoke pulled up from the ground. The black smoke of the demons poured down his throat as he consumed the demons.

            Sam stepped forward and raised a hand towards Famine.

            “I’m a Horseman, Sam,” said Famine darkly. “Your power doesn’t work on me.”

            I wish it did. I wish something did. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped towards Famine.

            Famine chuckled and rolled towards the bodies of the demons, and Sam swallowed. (Y/N)’s gaze didn’t leave him. Suddenly, he coughed, and smoke filtered from his throat. Sam straightened, making a connection.

            “But it works on them,” he said.

            Sam twisted a hand and took ahold of the demons within Famine. Famine let out a strangled sound and twisted as Sam used his abilities. His entire face screwed up with concentration, and Famine jerked in his chair. Blood dripped from Sam’s nose.

            (Y/N) pulled from Dean’s grasp, grabbed a knife that had dropped to the ground, and darted towards Famine. Energy pounded in their head, and only as they brought down the knife on Famine’s finger did it die. Sam pulled the demons out from Famine’s stomach at the same moment, and the power of a Horseman dying ripped free. It passed over (Y/N) as the ring and finger fell to the floor. Their pendant was red-hot, and (Y/N) let out a breath. The itch died with Famine, but a sense of satisfaction rested in their chest. Like they had done something right for them.

            Even as Dean stared at Sam’s face, now covered in his own blood from overexertion as well as demon blood, (Y/N) stared at their hands. Famine’s blood covered them, but their shaking had stopped. The restless energy had dissipated. Whatever was going to consume them had been properly fed.

            And (Y/N) was terrified of whatever was starving in their soul.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) could hear Sam, going through another detox, screaming from Bobby’s basement. They had rushed him there as soon as Famine had died and Castiel was free of his influence. They stood in the bathroom, face drying from the cold water they’d splashed on themself. The extremes of their restlessness had faded with the lack of Famine’s presence, but the faint itch, the subtle agitation, the sense of unrest, remained. It was a nag at the back of their mind, and (Y/N) couldn’t get away from it.

            They stared at themself in the mirror. Their fingers gripped the counter. The lights flickered, and (Y/N) looked up. The lightbulbs buzzed down at (Y/N). They tilted their head.

            The lights went out. (Y/N) blinked in the darkness. They relaxed their hold on the counter. The lights flicked back on of their own accord.

            And the itch in (Y/N)’s mind faded to a dull beat.

Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen: Zombie

            (Y/N) laughed at Dean and Sam’s sullen expressions as they walked towards Bobby’s house. “I can’t believe you guys got caught.”

            “Shut up,” grumbled Dean. “Just our luck we meet the one sheriff that knows Bobby and could recognize his voice.”

            They had been investigating a case and posed as FBI agents, but when they made a call to their supervisor, which was always Bobby, they had gotten caught. They were lucky they weren’t put in jail.

            “I think I like her,” decided (Y/N).

            “You know you would have been in trouble if you were with us, right?” said Sam.

            “Yeah, but I’m not cause you don’t let me have any fun,” said (Y/N) cheerfully.

            Dean knocked on Bobby’s door, and Bobby opened it, rolling back to let them in. “Oh, so you’re still alive,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, yeah,” said Bobby. “What you want?”

            “You know how many times we called?” said Dean. “Where have you been?”

            “Playing murderball,” said Bobby sarcastically.

            “What’s that smell?” asked (Y/N), looking around. “It smells like soap and not beer and smoke.” And his hair looks neat, and his shirt is buttoned up. What the hell?

            “What are you, my mother?” scoffed Bobby.

            “Bobby, seriously,” said Sam.

            “I been working,” said Bobby. “You know, trying to find a way to stop the Devil.”

            “Find anything?” asked Dean.

            “What do you think?” snarked Bobby.

            “Bobby, it’s just there’s a case less than five miles from your house,” said Sam.

            “What, the Benny Sutton thing?” said Bobby. “That’s what this is about?”

            “You knew about that?” said Dean incredulously.

            “Hell yes,” said Bobby. “I checked into it already. There’s nothing here.”

            “Except a witness who saw a dead guy commit murder,” said Sam.

            “Sounds like a case to me,” said (Y/N).

            “What witness? Digger Wells?” Bobby scoffed.

            “Yeah. So?” said Dean.

            “So, he’s a drunk,” said Bobby.

            “So are you. And Dean is,” said (Y/N). Dean and Bobby glared, and (Y/N) shrugged.

            “What about the lightning storms?” pointed out Sam. “They look like omens.”

            “Except in February in South Dakota in storm season,” said Bobby. “Guys, I thought it was something, too. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

            “So who killed the Sutton?” said (Y/N).

            “Take your pick,” said Bobby. “This Benny Sutton gay was a grade-a son of a bitch. There’s a list of the living a year long who wouldn’t mind putting a cap in his ass.”

            “So you’re telling us…” Dean shrugged “Nothing?”

            Bobby sighed. “Sorry. Looks like you guys wasted a tank of gas on this one.”

            “Alright,” said Dean.

 

l

 

            Dean pulled into the cemetery and parked. Sam frowned.

            “What’s up?” he asked.

            “Isn’t that the graveyard?” said Dean.

            “Yeah. So what? Bobby already checked it out,” said Sam.

            “And? What, Bobby’s never wrong?” said Dean.

            “I vote we check it out,” said (Y/N). “It’ll take five minutes. Might as well look if we’ve driven here.”

            And so, they ended up in the cemetery peering at headstones in the pitch-black.

            “Hey,” said Sam, pausing. He shone his flashlight on the grave of Clay Thompson that looked strangely dug-up. It just so happened to be that Clay Thompson was who Digger Wells saw climbing out of Benny Sutton’s trailer when he was killed.

            “This look fresh to you?” said Dean.

            “Yeah, actually,” said (Y/N).

            All three lifted their shovels and struck the earth. They dug until they reached a coffin. The lid was broken, and inside? Nothing.

            “What is going on here?” said Sam.

            “I don’t know. But something stinks,” said Dean. He stood. “Time to give the Thompsons a visit.”

 

l

 

            Dean unlocked the front door of the Thompson home. Carefully, the hunters slipped inside and shone their flashlights around. Everything seemed typical, nothing out of the ordinary so far. Dean nodded, and they split up. (Y/N) headed to the kitchen and peered around for signs of struggles or…flesh or whatever else.

            A crash echoed, and (Y/N) jumped. A thump and a shout sounded, and they cursed, knowing whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to be good. It was going to be a fight. Sam and (Y/N) ran into the living room where Dean stood over a man.

            “Don’t shoot me!” he cried as he saw the guns. “Please! There’s money in the safe!”

            “We don’t want your money,” barked Dean.

            “What do you want?” He looked up at them, and (Y/N) saw his deathly pale face contort in confusion. “Anything. Please.”

            “You’re Clay Thompson, right?” said Sam, furrowing his brow.

            Clay raised his head. “Who are you?” He stood, looking at them warily instead of aggressively.

            “Um…” Sam awkwardly cleared their throats. “FBI.”

            Clay looked at the teenager near Sam and (Y/N). “FBI?” He seemed doubtful. “Oh my god.” He suddenly straightened, and his eyes widened. “This is about Benny.”

            “What about Benny?” Dean furrowed his brow.

            “He killed me! He shot me in the back!” said Clay.

            He knows he’s dead? This was weird case central, and somehow Bobby had missed it.

            “I’m supposed to let him get away with that?” scoffed Clay.

            Dean paused awkwardly. “Hold up. Are-Are you confessing?”

            “Easiest case in a while,” said (Y/N). “And the weirdest.” It could not be this simple.

            “Please. I’ll go with you,” said Clay. “Just-Just don’t wake my kids.”

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged looks.

            “You’ll go with us where?” said Sam, unsure of how to proceed. The option here seemed to be…put Clay back in the grave.

            “Jail,” said Clay.

            “Okay, okay,” said (Y/N). “You’re Clay Thompson, right? The one who died five years ago?”

            “Yes,” said Clay.

            “And you clawed out of your own grave and killed Benny Sutton?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Clay.

            “So you’re…dead,” said (Y/N).

            “I guess,” said Clay. “I-I-I don’t know what I am.”

            “Clay?” Everyone spun to find Clay’s wife in the doorway. “I called 9-1-1,” she said.

            “It’s okay, honey,” said Clay. “These people are from the FBI. They’re here about Benny.”

            “Why don’t you come with us, Mr. Thompson?” said Dean, going with the act. Sam smiled awkwardly at Mrs. Thompson. (Y/N) scoped for an exit.

            “I think that’d be best,” said Clay.

            They headed outside, and (Y/N) watched warily for the police. As they went, Dean pulled out a gun.

            “Dean,” hissed Sam quietly.

            “He’s a monster,” whispered Dean.

            “He’s a soccer dad,” said Sam.

            “He committed murder,” said (Y/N).

            “What do you want to do with him?” said Dean.

            “Freeze!” A woman appeared with her gun raised. “Drop your guns!”

            Dean and Sam put up their hands.

            “Peace out!” said (Y/N), turning on their heel and jumping over the hedge in the Thompson’s front yard.

            “Hey!” shouted the sheriff, and one ran after them while the woman dealt with Sam and Dean (the “jig was up,” as they say).

            (Y/N) pushed themself faster and farther than the sheriff, disappearing into the pocket of woods behind the suburban houses. They heard the crack of twigs behind them, but (Y/N) was faster, and even as someone shouted at them to freeze, (Y/N) slid down an embankment and rolled behind logs by a creek. They waited silently as someone passed by, but, fortunately, they weren’t found.

            I hope Sam and Dean are doing okay.

            (Nope, they were getting arrested).

 

l

 

            (Y/N) walked into the sheriff’s department and hovered awkwardly by the door. A woman—the same woman as the previous night and, if (Y/N) had to bet, the same one who had called them out in the diner—walked up to them.

            “Hey, kid. It’s awfully late. I’m Sheriff Mills. Can I help you?” she said, not unkindly.

            “I’m here to post bail for my friends,” said (Y/N). “Sam and Dean? Would’ve been brought here last night.”

            Mills raised a brow, and (Y/N) prayed it had been dark enough and they looked young enough to not be recognized from the previous night. “Sam and Dean, huh? The one’s who tried to kill Clay Thompson?”

            “Who?” said (Y/N) innocently.

            “Mhm.” Mills definitely suspected them. “Listen, kid, if those two are involving you in something…you can tell me. I mean, it’s late, you should be at home—”

            “I’m really fine,” said (Y/N). What did she want them to say? “My parents are dead and these guys’ car is my home, so please let them out?” “I just want to get them out of that cell.”

            “Come on, Jody.”

            (Y/N) turned to find Bobby wheeling himself into the cell. Dean and Sam must have used their call to get him down there.

            “Let them out. They were being stupid,” said Bobby. “Can’t blame ‘em for thinking the, uh, situation is weird.”

            (Y/N) frowned. “Situation?” Is that what the dead walking was being called?

            Jody narrowed her eyes and stepped to the side. Bobby rolled over, and they had a hushed, quiet situation. Bobby was definitely keeping secrets. (Y/N) leaned over and peeked into the department. Dean and Sam sat in a cell, and they straightened when they spotted (Y/N). The teen waved at them and gave a thumbs-up as they saw Jody roll her eyes but straighten. Whatever Bobby had said, it convinced her.

            Jody headed back to the cell and unlocked the door. She admonished them briefly, clearly still disliking them, but for the shake of not causing trouble and the “situation,” she let them go.

            “You okay?” said Sam, looking at (Y/N) worriedly while Dean pushed Bobby.

            “Yeah, I’m good,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “I ran faster than that sheriff and hid. You guys should try it.”

            “Oh, yeah, cause resisting arrest will help us,” said Dean. “That’ll make the sheriff like us a ton.”

            (Y/N) waved a hand. “Whatever.” They could bend the rules.

            “Bobby, I though the sheriff hated you?,” said Sam.

            “She did till five days ago,” said Bobby.

            “What happened five days ago?” asked Dean.

            “Is that the ‘situation?’ ” said (Y/N).

            Bobby nodded. “The dead started rising all over town.”

            Sam stared at Bobby in disbelief. “So you knew about this?”

            “Yep,” said Bobby.

            “I think what Sam meant to say was, you lied to us?” said Dean incredulously.

            Bobby turned his wheelchair around to face them. “Look, I told you there was nothing here. And there isn’t. Not for you.”

            “There are zombies here,” said Dean.

            “There’s zombies…and then there’s zombies,” said Bobby. “Come with me.” He was going to prove them wrong.

 

l

 

            They stepped into Bobby’s house. Dean huffed since Bobby had refused to tell them anymore, and even now, instead of explaining everything, he just wheeled himself towards the kitchen.

            “You want to tell us what the hell—”

            “Oh, hey.” A smiling woman in a cute yellow dress and apron walked out of the kitchen. Her face was deathly pale but pleasant all the same. She smiled shyly at the newcomers. “I didn’t realize you were bringing company.”

            “It’s 4am, babe.” Bobby smiled at her fondly. “You didn’t need to cook.”

            Oh my god, he’s dating a zombie, thought (Y/N).

            “Oh, please.” She waved a hand and smiled. “I’ll get some more plates.”

            “Who was that?” said Dean the moment she left the room.

            “Karen. My wife,” said Bobby.

            “Your new wife?” said Dean.

            “My dead wife,” said Bobby, knowing exactly how insane it sounded.

            Before they could continue with the discussion, Karen reentered with plates. She put them down and smiled. “Please, sit.”

            Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) looked at the table warily. Was a zombie capable of cooking? Apparently, like Clay, they could be taxpayers. Maybe they could cook.

            “I’ve got enough pie for everyone,” said Karen, smiling.

            Dean instantly sat down. That was all the convincing he needed. He wanted pie, no matter who made it. Sam and (Y/N) exchanged exasperated looks and then sat down. Karen happily poured tea while Dean took a bite and hummed.

            “This is incredible, Mrs. Singer,” said Dean through his mouthful.

            “Thank you, Dean,” said Karen. She had learned their names from her husband’s fond stories of his boys and their new kid.

            Sam gave Dean a look, and Dean said, “What? It is.”

            “It’s great, Karen. Thanks,” said Bobby. “Could you, um, give us a minute?” She smiled in understanding and walked out. Instantly, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) glared at Bobby.

            “Are you crazy?” said Dean.

            “Seriously, what the hell?” said (Y/N).

            “I can explain,” said Bobby, putting his hands up to placate them.

            “Explain what? Lying to us?” said Dean. “Or the American Girl zombie making cupcakes in your kitchen?!”

            “First of all, that’s my wife, so watch it,” said Bobby sharply.

            “Bobby, whatever that thing is in there, it is not your wife,” said Sam.

            “And how do you know that?” said Bobby.

            “Because this is the Apocalypse we’re living through, and nothing good comes during that. If this is some new type of monster, it’s going to be bad,” said (Y/N).

            “You think I’m an idiot, kid?” said Bobby. “My dead wife shows up on my doorstep, I’m not gonna test her every way I ever learned?” His voice was harsh, accusative.

            (Y/N) didn’t back down. “The problem isn’t what she could be but what she is! She’s dead. And now she’s here and walking around. How is that not a giant red flag in this business?!”

            “She’s not a—” Bobby took a deep breath. “Hell if I know what she is. She’s got no scars, no wounds, no reaction to salt, silver, holy water…” He shook his head.

            “Bobby, she crawled out of her coffin,” said Dean.

            “No, she didn’t,” said Bobby. “I cremated her.” Dean and Sam’s eyes widened.

            (Y/N) frowned. Then why does she look like a decaying body? It meant this situation was getting weirder by the second, and (Y/N) didn’t trust this miracle for shit. The angels didn’t care for these taxpayers’ lives.

            “Somehow, someway, she’s back,” continued Bobby.

            “That’s impossible,” said Sam.

            “Tell me about it,” said Bobby.

            “What did you do with her ashes?” asked (Y/N).

            “Buried ‘em,” said Bobby.

            “Where?” asked Dean.

            “In the cemetery,” said Bobby. “That’s where they all rose from.”

            “How many?” asked (Y/N). If that was ground zero, how many “cases” of reanimation were there?

            “Fifteen, twenty,” said Bobby. “I made a list.” He pulled it from his shirt-pocket.

            Sam took it and unfolded it.

            “There’s Karen,” continued Bobby, “Clay…Sheriff Mills—her little boy came back.”

            (Y/N) grimaced. No wonder Jody didn’t want anyone butting in on the town and disrupting it. Her child had come back to life. Any parent worth their salt would fight to protect their kid. (Y/N)’s parents had given their lives for that reason.

            “And there were no signs, no omens?” questioned Sam incredulously. Bobby wasn’t looking at this objectively; he couldn’t.

            Bobby looked down guiltily. “Well, there were lightning storms.”

            Dean threw his hands up, and (Y/N) groaned.

            “That’s what we said,” they huffed. And Bobby had blown them off because he didn’t see any issues with the situation. “What else?”

            Bobby rolled to his desk, grabbed a book, and returned. He opened it to an earmarked page. He cleared his throat and read from the Book of Revelations. “ ‘And through the fire stood before me a pale horse, and he that sat atop him carried a scythe, and I saw since he had risen they, too, shall rise, and from him and through him.’ ” He put the Bible down.

            “So, what, Death is behind this?” said Dean, jaw clenching.

            “Death Death?” said Sam.

            “Makes sense. He got released by Lucifer. It was weird we hadn’t seen anything with his name on it yet,” said (Y/N).

            “Awesome,” sighed Dean. “Another Horseman. Must be Thursday.”

            “Bobby…” said Sam slowly. “Why would Death raise fifteen people in a Podunk town like Sioux Falls?” He grabbed the Book of Revelations and stared at it, searching for more answers.

            “I don’t know,” said Bobby honestly.

            “You know, if Death is behind this, then whatever these things are…it’s not good,” said Dean. “Like (Y/N) said, it’s the Apocalypse. We’re not getting any miracles anytime soon.” He looked at Bobby solemnly. “You know what we have to do here.”

            Bobby swallowed. “She doesn’t remember anything, you know,” he said quietly.

            “What do you mean?” said Dean.

            “Being possessed,” said Bobby. “Me killing her…Her coming back.”

            (Y/N) pursed their lips. They felt horrible for Bobby and the…nature of the situation, its connection to him, but this didn’t feel right.

            “Bobby…” said Dean, feeling the same way (Y/N) did.

            “No, no, don’t ‘Bobby’ me,” said Bobby. “Just…Just listen, okay?”

            They went silent, and a pleasant hum filled the room as the sounds and smells of baking accompanied it. It broke (Y/N)’s heart to know that this sort of peace would have to be broken, but this was Death’s work and Lucifer’s work by extension. It was a false peace. There would be another side to this, a curse where Bobby, Jody, and others saw a blessing.

            “She hums when she cooks,” said Bobby softly, thinking only of the blessing he was experiencing. “She always…used to hum when she cooked. Tone deaf as all hell, but…” He took a shaky breath. “And I never thought I would hear it again.”

            Dean and Sam swallowed, exchanging glances. (Y/N) touched their necklace worriedly, unsure of how to proceed. This was a terrible, terrible position to be in. They would have to be the person to destroy someone’s happiness. How could they go through with it? They weren’t sure. But they knew they had to.

            “Look, just read Revelation,” said Bobby, seeing the doubtful looks of the other hunters. “The-The dead rise during the Apocalypse. There’s nothing in there that says that’s bad! Hell, maybe it’s the one good thing that comes out of this whole bloody mess!”

            Dean leaned forward. “And what would you do if you were us?”

            Bobby looked down. “I know what I’d do. And I know what you think you got to do. But…I’m begging you.” He shook his head desperately. “Please. Please. Leave her be.”

Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen: Rabid

Notes:

Extra chapter update since tomorrow I can't get to my computer! (traveling!)

            “So, what do you think?” said Sam.

            He, Dean, and (Y/N) had left Bobby and his…wife at the house and gone to a diner to talk. This was a big problem, and the entire town was under the “spell” of this so-called blessing. It needed to be handled properly and soon. There was no telling what Lucifer and Death had planned.

            “There’s nothing to think about,” said Dean. “I’m not gonna leave Bobby at home with the Bride of Frankenstein.”

            Sam sighed. “Then what do you want to do? Just walk in there in front of Bobby and blow her skull off?”

            “He’d probably shoot us next,” said (Y/N). It wasn’t a joke; it was true.

            “If she decides that Bobby’s face is the blue plate special, I’d like to be there,” said Dean firmly.

            “Fine,” said Sam. “See what else we can find out.”

            “If you want to play bodyguard, you keep an eye on Bobby and Karen,” said (Y/N). “I think Sam and I should check on the other people on the list, ‘specially the ones who came up earlier. If anything’s going wrong, it’ll start with them.” Like a real disease.

 

l

 

            Sam and (Y/N) passed by Jody Mills’s house, and they gave it a quick glance. Inside, the family was curled up on the couch, the parents reading to their beloved son, the son they had lost and finally had returned to them. They exchanged a look and moved on. Nothing had gone wrong with the son yet. And there were earlier names.

            Sam walked up to the next house of the next name and knocked on the door. (Y/N) looked around, keeping an eye out for any sheriffs. There was no response and no sheriffs, leaving them standing awkwardly on the doorstep.

            “Mrs. Jones?” shouted Sam.

            No response.

            “Sam,” said (Y/N), noticing something on the ground. They knelt. “That’s…blood.” It splattered the doorstep and led to the door. They looked up at Sam. “We need to get in.” Here was where things went wrong.

            Sam grimaced, nodded, and tried to the doorhandle. They slipped into the house, and (Y/N) shut the door behind them.

            “Ezra Jones?” called Sam again.

            They heard a cough from another room, and Sam narrowed his eyes. He led the way in, keeping (Y/N) behind him protectively. They walked through a mess of clothes and possessions, the marks of a hoarder’s house, and found Ezra Jones on the couch—what was left of her. Her decaying body lay in a threadbare bed of rusting iron, and her breaths were shallow. She could barely sit up, and she wheezed at them as they approached. Her body was losing skin, turning paler and rotting.

            “Ezra Jones?” said (Y/N), looking at the woman. They doubted it wasn’t here, but they could treat her humanely. If she was human, that is.

            She coughed and gestured for them to come closer. She faltered as she tried to speak, wheezing and coughing instead of making sound loud enough to be heard. Sam glanced at (Y/N), who looked way too ready to risk it and step forward. He pushed them back and moved towards Ezra instead, even if he knew it was a bad idea. And gross. And dangerous.

            “What is it?” he said, trying to get an answer before he got within arm’s length of her. Ezra coughed and gagged. “You think maybe you can tell me from here?”

            She beckoned him closer, and (Y/N) grimaced. “Good luck, Sam,” they said.

            “I’m gonna regret this,” sighed Sam, leaning down towards Ezra.

            He swallowed, and Ezra coughed and garbled her words. Her hand reached weakly for him. Then, she screamed and lunged. She hit Sam, and he went flying to the ground. His eyes widened as he found himself beside the hidden body of Ezra’s husband among the mess.

            “She killed him!” he shouted.

            But (Y/N) had moved the instant Ezra lunged for Sam. They grabbed a baseball bat from the ground and swung. It hit Ezra’s head and cracked the skull. The woman lurched back, (Y/N) pulled out their gun, and they fired.

            Bang! Ezra’s body hit the ground an instant later.

            Sam stood and stared at (Y/N). They looked back at him, the now-familiar but still unsettling restlessness in their mind thrumming to life.

            “We need to tell Dean and Bobby,” said (Y/N). The zombies were going rabid.

 

l

 

            Night had fallen by the time Sam and (Y/N) had collected Dean, explained the situation, and returned to Bobby’s house. The zombies needed to be handled soon or they would all start killing like Ezra Jones had.

            “Keep your damn voices down,” huffed Bobby as soon as his boys and the kid accosted him. “Karen’s upstairs.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Dean sarcastically. “We’re a little tense right now. Who’s old lady Jones?”

            “The first one to come up,” said Bobby.

            “First one to go bad,” corrected (Y/N).

            “Ah, she was always a nutty broad.” Bobby brushed it off.

            “Nutty how?” said Dean. “Nutty like the way she ate her husband’s stomach? Was that the level of nutty she was in life?”

            “No.” Surprise forced the word out.

            “Look, Bobby, I feel for you,” said Dean. “But you have got to acknowledge that you’re not exactly seeing this straight!”

            Bobby started to wheel himself away, refusing to listen.

            “Bobby, whether you want to admit it or not, these things are turning,” said Sam. “We have to stop them.”

            “All of them,” said (Y/N).

            Bobby turned himself around and pulled out his pistol. Dean’s eyes widened slightly, and Sam swallowed. (Y/N) tensed, and their fingers itched for a weapon.

            “Time to go,” said Bobby.

            “What?” said Dean in disbelief.

            “You heard me,” said Bobby. “Off my property.”

            “Or what? You’ll shoot?” said Sam, staring at the father figure now threatening to kill him.

            “If Karen turns, I will handle it—my way,” said Bobby sharply.

            “This is dangerous,” said Dean.

            “Bobby, they’re going to hurt people—”

            The safety clicked off Bobby’s gun, and (Y/N) shut up.

            “I’m not telling you twice,” said Bobby.

            The Winchesters and (Y/N) knew better than to stick around.

 

l

 

            Dean pulled the impala out of Bobby’s junkyard and stopped them. He shut the engine off.

            “He’s crazy,” he said firmly.

            “It’s his wife, Dean,” said Sam.

            “So he goes ‘Full Metal Jacket’ on us?” said Dean incredulously. “We’re his family, Sam.”

            “At least Bobby knows now,” said (Y/N). “And if something happens, he can handle it. The problem is everyone else in town thinking this miracle’ll last forever and then turn into chew toys.”

            “Yeah, and Bobby’s in his house alone making pie with one of ‘em!” said Dean.

            “Alright, so?” said Sam.

            “So?” said Dean. “I’m gonna have to go back there and-and kill her!”

            “If he sees you, you’re a dead man,” said Sam.

            “Well, then, I guess I won’t let him see me,” said Dean.

            “Be careful,” said (Y/N). “I want to go into town and try to stop as many of the zombies as we can.”

            Sam sighed. “Should be easy.” The sarcasm was clear.

            “Sounds like,” said Dean.

            “We’re gonna need help,” said (Y/N). “Two of us? A teenager? No one’s gonna listen.”

            “What about the Sheriff?” suggested Dean.

            “Uh, last time I checked, the Sheriff was pretty pro-zombie,” said Sam.

            “Well, I guess you’ll just have to convince her,” said Dean.

            “How?” said Sam.

            “We’ll make it up as we go,” said (Y/N).

 

l

 

            Sam and (Y/N) approached Jody’s house once more. The lights were dim within, but they could see Mr. Mills walked towards his son on a couch. The son looked pale and weak, shaking as he lay on the couch. The similarities to Ezra Jones’s state were unnerving.

            “We need to get in there,” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N), if she catches us, she’ll shoot,” said Sam. “We should knock on the door and talk to her first—”

            “And tell her what, ‘Hi, your son is going to go crazy and try to eat you. Time to put him down!’ That’ll go over well,” said (Y/N).

            “We can at least—”

            A scream sounded, and (Y/N) stiffened. They looked back through the window, and blood stained the ground. Mr. Mills was no longer standing, and his son was gone.

            “Shit,” said (Y/N), and they ran towards the door. They slammed into it. “Sam!”

            Sam shot the door handle and pushed the door open. He burst in and grabbed Jody’s shoulders. She screamed, eyes still on her son. (Y/N) came up short as they spotted her son—face focused but empty of feeling, void of everything but hunger and stained red with his father’s blood.

            “Let’s go!” said Sam, rushing her towards the door.

            “No!” cried Jody.

            “Go!” shouted (Y/N), knowing how strong the kid would be as a zombie.

            “My husband!” cried Jody as she was pulled outside.

            “Leave it! He’s dead!” said Sam.

            “That was not my son,” said Jody, chest heaving as she neared hysterics and grief.

            Sam gripped her by the shoulders. “You’re right. It wasn’t.” Jody stared past him back into the house.

            “Sheriff,” said (Y/N) sharply. “Your town is in danger. People are in danger. We need to help them. Now.”

            “Can you do that for us? Can you focus for us, Sheriff?” said Sam.

            Jody ran her hands through her hair and shook her head. She sniffled and sobbed, holding her tears back. She took a long, trembling breath.

            “Sheriff?” said (Y/N).

            Jody let out the breath, her fingers still twitching with anxiety and the overwhelming sensation of the grief that gripped her. “How do we put them down?”

            “Headshot,” said Sam.

            Jody nodded jerkily and blinked back tears. She knew what needed to happen. “We’re gonna need weapons.” Her voice broke on the words.

            “We can start by rounding up everyone we can find,” said Sam, taking charge. “Where is there a safe place we can take people?”

            “Jail,” said Jody.

            “Right,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) glanced back at the house and then at Sam. “Just…wait here. Stay with Sam. Give me a minute.”

            “(Y/N), are you sure—?” Sam didn’t want (Y/N) to suffer through killing a kid, even if the child was already did.

            “I’m sure,” said (Y/N). They needed to do something instead of hanging back. And Jody would feel safer with Sam. He had a better way with people than (Y/N) did. And (Y/N) was a teenager. They could face a kid as another child, could respect them even as they did was necessary.

            They went inside the house and found Jody’s son wandering around the house, slowly making his way towards the door. His eyes landed on (Y/N), and he let out that wheezing sound Ezra Jones hat. (Y/N) raised their gun, and the son’s mouth opened in an animalistic snarl.

            “I hope you can go back to resting,” said (Y/N). All of these people that Death and Lucifer had wrenched from the grave…they deserved to return to resting.

            Bang!

 

l

 

            Sam and (Y/N) looked at all of the townspeople they had gathered. It wasn’t everyone, but it was as many people as they could find. Jody, still grieving but focused on surviving now, nearly a hunter already, unlocked the cabinet of guns and began to hand them to Sam and (Y/N) to distribute.

            “Alright,” said Sam. “If I hand you a gun and you see a dead person, I don’t care if it’s your friend, your neighbor, or your wife. You shoot for the head. That’s the only way we survive.”

            (Y/N) handed out guns. They were glad Jody was there to give credibility to the threat these zombies posed. The townspeople of Sioux Falls were actually willing to listen to them with Jody there.

            “Uh, you mind telling us who the hell you are?” said one man accusatorily, looking at (Y/N) and Sam.

            “Friend of Bobby Singer’s,” said Sam.

            “Town drunk,” said the man.

            Sam frowned. “No, I-I thought…” He glanced at Digger Wells “he was the town drunk.”

            “Remember who told you that?” said (Y/N).

Sam grimaced. “Stay sharp,” he said.

“Why should we believe you know what you’re doing?” said another man.

            “Because the rest of you just decided to believe your dead were alive again and didn’t see that as suspicious,” said (Y/N). “We’ve done this before.”

            “We’ll watch the front door,” said Sam, and (Y/N) and Jody followed him to keep an eye on the street outside. However, no movement came. Nothing headed towards the jail at all in the still, dark night.

            (Y/N) frowned. “If they’re not here…where are they?”

            They all had a sinking feeling they knew where.

            “We need to get to Bobby’s,” said Sam.

 

l

 

            They pulled up outside Bobby’s house, and the snarls and growls of zombies could be heard through the entire junkyard.

            “Shit,” said Sam, fleeing the car with his shotgun raised.

            Jody shot from the car window and knocked a zombie down. They were all trying to force their ways inside the house towards the front closet. Undoubtedly, Bobby and Dean were within—and alive since the zombies were still going for them.

            (Y/N) got out and fired. Jody ducked out and shot more. Together, they and Sam moved inwards, shooting zombies that were too engrossed in their hunt for Bobby and Dean to even register the approaching hunters. There were ten left, all snarling and reaching for the closet doors.

            Bang! Nine. (Y/N) reloaded.

            Bang! Eight. Sam swiveled his gun to face another’s head.

            Bang! Seven. Jody put all of her grief aside and let anger at the world itself fill her up.

            Bang! Six. (Y/N) finally caught the attention of one. The zombie lunged and knocked them down. (Y/N) scrambled to hold their gun up. They needed to— The lightbulb above them flashed brightly and shattered. The force of the burst knocked the light from its hold on ceiling and sent it falling into the zombie’s head. The zombie was knocked off them.

            Bang! Five. Sam shot the zombie and pulled (Y/N) to their feet.

            Bang! Four. Even as the zombies pulled the closet door open, Dean and Bobby’s eyes widened as they found themselves being protected.

            Bang! Bang! Bang! Sam and Jody fired on three. Bang! (Y/N) felled the last zombie.

            Everyone looked in the sudden silence at the wreckage. Broken windows from the zombie siege left glass over the ground. Zombie bodies lay about, and blood stained the walls of Bobby’s house.

            (Y/N) could see the body of Karen laying on the couch, calm and undisturbed, as if she had fallen asleep and simply…not woken. They looked at Dean and Bobby, who looked incredibly tired. Saddened.

            This moment wouldn’t be forgotten.

 

l

 

            Dean and Jody approached the fire Sam and (Y/N) had already set up in the cemetery. The pyre was filled with the bodies of zombies, all burning to prevent any more spirits from returning.

            “Well, if there are zombies left out there, we can’t find them,” said Dean.

            “How are the townspeople?” asked Sam.

            “Pretty freaked out,” said Jody. “Hell, traumatized. A few of them are calling the papers. As far as I can tell, nobody’s believed ‘em yet.”

            “Would you?” said Sam. Jody shook her head.

            “How are you doing?” asked (Y/N) carefully.

            Jody opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She just looked at (Y/N). They understood. They understood all too well. And they knew Jody’s grief, the ache of loss, would return all the time. Things got better, but the ache still appeared.

            (Y/N) missed their parents, their family.

            “Is that everyone?” said Dean, staring at the wrapped bodies.

            They were thankful to have the distraction of conversation again. “All but one,” they said, swallowing the familiar taste of loss.

 

l

 

            Bobby sat solemnly before much smaller pyre. There was only one body burning here. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) walked up behind him in the junkyard. He glanced at them, but no one spoke for a long moment.

            “So.” Bobby broke the silence as best he could. He was the only one that could. “Thinking maybe I should apologize for losing my head back there.” He took a deep, tired breath.

            “You don’t owe us anything,” said Sam.

            “Hey, look, I don’t know squat from Shinola about love, but…at least you got to spend five days with her, right?” said Dean.

            “Right,” said Bobby, voice exhausted emotionally. “Which makes things about a thousand times worse.” This was a second funeral, a second mourning for Bobby. “She was the love of my life. How many times do I got to kill her?”

            “She’s…She was happy to see you again,” said (Y/N) softly. “And she’s…waiting to see you again. She wouldn’t want you to rush.”

            Bobby’s sigh sounded heavy as iron. “Not like I got much of a choice.”

            Sam hesitated. “Are you gonna be okay, Bobby?”

            Silently, Bobby shook his head. His eyes never left the burning body of his wife. “You should know,” he said. “Karen told me why Death was here.”

            Even as she felt the desire to kill, to hurt those she loved, Karen had been strong. She had fought to keep Bobby safe. She had let him kill her kindly, knowing she could never harm him. And she had given him the truth.

            “What do you mean?” asked (Y/N).

            “I know why he took a stroll through a cemetery in the sticks of South Dakota,” said Bobby. He sighed. “He came for me.”

            “What do you mean, you?” said Dean.

            “Death came for me. He brought Karen back to send me a message,” said Bobby tiredly.

            “You?” repeated Dean. “Why you?”

            “Because I’ve been helping you, you sons of bitches,” snapped Bobby, glaring at all three. “I’m one of the reasons you’re still saying no to Lucifer, Sam.”

            “So this was like a hit on your life?” said Dean, anger growing like a fire in him.

            “I don’t know if they wanted to take my life or…my spirit,” said Bobby. His eyes returned to the pyre.

            (Y/N)’s hands went to their pendant, and they twisted the spirit quartz between two fingers. If Bobby had been targeted for being with Sam and Dean…they were next. And they had no idea what tricks Lucifer had to destroy (Y/N)’s life—or their spirit.

Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen: Sacrament Lutheran Militia

            (Y/N) looked out the back of the impala as they sped down the road at higher speeds than Dean had ever pushed his beloved baby.

            “Drive faster, they’re gaining!” warned (Y/N).

            “I can’t,” said Dean, his grip on the wheel tightening.

            Sam groaned as he put pressure on the gash in his arm.

            “Are you okay?” asked Dean.

            “Yeah, I’m amazing,” gritted Sam. “(Y/N)?”

            “I’m okay,” said (Y/N). They had gotten nicked a few places, but they had avoided everything major but a lot of bruises.

            “You ever seen that many?” exclaimed Dean, casting a look back.

            “No. No way,” said Sam. “Not in one place.”

            “What the hell?” said Dean.

            They swerved onto a new road, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened as a towering pillar of fire blocked their way. An overturned, abandoned truck was lying on its side and burning across most of the street.

            “Watch out!” they shouted.

            The wind whipped outside the car, causing the flames to flicker and dance in the air. Dean slammed on the breaks, and they came to a stop. His eyes widened, and (Y/N) and Sam stared in shock at the barrier.

            “Damn it!” Dean reversed and swung the impala around.

            Too late. Crash! Hands and booted feet burst through the windows of the car and grabbed for the hunters. The black eyes of demons reflected the midnight sky and hellish flames down at (Y/N) as the demon dragged them out. They thrashed and reached for a weapon, but more hands were grabbing them, dragging them from the safety of the impala.

            A shower of water broke into the chaos. (Y/N) spluttered as they were suddenly drenched, and the demons holding them, Dean, and Sam cried out as it burned them. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they saw a hose on top of a firetruck. Dean and Sam were confused and surprised, but they reached to the back of the impala and pulled (Y/N) safely back inside. The demons had nearly dragged them out of the car. Dean and Sam refused to let that happen.

            Sam checked them hurriedly for wounds and gripped their arms protectively as everyone’s eyes were stuck on the demons running for cover. The firetruck pulled forward, and a man raised a megaphone to his mouth. He began to chant, and (Y/N) recognized the cadence of Enochian in the words. The demons screamed as they were expelled from the bodies and forced to flee the scene.

            The men in the firetruck lowered the hose and the megaphone and stared at the hunters in the impala.

            “You okay?” said Sam, patting (Y/N)’s face like a doting—

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N) shakily. Their body was thrumming with energy and adrenaline, the rush in the back of their mind itching at their focus.

            “Okay. Okay, good,” said Sam, relieved. He sat back, and everyone looked at firetruck.

            “Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” said Dean, not sure what to think.

            Sam slowly got out of the impala, and Dean and (Y/N) followed suit. The other men approached.

            “You three alright?” said the one with the megaphone.

            “Peachy,” said Dean.

            “Be careful. It’s…dangerous around here,” said the megaphone-man. He started to head back towards his truck.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” said Dean, running around the impala to follow.

            “No need to thank us,” said the megaphone-man.

            “No, hold up a sec! Who are you?” questioned Dean.

            “We’re the Sacrament Lutheran Militia,” said the megaphone-man.

            “The what?” said Dean, staring.

            “I hate to tell you this, but those were demons, and this is the Apocalypse,” said the megaphone-man.

            “Tell us something we don’t know,” grumbled (Y/N).

            The megaphone-man frowned. “You know?”

            “We know how to deal with it,” said Sam.

            The megaphone-man glanced at his companions. “Prove it.” They couldn’t be too careful.

            Dean went to the trunk of Baby and opened it so the man could get a look at all the demon and monster-killing paraphernalia.

            “Looks like we’re in the same line of business,” said Sam.

            “Yeah, and among colleagues,” said Dean. “That’s a police-issue shotgun. That truck is, uh, inspired. Where’d you guys pick all this crap up?”

            “You know, you…pick things up along the way,” said another man.

            Dean chuckled. “Guys, come on. This whole corner of the state is nuts with demon omens. We just want to help. That’s all.”

            “We’re on the same team here,” said Sam.

            “Team Anti-Demon,” agreed (Y/N).

            “Just talk to us,” said Sam.

            The megaphone-man regarded them carefully. “Follow us,” he decided.

 

l

 

            In the early morning, the impala pulled into a small town called Blue Earth and found itself in a military base. The suburban homes and antique buildings still stood, but streets were blocked with barbed wire, chain link fences protected the townsfolk, and people patrolled with guns everywhere. It was a town entirely populated by hunters. They stopped outside of a church—the Lutheran one, of course. The militia came from somewhere.

            Everyone disembarked their cars, and (Y/N) stuck close to Dean and Sam as they watched the men with guns warily. They watched the men in the firetruck head in.

            “Dylan.” A woman with red hair stopped the youngest of the men in the truck. “It’s a church. Headphones off.”

            “Yes, ma’am.” Dylan took them off.

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam followed the militia men into the church, over a devil’s trap and a salt line, into the church itself. They filed into the back of the church itself where a wedding was taking place. (Y/N) stared in shock at the couple standing happily at the front of the aisle.

            “Who would have thought the Apocalypse could be so romantic?” The preacher smiled, and people chuckled. “Marriage, family—it’s a blessing.”

            (Y/N) looked carefully and realized every member of the congregation had a gun with them, ready for everything, even at this moment.

            “Especially in times like this,” continued the priest. “So hold on to that.”

            “Wedding?” whispered Sam. “Seriously?”

            (Y/N) couldn’t believe it either.

            “Yeah.” The grouchier man from the truck spoke. “We’ve had eight so far this week.”

            Sounds less like love and more like wanting to be married before you die in the Apocalypse. Desperation. (Y/N) didn’t like how people felt pushed to rush into such big life decisions. Yet another moment of chaos created by the Apocalypse.

            In a few minutes, the wedding was finished, and people cheered and clapped as the happy couple left the church and headed…well, to wherever home could be in this closed-off town.

            “So. Rob tells me you three hunt demons.” The pastor caught up to them.

            “Uh, yes sir,” said Sam.

            Dean nodded, and (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace. They still hadn’t calmed from the demon encounter. They caught sight of the gun strapped to the pastor’s leg and frowned.

            “You missed a few,” joked the pastor, still smiling.

            “Yeah, tell us about it,” said Sam casually. “Any idea why they’re here?”

            The pastor shook his head. “They sure seem to like us, though. Follow me.” He led them back into the church.

            “So, you’re a pastor,” said Dean.

            “Not what you expected, huh?” said the pastor, leading them into the basement.

            “Well, dude, you’re packing,” said Dean.

            “Strange times,” said the pastor.

            He opened the doors to the basement and revealed yet another surprise. The entire basement was a weapons manufacturer. People were making bullets, fixing guns, filling up jars of holy water, and doing all the other small bits of hunting work that took Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) plenty of time.

            “Is that a twelve-year-old packing salt rounds?” said Dean.

            “And you guys pretend I’m young for being fifteen,” said (Y/N).

            “You are,” said Sam protectively.

            “Twelve is weird. Fifteen is fine,” said Dean.

            “Dean…” Sam sighed.

            “Everyone pitches in,” said the pastor.

            “The whole church?” observed (Y/N).

            “The whole town,” corrected the pastor.

            “A whole town full of hunters?” said Dean. “I don’t know whether to run screaming or buy a condo.”

            “Well, the demons were killing us,” said the pastor. “We had to do something.”

            “So why not call the National Guard?” said Sam. That would be the reaction of normal people.

            “We were told not to,” said the pastor.

            “By who?” asked Sam.

            The pastor hesitated, and (Y/N) tilted their head, fiddling with their necklace.

            “Come on, Padre,” said Dean. “You’re as locked and loaded as we’ve ever seen. And that exorcism was Enochian. Someone’s telling you something.”

            The pastor looked down. “Look, I’m sorry. I, uh, I can’t discuss it.”

            (Y/N) frowned. That was a strange reaction. Their instinct to mistrust everyone was going to come in handy, they knew it.

            “Dad, it’s okay.” A girl in a blue blouse and grey cardigan approached. Her dirty blond hair hung in humble waves, and she smiled.

            “Leah—” said the pastor worriedly.

            “It’s Sam and Dean Winchester and (Y/N) (L/N). They’re safe,” said Leah.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) stared at her as she used their full names despite having never met them. (Y/N) didn’t like it.

            “I know all about them,” said Leah, smiling gently.

            “You do?” said Dean.

            “Sure,” said Leah. “From the angels.”

            “The angels.” Dean pursed his lips. “Awesome.”

            This is the second woman who talks to angels that we’ve met. First one was an angel. This one…no idea what she could be yet. If angels’re involved, then we’re in trouble. And if they’re not—(Y/N) wasn’t going to take a random woman’s word for it. She might not even know what was speaking to her—then we’re in serious trouble. Trouble was the word for their life.

            “Don’t worry,” said Leah as if she could hear their doubts and worries. “They can’t see you here. The…marks on your ribs, right?”

            Okay, someone’s definitely telling her something. That much was true. “You know about us because angels told you?” said (Y/N), remaining wary.

            “Yes.” Leah beamed. “Among other things.”

            “Like the snappy little exorcism spell,” said Dean.

            “And they show me where the demons are going to be before it happens, how to fight back,” explained Leah.

            “She’s never been wrong. Not once,” said the pastor proudly. “She’s very special.”

            “Dad,” said Leah humbly.

            “Let me guess—before you see something, you get a really bad migraine, you see flashing lights?” said Dean.

            “How’d you know?” said Leah, smiling slightly.

            Great, now if she is faking it, she knows what to fake, grumbled (Y/N). They didn’t want to give more information to these people they didn’t know. They were glad these people were safe from demons, but they couldn’t trust the situation outright.

            “Cause you’re not the first prophet we’ve met,” said Dean.

            Oh. Chuck, right. So the comparison was to Chuck and not Anna. For the record, (Y/N) thought Anna was cooler.

            “But you are the cutest,” said Dean, smiling.

            “Not much of a competition,” said (Y/N), and Sam sent them a look for the sass and slight insult. (Y/N) rolled their eyes.

            The pastor glared at both Dean and (Y/N). (Y/N) was unaffected, but Dean cleared his throat.

            “I mean that with total respect, of course,” he said.

            The pastor was unimpressed, and Sam steered Dean out of the church basement to explore the town before he, or (Y/N), could offend anyone else armed to the teeth.

 

l

 

            “You are not supposed to be in here,” said Sam as (Y/N) sat down at the bar with him and Dean.

            “It’s the end of the world, Sam,” said (Y/N). “They don’t care about the drinking age. Not—” they interrupted before Dean and Sam could say anything “—that I’m drinking. Relax.”

            “See? We’ve got a responsible kid,” said Dean to Sam with a grin. “So, did you get ahold of Cas?”

            “Yeah. I left him a message. I think,” said Sam.

            “I tried to help him set up that phone, but he’s still getting the hang of it,” said (Y/N).

            “So,” said Sam, getting to business. “What’s the current theory? Why all the demon hits?”

            “I don’t know,” said Dean. “Gank the girl prophet, maybe?”

            “Are we sure she’s a prophet?” asked (Y/N).

            “Nothing to say she’s not. Besides, she’s getting demons beaten. That can’t be someone working with lucifer,” said Dean.

            “Still,” said (Y/N). “Whole thing is weird. If it is angels, they’re sending humans to do their dirty work. I thought their style was ask Dean or smite the whole town if there’s a single problem.” Sam and Dean grimaced since (Y/N) wasn’t off base in that observation.

            “Yeah, well, we’re not exactly angels’ best buddies right now, so maybe they’re finally moving on,” said Dean.

            “(Y/N) has a point. The angels are terrible, if nothing else,” said Sam. “They’re sending these people out, and they could get ripped to shreds.”

            “That could happen anyways. And we can’t do anything about any angels talking to this chick or her telling people or them listening,” said Dean. “We’re all gonna die in like a month—maybe two.” (Y/N) frowned. “I mean it. I mean, this is the end of the world. But these people aren’t freaking out. In fact, they’re running to the exits in an orderly fashion. I don’t know that that’s such a bad thing. You—” he looked directly at (Y/N) “—need to be a little less suspicious. At least this town isn’t running in circles and getting killed without fighting back.”

            (Y/N) huffed. They still didn’t like it. Angels or monsters or whatever was behind this, on the side of Heaven or of Hell, they didn’t like it. And the question remained—why this town? What was special here? Was it the prophet or something more?

            “Who says we’re all gonna die?” said Sam suddenly. Dean paused as he took a drink. “Whatever happened to us saving them?”

            There it was: the problem. Dean wasn’t really living. He wasn’t trying to. He believed the end really was coming and that all their fighting was delaying the inevitable. But Sam and (Y/N) were still trying to find a solution, to save the world. Hope was slim, but determination remained fierce.

            The church bells tolled and echoed to the bar before Dean had to respond to Sam’s words. Everyone rose from their seats and obediently left the bar.

            “Something I said?” said Dean sarcastically as everyone passed by.

            “Paul, what’s going on?” said Sam, looking at the grouchy man from the truck who also ran the bar.

            “Leah’s had another vision,” explained Paul, putting on his coat.

            Sam looked at (Y/N) and Dean. “Want to go to church?”

            “You know me. Downright pious,” said Dean.

 

l

 

            “Three miles off Talmadge Road,” said the pastor, explaining Leah’s vision. She whispered to him, and he corrected himself. “Five miles. There are demons gathered. I…don’t know how many, but a lot.” He patted Leah’s shoulder. Thank you, Leah.” He squared his shoulders. “So, who’s gonna join me?”

            “Wouldn’t miss it,” said the man from the truck. A woman raised a hand, then Paul did.

            “Someone’s got to cover Rob’s ass,” said Paul. Rob smiled at him.

            “We’re in, Padre,” said Dean from the back of the church.

            “Thank you,” said the pastor. “But children…they don’t have to go out.”

            No way was (Y/N) going to stay back. “I’m fine.” They smiled, and the pastor felt a strange chill run down his spine at the smile.

            Dean and Sam didn’t argue against it. (Y/N) was a hunter; they couldn’t be told to stay back. And Sam still didn’t trust the situation. He’d rather have (Y/N) with them.

            “Very well,” said the pastor. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to offer a prayer.” Everyone bent their heads. “Our father in Heaven…”

            “Yeah, not so much,” said Dean quietly, and Sam withheld a sound of disapproval while (Y/N) held back a snort.

            “…Please help us in this fight for you,” continued the pastor.

            Rob glanced back at Paul and glared. Paul straightened from where he was not joining in the prayer. (Y/N) tilted their head. That was an interesting dynamic. So not all the townspeople were complete believers. Paul took a swig of his flask, and (Y/N) was left to wonder how the town dealt with nonbelievers and believers living together. The Apocalypse had a way of bringing tension and fanaticism to the forefront of people’s minds.

            “Thank you, amen.”

Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty: Commandments

            Off the road, (Y/N) followed Dean, Sam, and the others in the party—Pastor Gideon, Rob, his wife Jane, son Dylan, and Paul—as they held their guns tightly and stalked towards the location Leah had indicated due to her vision. It was a small house, abandoned and broken down. The pastor gestured for a few people to circle the house to the left, others to the right. They split up, getting around the entire house. Sam kept (Y/N) close to his side, and he knelt to pick the lock with the demon knife in hand. (Y/N) kept a watchful eye on the woods. Footsteps creaked inside the house, proving the presence of demons—or at least something.

            They heard the bang of a shotgun, and Sam straightened. It came from the direction Dean had gone. Someone ran up from the woods, and (Y/N) barely turned in time. The demon grabbed them and smashed them through the window. They tumbled to the ground as Sam forced the door open, and he rushed in. Paul and Rob raised their shotguns, but Sam couldn’t risk them shooting (Y/N). He stormed in before anyone had a chance to shoot and stabbed the demon through the back. The demon screamed, and (Y/N), who had been fighting to get their gun up, shot the salt through its chest. The combination felled the demon, and Sam stabbed again to finish it off.

            Other demons were immediately upon them as they heard the fights breaking down. Paul and Rob shot the ones that got close, and (Y/N) grabbed their gun. They swung it into the legs of demons entering the room, and as they tripped, Sam finished them off. Dean and Dylan came in the back door and brought backup, pinning the demons between two groups of fighters. Dylan spoke a few words of Enochian, the chant expelling the demons from fallen bodies. (Y/N) shot another demon, and when Sam was tackled, dean shot the demon off him, and (Y/N) scooped up the knife to stab the demon through the back. The last body fell. The restlessness in their soul died to a steady beat. The demons were gone.

            Satisfied, the Sacrament Lutheran Militia headed out of the house, joking around and teasing one another.

            “Guess that’s what it’s like, huh?” said Sam as they walked.

            “What?” said Dean.

            “Having backup,” said Sam, and Dean chuckled.

            “What are we?” teased (Y/N) as they arrived at the impala.

            “Dean, Sam, (Y/N)!” Dylan ran up to them excitedly.

            “Yo,” said Dean, loading the trunk and closing it.

            “Hey,” said Dylan nervously. “So, um, is-is it cool if I get a ride back with you guys?” He wanted to get into the cool car.

            Sam nodded, (Y/N) shrugged, and Dean waved to the truck to signal he’d take Dylan.

            “Hey, you saved my ass twice already,” said Dean, grinning. “One more time, you can drive.” He watched the truck drive away. “Hey.” He tossed a beer to Dylan. “You earned it. Don’t tell your mom.”

            “What about me?” said (Y/N).

            “You said beer smelled horrible,” said Sam.

            “Yeah, but you wouldn’t let me anyway. It’s the principle,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, believe me. I will not,” said Dylan.

            He opened the beer with a satisfying “chk.” (Y/N) grabbed a soda that Dean had begun to supply for them, and Dean and Sam opened their beers. Hands grabbed Dylan’s ankles and dragged him to the ground. He screamed in pain, and (Y/N) scrambled for him, eyes wide. Sam reached beneath the impala and dragged a demon out, stabbing her. (Y/N) and Dean pulled Dylan out.

            It was too late. Blood covered his slit neck, and empty eyes stared blankly at the sky. (Y/N) reared back, taking deep breaths as they saw their parents instead of Dylan. Sam grabbed their shoulders to steady them. The moment his hands touched them, the abandoned cans crunched from pressure.

            Too late. (Y/N) was always too late.

 

l

 

            Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) didn’t dare enter the church while Dylan’s body, safely deposited in a coffin despite how he should be burnt to prevent returning as a spirit, was carried by. Behind him were his mourning parents, clad in black and crying.

            “Ma’am…” said Dean. “We’re just, um, very sorry.” There were no words to bring Dylan back or offer respite from grief, but he had to offer something.

            “You know…this is your fault.” Dylan’s mom stared at Dean with mascara running down her cheeks.

            “Jane,” said Rob quietly.

Jane continued to glare until a sob overcame her, and Rob guided her into the church. Only then could (Y/N), Dean, and Sam allow themselves to enter and stand at the back as Pastor Gideon stood beside Dylan in his coffin. This was a real funeral, not just a hunter’s pyre.

            “I wish I knew what to say,” said Gideon. “But I don’t. I’m so sorry, Jane.” She just sobbed. “Rob. There are no words. I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know why any of this is happening. I got no easy answers. But what I do know is—”

            Lean fainted from her chair and hit the ground. Everyone gasped and stood slightly. Gideon dropped to his knees beside his daughter.

            “Leah? Leah, honey?” he said worriedly while the congregation murmured. “Leah? Honey?” Leah convulsed on the ground. “Honey?” She gasped and sat up. Gideon supported her carefully. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

            “Dad…It’s Dylan,” said Leah.

            “Just rest a minute, huh?” said Gideon gently.

            “No, listen,” said Leah. “Dylan’s coming back.”

            The whispers grew into a rushing roar as people heard her. Jane clutched Rob. Paul furrowed his brow in disbelief. (Y/N) frowned. What?

            Leah got up and stood demurely at the front of the congregation. Gideon attempted to support her, but she didn’t need it. So, he stood to the side. (Y/N) noted the change in role curiously—before, Leah spoke to Gideon, and he reported the visions. Now, she was taking the space herself, standing in front of Gideon.

            “Jane, Rob…” She smiled kindly. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see Dylan again. When the final day comes, Judgement Day, he’ll be resurrected, and you’ll be together again. We’ll all be together—with all our loved ones. We’ve been chosen. The angels have chosen us.” She beamed on the congregation that began to swell with surprise and pride. Only Paul shook his head slightly. “And we will be given paradise on Earth. All we have to do is follow the angels’ commandments.”

            She looked out over the congregation with a smile that was unmoving as people whispered. She and (Y/N) locked gazes, and (Y/N) felt the beat in their head pause. They narrowed their eyes. For the slightest moment, Leah’s eyes narrowed. They were pleasant and innocent before (Y/N) could process it, though.

            And then she gave the commandments of the angels for the flock—her flock—to obey.

 

l

 

            “No drinking, no gambling, no premarital sex?” listed Sam as they left the church. “Dean, they basically just outlawed ninety percent of your personality.”

            “Yeah, well, whatever. When in Rome,” said Dean.

            “So, uh…you’re cool with it?” said Sam.

            “I’m not cool. I’m not not cool,” said Dean. “It’s—look, man, I’m not a prophet. We’re not locals. It’s not my call.”

            “Dean, something’s wrong here,” said (Y/N). “The angels don’t like humans, but they don’t give a shit about the sex and the drinking and the gambling. Otherwise, they would have asked the ‘Righteous Man’ to stop all that.”

            “Different angels, different rules. It wasn’t like I was going to stop,” said Dean.

            “I’m serious,” said (Y/N), their voice losing its sarcasm. “I don’t like this.”

            “We called Cas. Nothing we can do except try to keep more people from dying until he gets back to us,” said Sam.

            Dean frowned. “…I’ll catch up with you.” He headed back inside the church.

            (Y/N) huffed. “I hope he’s listening to us.”

            “You’re actually worried, aren’t you?” said Sam, looking at (Y/N). “Have you noticed anything…off?”

            “Other than this entire town and a prophet? No,” said (Y/N). “I just—I don’t like Leah. I just don’t.”

            “You don’t like anyone,” pointed out Sam, chuckling.

            “…” (Y/N) looked back at the church.

 

l

 

            “Hey,” said Sam, walking into Paul’s bar. No one was within, and (Y/N) knew what was the cause. “What happened to ‘the Apocalypse is good for business?’ ”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Paul. “Right up until Leah’s angel pals banned the good stuff.” He scoffed. “Help me kill some inventory?”

            “Sure,” said Sam.

            “Any soda, I want,” said (Y/N).

            “Don’t get me wrong,” said Paul, pouring glasses. “I grew up here. I love this town. But, uh…” he sighed “Well, these holy rollers…”

            “Yeah, yeah,” said Sam when Paul gave them a knowing look. “We, uh, noticed you’re not the praying type.”

            “Yeah, well, between you and me, neither are half those guys,” said Paul. “Couple of months back, they were all in here, getting wasted, banging the nanny. Now they’re all warriors of God.” He handed over glasses. “Cheers.”

            “Cheers,” said Sam and (Y/N).

            Paul downed his shot. “Look,” he said. “There’s sure as hell demons. And maybe there is a God. I don’t know. Fine. But I’m not a hypocrite. I never prayed before, and I ain’t starting now. If I go to Hell, I’m going honest. How ‘bout you?”

            “What about us?” said Sam.

            “Not a true believer, I take it?” said Paul.

            Sam bit his lip. “I believe. Yeah. I do. I’m just…pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

            “And you, kid?” said Paul. “Gotta have some thoughts if you’re in this at this age.”

            “Demons have a way of pulling you into the life,” said (Y/N). “And I don’t care about whether or not God is out there. The Apocalypse is here. We’re the ones facing it. We have to handle it.”

 

l

 

            “Where you two been?” said Dean, sitting on his motel bed as Sam and (Y/N) entering.

            “Drinkin’,” said Sam.

            “You rebel,” chuckled Dean.

            “I’m still good for Paradise. I wasn’t drinking alcohol,” said (Y/N) cheerfully, their sarcasm intact again.

            “I’d have had more, but…curfew,” said Sam, widening his eyes dramatically.

            “Right,” said Dean.

            “You heard they shut down the cell towers?” said (Y/N). This town was going off the rails and speedrunning a dictatorship under angels.

            “No,” said Dean, yawning tiredly. “That’s, uh, news to me.”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “No cable, internet.”

            “They want to be cutoff from the ‘corruption of the outside world,’ ” said (Y/N) sardonically.

            “Huh,” said Dean.

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you get it?” they snapped. “They’re turning this place into a compound for religious nutjobs.”

            “No, I get it,” said Dean, tone completely bored.

            “And you don’t care?” said (Y/N) incredulously.

            “No, I don’t,” said Dean.

            “What?” said Sam in disbelief.

            “What difference does it make?” said Dean.

            “It makes a huge one,” snapped (Y/N), an anger they were unaccustomed to welling up within them. The itch grew stronger. “At what point is this too far for you? Stoning? Kool-Aid? When do you wake up and care because this is wrong?”

            “The angels are toying with people,” said Sam firmly, equally frustrated with Dean’s apathy.

            “Angel world, angel rules, man,” said Dean.

            “Screw the angels! Since when do we care about them if it is them?” said (Y/N).

            “Since the angels are got the only lifeboats on the Titanic,” said Dean. “I mean, who exactly is supposed to come along and save these people? It was supposed to be us. We can’t do it.”

            “And what, you want to give up?” said (Y/N), voice raising.

            “I don’t know.” Dean poured himself a cup of coffee. “Maybe.”

            “Don’t say that,” said Sam.

            “Why?” said Dean, taking a drink.

            “Because you can’t do this,” said Sam, exhausted and irritated.

            “Actually, I can,” said Dean.

            “No, you can’t,” said Sam forcefully. “You can’t do this to me. To us!”

            (Y/N)’s hands curled into fists. The kettle behind Dean warmed.

            “I got—We got one thing keeping us going,” said Sam. “You think you’re the only one white-knuckling it here, Dean? We can’t count on anyone else. And we can’t do this on our own.”

            Dean just put down his coffee cup with a resounding thunk. It spoke of anger and a disdain for their words, their caring about this situation. (Y/N) hands were so tightly curled that their nails left crescent shaped marks, and the kettle whistled as it went off with boiled water. Dean jumped as steam leapt up and burnt him lightly. He cursed and pushed the kettle away. He grumbled as he grabbed his coat.

            “Dean—” said Sam.

            “I got to clear my head,” said Dean. He was out the door before they could say another words.

            “It’s past curfew,” said Sam bitterly, throwing the “rules” at Dean.

            (Y/N) threw themself down on their bed, staring at the ceiling and begging their anger and that incessant itch to fade for just a few hours. They wanted to rest. Or cry. Or both.

 

l

 

            “I got your message.”

            (Y/N) and Sam jumped out of their skin as Castiel appeared in the motel room. He leaned against a wall, and his words slurred together.

            “It was long, your message,” he grumbled slowly. “And I find the sound of your voice grating.”

            “Wow, even more honest that normal,” said (Y/N). “That’s a feat.”

            “What’s wrong with him?” said Sam, looking at (Y/N). They shrugged. “Cas, what’s wrong with you?”

            Castiel stumbled to the refrigerator.

            “Are you…drunk?” said Sam, staring.

            “No!” said Castiel sarcastically. He stumbled. “Yes,” he admitted.

            “Wow, I didn’t realize angels could get drunk,” said (Y/N). “What happened?”

            “I found a liquor store,” said Castiel.

            “And?” prompted Sam as he trailed off.

            “And I drank it,” said Castiel. “Why’d you call me?” He walked forward and tripped over his feet. Sam and (Y/N) interceded to support him to the small couch.

            “Whoa, there you go. Easy,” said Sam. He chuckled. “Are you okay?”

            Castiel leaned forward, and Sam and (Y/N) leaned in to hear his answer.

            “Don’t ask stupid questions,” said Castiel.

            (Y/N) snorted, and Sam’s bitch face appeared.

            “Tell me what you need,” said Castiel, leaning back.

            “There have been these demon attacks,” said Sam. “Massive, right on the edge of town, and we can’t figure out why they’re—”

            “Any sign of angels?” interrupted Castiel.

            “Sort of,” said (Y/N). “A girl says she’s a prophet and angels are talking to her.”

            “Who?” said Castiel.

            “Leah Gideon,” said Sam.

            “She’s not a prophet,” said Castiel immediately.

            “I’m pretty sure she is,” said Sam.

            “I’m not,” said (Y/N).

            “Visions, headaches—the whole package,” said Sam.

            “Yeah, sure, could just be psychic. Or talking to something else,” said (Y/N).

            “The names of all the prophets—they’re seared into my brain,” said Castiel. “Leah Gideon is not one of them.”

            Sam looked at (Y/N), who would have told him “I told you so” if they weren’t growing concerned.

            “Then what is she?” they asked.

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty-One: Whore of Babylon

            The door of the motel opened, and (Y/N) stood as they saw Dean. The entire night had passed, and they had been worried that something had happened because he had broken the rules. Now that Castiel had revealed what was going on, the threat was realer than ever.

            “We went out looking—” (Y/N) stopped. “Are you okay?” They stared at the blood on Dean’s hands.

            Dean looked down at them. “Yeah…” he said, voice slightly faraway. “It’s—It’s not my blood.” He cleared his throat. “Paul’s dead.”

            “What?!” said Sam.

            “Jane shot him,” said Dean.

            “It’s starting,” said Castiel from the couch.

            “What’s starting?” said Dean. “Where the hell have you been?”

            “On a bender,” said Castiel.

            “Did he—” Dean stared at Sam and (Y/N) and then back at Castiel. “Did you say ‘on a bender?’ ”

            “Yeah. He’s still pretty smashed,” said Sam.

            “It…is not of import,” said Castiel. “We need to talk about what’s happening here.”

            “Well, I’m all years.” Dean was beginning to see that something was wrong in town.

            “Well, for starters…(Y/N) was right,” said Sam. “Leah is not a real prophet.”

            “What can I say? I’ve got good instincts about people,” said (Y/N).

            “No, you don’t like or trust anyone,” said Sam.

            “Same difference,” said (Y/N).

            Dean washed the blood from his hands and slowed. “Well, what is she, exactly?” he said suspiciously.

            “The Whore,” said Castiel.

            “Wow.” Dean blinked. “Cas, tell us what you really think.”

            “She rises when Lucifer walks the Earth,” said Castiel. He pointed at the Bible Sam had propped open. “ ‘And she shall come, bearing false prophecy.’ This creature has the power to take a human’s form, read minds. Book of Revelation calls her ‘The Whore of Babylon.’ ”

            “Well, that’s catchy,” said Dean, staring at the picture of a woman riding a monster.

            “The real Leah was probably killed months ago,” said Sam.

            “What about the demons attacking the town?” asked Dean.

            “They’re under her control,” said Castiel.

            “And the Enochian exorcisms?” said Dean.

            “Fake,” said Castiel tiredly. “It actually means ‘You breed with the mouth of a goat.’ ” Castiel chuckled to himself, but the others stared. He coughed. “It’s funnier in Enochian.”

            “So the demons smoking out—?”

            “An act,” said (Y/N).

            “Why? What’s the endgame?” asked Dean.

            “What you just saw,” said Castiel, looking to Dean’s previously bloodstained hands. “Innocent blood spilled in God’s name.”

            “You heard her Heaven talk. She’s manipulating people,” said (Y/N).

            “To slaughter and kill and sing peppy little hymns,” said Dean, his frustration at his blindness turning to a grouchy tone. “Awesome.”

            “Her goal is to condemn as many souls to Hell as possible,” said Castiel. “And it’s just beginning. She’s well on her way to dragging this whole town to the pit.”

            “Alright,” said Dean. “So, then, how do we go pimp of Babylon all over this bitch?”

            Castiel set a twisted branch down on the book that he had retrieved during the night (and taken a long time to do. He claimed it was only a few moments, but obviously, he had no idea how much time was passing with how drunk he was).

            “The Whore can be killed with that,” said Castiel. He tried to stand, swayed, and continued walking. “It’s a stake made from a cypress tree in Babylon.”

            (Y/N) picked it up and felt the smooth, sharpened wood. “Cool.”

            “Let’s ventilate her,” said Dean.

            “It’s not that easy,” said Castiel, closing his eyes and leaning on the wall.

            “Course not,” sighed Dean, taking the stake to examine it next.

            “The Whore can only be killed by a true servant of Heaven,” said Castiel. He poured himself a glass of water and downed it tiredly.

            “Servant, like…” Dean frowned.

            “Not you,” said Castiel bluntly. “Or me.” He was a disgrace. “Sam, of course, is an abomination.” Sam grimaced. “(Y/N)’s got something wrong with them, so that won’t work.” (Y/N) frowned. “We’ll have to find somebody else.”

            “Wow, diagnosed with ‘weird,’ ” grumbled (Y/N).

            “Well, we only know one guy in town who could fit that description,” said Dean. “Pastor Gideon.”

            “I shall retrieve him.” Castiel straightened.

            “Whoa, no,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, Cas, you’re still…drunk,” said Sam.

            “Nonsense,” grumbled Castiel.

            “Not nonsense,” said (Y/N). “Plus, he’s probably with Leah right now. We should wait to pick him up.”

            “Not too long, though,” said Dean. “We’ve got to stop her soon.”

 

l

 

            Pastor Gideon jerked in shock and looked around himself. His environment had abruptly changed from the street to a motel room thanks to strange man in a trench coat.

            “What the hell was that?” he said.

            “Yeah, he wasn’t lying about the angel thing,” said Dean casually.

            “And I thought bad language wasn’t allowed,” said (Y/N).

            Gideon looked at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) in confusion. His eyes went to Castiel, widening slightly as he realized it really was an angel with him.

            “Have a seat, padre,” said Dean. “We got to have a chat.”

            Gideon sat obediently and didn’t dare stand. They explained the situation—blunt and to the point. Leah was not Leah. She was the Whore of Babylon. She was condemning the town. She had to be killed by him with the stake.

            “No.” Immediately, Gideon desperately shook his head. “She’s my daughter.”

            “I’m sorry, but she’s not,” said Dean. “She’s the thing that killed your daughter.”

            “That’s impossible,” said Gideon.

            “But it’s not,” said Sam. “And deep down, you know it.”

            Gideon’s hand ran over his face.

            “Look, it’s a lot. I get it,” said (Y/N). “But you know it’s true. You can tell Leah isn’t…the girl you raised.” Gideon looked at (Y/N). “And you know that if you don’t do this, she’s going to kill a lot of people and damn the rest to Hell.”

            “It’s just—” Gideon’s voice broke.

            Dean held up the stake.

            “Why does it have to be me?” said Gideon.

            “You’re a servant of Heaven,” said Castiel.

            “And you’re an angel!” said Gideon.

            “Poor example of one,” said Castiel.

            Gideon looked from him to the hunters to the stake. Sorrowfully, he took it.

 

l

 

            Leah walked into a private office in the church. She wore a satisfied smirk on her face. Jane, Rob, and the other pitiful humans listening to her had locked up the townspeople “named” by the angels as sinners, and, soon, they’d burn them alive. She had chosen the wary few that dared to refuse to believe her and tossed a few children in for good measure. That would ensure damnation. Now, if Leah could get that child hunter out of the way…(Y/N) (L/N), quite the troublemaker. Dean and Sam were satisfied with Leah’s identity as a prophet, but she had seen (Y/N)’s thoughts. They didn’t believe. They doubted her from the moment they met her, instinctively. Not a complete surprise given what they were, but it was frustrating.

            Next, she promised herself. Leah could name them next. Sam and Dean wouldn’t kill a bunch of townspeople, and if she sent the mob, that little troublemaker would be eliminated. She examined herself in the mirror, and her face glitched to her demon face. Huffing, she closed the door.

            She gasped as Castiel grabbed her, his presence masked due to his abilities. He spun her around, and Gideon appeared from another closet with the stake.

            “Daddy!” she cried, knowing how to manipulate him. Her alarm was real, but fear couldn’t stop her skills. “Don’t hurt me!”

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) burst through the door and saw Gideon hesitating.

            “Gideon, now!” shouted Sam.

            “Pizan noco iad!” spat Leah.

            Castiel let out a cry as his head twisted in agony, and he let go of Leah. She threw her hands out, and Gideon flew into the wall, slumping to the ground. The hunters moved towards her, but with a push of her arms, an invisible force slammed them back. She ran to the door and fled out.

            Gideon grabbed the stake, scrambled to his feet, and rushed after her without backup. He had finally seen that this was not Leah, and he had to do something.

            “Gideon, wait! No!” warned Sam.

            (Y/N) was faster and ran after him while Sam and Dean got up and tried to pull Castiel to his feet. They had to give up and leave him behind.

            “Help me! He’s a demon!” cried Leah with the perfect fearful expression as she entered the room with the townsfolk.

            Gideon ran in, and two men grabbed him. They knocked him to the ground, and the stake hit the ground.

            “Light the kerosene,” said Leah, looking at Jane. She had to finish the job.

            (Y/N) ran into the room, and everyone turned to them. “Don’t you fucking dare,” said (Y/N).

            “Do it! They’re a demon, too,” said Leah.

            Two men grabbed for (Y/N), and they ducked under their arms, sliding between them. They evaded them under tables, and, fortunately, Dean and Sam ran in as backup. They knocked the men off Gideon, and a fistfight broke out. (Y/N) stood and faced Leah as she stood with Jane, who held a lighter.

            “Jane, you need to light it now. Do you want the demons to win?” said Leah.

            Jane hesitated; (Y/N) didn’t. They slammed into Leah, knocking her over before she could try to persuade Jane any more. It was pandemonium in the room, fistfights were flying everyone. (Y/N) grabbed for the stake on the ground, and Leah grabbed their head. She slammed it against the ground, and (Y/N) cried out, their grip on the stake slackening.

            Leah panted and looked at Jane. “Come on, Jane. Save us all. You can see Dylan again.”

            Jane lit the lighter, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            “No—!” They coughed as Leah tightened her grip on their neck.

            “Shut up, you brat,” hissed Leah. “Do you really think you stood a chance against me? You’re pathetic. Weak. As if you could defeat me.” (Y/N) raised their head, gasping and twisted onto their back. They fumbled for a knife, and Leah held up a hand. A pressure forced them down, and they struggled to breathe. “You can’t even fight this. Now that’s an embarrassment.”

            “(Y/N)!” shouted Sam as he swung at Rob and knocked him back.

            “Kid!” said Dean, pulling Gideon away from the men.

            “Stop Jane!” shouted (Y/N), lungs burning with effort.

            Leah curled her hand, and (Y/N)’s body pushed desperately against the force of Leah’s abilities. They reached for the stake, the only possible weapon, and Leah laughed. Behind her, Sam grabbed for Jane, and she raised the lighter away from him.

            “As if you’re a servant of Heaven,” she scoffed. “You? The child of witches? As if Heaven would accept that.”

            (Y/N) froze. “What?”

            Leah’s grin was positively cruel as she looked down at (Y/N). “That’s right. You’re an abomination, the child of monsters. Why do you think we killed them? The seal needed a monster’s child to lose their innocence. And a poor, pitifully naïve child like you? Easy pickings, then and now. Just a bunch of abominations. Heaven probably let that seal break so that a few more monsters would be off the Earth. That’s how little you and your parents matter. They’ll be glad when I end your life, too, you nosey little nuisance of a thing.”

            The lighter slipped from Jane’s fingers as Leah sneered down at (Y/N).

            “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” shouted (Y/N) suddenly, the itch a rushing wave in their head.

            The lighter hit the kerosene, but it snapped off with a sudden gust of wind. (Y/N) shoved at Leah’s hands, and she fell off of them. Her eyes widened, and (Y/N) scrambled back away from her. Sam pulled (Y/N) up and held them protectively as Dean scooped up the stake and stood over Leah.

            She looked up at him and, despite the attack from (Y/N), just smirked. “You?” She scoffed. “This is why my team’s gonna win. You’re the great vessel?” She had seen Dean’s hopelessness firsthand. “You’re pathetic, self-hating, and faithless—!”

            Dean shoved the stake through her. Leah gasped and looked at her chest. Dean pushed it farther, and she coughed.

            “Don’t be too sure, whore,” he spat, driving it almost entirely through her chest.

            Leah slumped to the ground completely. Everyone stopped in their fighting and stared at their prophet. Her face glitched, and the townsfolk pulled back in fear. Smoke bubbled up from the wound in her stomach, and her body lit up as the demonic nature of her being was burnt from the inside out. The stake lit up and exploded with flames. When it died, it was gone, and Leah’s body was unmoving.

            “But I…I don’t understand,” said Jane softly, confused and lost. “How are we supposed to get to Paradise now?”

            “I’m sorry,” said Dean. “Pretty sure you’re headed in a different direction.”

            The truth was too terrible, and Jane felt tears well in her eyes. She’d never see her son…

            Sam looked at (Y/N). “Are you—?”

            (Y/N)’s hand was clamped around their necklace, and they felt long breaths forcing air into their lungs. Everything felt fuzzy. “…” They had no words for now.

            Sam exchanged a worried look with Dean. He held their shoulders tightly. “Come on,” he said softly.

            Dean took ahold of Castiel as he stumbled into the room, and Gideon trailed after them. They left Leah’s followers to face the reality of her nature and the consequences of their decisions.

            “Dean, how did you do that?” said Sam, not bringing up the…revelation about (Y/N) that had struck them silent. They had time for that.

            “What?” said Dean.

            “Kill her,” said Sam.

            “Long run of luck held out, I guess,” said Dean.

            “Last time I checked, she could only be ganked by a servant of Heaven,” said Sam.

            “Well, what do you want me to tell you?” said Dean. “She was hurting (Y/N). I saw a shot. I went for it.”

            “Alright.” Sam would put it aside for now. They arrived at the impala and opened the backdoors. Dean pushed Castiel in, and Sam let Gideon get in. “(Y/N), I need you to talk, okay?” They hadn’t since Leah died. “Are you okay?”

            (Y/N) looked at Sam. They barely heard him. The itch was a drum drowning out everything else. “I’m alive.”

            They were alive because they were born to monster parents. Monsters. They thought of their mom in the kitchen with herbs and crystals warming in the sun, a smile on her face. Monsters. Their dad with tarot cards, teaching them to read messages and holding them close. Monsters. Their mom in the garden where the fruits and flowers grew faster than anywhere else. Monsters. Their dad with the shed in the backyard with the old books and antiques. Monsters. Their mom who read them bedtime stories in a soft voice. Monsters. Their dad who bandaged their knee when they fell climbing trees. Monsters, monsters, monsters.

            “…Get in the car,” said Sam gently, making sure they ducked their head and sat down. He closed the door and looked at Dean, who also had a strange look. “Dean…Are you gonna do something stupid?” He couldn’t have (Y/N) and Dean losing it on him.

            “Like what?” said Dean.

            “Like Michael stupid,” said Sam.

            “Come on, Sam. Give me a break,” scoffed Dean.

            “Dean,” said Sam. “We need to keep it together.” Dean stared at him defiantly. “Please. For (Y/N).”

            “…They’re not okay, are they?” said Dean.

            Sam glanced through the window. (Y/N) was staring into space. “Would you be?”

            “No,” said Dean.

 

l

 

            “Hey.”

            (Y/N) didn’t move from where they lay on the motel bed, hundreds of miles and hours away from Blue Earth. Dean and Sam had taken Gideon somewhere to be treated and helped to…restart, and Castiel had flown off. They were alone. Dean and Sam hadn’t been sure about leaving them without anyone, but (Y/N) hadn’t been moving or speaking. They weren’t a danger to themself.

            “(Y/N).” Sam tried again.

            “Kid,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) didn’t respond, and Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Slowly, they sat down on the bed on either side of (Y/N).

            “Kid, you’ve got to talk to us,” said Dean.

            “Did Leah hurt you?” said Sam, worried that magic had done this to them. It wasn’t like (Y/N) to lose it. They got angry. They shouted and fought and snapped. They didn’t shut down.

            “My parents were monsters,” said (Y/N), voice absent, airy.

            Dean grimaced, and Sam sighed.

            “(Y/N), she could have been lying,” he said gently.

            “No.” (Y/N) wasn’t stupid. “She wasn’t. My parents were witches.” Their hand closed around their pendant. “It makes sense.” They let out a laugh that was more a sob. “Hunters? With all the weird stuff at our house? I’m so stupid.” Another laugh bubbled up, and it fell out as a sob. “Witches. Monsters.”

            Dean and Sam couldn’t say anything. It was true. Their parents were witches. There was no telling what (Y/N)’s mom and dad had done in their lives, how old they had truly been, what crimes they may have committed in the name of magic. But—

            “They were your parents,” said Sam. “They didn’t make a stir. They raised you quietly. If no hunter found them…they weren’t horrible.” Or they didn’t get caught rested in the air unsaid, but (Y/N) heard it enough. They scoffed and rolled over, curling up.

            “Kid, parents are people. They’re complicated. Sometimes they’re deadbeats, sometimes they’re monsters, sometimes they’re good,” said Dean. “Sometimes they’re all of that, none of that, some of that.”

            “But what does it make me?” whispered (Y/N), the real fears burning them from within. Their parents…even if they were monsters, witches, they couldn’t hate them. They loved their mom. They loved their dad. They’d given their lives for (Y/N), raised them, loved them so much. (Y/N) could never hate that, even if they should hate witches. But what were they?

            “What do you mean?” said Sam, exchanging a look with Dean. “You’re you, (Y/N).”

            “I’m the child of monsters. Raised by witches. What does that make me?” said (Y/N). “What if I’m…wrong? What if something’s broken in me? Cursed?” Not cursed by their parents but cursed by blood, destined to be something evil. They didn’t want that. They wanted to help people.

            “No,” said Dean instantly with the certainty only an older brother could have. “No. Hell, Sam and I know cursed. We’re destined to be vessels for Michael and Lucifer and slug it out over the Earth. You? You’re not cursed just because you have witch parents.”

            “…” (Y/N) didn’t say anything.

            “I was born wrong,” said Sam quietly. “Given the blood of a demon, made into a psychic, manipulated to bring Lucifer to Earth…If I’m not a monster—” and sometimes he wasn’t convinced he wasn’t “—you aren’t. You’re just a kid, (Y/N).”

            “I don’t want to be a monster,” said (Y/N), and the tears came to their eyes.

            “You aren’t,” said Sam firmly. “You’re not. You’re not a monster.” He pulled (Y/N) up and looked at them. “You aren’t. I promise.”

            “You’re just a kid, (Y/N). Who your parents are isn’t your fault,” said Dean. “You’re not a monster. And we know monsters.”

            (Y/N) felt actual tears in their eyes. “Really?” They felt like a child, small and scared.

            “Really,” said Dean.

            “You’re just…complicated. Messed up. Like us,” said Sam. He smiled gently. “Welcome to being a Winchester.”

            (Y/N) sobbed and hiccupped. “A Winchester?”

            “If you don’t want to be a (L/N), then you can be a Winchester,” said Sam. “Right?” He looked at Dean.

            Dean smiled at (Y/N) as they looked at him with watery eyes. “Welcome to the family, (Y/N).”

            (Y/N) couldn’t hold back their sobs at the word, and Sam hugged them. Dean put a hand on their back as their shoulders shook. Family. That’s all (Y/N) wanted. They missed it so much. And right now, in that moment, they had it again.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N) through their sobs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

            Sam just hold (Y/N), and Dean’s firm support on their back reminded them of his presence. (Y/N) was safe. They had the space to cry it all out until they had nothing but sniffles left. They wiped their wet eyes, and Dean squeezed their shoulder.

            “Just think about it, kid,” said Dean, trying to lighten the mood as (Y/N) relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what your parents were. It’s not like you’re a witch.” He smiled.

            (Y/N) smiled back. Right. They weren’t a witch.

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-Two: Farewell Tour

            (Y/N) woke up as they heard a door close. They looked around the motel room blearily and found Dean was gone. They sat up in alarm, and Sam was already at the door, staring out. The sound of a car driving away left an unsettled feeling in their stomach.

            “Sam?” said (Y/N) worriedly.

            “He’s gone,” snapped Sam. “Unbelievable.”

            “What’s going on?” asked (Y/N). Had they missed something? Had they done something? Were they actually a monster Dean couldn’t be around? He hadn’t witches, what if he thought—

            “Dean’s going on a farewell tour,” said Sam. He ran a hand through his hair. “I think he’s going to make a stupid Michael decision.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened in alarm and their thoughts quieted. “What? We need to get after him.”

            “I know,” said Sam. “Grab your stuff. We’re out of here.”

            (Y/N) scrambled for clothes and their bags in an instant.

 

l

 

            “Castiel.” (Y/N) spoke with their eyes closed, hands together in prayer.

            “It’s not gonna work,” said Sam, sitting with Bobby.

            “Ssh,” said (Y/N), focusing.

            “He only appears for Dean,” sighed Sam.

            “Fine, then I’ll use that.” (Y/N) cleared their throat. “Oh, Castiel, who art not in Heaven, Dean is going AWOL and needs to be stopped before he says yes to Michael. Come drag your feathers to Bobby’s house so we have you to bring him back when we find where he is.”

            A beat passed.

            “Damn, he really does have his favorite, doesn’t he?” grumbled (Y/N).

            “Dean is going to say yes to Michael?”

            Sam, (Y/N), and Bobby jumped as Castiel looked at them all urgently.

            “Definitely has favorites,” grumbled Sam. Dean was the top of Castiel’s list, but he liked (Y/N), too.

            “Where is Dean?” said Castiel.

            “We’re working on it,” said Bobby. “We need you to drag him back here cause he’ll put up a fight.”

            Castiel wanted to do more instantly, but he nodded. That was all the information they had. “Very well.”

            Sam looked at (Y/N), and they shifted. He nodded for them to speak. On the drive to Bobby’s place, they had discussed Bobby and Castiel learning about their parents’ natures as witches. It felt like important information, and Sam and (Y/N) agreed that secrets just caused more problems.

            “Um, yeah, Cas? Bobby? We found out about something,” said (Y/N). “That, uh, Leah said. Well, the Whore. But yeah.”

            “I noticed you were acting strange after the fight,” said Castiel bluntly. “What was it?”

            “She told me something about my parents,” said (Y/N). “They weren’t hunters. They were killed because a seal needed…a monster’s kid to lose innocence. To upturn that whole ‘monsters aren’t innocent’ idea in nature…” They swallowed. “My parents were witches.” They didn’t dare look at either Bobby or Castiel.

            “It explains your soul,” said Castiel. It still shone brightly—more indigo than a regular human’s, and he had known they were special in some way since he met them. “It’s bright. Strong. Connected to magic parents, it would fit.”

            “You don’t care?” said (Y/N).

            “No,” said Castiel, straightforward.

            (Y/N)’s shoulders sagged with relief. They weren’t sure what they were going to do if someone rejected them for something they couldn’t control.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) carefully picked the lock of the motel room they and Sam had tracked Dean to. They opened the door quietly, and Sam slipped inside with (Y/N) right behind them. Dean was taping up a box and laying a letter on it. (Y/N) had a disturbing notion that it would read like a suicide note.

            “Sending someone a candygram?” said Sam.

            Dean froze as he took a sip of his drink. He turned, and his eyes passed over (Y/N) and Sam. “How’d you find me?” he said.

            “You’re gonna kill yourself, right?” said Sam bluntly. “It’s not too hard to figure out the stops on the farewell tour. How’s Lisa doing, anyway?”

            Lisa. Sam had told (Y/N) on the drive about this woman that had a child that was so much like Dean but “not” his child. Lisa and Dean had reconnected but only briefly. He still deeply cared about her.

            “I’m not gonna kill myself,” said Dean.

            “No? That’s what saying yes to Michael means. You’ll be gone,” said (Y/N).

            Dean looked away and took a drink.

            “What the hell, man?” said Sam exasperatedly. “This is how it ends? You just…walk out?”

            “Yeah, I guess.” Dean was already refilling his glass.

            “How could you do that?” snapped Sam.

            “How could I?” said Dean. “All you’ve ever done is run away!”

            “And I was wrong every single time I did!” said Sam. He exhaled sharply. “Just…please. Not now.”

            “We can do something,” said (Y/N), trying to convince Dean as hard as they could. “We have to stay strong. Otherwise Heaven or Hell—it doesn’t matter who wins. Humanity loses.”

            “Bobby is working on something,” said Sam.

            “Oh, really? What?” said Dean. Sam swallowed. “You got nothing, and you know it.” He took a swig of his drink.

            “You know we have to stop you,” said Sam.

            “We can’t let you do this,” said (Y/N). Michael didn’t get to win. Lucifer didn’t get to win. This was Earth; it was theirs.

            Dean put down his glass and pulled back his shoulders, a challenge. “Yeah, well, you can try. But just remember, you’re not all hopped up on demon blood this time.”

            “Yeah, I know,” said Sam.

            “But we brought help,” said (Y/N).

            Dean turned to find Castiel behind him. He put two dingers to Dean’s forehead and transported him to Bobby’s house. A few seconds later, he brought (Y/N) and Sam with him.

            “You ready to stop being stupid, boy?” said Bobby, the first words he had for Dean.

            Dean threw up his hands. “Stupid? What’s stupid is thinking that after eight months of turned pages and screwed pooches, but tonight—tonight’s when the magic happens,” he snarked.

            “You ain’t helping,” said Bobby.

            “Yeah, well, why don’t you let me get out of your hair, huh?” said Dean.

            Sam rolled his eyes and sat down in front of more research beside Bobby. (Y/N) kept an eye on Dean in case he made a run to escape. They weren’t as big and strong as Sam or Castiel, but they knew Dean would resist hurting them—and they wouldn’t hold back.

            “What the hell happened to you?” snapped Bobby.

            “Reality happened,” said Dean. “Nuclear’s the only option we have left. Michael can ice the Devil, save a boatload of people.”

            “But not all of them!” said (Y/N). “How many people die because of Michael?”

            “We got to think of something else,” said Bobby.

            “Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say, but if Lucifer burns this mother down and I could have done something about it, guess what—that’s on me,” ranted Dean.

            “You can’t give up, son,” said Bobby.

            Dean scoffed and shook his head. “You’re not my father.” He knew it would hurt, and that’s why he said it. (Y/N) swallowed, and Bobby’s expression fell immediately. “And you ain’t in my shoes.” Bobby looked away, and Sam looked at Dean. He gave a disappointed, angry shake of his head. Dean lifted his gaze and swallowed, knowing he’d gone too far but too proud to admit it.

            Bobby pulled open a drawer and lifted a pistol out of it. He examined it for all to see. He placed it heavily on the desk. From his pocket, Bobby pulled out a single bullet.

            “What is that?” said Dean.

            “That’s the round I mean to put through my skull,” said Bobby. He put the bullet down, and no one spoke. No one dared look away. “Every morning, I look at it, and I think…‘Maybe today’s the day I flip the lights out.’ ” He looked sharply at Dean. “But I don’t do it. I never do it. You know why? Because I promised you I wouldn’t give up!” He ended in a shout, the shout of a father who wanted his son to keep surviving, keep hoping, keep living.

            Silence descended. No one had words to respond to that.

            “Ah!” Castiel grabbed his head suddenly.

            “Cas, you okay?” said Sam.

            “No,” said Castiel.

            “What’s wrong?” asked Dean.

            “Something’s happening,” said Castiel, furrowing his brow.

            “Where?” said Dean.

            Castiel flew away instead of responding. That wasn’t a good sign.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) could hear Sam and Dean in another room—probably about to engage in another argument—while Bobby focused on lore. They stared at the Book of Revelation in front of them and watched the letters blur together after so much studying. Unfortunately, (Y/N) struggled to focus. They had a lot of burdens weighing on their mind—from Dean’s hopelessness to their parents to the Apocalypse. They glanced at Bobby.

            (Y/N) cleared their throat nervously. “Um, Bobby?”

            “Yeah, kid?” Bobby looked up from his work.

            “Um. What did you think—You know, what—?” They trailed off. Bobby had heard, but he hadn’t gotten time to speak after they went back to finding Dean. (Y/N) still had no idea what he thought about their parents were monsters. What if Bobby thought they were a monster like their parents?

            “Your parents?” said Bobby.

            (Y/N) gave a quick nod and prepared themself for some sort of scolding or hatred.

            “Yeah, Sam told me,” said Bobby. “Witches.”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N).

            Bobby watched them shift with discomfort. “I looked into them, ya know.” He spoke casually, careful not to spook the kid. “No records from other hunters about witchy stuff in your town.” (Y/N) looked at him, and Bobby continued. “Your parents either weren’t getting hunted.”

            “Which means they were getting away with hurting people,” said (Y/N). They hated thinking of their parents like that, but it was true, wasn’t it? Witches were monsters.

            “Or they weren’t doing anything,” said Bobby. “Witches…they’re like psychics. They got instincts like everything else that goes bump in the night, but they don’t got to follow it.”

            “So witches can be good?” said (Y/N).

            “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen,” said Bobby. “And they didn’t hurt you, did they?”

            “No,” said (Y/N). “They love me.” Even in whatever afterlife they’d ended up in, their parents loved (Y/N).

            “Then they’re not monsters. Didn’t make you a witch, right?” said Bobby.

            “No? But some of that ‘hunter’ training was just…witches being witches, wasn’t it?” said (Y/N). “What if that means that I’m, like, programmed to be a monster?”

            “Do you fight monsters?” said Bobby.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N).

            “Do you want to hurt people?” said Bobby.

            “Bad people.”

            “Do you protect innocent people from monsters?” said Bobby.

            “Yeah.”

            “Then you’re not a monster,” said Bobby. “Trust me. You might be an idiot, but Dean, Sam, and I have screwed up more time than you have years. Sam’s been a psychic and worked with demons. We’ve worked with psycho hunters. You? You’re just a kid of witches. Stop thinking you’re infected or something.”

            He spoke gruffly, but it put a smile on (Y/N)’s face. Castiel had barely blinked when they told him what they were the child of witches, Sam and Dean supported them, and now Bobby didn’t flinch, either. (Y/N) really had a place to belong.

            I’m a Winchester, they thought, a smile spreading farther on their face.

            The air stirred around them, and (Y/N) and Bobby looked up as Castiel appeared in the room holding a man’s body over his shoulder.

            “Help,” he barked.

            “Boys!” shouted Bobby.

            Sam and Dean ran in from the kitchen, and Castiel dumped the dirty body down on the ground. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Sam and Dean drew up short.

            “Who is it?” said Bobby, wheeling closer.

            “That’s our brother,” said Sam.

            Adam Milligan, looking like he had been pulled from the ground like a root, lay on the couch—whole and living.

            “Wait a minute. Your brother? Adam?” said Bobby. He had heard the story, but, like everyone else, he thought Adam was dead.

            “Cas, what the hell?” said Dean.

            Castiel put two angel blades down on the desk. “Angels,” he said.

            “Angels? Why?” said Sam.

            Castiel didn’t reply to the question, but he didn’t have an answer to begin with. “I know one thing for sure. We need to hide him down.” He put his hand on Adam’s ribs to hide him against angels, and Adam’s eyes jerked open at the sensation.

            He sat up, panting, and Castiel pulled his hand back. His head jerked from one person to the next as he took in his situation. “Where am I?” he demanded, more scared than fierce.

            “It’s okay,” said Sam. “Just relax. You’re safe.”

            “Who the hell are you?” said Adam.

            Dean grimaced. “You’re gonna find this a little—a lot crazy, but we’re actually your brothers.”

            “It’s the truth,” said Sam. “John Winchester was our father, too. See, I’m Sam.”

            “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure that’s Dean and that’s (Y/N),” said Adam. “I know who you are.”

            “How?” asked Sam, thoroughly confused.

            “They warned me about you,” said Adam.

            “Who did?” said Dean.

            “The angels,” said Adam. “Now, where the hell is Zachariah?!”

            “The rat-looking guy?” said (Y/N). “You’re listening to him?”

            Adam glared. “He’s an angel.”

            (Y/N) scoffed. “Yeah, angelically gifted at being a dick.”

            “Okay, okay,” said Bobby before a fight broke up. “We don’t know the full story yet. Adam, we’re not here to hurt you.” Adam seemed to believe that so far. “So how about you get a chance to…clean up. Then we can talk.” He had to play dad as usual.

 

l

 

 

            Washed and changed, Adam sat warily on the couch again. He kept a careful eye on everyone as they saw before him in a semicircle—no escape for him. At least he had a glass of whiskey.

            “So, why don’t you tell us everything?” said Dean. “Start from the beginning.”

            “Well, I was dead and in Heaven,” said Adam. “Except it—it, uh, kind of looked like my room.” He fondly remembered. It was Heaven. Peaceful. “And I was making out with this girl. Her-Her name was Kristen McGee.”

            “Yeah, that sounds like Heaven,” said Dean. “Did you get to third base?”

            Sam cleared his throat pointedly, and Dean coughed awkwardly. “Just, uh…just keep going,” said Sam.

            “Well, these-these angels, they popped out of nowhere, and they tell me that I-I’m chosen,” said Adam.

            “Chosen?” said (Y/N).

            “To save the world,” said Adam.

            Dean frowned. “How you gonna do that?”

            “Oh, me and some archangel are gonna kill the Devil,” said Adam. He smiled slightly.

            (Y/N) let out a laugh as they put it together. “Oh, angels are dicks.”

            “What archangel?” said Dean, seeing the same pattern (Y/N) was.

            “Michael,” said Adam. “I’m his, uh, Sword and vessel or something.”

            (Y/N) literally couldn’t stop themself from laughing. The angels went to all the trouble of trying to convince Dean to say yes to Michael, but instead, they had another option in the wings that they could use. It was so stupid and such a wrench in the hunters’ plans that what else could (Y/N) do but grow a bit hysterical.

            “(Y/N),” said Sam as (Y/N) laughed.

            “Oh, come on, Sam, this is hilarious,” said (Y/N).

            “It’s really not,” said Dean. “It’s insane.”

            “Not really,” said (Y/N). “It’s just our typical luck throwing the fact that we have no control back in our face. We think you and Sam saying no is enough?” They gestured to Adam. “Oops, another vessel!”

            “That doesn’t make sense,” said Dean.

            “Hello? Winchester bloodline, Sam’s bloodline, pretty loyal to your dad, blablabla,” (Y/N) waved their hand, “Michael Sword.”

            Dean looked at Castiel, the resident angel, to say it was impossible.

            “It isn’t perfect,” admitted Castiel. “But it’s possible.”

            “You got to be kidding me,” groaned Sam. “How could they do this?”

            “Maybe they’re desperate,” said Castiel grimly. “Maybe they’ve wrongly assumed Dean would be brave enough o withstand him.” His tone took a sharp edge. He still hadn’t said anything to Dean about his change of decision and his frustration at it.

            “Alright, you know what?” snapped Dean. “Blow me, Cas.”

            Castiel frowned at the turn of phrase, trying to parse its derogatory meaning from the literal one.

            “Look, no way after everything that’s happened—” Sam chuckled slightly hysterically “—all that crap about destiny, suddenly the angels have a Plan B?! Does that smell right to anybody?”

            “You know, this has been a really moving family reunion, but, uh, I got a thing, so—” Adam stood up.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Sam, standing before he could get anywhere. “No, no, no. Sit down. Just listen, okay? Please.”

            Adam scoffed, but it was clear he wasn’t getting away. He went back to the couch. “Unbelievable.”

            “Now, Adam,” said Sam. “The angels are lying to you. They’re full of crap.”

            “Yeah, I don’t think so,” scoffed Adam.

            “Enlighten me, why aren’t they lying,” said (Y/N) sarcastically.

            “Um, cause they’re angels,” snarked Adam right back.

            “Wow, talk about being blind. You think angels can’t lie? You’re in for a wakeup call,” said (Y/N).

            “Why would they have to lie? They want to beat the Devil,” said Adam accusatorily.

            “And did they mention they’re gonna roast half the planet while they do it?” said (Y/N) with sickening sweetness.

            “They said the fight might get pretty hairy, but it is the Devil, right?” said Adam, not backing down. “So we got to stop him.”

            “Yeah, but there’s another way,” said Sam. Dean bit his lip.

            “Great. What is it?” challenged Adam.

            “Well, we’re working on the power of love,” scoffed Dean.

            “How’s that going?” said Adam.

            “Not good,” said Dean with false cheerfulness.

            “Look, Adam,” said Sam. “You don’t know me from a whole in the wall, I know, but I’m begging you. Please, just trust us. Give us some time.”

            “Give me one good reason,” said Adam.

            Everyone looked at Sam, and he faltered for a moment. “Because we’re blood,” he said finally, firmly.

            Adam stared back at him evenly. “You got no right to say that to me.”

            Sam furrowed his brow in confusion, and Bobby said, “You’re still John’s boy.”

            “No, John Winchester was some guy who took me to a baseball game once a year,” said Adam harshly. “I didn’t have a dad. So, we may be blood, but we are not family. My mom is my family.” His voice rose. “And if I do my job, I get to see her again! So, no offense, but she’s the only one I give a rat’s ass about, not you.”

            (Y/N) could resonate with that motivation. If they were given a chance to have their parents returned to them, would they take it? Would they bring witches back? …(Y/N) didn’t have an answer.

            Sam swallowed. “Fair enough. But if you have one good memory of Dad—just one—then you’ll give us a little more time. Please.”

            Adam didn’t respond.

 

l

 

            Adam sat in the kitchen alone. The sky was dark outside, and everyone was at work. Castiel was keeping an eye on Dean while Dean was locked in the panic room, Sam was doing research with Bobby, and (Y/N) was finding a book Bobby had misplaced. Adam’s eyes drifted to the backdoor. No one was looking. If he could just…He rose and started for the door.

            “Yeah, I wouldn’t.”

            Adam turned to find (Y/N) in a doorway with their arms crossed.

            “I want to get some fresh air,” said Adam.

            “Uhuh, well, everything’s fresh after being buried,” said (Y/N). “Enjoy the house.”

            “I could get away before you grabbed me, you know that? I’m a little older and stronger than you,” said Adam.

            “Don’t threaten me,” said (Y/N). “I’m the one with a gun.”

            Adam cleared his throat at the implication.

            “Sit,” said (Y/N) cheerfully, gesturing to the kitchen table.

            Adam sullenly sat down. “So, Sam pitches the bromance, but I’m really on lockdown, aren’t I?”

            “Well, duh,” said (Y/N). “You want to go and say yes to a guy who’s willing to kill half the Earth in a fight that there must be a way to avoid.”

            “We live on an Earth where monsters eat people alive,” said Adam. He knew firsthand. “Maybe that would be good for it.”

            “Maybe,” said (Y/N). “But I’d prefer to save innocent people than condemn them for no reason. They don’t even know about this world. You didn’t.”

            “Oh, yeah, and look how that turned out for me,” said Adam.

            “Yeah, well, if John had told you, you’d have to hunt. Like Sam, Dean, and I do,” said (Y/N). “And that’s no fun.”

            “At least they had each other and their dad,” said Adam. “It was just me and my mom.” He swallowed. “She worked the graveyard shift at the hospital,” he said bitterly. “I cooked my own dinners. I put myself to bed. So, whatever Sam and Dean say about our dad, at least they had one. I would have taken anything.”

            “Life isn’t fair,” agreed (Y/N).

            Adam sighed. “No, it isn’t.” That was something he could agree with.

            “And, look—I get wanting to be back with your mom,” said (Y/N). “I miss my parents.” Adam looked at them. “I lost them a little over a year ago. Demons killed them. But do you know what I’m doing?” They leaned forward towards Adam. “Fighting for what they would have: the world. I’m not giving up. They didn’t die to save me just to let me roll over for every monster that comes my way. Your mom worked to give you a chance. Whether you like it or not doesn’t matter. That’s what happened, and it sucks, but are you going to waste that by destroying the world or not?”

            “Don’t talk about what my mom would have wanted,” said Adam. He hated how much it made his heart ache as he looked at the kid living this life, another person with a family torn apart.

            “Then don’t pretend like you have the moral high ground or the tougher life here,” said (Y/N). “Life sucks for all of us. But take it from me. The angels have an agenda. They don’t care about us. Don’t think they won’t use you.”

            “As long as I can see my mom again, I don’t care,” said Adam.

            “You know, I really hope you don’t have to eat your words,” said (Y/N). They had a feeling he would. Angels were fundamentally untrustworthy.

Chapter 23: Chapter Twenty-Three: Saying Yes

            “You should get some rest.”

            (Y/N) yawned as they watched Adam sleep. “I’m fine, Cas.”

            “He’s right,” said Sam, emerging from the basement after a disastrous discussion with Dean. His brother had no faith in Sam. That’s why he wanted to say to Michael. Because Sam saying yes was inevitable, and he had to be the one to stop him once that happened. Sam tried to push the echoes of Dean’s words from his mind. “Go and get some rest.”

            (Y/N) shook their head. “How’s Dean?” That’s what was important.

            Sam exhaled sharply and shook his head.

            (Y/N) saw the telltale signs of a disagreement, a heartache. “How are you?”

            Sam had no words, and (Y/N)’s gaze fell. Cas straightened and walked back to the stairs.

            “Did Adam make any runs for it?” asked Sam.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N). “I told him I’d shoot him.”

            “Way to bluff,” said Sam.

            Right. A bluff. (Y/N) coughed. “He’s just…He wants his mom. And the angels will give him that.”

            Sam nodded. He understood the motivation to have someone back. He and Dean frequently sacrificed everything for one another for the same reason.

            They heard a shout, and a blinding light illuminated the room from the basement. (Y/N) straightened from the wall they leaned on and bolted for the stairs. Sam thundered down after them. Bobby rolled to the top of the stairs.

            “What is it?” he called down.

            (Y/N) stood in the bottom and looked at the open, empty panic room. A painted banishment sigil of blood stood in the moonlight against the wall, and the cellar doors were open. “Dean got out!”

            “Where’s Cas?” asked Bobby.

            “Blown to Oz,” said Sam, cursing his brother and his desperation. He ran back up the stairs. “We need to get him, now. He can’t have gotten far.”

            “I’m with you,” said (Y/N).

            “Bobby, watch Adam,” said Sam.

            “How?” said Bobby. “You may have noticed, he’s got a slight height advantage.”

            “Then cuff him to your chair. Just watch him,” said Sam. “I need (Y/N) with me to find Dean.” They had the speed to try to track him before he escaped.

            (Y/N) ran outside and split off from Sam. They scoured the junkyard, running as far as the edge of the property, panting and heaving for breath. But there was no sign of Dean anywhere. When they trudged back to the house, they found Sam, similarly defeated.

            “Any sign?” they asked.

            “No. He must’ve gotten to a car,” said Sam.

            “Sam! (Y/N)!” Bobby shouted from inside.

            (Y/N) cursed all their bad luck and ran into the house at the sound of alarm.

            “Adam is gone,” said Bobby.

            “What?” said (Y/N).

            “What do you mean, Adam is gone?” said Sam.

            “Should I say it in Spanish?” said Bobby.

            “He’s gone how?” said Sam. “What the hell, Bobby?!”

            “Watch your tone, boy,” snapped Bobby. “He was right in front of me, and he disappeared into thin air.”

            (Y/N) groaned. “Angels.”

            “Yes.” Castiel appeared. He held Dean on his shoulder, bleeding from the mouth like he’d been punched (which he had).

            “What happened?” said (Y/N), staring at Dean.

            “Me,” said Castiel. He let Dean flop down on the couch.

            “You mean the angels took Adam?” said Bobby. “You branded his ribs, didn’t you?”

            “Yes,” said Castiel. “Adam must have tipped them.”

            “Shit,” said (Y/N).

            “How?” said Bobby.

            “I don’t know,” said Castiel. “Maybe in a dream.”

            “Well, where would they have taken him?” asked Sam.

            Castiel straightened. He knew exactly where.

 

l

 

            “So…we ready?” Adam sat up in the “green room” Zachariah had brought him to. He was prepared to say yes to Michael.

            “For what?” said Zachariah.

            “What do you mean, ‘for what?’ For Michael,” said Adam.

            “Oh. Right.” Zachariah chuckled, and the sound tapered off. “About that…Look, this is never easy, but I’m afraid…we’ve had to terminate your position at this time.”

            Adam felt something in his stomach curdle like milk going bad. “Excuse me?”

            “Hey, don’t get me wrong, you’ve been a hell of a sport—really, good stuff,” said Zachariah. “But the thing is, you’re not so much the ‘Chosen One’ as you are…a clammy scrap of bait.”

            Adam heard (Y/N)’s warning about how little angels cared about humans suddenly ring true. But he couldn’t believe it. “No, but what about the stuff that you said? I’m supposed to fight the Devil.”

            “Mm, not so much,” said Zachariah, his rat-like face looking down condescendingly at the human. “You happen to be the illegitimate half-brother of the guy we do care about. That’s not bad, is it?” He spoke as if to a toddler.

            “So you lied,” said Adam. “About everything.” (Y/N)’s warning rested heavily on his shoulders.

            “We didn’t lie,” said Zachariah scornfully, but, like a lawyer, he continued, “We just avoided certain truths to manipulate you.”

            “Oh, you son of a bitch,” breathed Adam.

            “Hey, how do you think I feel?” said Zachariah disdainfully. “I’m the one that’s got to put up with that dumb, slack-jawed look on your face.” Adam glared. “Kid, we didn’t have a choice. The Winchesters got one blind spot, and it’s family. See, Sam and Dean, they’re gonna put aside their differences, and they’re gonna come with (Y/N) to get you, and that is gonna put Dean right here.” Zachariah grinned. “Right where I need him. This is night, kid! Our night. Michael’s seen it. The tumblers finally click into place, and it’s all because of you. And me. But who’s keeping score?”

            Adam stood. “Yeah, I’m not gonna let you do this.”

            “Cool your jets, corky. Sit down,” said Zachariah, his light tone sharpening. “We’re doing it together.” Adam knew he had no choice but to obey. “Plus, you still get your severance. You still get to see your mom, okay?”

            “Why should I believe you?” said Adam, now knowing to doubt absolutely and completely.

            Zachariah didn’t take kindly to questioning upstarts. “You know what? I keep hearing this.” He opened and closed his hand in a mocking of Adam’s “whining.” “But what I want to be hearing is this.”

            He pointed his hand at Adam, and Adam vomited, blood pouring up his throat. He coughed, but the slick crimson spilled from him no matter how long he spluttered. Adam doubled over, completely at the angel’s mercy.

            “That’s better,” said Zachariah with considerable self-satisfaction.

            Adam coughed, and as blood dripped between his lips, his mistakes curled into a nauseous mess in his stomach. He didn’t need Zachariah’s influence to vomit again.

 

l

 

            Dean raised his head, and as his eyes opened, he felt the pressure of the handcuffs on his wrist before he saw them.

            “How are you feeling?” asked Sam.

            Dean sat up properly and knew he was back in the panic room. “Word to the wise,” he groaned. “Don’t piss of the nerd angels.”

            (Y/N) managed to hold their tongue instead of sassing Dean (but just barely). Sam just looked down at his hands.

            “So, how’s it going?” said Dean.

            “Adam’s gone,” admitted Sam. Dean sat up straighter. “The angels have him.”

            “Where?” said Dean.

            “The room where they took you before the ‘Lucifer rising’ thing,” said (Y/N).

            “You sure?” said Dean.

            “Cas did recon,” said Sam, nodding.

            “And?” said Dean.

            “The place is crawling with mooks—pretty much a no-shot-in-Hell, hail-mary kind of thing,” said Sam.

            “So the usual,” said (Y/N).

            Dean looked out. “What are you gonna do?”

            “For starters…we’re bringing you with,” said Sam.

            “Excuse me?” Dean watched Sam approach.

            “There are too many of them.” Sam took the handcuffs. “We can’t do it alone, and, uh, you’re pretty much the only game in town.”

            “Isn’t that a bad idea?” said Dean.

            “Cas and Bobby think so,” said (Y/N). “We’re not sure.”

            “Well, they’re right,” said Dean. “Because either it’s a trap to get me there, to make me say yes, or it’s not a trap and I’m gonna say yes anyway. And I will. I’ll do it—fair warning.”

            “No, you won’t,” said (Y/N) bluntly. “You know this is stupid. You’re just desperate. You’ll make the right call in the end.”

            Dean paused at the faith (Y/N) was putting in him. He swallowed and licked his lips. “You know, if the roles were reversed, I would let you rot in here.” He looked at Sam. “Hell, I have let Sam rot.”

            Sam scoffed lightly and knew it was true. Knew Dean would do it again if he had to. Knew Dean didn’t trust him. “Yeah, well…I guess we’re not that smart.”

 

l

 

            “Where the hell are we?” said Dean, squinting at the bright sun as they walked through a random, abandoned parking lot.

            “Van Nuys, California,” said Castiel.

            “Where’s the beautiful room?” said Dean. He remembered clearly that Zachariah had locked him in a castle-like room.

            “In there.” Castiel gestured at the grey warehouses next to them.

            “The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?” said Dean in disbelief.

            “Where’d you think it was?” said (Y/N).

            “I-I don’t know,” said Dean, throwing up his hands. “Jupiter? A blade of grass? Not Van Nuys.”

            “Tell me again why we can’t grab Adam by the arm and shazam the hell of out there?” said Sam as they circled around the building towards a door.

            “Because there are at least five angels in there,” said Castiel curtly.

            “So? You’re fast,” said Dean.

            “They’re faster,” said Castiel. He began to take off his tie, and Dean stared at the smooth movement a little too long. “I’ll clear them out. You two grab the boy. This is our only chance.”

            “Whoa, wait,” said Dean, catching Castiel before he walked in. “You’re gonna take on five angels?”

            Castiel faced him. “Yes.”

            “Isn’t that suicide?” said Dean in growing alarm.

            “Maybe it is.” Castiel’s gaze didn’t waver from Dean’s. “But then I won’t have to watch you fail. I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t have the same faith in you that Sam and (Y/N) have.” No one spoke. Castiel pulled a boxcutter from his pocket.

            “What the hell are you gonna do with that?” said Sam.

            Castiel grimaced and unbuttoned his shirt. He touched the boxcutter to his chest. (Y/N), Dean, and Sam turned away politely. Sigil it was—hidden on his skin. After he finished, he rebuttoned his shirt. He nodded them, and they all nodded solemnly back.

            Castiel entered the warehouse, and Dean leaned in. He strained to listen, and (Y/N) shifted, antsy as ever, as the sounds of fighting echoed out, and then a light shot out. The sounds died away, and Dean straightened hopefully. He opened the door and walked inside.

            Waiting a few more moments, Sam and (Y/N) headed in. There was a small building with a warm glow coming from within sat in the center of the warehouse—the beautiful room, though not so beautiful in reality. They crept towards the door Dean had already entered through, and Sam raised the angel blade Castiel had procured from killing angels. (Y/N) held another tightly.

            Within the room of ornamental painting and golden wallpaper, Dean knelt next to Adam. He had blood dripping down his chin, and his body was extremely weakened. Dean didn’t hesitate to put hand under his shoulders and hoist him to his feet.

            “You came for me,” said Adam in astonishment.

            “You’re family,” said Dean.

            “Dean, it’s a trap,” warned Adam desperately.

            “I figured,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) tensed beyond the door as Zachariah appeared out of nowhere and smirked at Dean.

            “Dean, please,” he said with that incessant smirk and endless condescension. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

            “Did you?” said Dean.

            (Y/N) and Sam lunged towards Zachariah. He bat Sam’s arm away and flicked a wrist, sending Sam flying. He caught (Y/N)’s arm and twisted. They thrashed against him, and the lights of the room flickered. Zachariah’s eyes narrowed, and he threw them. (Y/N) hit the wall, and their vision blurred as they hit the ground.

            “Sam! (Y/N)!”

            Shit— Their head ached, and that damn itch was a drum.

            “You know what I’ve learned from this experience, Dean?” said Zachariah. “Patience.” He held up a hand, and Adam coughed up blood, collapsing again.

            “Adam?” said Dean in alarm. He glared at Zachariah. “Let him go, you son of a bitch.”

            “I mean, I thought I was downsized for sure, and, for us, a firing—pretty damn literal,” convinced Zachariah. He chuckled, and Dean’s eyes swept over Sam, (Y/N), and Adam’s bodies. “But I should have trusted the boss man. It’s all playing out like he said. You mean, your hemorrhaging family.”

            He lifted a hand, and Sam and (Y/N) curled up as pain laced through them. Sam coughed up blood, and (Y/N) spat it out. Stop it. They coughed. Stop it. Stop it stop it stopitstopitstopit. They wretched, and no blood came up.

            “You’re finally ready, right?” said Zachariah, seeing Dean’s despairing face. “You see things our way. You know there’s no other choice. There’s never been a choice.”

            “Stop it,” demanded Dean, his voice breaking. “Stop it right now!”

            “In exchange for what?” said Zachariah darkly.

            “Damn it, Zachariah,” said Dean. But he couldn’t remain strong against the sound of Sam’s suffering. (Y/N) was panting, shakily starting to stand. “Stop it, please.” He swallowed. “I’ll do it.”

            “I’m sorry, what was that?” said Zachariah. They needed yes to the complete statement.

            (Y/N) raised their head. “Dean…” They coughed as their throat felt raw.

            “Okay, yes,” said Dean. “The answer is yes.”

            “Dean!” said Sam, trying to push himself onto his arms.

            “Do you hear me?” said Dean. “Call Michael down, you bastard!” His voice broke on the words.

            Zachariah regarded Dean warily. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

            “Do I look like I’m lying?” snapped Dean.

            Zachariah remained watchful, but then his goddamn ego placed a satisfied smirk on his face. “Zirdo…noco…abramg…nazpsad fgaosa…”

            “Shut…up…” coughed (Y/N).

            Zachariah frowned and cleared his throat, a tickle in his throat. Around them, the room began to rumble, and the light began to brighten. Dean looked to Sam and (Y/N), who stared back at him, pleading with their eyes for him to make the right decision. Despite Zachariah’s difficulty speaking, Michael was arriving.

            “He’s coming,” he said, voice scratchy and hoarse.

            Dean’s eyes didn’t leave Sam and (Y/N), but his lips curved upwards into a clever smile. He winked. (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            “Of course, I have a few conditions,” said Dean, his desperation gone and his confidence returned.

            Zachariah looked at him sharply. “What?”

            “A few people whose safety you have to guarantee before I say yes,” said Dean.

            “Sure, fine. Make a list,” said Zachariah, ready to get the show on the road.

            “But most of all…” continued Dean. “Michael can’t have me until he disintegrates you.”

            Zachariah paused. “What did you say?” His voice croaked.

            “I said.” Dean took a step forward. “Before Michael gets one piece of this sweet ass…he has to turn you into a piece of charcoal.”

            Zachariah chuckled nervously. “You really think Michael’s gonna go for that?”

            Dean smirked slightly. “Who’s more important to him now?” he challenged. “You? Or me?”

            Zachariah grabbed Dean by the collar. “You listen to me,” he spat. “You are nothing but a maggot inside a worm’s ass. Do you know who I am after I deliver you to Michael?!”

            “Expendable,” spat Dean.

            Zachariah chuckled derogatorily and coughed. “Michael’s not gonna kill me.”

            “Maybe not,” said Dean. “But they will.”

            (Y/N) drove the angel blade through Zachariah’s neck from the back. His eyes widened in the split-second of shock his senses allowed him—how was the brat standing? The maggot should be writhing on the ground—before his entire body burnt from the inside out. (Y/N) held the knife in as the light grew brighter and exploded. They and Dean were knocked back.

            The building was still shaking, the rumbling of Michael’s approach refusing to abate. Zachariah’s body slumped to the ground, burnt imprints of his wings spread out on either side of him. The chandelier shook, and bits of glass fell to the ground, shattering upon impact.

            Dean scrambled to his feet and went to (Y/N). “Are you okay?” he said.

            (Y/N) nodded. Their throat still felt raw. “Yeah. Get Adam, I’ll get Sam.”

            Dean nodded and went to Adam. “Can you walk?” he asked.

            “Yeah,” said Adam shakily, and Dean pulled him up.

            “Sam?” said (Y/N), kneeling beside him.

            “I got it,” said Sam, getting up with their assistance.

            “Come on!” said Dean, taking Sam by the shoulders as Adam stood on his own. They rushed towards the door, and (Y/N) threw it open. Sam and Dean limped out together.

            Wham! The door slammed shut behind them.

            “No!” shouted Adam from within fearfully. He pounded on the door.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. The power of an archangel had sealed it. The doorknob grew hot, and (Y/N) hissed. Dean pulled them back as the light brightened. Their eyes all widened. Adam was stuck.

            The burning light turned blinding, and everyone turned away. Then it receded in a moment, and everyone stared.

            “Adam?” shouted (Y/N).

            “Adam!” said Dean.

            He tested the doorknob for heat before opening it. The room within was a tiny, destroyed shed. No one was there. He turned back to stare at (Y/N) and Sam. They stared back. What the hell had happened?

 

l

 

            The drive in the impala was silent for a long time.

            “You think Adam’s okay?” asked Sam finally.

            “Doubt it,” said Dean. “Cas either.”

            “But we’ll find them,” said (Y/N), determined. They wouldn’t abandon Castiel to whatever fate had befallen him, and Adam was Dean and Sam’s family.

            Quiet descended again until Sam said, hesitantly, “So?”

            “ ‘So’ what?” said Dean.

            “I saw your eyes,” said Sam. “You were totally rockin’ the yes back there. So, what changed your mind?”

            “Honestly?” said Dean. “The damndest thing. I mean, the world’s ending, the walls are coming down around us, and I look over at you two, and all I can think about is…‘these stupid sons of bitches brought me hear.’ ” (Y/N) and Sam chuckled. “I just didn’t want to let you down.”

            (Y/N) smiled slightly. “You didn’t.” Their grin turned to a teasing smirk. “You almost did. But you didn’t.”

            “…I owe you guys an apology,” said Dean as their words settled in.

            “No, man. No, you don’t,” said Sam.

            “Just…let me say this,” said Dean. “I don’t know if it’s being a big brother or what, but, Sam, to me you’ve always been this snot-nosed kid that I’ve had to keep on the straight and narrow. And (Y/N), you’ve been this kid that I’ve had to keep an eye on to keep you from dying because of life we dragged you into.” He swallowed. “I think we all know that’s not who you two are anymore. I mean, hell, if you’re grown-up enough to find faith in me, the least I can do is to return the favor.” He held the steering wheel tightly. “So, screw destiny right in the face. I say we take the fight to them, do it our way.”

            (Y/N) and Sam grinned. They had Dean back.

Chapter 24: Chapter Twenty-Four: Hotel Hell

            The impala pulled into the parking lot of the Elysian Fields Hotel. The pouring rain and rushing wind winding across the sky with dark clouds made the bright neon signs shine in the distance, and Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) had been glad to find a dry port in this growing storm. Lightning flashed, and (Y/N) grimaced. They were going to have get through that.

            “Ready to run?” said Dean, grabbing his bag.

            “No,” said Sam, knowing they were going to get soaked.

            “I guess,” said (Y/N).

            The three rushed from the car to the hotel, the rain pelting them and soaking through their jacket in an instant. They arrived inside, and (Y/N) shoved the door closed against the wind. They shivered as, in the warmth of the lobby, the chill of the rain soaking their clothes settled onto their skin. They couldn’t wait to get out of the clothes and change into something dry.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) looked around the lobby. It was…really nice. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, it was a classy establishment. The workers wore an elegant burgundy suit as a uniform, the decorations were chic and modern, and the entire place looked, in a phrase, way more expensive than three hunters would afford. Not that they could leave in that storm. Hopefully there was a cheap room somewhere.

            “Nice digs for once,” said Dean.

            “Way too nice for us,” said (Y/N), wiping rain from their face.

            “Anything’s nice after that storm,” chuckled Sam, walking towards the check-in desk.

            A man in the same smart burgundy suit as the other workers was typing away at the computer at insane speeds. Clearly, the hotel was at risk of being booked up. It would be just (Y/N)’s luck if they ran out of rooms.

            “Busy night,” said Dean to get “Chet’s” (that was the name on his nametag) attention.

            “Any port in a storm, I guess,” said Chet with a pleasant, if official, smile. Dean chuckled, and (Y/N) and Sam gave a polite smile. Chet pushed a form at them. “If you could just fill this out, please.”

            “Yeah,” said Dean, grabbing a pen.

            Chet frowned. “Sir, I think you have a little…” He gestured to his jaw, and (Y/N) saw that he’d noticed a nick on Dean’s jaw with blood still dripping. (The last hunt had been, fortunately, pretty standards. A few bruises, a few cuts, but a regular monster). “Shaving nick there,” clarified Chet. He, of course, didn’t know something else had cut Dean. He flourished a tissue, and Dean patted himself clean. Chet then held up two keys and smiled pleasantly. “Your keys.”

            “Oh, we can’t afford two—” began Sam. That and he didn’t want them to split up.

            “Our rooms only have two beds and a couch. What establishment would we be if we sent someone to sleep on a couch during such a storm?” said Chet. “Think of it as a two-for-one storm deal.”

            “Okay,” said Dean. At this moment, he wasn’t going to argue. They never had anything go their way. “Thanks.”

            Sam frowned slightly, and (Y/N) shifted. They’d prefer to not split up and lose anyone in some way if something happened.

            “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a coffee shop, would you?” asked Dean.

            “Buffet. All you can eat,” said Chet. He gestured to a table and leaned in “conspiratorially.” “Best pie in the tri-state area.”

            “You don’t say?” Dean had never been so glad for the rain.

            He instantly made a beeline for the buffet line, and Sam and (Y/N) watched him with amusement and followed. Sam picked up some salad ingredients, Dean lingered at the pies to decide how many different pieces he wanted, and (Y/N) found ingredients for a rice bowl (wow, this place was way too fancy for them). As they passed tables to join Sam, they slowed.

            Are people watching? (Y/N) knew people glanced at others naturally, but something here felt…off. Like people were trying to keep an eye on them. (Y/N) touched their necklace, their nervous tick. They frowned and booked it back to Sam’s table. They sat down, and they felt the strangely curious looks on the back of their neck.

            “Are you okay?” asked Sam, noticing their expression.

            “Not here,” said (Y/N) quietly. They weren’t going to voice any concerns in the middle of the dining room.

            Dean sat down and saw both of their tense expressions. He, on the other hand, had multiple plates of pie and a grin. “Sam, (Y/N), relax. Eat something real,” said Dean.

            “We should really hit the road again,” said Sam, checking his phone.

            “In this storm?” said Dean.

            (Y/N) glanced out and watched the thunder rumble. Yeah, that wasn’t a good idea. Even if they had a weird feeling, it felt unsafe outside.

            “It’s—”

            “Biblical. Exactly,” said Sam. “I-It’s friggin’ Noah’s Ark out there, and we’re eating pie.”

            Dean leaned forward. “How many hours of sleep did you get this week? What, three? Four? Bobby’s got his feeler’s out. We’ve talked with every hoodoo man and root woman in twelve states.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m not giving up,” said Sam.

            “Nobody’s giving up,” said Dean. “Especially me.” (Y/N) was glad to hear his perspective had really changed. “We’re gonna find a way to beat the Devil, okay? Soon. I can feel it.”

            “I agree with Sam that I don’t want to stay long,” said (Y/N). “But in that storm, we can’t make it out safely. We wait it out, then we leave as soon as possible. That’s my vote.”

            Dean nodded. “Listen to the kid, Sam. Come on, we get one night off. Let’s try to enjoy it.”

 

l

 

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) slowly as they approached their rooms, side-by-side. At the next door down from theirs, a couple was kissing and giggling. Slowly, they began to pull each other’s jackets out. (Y/N) wrinkled their nose. That was a bit too much while in public in a hotel. Dean smiled cheekily and gestured to it.

            “Oh, what are you, twelve?” said Sam.

            “I’m young at heart,” said Dean.

            “That’s way too much for a hotel hallway,” said (Y/N).

            “You’ve never been interested in anyone. You’ll get it eventually,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, but I won’t be making out in public,” said (Y/N).

            Dean unlocked his door and held up the second key. “Who wants it?”

            Sam and (Y/N) didn’t move.

            “I don’t want to split up,” said (Y/N). “Kinda feels stupid to do that.”

            “Right,” said Sam. “If something happens and one of us is alone, they’ll be a target.”

            “Dude,” said Dean. “What’s going to happen here?”

            “We live in the same world, right?” said (Y/N). “Monsters, bad luck, all that?”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. We share the room. You two are so suspicious.”

            “Dean, that’s what keeps us alive,” said Sam.

            Dean waved a hand and opened the door. The room was as nice as the rest of the hotel

            “Wow, look at this,” said Dean. “We’re like Rockefellers.” His eyes lit up, and he ran to the beds. He lifted up the small gifts left for them. “Chocolates! You want yours?”

            “Knock yourself out,” said Sam.

            “Give it to me,” said (Y/N), and Dean tossed them the chocolate.

            “Whoa, they even have Casa Erotica 13 on demand,” said Dean.

            “Ew, you are not playing that,” said (Y/N), wrinkling their nose.

            Dean just shrugged. Sam sighed.

            “(Y/N),” he said, looking at them. “What were you going to say at dinner?”

            “Nothing much. I just…I have a weird feeling about this place, you know?” said (Y/N). “We’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s so nice, and…I’m going to sound crazy, but we’re hunters, so—” they shrug. “I think people were watching us.”

            Dean frowned. “Watching us? Probably because we don’t look fancy enough for this place.”

            “And the fact that we can afford it doesn’t make this weirder?” said Sam. “This is a four-star hotel on a no-star highway. It’s just weird—”

            A thump echoed from the wall, and they could hear moans. (Y/N) made a face. Dean chuckled, and Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s immaturity.

            Thud! The entire wall shook, and the bricks in it dislodged slightly. All the hunter’s were immediately tense and on edge. That wasn’t sex; it was dangerous. They abandoned their room immediately and went to the couple’s door. Sam tried the doorhandle and found that, in their “rush,” the couple had left it unlocked. They entered and found the room entirely empty of any signs of guests. The only evidence they had existed were rumpled sheets on the bed.

            Dean looked at Sam and (Y/N) in alarm. He was on board with the “this place is weird” idea now. This was undeniably suspicious. Sam peeked into the bathroom, and (Y/N) peered out the window onto the small balcony. It was pouring still, and no one was out there, of course. Sam returned and shook his head. No luggage anywhere, either. Dean knelt and picked up something small from the carpet—a wedding ring.

            The hunters exchanged looks. What the hell was happening at Elysian Fields Hotel?

 

l

 

            Dean stood across from Chet at the front desk, and Sam and (Y/N) hovered with him to keep a watchful eye on the way he was reacting to Dean’s words. “The, uh, room next to ours—the couple that are, uh, joined at the lips—have you seen them?”

            “Mr. and Mrs. Logan—the honeymooners?” clarified Chet professionally. Sam nodded, and Chet checked his computer. “They checked out.”

            (Y/N) didn’t believe that for a second.

            “Is something the matter?” inquired Chet.

            “They checked out?” repeated Sam slowly.

            “Mhm. Just now,” said Chet, perfectly unconcerned.

            “Really?” said Sam in disbelief. “It sort of seemed like they were…in the middle of something.”

            Chet just shrugged as if it was none of his business.

            “And they left behind their wedding ring,” said (Y/N), and Dean held it up.

            “Oh, dear,” said Chet. “I’ll just put that right in the lost and found.” He plucked it from Dean’s fingers. “Don’t you worry.” He smiled. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

            “Uh, no,” said Dean, quickly identifying Chet as one of the issues in this weird hotel. “No, we’re good.”

            “Super-fantastic,” said Chet.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) walked away.

            Under his breath, Sam commented, “Creepy.”

            “Broke the needle,” agreed Dean

            “We told you,” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Dean, knowing they weren’t going to let that go. “Alright, well, I’ll scope out the joint, and Sam, you keep an eye on Norman Bates over there. (Y/N), see if anyone else at this place is acting suspicious or going missing.” He groaned. “I mean, one night off. Is that too much to ask?”

            They split up. As Chet left the front desk, Sam carefully tailed him. Dean headed towards the elevator to check out some of the other floors for suspicious guest behavior/disappearances. (Y/N) wandered towards the buffet room to keep an eye on people. They drifted to the buffet table itself, took some food, and sat down. As they ate, they realized that every time they glanced at someone, they were looking right back.

            Shit. (Y/N) was in trouble.

 

l

 

            “Sorry to interrupt,” said “Chet.” He stood in a guest’s room that held three people. They faced him, one a tall man with dark hair, the second an Indian woman with glossy hair and a professional outfit, and the third an Egyptian woman with kohl highlighting her sharp, dark eyes. All exuded power, but the Indian woman exuded control and composure on top of it, and Egyptian woman radiated elegance and otherworldly knowledge. “The last guest has arrived,” said “Chet.”

            “So everything’s ready?” said the man.

            “As it ever will be,” said “Chet.” “Pantry’s full.”

            “And the Winchesters and the witch child?” inquired the man.

            “Suspicious but under control,” said “Chet.”

            “You have their blood?” said the Indian woman sharply.

            “The Winchesters’, yes,” said “Chet.” He moved towards her with inhuman strength. “I’m quick.”

            “But not the child’s?” said the Egyptian woman’s.

            “I couldn’t get them alone as we planned,” said “Chet.” “To suspicious to take the room.”

            “No matter,” said the man. “They’re not necessary to this. Besides, they’ll stay for the Winchesters.”

            “And we have the ability to keep them under control, should they prove difficult,” said the Egyptian woman.

           The Indian woman took the vials of Dean and Sam’s blood. “Thank you, Mercury.”

            “Chet”—Mercury—smirked back.

            “Okay,” said the man. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

l

 

            Dean entered the dining room, which had begun to empty of people and immediately went to (Y/N). “We need to find Sam,” he said, voice low.

            (Y/N) stood in alarm. “Okay.”

            Fortunately, Sam was in a side room with the vending machines, trying to spot where Chet would have gone. He saw them sand straightened. “Chet disappeared. I was right behind him, and then he was gone.”

            “It gets weirded,” said Dean. “I was upstairs, and guess what I heard from a room that only had a guy in it?”

            “What?” said (Y/N).

            “An elephant,” said Dean.

            “And I thought everyone staring at me in the dining room was weird,” said (Y/N). “What the hell is going on? I mean, an elephant? How does that fit?”

            “No idea,” said Dean as they headed back to the lobby and the doorway to the dining room. They slowed. It was suddenly empty.

            “Where is everybody?” said Sam slowly, warily.

            (Y/N) had a bad feeling, and they went to the front doors. They tugged on them. “Uh-oh.”

            “Let me guess—it’s locked,” said Dean.

            “Yep,” said (Y/N), grimacing.

            “So, what?” said Dean, looking around. “The roaches check, they don’t check out?”

            “Think about how we got here,” said Sam, putting all the pieces together. “That detour on I-90? The friggin’ hurricane?”

            “You saying we were led here?” said Dean.

            “Like rats in a maze,” said Sam grimly.

            “Well, then,” said (Y/N) decisively. “Let’s figure out why.” If they couldn’t get out of the maze, the only choice was to go farther in.

            Dean nodded, and they headed back to the kitchen to see what the other strange workers of the hotel were up to. It was empty, too, despite the fact that food was cooking. (Y/N) wrinkled their nose as they approached the red, boiling liquid.

            “Please be tomato soup,” said Dean, grabbing a spoon to investigate. “Please be tomato soup.” He ladled some of the liquid up, and eyeballs floated up with it. He instantly let go of the spoon, and they all looked away, regretting investigating.

            “That’s not up to code,” said (Y/N).

            “Hotel Hell,” said Dean.

            Sam looked at the closed fridge door—the large, walk-in fridge. He grimaced, knowing he would undoubtedly regret opening the door. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean they could avoid it. Sam leaned down to peer through the window.

            Bam! A hand pressed against the window.

            “Help us!” sobbed a man. “Get us out!”

            Sam pulled the door desperately, but it was locked. (Y/N) pulled their lockpick set out.

            “Hurry,” said Dean, knowing if anyone caught them…

            “I’m trying,” said (Y/N), eager to save these people and escape this hotel of death.

            Suddenly, Sam grabbed them instead, pushing them behind him. (Y/N) looked up, and their breath caught. Dean stiffened.

            “There’s something behind me, isn’t there?” he said.

            Three men in suits grabbed him, Sam, and (Y/N), and their strength meant the hunters couldn’t fight back. (Y/N) pulled against them anyways, and they cast a worried look back at the people trapped in the fridge, sobbing and pleading for rescue.

 

l

 

            The three men threw Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) into a meeting room. A semicircle of tables faced them with small lamps shedding warm red light while a chandelier illuminated the grand ballroom. A variety of the guests (Y/N) had noticed watching them earlier stood chatting with others, nametags now on their shirts. One man’s nametag read “Ganesh,” a Hindu god that typically took the form of a part-man and a part-elephant being. A man in a hunter’s jacket with a white beard and an eyepatch had a nametag that said “Odin,” the king of Norse mythology. Chet’s nametag now read “Mercury,” the roman name of Hermes, god of messengers. (Y/N)’s stomach dropped as they saw more names. Baron Samedi—a loa of Haitian Vodou associate width death. Zao Shen—a god in Chinese mythology. Kali—the Hindu goddess of death that killed demons. Baldur—a Norse god. Nephthys—the Egyptian goddess of the dead, protection, and magic.

            Shit. (Y/N) was being faced with a room full of gods. Suddenly, Elysian Fields Hotel sounded a lot like another name—Fields of Elysium, the heavenly afterlife of Greek mythology. This felt more like Tartarus, though.

            “Something tells me this isn’t a shriner convention,” said Dean, using sarcasm to cope.

            Mercury pulled a trolley into the room with a covered tray. “Dinner is served.” He pulled it off with a flourish. Body parts—from entrails to organs to flesh—were laid out around a man’s—a human guest’s—head. The gods applauded, and (Y/N)’s stomach curled.         

            “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Baldur. Spotlights switched on and landed on Dean, Sam and (Y/N). “Our guests of honor have arrived.”

Chapter 25: Chapter Twenty-Five: God Convention

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) didn’t dare move from the chairs they’d put forcefully put in. The gods had filed into their seats, with Kali, Baldur, and Nephthys in the center facing their captive audience. (Y/N) had a feeling Kali was in charge in some way here. She was definitely dangerous, and the way Nephthys spoke with her quietly instead of either talking to anyone else there said that Nephthys also held power amongst this congregation.

            The moment her eyes landed on (Y/N), lined in kohl but, despite her eyes being the brown of oak at midnight, deep and mysterious as the ocean, shining with knowledge, (Y/N) felt the itch turn into an incessant pound. Their fingers itched for something, twitching with energy.

            Baldur stood after the gods ate and after Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) struggled not to wretch at the sight of the gods eating human flesh. Baldur tapped his glass of champagne and smiled pleasantly.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,” said Baldur. “Well, in all my centuries, I never thought I’d see this. This many gods under one roof.”

            “Gods?” said Sam quietly, shock.

            “The names fit,” said (Y/N), grimacing.

            “Now, before we get down to the brass tacks, some ground rules,” said Baldur. “No slaughtering each other. Curb your wrath. Oh, and, uh, keep your hands off the local virgins. We’re trying to keep a low profile here.”

            “Oh, we are so, so screwed,” breathed Sam.

            (Y/N) was inclined to agree.

            “Now, we all know why we’re here,” said Baldur. “The Judeo-Christian Apocalypse looms over us. I know we’ve all had our little disagreements in the past, but the time has come to put aside and look toward the future. Because if we don’t, we won’t have one. Now, we do have two very valuable bargaining chips—Michael and Lucifer’s vessels.”

            Everyone looked at Sam and Dean, who both swallowed and stiffened. Sitting between them, (Y/N) came to a terrifying realization. They held no value to these gods. They were just along for the ride with Sam and Dean. So if the gods wanted to use Sam and Dean to bargain…(Y/N) wasn’t necessary for that. That meant one thing: (Y/N) was so dead.

            “The question is…what do we do now?” said Baldur, opening up the floor. “Anyone have any bright ideas, speak up. This is a safe room.”

            Zao Shen rose and spoke in rapid Mandarin. The tone was aggressive and (Y/N) winced.

            “Oh, I don’t like his tone,” said Dean, wincing.

            “Kill them? Why?” scoffed Ganesh. “So the angels here can bring them back again?”

            “It would rid us of the child,” said the woman with brown hair and grey eyes in a sharply tailored suit. “Athena” read her nametag. “They hold no strategic value, after all.”

            Fuuuuuck, thought (Y/N). Dean and Sam stiffened in further alarm at the idea.

            “If we rush to killing, we won’t know if they are useful for something,” said a man with windswept grey hair. “Fujin” was his name. “Could use them for food once we’re out.” That got some chuckles from the other gods.

            “If we could return to the question at hand…the Judeo-Christian apocalypse?” said Baldur, redirecting the conversation to being productive.

            “I don’t know what everybody’s getting so worked up about,” said Odin. “This is just a couple of angels having a slap fight. It’s no Armageddon. Everyone knows when the world comes to an end, the great serpent Jormungaandr rises up, and I, myself will be eaten by a big wolf.”

            Zao Shen rolled his eyes and made a remark that was obviously sarcastic.

            “Oh, yeah?” retorted Odin. “And why is that? Because your beliefs are so much more realistic? The whole world’s getting carried around on the back of a giant turtle.” He scoffed. “Give me a break.”

            Zao Shen snapped at Odin aggressively, and Odin stood, pushing back his chair.

            “What are you going to do about it?” he challenged.

            Zao Shen shouted back.

            “You watch your mouth when you talk to me, boy!” said Odin.

            As the argument escalated and the gods began to shout, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N), as a united front, stood slowly and turned towards the door. They were eager to make a quick exit.

            The chandelier slammed into the ground in front of them, and they froze. Everyone’s heads went towards them, and, eyes wide, the hunters turned to face that gods. Nephthys stood, her hands raised, the bangles on her arms winking in the golden light.

            “Stay,” she said.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) swallowed.

            “Thank you, Nephthys,” said Kali. Nephthys nodded and calmly sat while Kali rose. She regarded the room carefully. “We have to fight. The archangels—the thing they understand is violence. This ends in blood. There is no other way. It’s them…or us.”

            “With all due respect…ma’am,” said Mercury. “We haven’t even tried talking to them.”

            Kali tilted her head, and Mercury coughed. The cough developed into a choke, and Mercury held his throat as he struggled to breath against Kali’s power. Blood trickled from his mouth, and he heaved and spluttered.

            “Kali,” said Nephthys. “Curb your wrath. It is a fair question, if foolish.”

            Kali’s eyes narrowed, but she let go of Mercury, and he gasped for air desperately.

            The doors behind them blew open on their own, and the hunters jumped. A familiar, grinning face appeared. “Can’t we all just get along?” said Gabriel.

            “Gab—!”

            Gabriel flicked his fingers, and the hunters could no longer speak. (Y/N)’s hands curled into fists, and their throat felt raw as their necklace rested against their skin, warm.

            “Sam. Dean. (Y/N),” greeted Gabriel. “It’s always wrong place, worst time with you muttonheads, huh?”

            “Loki,” said Baldur darkly.

            Loki? (Y/N) stared at Gabriel. You’re kidding, he has another another identity? He was playing everyone.

            “Baldur,” said Gabriel cheerfully. “Good seeing you, too. I guess my invitation got lost in the mail.”

            “Why are you here?” said Nephthys.

            “Nephthys! It’s been too long,” said Gabriel. “How’s it hanging? Still running a cult?”

            “Magic is worshipped in many forms,” said Nephthys smoothly, unfazed. “Now answer the question.”

            “You’re no fun, but fine,” said Gabriel. “I’m here to talk about the elephant in the room.” He winked at Ganesh. “Not you. The Apocalypse. We can’t stop it, gang. But first things first.” He turned to Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “The adults need to have a little conversation. Check you later.” He waved his hands.

 

l

 

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) reappeared in their hotel room. They stared at each other.

            “Okay—Did that—Holy crap,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, tell me about it,” said Sam.

            “Guys, I’m so screwed,” said (Y/N), eyes wide. “Next time Sam says ‘keep driving,’ let’s keep driving.”

            “Okay, yeah, next time,” said Dean.

            “Uh, alright,” said Sam, running a worried hand over his face. “So, what’s our next move?”

            “I don’t know,” said Dean. “Get (Y/N) out of here. The gods are way too eager to kill them.” (Y/N) fiddled with their necklace as their nerves grew. “We grab those poor saps out of the freezer, I guess—bust them out. Gank a few freaks along the way, if we’re lucky.”

            “And when are you every lucky?” Their heads snapped to Gabriel, who reclined on the couch and smirked at them.

            “Oh, you know what?” said Dean. “Bite me, Gabriel.”

            “Maybe later, big boy,” said Gabriel.

            “I should have known,” grumble Dean. “I mean, this had your stink all over it from the jump.”

            “Dude, you weren’t suspicious at all,” said (Y/N). Dean shushed them.

            “You think I’m behind this?” said Gabriel. “Please. I’m the Costner to your Houston. I’m here to save your ass.”

            “You want to pull us out of the fire?” said Dean.

            “Bingo,” said Gabriel. “The gods are either gonna dust all of your or dust (Y/N) and use you two as bait. Either way, you’re uber-boned.”

            “Wow,” said Dean doubtfully. “Cause a couple of months ago, you were telling us that we need to play our roles. You were uber-boning us.”

            “Ohhhh, the end is still nigh,” said Gabriel brightly. “Michael and Lucifer are gonna dance the lambada. But not tonight. Not here.” He had grown unusually serious for the slightest second.

            “Since when do you care?” said (Y/N) harshly.

            “I don’t care,” denied Gabriel. “But…me and Kali, we, uh…had a thing. Chick was all hands.”

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes at the joke.

            “What can I say? I’m sentimental,” said Gabriel.

            “Do they have a chance?” questioned Sam. “Against Satan?”

            “Really, Sam?” said Dean incredulously.

            “You got a better idea, Dean?” said Sam.

            “It’s a bad idea,” said Gabriel. “Lucifer’s gonna turn them into finger paint. So let’s get going while the going’s good.”

            “Okay, great,” said Dean. “Why don’t you just zap us out of here, then?”

            “Would if I could,” said Gabriel. “But Kali’s got you two by the short and curlies. It’s a blood spell. You boys are on a leash.”

            “But (Y/N) could get out?” said Sam. It made sense; the gods weren’t trying to use them as a bargaining chip.

            “Probably, if they don’t vaporize them,” said Gabriel.

            “Not as if I’m leaving you two here,” scoffed (Y/N).

            “If push comes to shove, you got to get the future snacks out of the freezer,” said Dean. “And then you run.”

            (Y/N) didn’t respond, but they knew they weren’t abandoning Dean and Sam. No way.

            “What do we do about the blood spell?” said Sam, looking at Gabriel.

            “It means…” Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows “…it’s time for a little of the old black magic.”

            “Okay, yeah, whatever,” said Dean. “We’re gonna take the hors d’oeuvres in the freezer with us.”

            “Forget it,” said Gabriel. “It’s gonna be hard enough sneaking you mooks out of here.”

            “They called you ‘Loki,” right?” said Dean. “Which means they don’t know who you really are.”

            “Told you,” said Gabriel. “Witness protection.”

            “Okay, well, then how about you do what we say, or we tell the Legion of Doom about your secret identity?” said Dean. He smirked. “They don’t seem like a pro-angel crowd.”

            “I’ll take your voices away,” retorted Gabriel.

            “We’ll write it down,” said Dean.

            “I’ll cut off your hands,” said Gabriel.

            “Then people are gonna be asking ‘why are you guys running around with no hands?’ ” mocked Dean.

            Gabriel inhaled deeply. “Fine.” He disappeared.

            “What do we do?” asked (Y/N).

            “Wait a little to give Gabriel time,” said Sam. “Then we can time getting the vics out with when he gets the blood. If we’re too early, we’ll get caught.”

            “Well, then,” said (Y/N). “I’m going to grab a snack.”

            Dean and Sam stared.

            “What?” they asked.

            “After seeing a dead guy you’re good to eat?” said Sam.

            “Yeah?” said (Y/N).

            Dean shrugged proudly. “Strong stomach.”

            “Hey, I might as well have a good last meal,” said (Y/N) cheerfully, heading out the door.

            “(Y/N), wait—” said Sam. “If any of the gods find you—”

            “They’ll kill me anyway if they feel like it. If they get up in arms about me eating, that’s their problem,” said (Y/N), walking down the hall. “It’s you guys they don’t like!”

            “They got a point,” said Dean. “And if anyone can handle themselves, it’s probably (Y/N).”

            “They’re fifteen, Dean,” said Sam, deadpanning.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) wandered into the dining room, empty, and walked to the dessert table. Picking out some tiramisu—that was the perfect trap for them, like pie was for Dean—(Y/N) turned around. At a single table, Nephthys sat. Her dark eyes rested on (Y/N), and she held a glass of what (Y/N) hoped wasn’t blood. In the cool light of the abandoned lobby, her red dress seemed harsher. It fell off her loosely, embroidered with navy and gold thread. She wore bangles of gold and navy with a necklace of red, orange, green, and blue beads connected by gold thread. (Y/N) had no doubt the jewelry was heavy, but Nephthys sat straight and held her head high without any hindrance.

            (Y/N) didn’t speak, not moving under Nephthys’s gaze. The woman smirked, took a sip of her glass, and put it down.

            “I do hope you’re not leaving,” said Nephthys. “The party’s not over.”

            “That’s why I was grabbing dessert,” said (Y/N) casually.

            Nephthys chuckled, satisfied that (Y/N) wasn’t trying to run. “Sit,” she “offered.”

            (Y/N) felt the command and sat down across from Nephthys. Still, they refused to cower—they could be killed whether they acted demure or they acted brave—so they began to eat.

            “You seem unconcerned,” observed Nephthys.

            “What you guys decide to do with me has nothing to do with what I do,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “Most I could do is piss someone off and get killed faster.”

            Nephthys smiled and took another drink. She placed it down, and it refilled on its own. (Y/N) felt the fickle itch forming in their head. They watched it refill.

            “It’s not blood,” said Nephthys.

            “What, not a cannibal?” said (Y/N). They regretted their comment a moment later, but oh, well, they had already signed their death warrant a while ago.

            “It’s hardly cannibalism,” said Nephthys. “I’m not human. But I prefer beer to blood.” She leaned forward, and (Y/N) felt their throat constrict. They sucked for a breath, and then the pressure abated. “However, I would ask you do not insult me, child. I admire bravery, not arrogance.”

            (Y/N) cleared their throat. “Got it.” They wouldn’t test her again.

            “Good,” said Nephthys, leaning back and taking a sip of her drink. “Plenty of the gods are already ready to kill you. And the Winchesters, of course, but you are far more expendable.”

            “Fantastic,” said (Y/N), taking a bite of tiramisu. “So, when should I make my ill-fated escape attempt?”

            “I said plenty of the gods are ready to kill you. Some are not,” said Nephthys.

            “Like you?” said (Y/N).

            “Is that arrogance again?” said Nephthys, though her tone spoke of amusement more than anything else.

            “Observation,” said (Y/N). “I’m still alive right now, aren’t I?”

            “You are,” said Nephthys. “I may not be the mother of witches, but I like having them around.”

            (Y/N) stiffened. “I’m not a witch,” they said instantly.

            “No?” said Nephthys.

            “No,” said (Y/N). “I mean, my parents were, but I’m—” they shook their head “—I don’t have magic.”

            Nephthys chuckled. “Child, you have no idea what you have.”

            “Whatever you think you see in me, it’s not magic. I’m not a witch,” said (Y/N). “I’m human. I’m a hunter. I’ve beaten witches. Killed them. I’m not one of them.”

            “And yet, you wear an object of magic.” Nephthys reached to touch (Y/N)’s necklace.

            (Y/N) pulled back, holding the pendant protectively. “It was a gift from my parents,” they said defensively. No one touched their necklace but them.

            “They gave you more than one gift,” said Nephthys. “Say whatever you’d like. You are a witch child. And it would be a pity to see you killed now with such potential.”

            “I’m not a witch,” said (Y/N) forcefully. Their parents—they loved them. They always would. But (Y/N) wasn’t a witch. They couldn’t be some sort of monster.

            Nephthys just smirked, and (Y/N) hated that knowing look on her face as if she knew (Y/N) more than they knew themself.

            Bang! The sound of a fight breaking out echoed into the dining room, and (Y/N) straightened in alarm. Nephthys turned towards the sounds in the kitchen with detached interest.

            “It seems like someone else is in an ill-fated escape attempt,” said Nephthys.

            “Shit,” said (Y/N), scrambling up.

            “Don’t be alarmed,” said Nephthys. “Kali guessed Gabriel’s little trick.” (Y/N) stiffened at the use of his real name. “Your Winchesters will be brought back to the ballroom.” Nephthys stood. “Come, witch child.”

            “I’m not a witch.”

Chapter 26: Chapter Twenty-Six: Lucifer vs Deities

            Dean and Sam were shoved into the ballroom and forcefully sat in two chairs by Gabriel, who was looking sullen.

            “How long have you known?” said Gabriel, looking at Kali despondently.

            “Long enough,” said Kali.

            “How’s the rescue going?” said Dean sarcastically, and Gabriel gave him a tight-lipped smile.

            The doors opened, and Nephthys walked in. (Y/N) walked in beside her, looking unhurt but frustrated. Dean and Sam relaxed at little upon knowing (Y/N) was still alright.

            “What happened to waiting, guys?” said (Y/N), sitting down next to Dean.

            “Impatience,” grumbled Dean.

            Around them, all the gods reentered and gathered to look at their captives now accompanied by Gabriel.

            “Well, surprise, surprise,” said Kali, addressing all of them. “The Trickster has tricked us.”

            “Kali. Don’t,” said Gabriel, urging her not to reveal this.

            “You’re mine now,” said Kali to him. She sat down on his lap and looked into his eyes. “And you have something I want.” She trailed her hand down his chest, reached inside his jacket, and withdrew his angel blade. “An archangel’s blade. From the archangel Gabriel.”

            “Okay! Okay,” said Gabriel before anyone could speak of his identity. He still had to control the “show.” “So I got wings. Like Kotex. But that doesn’t make me any less right about Lucifer.”

            “He’s lying,” said Kali, standing up again. “He’s a spy.”

            “That coward?” said (Y/N). Nephthys put a hand on the back of their chair, a warning as the other gods turned to face (Y/N). “Look, he didn’t say he was Gabriel because he’s running away from all the world’s problems. Definitely not a spy.”

            “I’m trying to save you,” said Gabriel, gazing at Kali imploringly. “I know my brother, Kali. He should scare the living crap out of you. You can’t beat him. I’ve skipped ahead—seen how this story ends.”

            “Your story. Not ours,” said Kali. “Westerners. I swear, the sheer arrogance. You think you’re the only ones on Earth? You pillage and butcher in your god’s name. But you’re not the only religion. And He’s not the only god.”

            And yet these ones seem like minor beings in comparison, thought (Y/N).

            “And now you think you can just rip the planet apart? You’re wrong,” said Kali. “There are billions of us. And we were here first. If anyone gets to end the world…it’s me.” She cupped Gabriel’s face harshly, but then it softened as her expression did. “I’m sorry.” She plunged the angel blade into Gabriel’s chest.

            Light spread up through his chest, and his betrayed expression was the last thing Kali saw before his head threw back as light burned him from the inside out, and his body went limp. (Y/N) watched with wide eyes, and Dean and Sam wore identical expressions of shock.

            “This is crazy,” breathed Mercury.

            “They can die,” said Kali. “We can kill Lucifer.”

            “Are you serious?” said (Y/N). “You guys are crazy.”

            Sam and Dean turned to look at (Y/N), and Nephthys watched the other gods begin to glare.

            “Are you out of your mind?” said Sam.

            “(Y/N),” said Dean warningly.

            “Your tone, child,” said Nephthys.

            “Don’t care,” said (Y/N), grinning manically. Dean and Sam paled as they realized that (Y/N) might actually be losing their mind as they get angry. “Now, gods and goddesses and deities and whatever the hell you all are—listen up. Normally, I’d want to kill you all since you seem generally like assholes, Nephthys aside. She’s weird but kinda cool. But, you know, these are the most desperate times we’ve ever been in.

            “So, even though I really want to march out of here with all those poor people and torch all your shrines, I’m going to suggest that you go through with your plan: killing the Devil. I’m all for that. I mean, hey, maybe you guys get killed trying, but then my problems are over, too? Until I’m dead, and then what do I care?

            “But if you want the Devil, you need to keep us alive, cause he’s not in the yellow pages. We’re the ones that can get him.” (Y/N) stared directly at Kali.

            “How?” said Kali, narrowing her eyes. She glanced at Nephthys, who simply inclined her head. The goddess seemed…warm on the teenager, and so Kali let them continue.

            “Before any of that, you have to let the humans go,” said (Y/N). Kali narrowed her eyes. “That or eat me, and then I’m pretty sure Dean and Sam’ll say screw you and not tell you anything.”

            Begrudgingly, Kali allowed Dean to take people to their cars outside a few minutes later.

 

l

 

            While Dean helped the “main courses,” Sam and (Y/N) waited with the wary gods, who had refused to let all the humans out of their sight at once. Kali stared at Sam in assessment.

            “So you’re going to summon Lucifer?” she said.

            “Sort of,” said Sam. “I just need you to squeegee some stuff from my ribs, and he’ll come running.”

            “Breaking them would be easier,” remarked Kali.

            “Try that and I’ll—”

            “You’ll what?” said Nephthys, raising a brow.

            (Y/N) had a disturbing idea of what Nephthys was implying, and they shut up pretty immediately.

            “Show’s over.” Dean swung the doors open with a grim expression. “Sword’s a fake. And Gabriel—he’s still kicking.” Kali looked shocked. “I hate to break it to you, sister, but you’ve been tricked.”

            “If that’s the case, let’s leave,” said (Y/N). If Lucifer somehow showed up, they had no chance, and they wanted out.

            On cue, the lights flashed, and a rumble sounded. The telltale signs of an archangel were there.

            “What’s happening?” said Baldur.

            They heard the sound of Odin screaming, and (Y/N) cursed. Nephthys straightened, and her eyes narrowed.

            “It’s him,” said Sam shakily.

            “Oh, great,” grumbled (Y/N), fiddling with their necklace. It felt warm, and they clung to it.

            “How?” said Kali.

            “It does not matter,” said Nephthys. “We must prepare.”

            “Prepare? How about shazam us out of here?” said Dean.

            “We can’t,” said Baldur.

            “Of course you can’t.” Everyone tensed as Lucifer entered the room. His vessel looked even worse than before, with skin peeling away from the face. Blood splattered his skin and shirt—the fates of the other gods had been sealed. He smirked. “You didn’t say, ‘Mother, may I?’ ” He grinned as the gods narrowed their eyes. “Sam, Dean, (Y/N). Good to see you again.”

            Baldur took a step forward.

            “Baldur, don’t,” said Kali warningly.

            “You think you own the planet?” said Baldur darkly.

            “Baldur,” said Nephthys, but Baldur was continuing without fear—fear that he should have.

            “What gives you the right?!” snapped Baldur. He attacked.

            Lucifer put a hand through his chest, and Baldur gasped. “No one gives us the right. We take it.” He ripped his hand back, and Baldur hit the ground, dead.

            Kali glared, and fire emerged from her arms, running from her hands to her shoulders.

            “Kali!” said Nephthys in warning, but Kali ignored her and set an explosion of fire at Lucifer.

            The force of the heat exploded outward, and Sam and Dean ran for cover. Dean grabbed (Y/N) and pulled them down behind a fallen table. The fire rushed over their heads, the heat singing their skin. Dean covered them, pulling them down protectively.

            As the fire receded, however, Lucifer stood with no injuries on him. He smirked and threw out his hands. Kali was thrown back. Nephthys raised her arms and murmured in ancient Egyptian. Lucifer’s steps faltered as the spell froze him in place, and Nephthys twisted her hands. Lucifer gritted his teeth as he felt the goddess’s magic, and he titled his head and curled his fingers. Nephthys was thrown back—her magic, as a goddess, had weakened from what it once had been without the worshippers of the ancient times.

            “Are you okay?” said Sam, realizing how screwed they all were.

            “Not really.” (Y/N)’s head snapped up, and Gabriel grinned from where he crouched next to them. “Better late than never, huh?” Dean nodded slightly, and Gabriel pressed a DVD case into his hands. “Guard this with your life.” It was a Casa Erotic DVD. (Y/N) rolled their eyes at the ridiculousness while Gabriel stood.

            Nephthys coughed as Lucifer stood over her, and her magic struggled to spark. Kali was already almost unconscious, her fire put out. Lucifer chuckled.

            “I never understood you pagans,” said Lucifer. “Relying on worship for power. Nothing more than overconfident little cockroaches that refuse to die. And they call me prideful. But you know who the worst of them are? You—the so-called gods of magic. You’re just powerful witches, but everyone praises you to the sky. It makes no sense because there is no god of magic, there’s just God and magic.” Lucifer grinned. “And we both know I am way better at this than you or Aradia or Circe or whatever other witch bitches are out there saying they’re gods but really just living off attention. Oh, well.” He sighed dramatically. “Guess I have to teach you a lesson.” He raised his foot to crack down on Nephthys’s head, but a force threw him back. He hit the wall and slid to the ground.

            Gabriel stood before him with his angel blade, blocking Nephthys and Kali as they stood. “Luci,” said Gabriel. “I’m home.”

            Lucifer started to walk towards the goddesses once more, Gabriel blocked him. “Not this time.” He kept his angel blade raised and helped Kali to stand. “Guys!” The hunters stood. “Get them out of here.”

            Dean and Sam ran forward to help Nephthys and Kali while keeping (Y/N) close. Slowly, with Gabriel keeping his sword raised, they circled Lucifer and bolted for the door.

            “Over a girl,” scoffed Lucifer. “Gabriel, really?”

            (Y/N) had a feeling Gabriel wasn’t leaving that room alive. Their stomach sank, and they swallowed. However, there was nothing they could do. They had to leave and survive.

            They stepped out into the cool night air, and (Y/N) had never been so thankful for fresh air and the smell of rain. The doors of the hotel swung shut behind them, and Kali scoffed as she saw the impala.

            “I’m not getting in that thing,” said Kali.

            “Just get in the car, princess,” said Dean.

            “We have no time to argue,” said Nephthys. She grimaced and held her side. The red fabric was darkening with blood.

            “Nephthys—” said Kali worriedly.

            “Once we’re at a safe distance, the humans can leave us,” said Nephthys. “I will recover with time.” She got into the backseat, and (Y/N) grimaced as they sat between two goddesses. “It will just take time.” Nephthys sighed. “To return to the days of worship…”

            Kali’s gaze softened. She still had enough believers that her power wasn’t draining. But Nephthys had fewer believers. She struggled even to get modern pagans, not even true witches at times, to connect with her. And that meant her power waned with each day.

            Nephthys closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat as the impala tore out of the parking lot. “If only Hecate still walked the Earth.”

            “Hecate?” repeated (Y/N) quietly, a faint whisper of the word on their mother’s lips echoing in their mind.

            “An incarnation of magic,” said Kali. “If there is a deity of magic, they are them.”

            “But they died long ago,” said Nephthys. “Just as each of us will in time, witch child.”

            “Don’t call me—Oh, whatever,” grumbled (Y/N).

            In the front seat, Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Witch child—that’s what (Y/N) was. But they were a Winchester and a hunter. That’s what mattered.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) watched the disclaimer about pornography come up on the DVD after Dean put it into the computer. This had to be the weirdest attempt to send a message that they had ever seen. Fortunately, as the video started to play. It showed a woman in lingerie lounging.

            “Gabriel wanted you to guard this with your life?” said Sam incredulously.

            “Maybe he’s a fan,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, I don’t want to see this if it isn’t a secret message,” said (Y/N).

            In the video, a man opened the door of the room, and (Y/N) groaned. It was just Gabriel in a stupid mustache.

            “I’ve got the kielbasa you ordered,” he said.

            “Polish?” said the woman coyly.

            “Hungarian,” said Gabriel, and he jumped on the woman.

            “Turn it off before I have to see anything,” said (Y/N).

            All at once, the video paused. Gabriel looked at the camera directly. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) frowned. They leaned as Gabriel grinned at them.

            “Sam. Dean. (Y/N),” said Gabriel. “You’re probably wondering what the hell’s going on. Well…if you’re watching this, I’m dead. Oh, please. Stop sobbing. It’s embarrassing for all of us. Without me, you’ve got zero shot of killing Lucifer. Sorry.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “But. You can trap him. The cage you sprung Lucifer is still down there, and maybe—just maybe—you can shove his ass back in. Not that it’ll be easy. You got to get the cage open, trick my bro back into it, and, oh, yeah, avoid Michael and the god squad.”

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam looked at each other. They had a shot? They didn’t have to be more powerful than Lucifer, they just had to be smart enough to trick him.

            “But hey, details, right?” said Gabriel. He leaned in. “And here’s the big secret Lucifer himself doesn’t even know. The key to the cage? It’s out there. Actually, it’s keys, plural. Four keys. Well, four rings. From the Horsemen. You get them all, you got the cage. Can’t say I’m betting on you three, but, hey, I’ve been wrong before. And Dean…you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother. Not anymore. So this is me standing up.”

            Behind him, the woman began to move and grab Gabriel’s shoulders. Gabriel winked. “And this is me…lying down.”

            (Y/N) closed the computer. “He couldn’t have made it PG for once?”

            “Why would he do that?” sighed Sam.

            “Horsemen, huh?” said Dean. “Well, we got War’s. We nicked Famine’s. That’s two rings down. Collect all four, just need Pestilence and Death’s.”

            “Is that all?” said Sam.

            “It’s a plan,” said (Y/N). That was all they needed.

Chapter 27: Chapter Twenty-Seven: Hunting Tips

            “So, any signs of Croatoan virus?” asked (Y/N) as Sam and Dean emerged from the hospital and took their masks off—a strange flu was sweeping the nation, and the worries of the mythic disease that caused homicidal tendencies was mounting in the hunters.

            “Nope,” said Dean, getting into the driver’s seat.

            “Which is good,” said Sam. “Better swine flu than Croatoan virus.”

            “But it makes no sense,” said Dean. “Cause Pestilence had to be here. There’s a trail of epidemics popping up, and it’s got to be him. But why not Croatoan? Why just flu?”

            “We should call Bobby,” said (Y/N), and they dialed him.

            “Yeah?” said Bobby.

            “We cased the hospital,” said Dean.

            “Let me guess—another steamin’ hot pile of swine flu,” said Bobby.

            “Yep,” said (Y/N).

            “But Pestilence touched down here, we’re sure of it,” said Sam.

            “But why is he dealing them soft serve like swing flu when’s got the Croatoan virus up his sleeve?” reiterated Dean, though they had no more answers than before. “I don’t get it.”

            “Doesn’t matter what the sick son of a bitch is doing,” said Bobby. “What matters is this is the fourth town he’s hit—that we know of—and we’re still eating his dust. Did you get anything? We got even a snowball at probable next target?”

            “No pattern that we can see,” said Sam.

            “Just one town after another, hopping around like a literal disease,” said (Y/N).

            “Okay. Hold on,” said Bobby. They heard papers being shuffled. “Well, as far as I can tell, he’s still heading east, so…head east, I guess.”

            “East? East?” Dean scoffed. “Bobby, we’re in west Nevada. East is practically all there is.”

            “Yeah, well, you better get to drivin’,” said Bobby. He hung up.

            “Say, I’ve got an idea.”

            (Y/N) let out a shout, and the water bottle beside them crunched under pressure as Dean swerved the impala and Sam turned around in alarm. Crowley sat next to (Y/N) as the hunters all freaked out. Dean swerved to the side and hit the brakes. Sam tossed them the demon knife, and (Y/N) stabbed down. Crowley had already disappeared, though, and they just stabbed Baby (oops).

            “Are you okay?” said Sam in alarm.

            “Did you get him?” said Dean.

            “Yes to Sam, no to Dean,” said (Y/N), adrenaline racing through their veins.

            Crowley knocked on the window, and the hunters jumped again, tense and ready to fight.

            “Fancy a fag and a chat?” he said.

            “You talking about you or me?” said (Y/N), holding the knife tightly as they opened the door.

            “Both,” said Crowley, playing with their identities.

            Dean and Sam glared at Crowley as they got out, and Sam put himself between Crowley and (Y/N).

            “You’re upset,” said Crowley. “We should discuss it.” He backed up. “Not here, but—”

            “You want to talk? After what you did to us?” snapped Sam.

            “After what I—” Crowley was indignant. “What I did to you?! I gave you the Colt!”

            “Yeah, and you knew it wouldn’t work against the Devil!” seethed Sam.

            “I never!” said Crowley like he was being accused of having bad taste—something he abhorred.

            “Stand still and let me stab you,” said (Y/N), twirling the knife in one hand.

            “No,” said Crowley, evading them.

            “You set us up,” snapped Sam. “We lost people on that suicide run—good people!”

            “Who you take on the ride is your business,” said Crowley sharply. “Look, everything is still the same. We’re all still in this together.”

            “Sure we are,” said Sam, grabbing the knife from (Y/N) and swinging.

            Crowley disappeared and reappeared behind him. “Call your dog off—please,” he said, looking at Dean.

            Sam was going to lunge again, but (Y/N) slightly stepped forward, and Sam faltered.

            “Give us a good reason not to run you through,” said (Y/N). They’d find a way to pin him down and let Sam kill him.

            The wind picked up.

            “I can give you Pestilence,” said Crowley.

            Dean narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about Pestilence?”

            “I know how to get him,” said Crowley. He smirked. “That’s got your interest, doesn’t it?”

            Sam scoffed and looked at Dean and (Y/N). (Y/N) had their head tilted, their fingers fiddling absently with their necklace. Dean furrowed his brow.

            “Are you actually listening to this?” said Sam, aghast.

            “Sam—”

            “Are you friggin’ nuts?!” said Sam.

            “Shut up for a second, Sam!” said Dean.

            “Shut up, both of you!” said (Y/N) and Crowley at the same time.

            “Look,” said Crowley as soon as Sam and Dean shut up as instructed. “I swear, I thought the Colt would work. It’s an honest mistake. It’s all part of the learning process. But nothing’s changed. I still want the Devil dead. Well…one thing’s changed.” He grimaced. “Now the Devil knows that I want him dead, which, by the way, makes me the most buggered son in all creation.”

            “Join the club,” said (Y/N) sarcastically.

            “They burnt down my house!” said Crowley angrily. “They ate my tailor!” He huffed. “Two months under a rock, like a bloody salamander! Every demon on Hell and Earth’s got his eyes out for me!” He took a deep breath and glared. “And yet, here I am, last place I should be—in the road, talking to Sam and Dean and (Y/N) Winchester—”

            (Y/N) straightened slightly as they were included as a Winchester and as someone who was well-known enough of a hunter to be a threat.

            “—under a friggin’ spotlight!” Crowley gestured to the streetlight. It exploded and cast them into darkness. Crowley huffed and took another breath.

            “You done?” said (Y/N), unimpressed as Crowley took deep breaths. Lights exploded all the time. It was a thing they did. They did plenty of times when (Y/N) was a kid. Their parents had to repair the lightbulbs all the time. And it happened recently, too. Crowley was just showing off, but it was so unimpressive.

            Crowley took another deep breath. “Come with me. Please.”

            Dean was considering it, (Y/N) knew they had to do what Sam and Dean decided but wanted to go after Pestilence, and Sam looked ready to kill.

            “Do you want the Horsemen rings or not?” said Crowley. (Y/N) straightened, and Dean narrowed his eyes. Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know all about that. Shall we?”

            Despite Sam’s continued desire to stab Crowley and Dean and (Y/N)’s fair amount of enjoyment at the idea, they ended up heading to a hideaway of Crowley’s.

 

l

 

            Crowley opened the door of the abandoned, run-down shack he had to visit most days because all of his nice safehouses had been destroyed by Lucifer’s minions and other demons. He sighed.

            “Here we are. My life on the lam,” he grumbled bitterly. He wanted his life of luxury back. “How the mighty have fallen. Single-pane glass, used contraception in the fireplace.” He held out a hand, and a fire started up to warm the room as the night air chilled the stone room. “Water damage alone—”

            “My heart’s bleeding for you,” said Dean sarcastically. “Now.” His tone grew sharp. “How do you know about the rings?”

            “Well, now…I’ve been keeping a close eye on you lot,” said Crowley.

            “We got hex bags,” said Sam. “We’re hidden from demons.”

            (Y/N) was a fan of the hex bags. They tingled when they touched them, and the sensation was pleasant.

            “All but one,” said Crowley. He pointed at himself. “The night you broke into my house, our first date, my valet had a tracking device in your car—a magical coin that easily trumps your little bag o’ bones. It allows me to hear things, too—and, my, the things I’ve heard.” He chuckled. “So, you want to cram the Devil back in the box? Cunning scheme.” He approved. “I want in.”

            Dean spoke suspiciously, but he wasn’t entirely opposed. “You said you could get us Pestilence.”

            “Well, now.” Crowley chuckled. “I don’t know where Pestilence is, per se. But I do know a demon who does. He’s what you might call the Horsemen’s stable boy. He handles their itineraries, their personal needs. He’s who you want—believe me. He’ll tell us where Sneezy’s at.”

            “Well, how do we get him to spill?” said Dean. “Rip out his toenails?”

            “No,” said Crowley. “Nuts at his paygrade don’t crack. We bring him here, then I sell him.”

            “Sell him?” said Sam incredulously.

            “Please.” Crowley brushed aside his disbelief. “I’ve sold sin to saints for centuries. Think I can’t close one little demon?”

            “Alright. So where’s this demon of yours?” questioned Dean.

            Crowley smirked.

 

l

 

            “Why are we even listening to him?” hissed Sam as Dean packed up a bag of weapons. “This is totally insane.”

            “I don’t disagree,” said Dean.

            “But we need Pestilence,” said (Y/N), and Sam frowned in frustration.

            “One big happily family, are we, then?” said Crowley, clapping his hands together. “Fantastic.”

            “You ready to go?” said Dean.

            “Yes. Yes, I am,” said Crowley. “Sam, keep the home fires burning.”

            Dean frowned. “What are you talking about?”

            “Sam’s not coming,” said Crowley.

            “What?” said (Y/N). They didn’t like splitting up.

            “Why the hell not?” said Sam.

            “Because I don’t like you,” said Crowley. “I don’t trust you. And, oh, yes, you keep trying to kill me.”

            “There’s no damn way,” said Sam instantly. “This isn’t gonna happen!”

            “I’m not asking you, am I?” said Crowley coolly. “Cause you are not invited. I’m asking you two—” he looked at Dean and (Y/N) “—what’s it gonna be?”

            Dean remained silent, and (Y/N) opened their mouth.

            “I’ll g—”

            “You’re not,” said Dean sharply. They weren’t going near Crowley, and Crowley wasn’t going near them if he could stop it. “But I’ll go.”

            “What?” said (Y/N), irritated, and Sam stared incredulously as Dean went to leave with Crowley but not him.

            “You’re staying here, with Sam,” said Dean. “Out of the line of fire for now. Got it?”

            (Y/N) grumbled under their breath.

            “Dean…” said Sam, disappointed and frustrated.

            “What can I say?” said Dean. “I believe the guy.” He headed out the door with Crowley.

            Sam threw up his hands. “Unbelievable. He trusts that guy?”

            “Obviously no,” said (Y/N). “But he has info. We want Pestilence. Makes sense to leave him alone for now. And, no offense, Sam, but you might stab Crowley. Before we’re done needing him.”

            “So could you,” said Sam.

            “Hey, I have more self-control than that,” said (Y/N), offended. “Point is, we’re getting nowhere, so we might as well try something crazy.”

            “Yeah, maybe,” scoffed Sam, but he softened slightly. “I’m gonna call Bobby, give him an update.”

            “Okay,” said (Y/N). “I’m gonna go and shoot something in the forest.” They had a lot of energy itching to get released.

            “When Crowley comes back, shoot him,” said Sam.

            “Believe me, when this is done? Would love to,” said (Y/N).

 

l

 

            The door slammed, and Sam and (Y/N) immediately got up and headed towards the door of the shack to check who it was. It was Crowley, by himself. Sam narrowed his eyes.

            “Where’s Dean?” he questioned.

            (Y/N) heard a car door close outside and recognized the impala must have returned.

            “Now…” said Crowley slowly. “For the record, I’m against this. Negotiating a high-level defection—it’s very delicate business.” Sam went to escape out the door, but Crowley intercepted him smoothly.

            “What are you talking about?” snapped Sam.

            “I begged Dean not to come back,” said Crowley. “We should be miles away from you. He replied with a colorful rejoined about my ‘corn chute.’ ”

            Sam scoffed.

            “So. Go ahead,” said Crowley. “Go. Ruin our last best hope. It’s only the end of the world.”

            Sam just walked past him, and (Y/N) followed curiously. They headed farther into the house and found Dean tying a demon with a bag over his head to a chair. Under him was a devil’s trap, and a symbol cut into his chest peeked out beneath his shirt.

            “Sam,” greeted Dean. “(Y/N).”

            “What’s going on, Dean?” asked Sam.

            “Is that the guy?” said (Y/N).

            Dean nodded and then looked at Sam. “I need you to stay on mission, okay, Sam? Focused.”

            “I don’t understand,” said Sam. “What’s all this about?”

            “I’m doing this cause I trust you,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) frowned and looked at Sam. Could he not be trusted around this demon? Crowley was one thing, (Y/N) wouldn’t mind stabbing him, but this was just a random demon.

            “Trust me to what?” said Sam.

            “Sam?” said the demon, lifting his head beneath the sack. He cleared his throat. “Sam, is that you?”

            Sam frowned in confusion, and (Y/N) furrowed their brow. Dean approached the demon and put his hand on the sack. He pulled it off. Sam’s eyes widened.

            “Brady?” he breathed.

Chapter 28: Chapter Twenty-Eight: College Friend

            “Brady?” Sam stared at him, his college friend.

            Brady chuckled at his shocked expression. “Brady hasn’t been Brady in years. Not since…oh, middle of our sophomore year?”

            “What?” breathed Sam.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. Someone at Stanford had become a demon and just…existed with Sam? For years? They looked at Sam worriedly. There was no way he couldn’t freak out at the information. (Y/N) knew they probably would if they were Sam.

            “That’s right,” said Brady. “You had a devil on your shoulder even back then.”

            Sam’s chest began to heave as he took labored breaths.

            “Alright, now,” continued Brady. “Let it all sink in.”

            “You son of a bitch,” said Sam. Brady grinned. “You son of a bitch! You introduced me to Jess!” He surged towards Brady, and Dean and (Y/N) grabbed him.

            “Ding, ding! I think he’s got it!” said Brady, laughing as Sam fought to get at him.    

            “Damn it, Sam!” said Dean.

            “Sam!” said (Y/N).

            “I’m gonna kill you!” shouted Sam.

            Fortunately, before their lead was killed, Dean and (Y/N) managed to shove him out of the room. The instance he was let go, Sam tried to get back to the door, but Dean grabbed him again.

            “Hey! That’s enough!” he said firmly.

            “Get out of my way,” said Sam, seething.

            Dean gently moved (Y/N) to the side so that he could face Sam if needed. “No.”

            “Get out of my way, Dean,” said Sam, fury in his veins and voice.

            “There is only one way to win,” said Dean sharply. “And it ain’t by killing that thing in there.”

            Sam took deep, angry breaths. Crowley strolled into the room, bored as he regarded Sam. He had known this would be the reaction, and that was why he wanted to bring Brady somewhere else.

            “Well,” he said. “Sounds like you got him nice and fluffed. Thanks so much.” He strolled towards Brady.

            “Listen to me,” said Dean. “We need Pestilence to get at the Devil, and we need Brady to get to Pestilence.”

            “Why?” snapped Sam. “Because Crowley said so? Because we trust him now? Like I trusted Ruby? Like I trusted Brady back at school?” Sam couldn’t make the same mistake again. Not when it had nearly killed (Y/N) and released the Devil before.

            “No one trusts Crowley,” said (Y/N). “But we need Brady alive if we’re going to put Lucifer back in his cage. So until we get that, we keep him alive. Kill him afterwards. Who cares.”

            Dean gestured to (Y/N), and Sam exhaled very, very slowly. His fury and grief wouldn’t abate soon.

 

l

 

            Crowley emerged from the room with Brady, and Dean and (Y/N) looked up.

            “How’d it go?” said Dean. He had a beer in hand and leaned back in the armchair. “He buy your girl scout cookies?”

            “Not yet,” said Crowley. He raised a brow. “Where’s your moose?”

            “Hopefully cooling off,” said (Y/N).

            “Alright, then,” said Crowley. “Get bent.”

            Dean looked up. “You going somewhere?”

            “Well, he won’t budge, so now I go stick my neck out,” said Crowley.

            Dean sat up and leaned forward with interest, and (Y/N) tilted their head. “What are you gonna do?”

            “Exactly the kind of desperate swashbuckle I’ve been trying to avoid,” said Crowley. “Now I go kick open a hive of demons.” He paused as he headed to the door. “This whole bloody ring business better work.” He disappeared.

            “You know something?” said (Y/N).

            “What?” said Dean.

            “If he dies, I’ll mourn it for, like, five minutes,” said (Y/N). Dean stared at them, taken aback. “He provides a lot of entertainment value in my life.”

            Dean chuckled and then stood. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back.”

            “ ‘Kay,” said (Y/N). “I’m grabbing water.” They headed towards the kitchen. They didn’t trust the sink water at all, so they peeked into the pantry.

            Bang! Click. The door shut behind them, and the lock clicked.

            (Y/N) cursed and tried to the doorhandle. Shit. “Sam! Dean?” They called, but they got no response.

            “Sam!” Dean’s angry voice echoed down, and they heard a pounding at a door.

            Oh, no… (Y/N)’s eyes widened. Sam had locked them and Dean up, and now he had free reign to get at Brady.

            “Damn it, Sam, don’t do it!” shouted Dean.

            “Sam, think!” shouted (Y/N). “Don’t be stupid!”

            The pair didn’t stop banging on the door and shouting at him until they heard him calling back.

            “Hey, hey, hey!” said Sam. “Alright, wait!” He opened the pantry door, and (Y/N) shoved past him while he let Dean out.

            “What happened?” said Dean instantly.

            “Nothing,” said Sam.

            “Dick, locking us up,” grumbled (Y/N).

            “I’m serious, it’s fine,” said Sam.

            “My ass,” said Dean, stalking towards the room Brady was in.

            “Dean, I’m fine,” said Sam.

            “I’ll believe that when I see you didn’t trap us to kill Brady,” said (Y/N). “Seriously, what the hell?”

            Sam winced. “Sorry, (Y/N). But, like you said…we need him.”

            Dean drew up short. Brady was alive—bleeding, yes, but alive. He gave a sarcastic smile at the hunters.

            “Okay. Some of my insults are retracted,” said (Y/N).

            “Some?” said Sam.

            “You put me in the closet,” said (Y/N). “Back, for that matter.”

            “God. The day I’ve had.” Crowley had returned. Some flecks of blood spattered his face, evidence of what “sticking his neck out” had entailed. Apparently, it might have been literal. Still, he strolled towards Brady without a care in the world. He grinned. “You’re going to live forever.” He chuckled.

            Brady’s smirk dropped for the first time since he’d arrived. “What did you do?”

            “Went over to a demons’ nest—had a little massacre,” said Crowley. “Must be losing my touch, though—let one of the little toads live. Oops.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice. He had made an intentional decision, and it was going to pay off. “Also might have given said toad the impression that you left your post last night because you and I are—wait for it—lovers in league against Satan.”

            (Y/N) grinned. Crowley was a demon, but he at least made them laugh. Entertainment was hard to find in the hunter life.

            Brady’s eyes closed, and he let a long sigh out with barely contained fury as he realized the position Crowley had put him in.

            “Hello, darling,” said Crowley with considerable smug satisfaction. “So, now death is off the table. Now you get to be on the Boss’s eternal-torment list with little old me.”

            “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” said Brady, shaking his head and gritting his teeth.

            “Something else we have in common,” continued Crowley, greatly enjoying Brady squirming, “Apart from our torrid passion, of course—craven self-preservation. So, now, why don’t you tell me where Pestilence is out?”

            Brady snarled and was about to say something, but a snarl broke the silence instead. Everyone—Brady, hunters, and Crowley—straightened in alarm as they heard the telltale growls of a hellhound.

            “Oh, god, Crowley,” breathed Brady.

            “Was that a hellhound?” said Dean.

            “Shit,” said (Y/N), touching their arm where they’d been clawed last time.

            The snarling continued. “I’d say yeah,” said Crowley.

            “Why was that a hellhound?” said Dean.

            Crowley patted himself down and sighed as he pulled a small token out of his inside jacket pocket.

            “What’s that?” said Sam, furrowing his brow.

            “Tell me that’s not your magical tracking device,” said (Y/N).

            “Alright, I won’t,” said Crowley.

            (Y/N) groaned.

            “You’re saying a hellhound followed you here?” said Sam angrily.

            “Well, technically, he followed this,” said Crowley, looking at the coin.

            “Get me out of here,” said Brady. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

            “Shut up,” snapped Sam.

            “Hey, I’m down for leaving,” said (Y/N).

            “Okay, well, then we should go,” said Dean.

            “Sorry, boys,” said Crowley, throwing (Y/N) in with them (they didn’t really care). “No one knows the hounds better than I. You’re long past the point of ‘Go.’ ” He tossed the coin up, and by the time it fell down, he had disappeared.

            “Damn it,” said Dean.

            “I told you!” seethed Sam.

            “Oh, well, good for you,” mocked Dean. “Luckily, we have salt in the kitchen.”

            “I’m getting a shotgun,” said (Y/N), running into the other room to grab one.

            “I’ll watch Brady,” said Sam.

            Brady scoffed. “Watch me? Get me the hell out of here!”

            Before Dean grabbed the salt, unfortunately, a crash echoed through the house, and the window of the kitchen broke inward as an invisible, massive hound jumped in. Dean cursed and ran back to the other room, closing the doors while (Y/N) tossed him a shotgun and raised one themself. The doors crashed open, and both fired. The hellhound yelped, but, of course, it kept going.

            (Y/N) jumped to the side as it lunged, barely evading it by sound. They heard it pivot, and (Y/N)’s adrenaline thrummed. They lifted their shotgun and fumbled to fire—but it was empty. Their hands still raised, though, and all they could think was go away! The shotgun fired, but it fired nothing, and yet the hellhound yelped and back away.

            Dean grabbed (Y/N) by the arm and hauled them back, glad their shotgun had gone off. (Y/N) stumbled with him, and the drumming in their mind traveled to their hands in an itch for something.

            “Sammy!” shouted Dean as they backed up through the room.

            “Salt?” said Sam, beginning to untie Brady to move him.

            Dean’s look said it all, and (Y/N) grimaced.

            “Damn it, get me out of here!” said Brady.

            “Shut up!” said (Y/N), Dean, and Sam.

            “Great. Just great,” said Brady, legitimately terrified.

            “Hey!” said Crowley.

            The sound of paws movie signaled the hellhound looking at him, as did the rest of the people present. He was standing comfortably in the hall.

            (Y/N) blinked in surprise. “You’re back?”

            “I’m invested,” said Crowley. “Currently. Stay!” He barked the order.

            “You can control them?” said Dean.

            “Not that one,” said Crowley, gesturing to the invisible one between them. He patted a giant creature beside him. “I brought my own. Mine’s bigger.”

            That’s kinda badass, thought (Y/N).

Crowley grinned. “Sic him, boy!”

            The bigger hellhound tore up the carpet as it thundered forward and grabbed the other hellhound. The battle was invisible, but snarls, barks, and yelps sounded, and blood splattered from wounds. As the hellhounds battled, Sam scratched the devil trap open, and the hunters, Brady, and Crowley fled. Crashes continued to echo as they ran to the impala and piled in.

            “I’ll wager a thousand my pup wins,” said Crowley, fairly unconcerned.

            (Y/N) got into the car and realized two demons were to their right. They sighed, just glad to be away from the hellhound as the impala sped away down the dirt road.

 

l

 

            Brady handed Crowley a slip of paper. “Yeah. I’m sure Pestilence will be there.”

            “Thanks,” said Crowley casually.

            “What do you think?” said Dean as Crowley looked at the address.

            “It’s good,” said Crowley, handing it to him. He smirked at Brady. “You got no reason to lie, have you? Like I said before, you’re in my boat now.”

            “You’ve screwed me,” said Brady. “For eternity.”

            “Nah,” said Crowley. “Won’t last that long. Trust me.”

            He, (Y/N), and Dean turned their back on him and began to walk out of the alley. (Y/N) smirked as Brady stiffened and realized Sam was being left alone with him.

            “Where are you going?” said Brady nervously.

            “I’m going to do you a favor,” said Crowley. He glanced at Sam. “I expect we’ll be in touch.”

            (Y/N) finished a salt line in the alley, trapping Brady but letting Crowley pass first. He’d earned a head start if they decided to hunt him. And, hey, they still needed to find Death. He could come in useful. Crowley nodded to them. They finished the line after he passed.

            “What is this?” said Brady as Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) faced him.

            “All those angels, all those demons, all those sons of bitches—they just don’t get it, do they?” sighed Dean.

            “No, they don’t, Dean,” said Sam, his dark gaze on Brady.

            “See, Brady, you’re scared of Hell and Heaven,” said (Y/N). “But we’re the ones you should be afraid of.” They grinned, and the lamplights flickered.

            Brady scoffed. Sam raised the demon knife.

            “I bet this is a real moment for you, big boy,” jeered Brady. “Gonna make you feel all better?”

            “It’s a start,” said Sam, voice low with anger.

            “Gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain—Yellow Eyes, Ruby, me?” said Brady, tone overconfident, but he kept taking steps back as Sam approached. “But it wasn’t all our fault, was it? No, no, no, no. You’re the one who trusted us. You’re the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and over again. Ever wonder why that is, Sammy? Ever wonder why we were so in your blind spot?” His back hit the wall, and he knew he had nowhere to run, but Brady wasn’t going down without twisting the knife of Jess’s death farther into Sam’s back. “Maybe it’s because we got the same stuff in our veins and, deep down, you know you’re just like us?”

            He grinned, and Sam glared back. Brady lunged, and Sam stabbed. He ripped the knife from his front, and Brady stumbled to the wall. Sam stabbed him through the back viciously.

            Brady panted. “Maybe you hate us so much because you hate what you see every time you look in the mirror? You ever think of that?!” He laughed wildly as blood dripped from his wounds. “Maybe the only difference between you and a demon is your Hell is right here.”

            Sam stabbed him through the front, and Brady cried out as he was burnt from the inside out. He jerked slightly, and Sam removed the knife. The body fell limply to the ground.

            Sam stared down at it. “Interesting theory.” He turned away from the corpse and didn’t look back.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) stood in front of the motel mirror and stared at themself. All they could think about was the shotgun going off with nothing in it. What had created that burst of fire that had hurt the hellhound? There was literally nothing around. Only (Y/N). Their fingers twitched, and the light above them buzzed and flickered, just as it did so often when they felt too much.

            Witch child.

            (Y/N) felt their blood run cold, and they held the edge of the counter tightly. No. No way. The lights flickered above them, and (Y/N) saw a faint, eerie indigo flicker. They stumbled back, and they stared at their reflection in horror.

            One of the bulbs above them burst.

Chapter 29: Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pestilence

            “What the hell is wrong with you?!” snapped Dean.

            “Dean—” said Sam.

            “No, don’t ‘Dean’ me,” said Dean angrily.

            “This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever come up with,” said (Y/N), glaring at Sam. “And you’ve had pretty stupid ones.”

            “Exactly!” said Dean, gesturing to (Y/N) as Sam sighed while they ganged up on him. Dean looked at Bobby in his study. “Come on, help us here! This is stupid—Did you know about this?”

            “What?” said Bobby.

            “About Sam’s genius plan to cram the Devil down his throat,” said Dean.

            Sam had recently decided that the best solution to putting Lucifer back in the cage was to let him possess Sam and then take control of his body again to throw himself into the cage, Lucifer within him. After all, they needed a way to put Lucifer away, and it seemed impossible to do so with force alone.

            Bobby closed his eyes tiredly but nodded slowly. Sam had confessed the idea to him over the phone before anyone else had been told.

            “Well, thanks for the heads up!” said Dean.

            “Hey, this ain’t about me,” said Bobby.

“If Lucifer takes over, then he’s in his true vessel, and that’s definitely not good,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            Dean pointed at Sam. “You can’t do this.”

            “That seems to be the consensus,” said Sam somewhat sarcastically.

            “Alright. Awesome. Then, end of discussion,” said Dean.

            Before there could be arguments (since that couldn’t be the end of the discussion, these were Winchesters), the phone rang and put an official end to it for the moment.

            “This isn’t over,” said Dean before he answered.

            Of course it isn’t, thought (Y/N).

            “Hello?” said Dean. “Cas?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Sam straightened.

            “Is he okay?” said (Y/N) quickly.

            “We all thought you were dead,” said Dean, concealing worry behind harsh truths. “Where the hell are you, man? Are you okay?” He looked exasperated. “You want to elaborate?” He rolled his eyes at whatever Castiel’s response was. “So, a hospital?” He shook his head. “Uh, well, I got to tell you, man—you’re just in time. We figured out a way to pop Satan’s box. It’s a long story, but, look, we’re going after Pestilence now. So if you want to zap over here…” He trailed off and frowned. “What do you mean? You’re out of angel mojo?”

            Just our luck, thought (Y/N) with a sigh.

            Dean blinked as Castiel detailed his symptoms. “Wow.” He sat. “Sorry. Alright. Well, look, no worries. Uh, Bobby’s here, he’ll wire you the cash.”

            “I will?” said Bobby incredulously.

            “Castiel’s dead broke, so…” (Y/N) shrugged. Someone had to get him something.

            “It’s okay,” said Dean. Then, a little more bitterly, like he’d been accidentally insulted, he said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.” The phone call ended. He stood. “Well, let’s get going. Cas isn’t getting here anytime soon, and we don’t have time to waste waiting. We got a Horseman to kill.”

            (Y/N) and Sam nodded, and they followed him to the impala.

            “Be careful,” said Bobby, watching them from the porch.

            They all nodded, but how careful could they truly be?

 

l

 

            The impala was parked outside the Serenity Valley Convalescent Home in the dead of night, and the hunters looked at the building carefully.

            “So this is Dr. Evil’s lair, huh?” said Dean.

            “It’s kind of more depressing than evil,” said Sam, watching old people be wheeled into the home after a day’s field trip.

            “It’s like a four-color brochure for dying young,” said Dean.

            “And now that they’re old and frail, they have a Horseman ready to torment them,” said (Y/N). They shook their head. “So gross.”

             “A whole building of people. We don’t know who’s human, who’s demon, and who’s Pestilence,” said Sam grimly. “So what do we do?”

            Dean spotted security cameras. “Hold on.”

 

l

 

            Dean knocked on the door of the security office, and the night guard opened the door. Dean smiled jovially.

            “Hey. Hi. Uh, I’m looking for my Nana,” he said. “Her name is Eunice Kennedy.”

            “Go around front and see the nurse,” said the officer, rolling his eyes at the “idiot” coming into his office.

            Dean stepped farther in and let the door shut behind him. “You mind just helping me out, sir?” He lifted a hand. “She’s about, uh, about that small and gray hair, wears diapers.” He punched the guard while he was off-guard. The officer lay unconscious on the ground, and Dean grimaced, shaking out his hand. Opening the door, he let Sam and (Y/N) in.

            “Eunice Kennedy?” said Sam while Dean tied the guard up in the corner of the room.

            “That’s the beauty about improv, Sammy,” said Dean. “You never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

            “Uhuh,” said (Y/N), already paying attention to the screens. If they couldn’t figure out from the outside what was going on within the home—what demons and Pestilence were up to—they could take a look within the care facility. Sam and Dean settled into chairs beside them, and they all stared at the screens.

            However, as what felt like hours upon hours passed (and a couple likely had), nothing seemed to come up. Dean began to doze off, and (Y/N) yawned, bored with the lack of excitement or clues. However, Brady had named this care home as Pestilence’s current homebase until he moved on, so he had to be there—he literally had no reason to lie when he’d been asked.

            “What are—” began Sam. He saw (Y/N) staring into space and Dean’s eyelids closing. “Hey.” They both jerked to attention. “What are we even looking for?”

            “Well, he’s Pestilence, so he probably looks sick,” said Dean.

            “Everybody here looks sick,” said (Y/N). “They are probably sick. Even naturally.”

            Unfortunately, it was true, and more nauseatingly uneventful and unproductive time passed. Sam yawned and stretched, and Dean paced to keep from growing more tired. (Y/N) blinked and rubbed their eyes. When they opened them, the screen glitched. They frowned and leaned closer. The line of static was over a single man’s face, and he wasn’t dressed like a doctor, yet he was emerging from a patient’s room.

            “Hey,” alerted (Y/N), pointing at the screen. Dean and Sam joined them, and (Y/N) gestured to the man. “Take a look.” He left one camera’s scope and entered another, and the static followed him. Now that was a supernatural occurrence.

            “Oh, now we’re talking,” said Dean. That was either a demon or the Horseman Pestilence himself.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) followed Dean and Sam through the corridors of the care home. Dean peered around a corner and watched a nurse wheel an empty wheelchair away from a room. Then, they moved forward, holding weapons tightly. They encountered no one as the wind howled through open windows for fresh air. Abruptly, Dean and Sam began coughing. (Y/N) frowned and looked at them.

            “Sam? Dean?” they said.

            Their hacking grew worse, and Dean stumbled as his vision blurred. Sam groaned and leaned against the wall for a moment. (Y/N) felt their throat grow raw, and they cleared it, but the sensation didn’t leave. Pestilence’s influence had begun to settle over the facility and everyone within. They coughed, but, thankfully, their hacking didn’t grow worse.

            “Need to…keep going,” said Dean through coughs, turning a corner.

            Sam nodded blearily and lifted his gun. (Y/N) watched them worriedly and followed. In the middle of the hall lay the bodies of a nurse and doctor. Blood splattered the ground beneath the nurse, dripping from her mouth, and green mucus had the same trails left on the doctor. Both had been killed by disease—by Pestilence.

            Unfortunately, while all the hunters were aware this was a bad sign because it meant Pestilence knew they were present if he was suddenly ramping up the diseases, Sam and Dean were too busy feeling miserable to worry as much as they should. (Y/N) coughed again, but nothing else happened while Sam and Dean stumbled.

            “Must be getting close,” said Sam, struggling to hold his dagger (he had long been unable to hold his shotgun).

            “You think?” groaned Dean.

            (Y/N) grimaced and grabbed the dagger. Someone with more physical capabilities needed to be ready with it.

            “Why aren’t you feeling like death?” grumbled Dean, and the world spun around him. His stomach turned, and he groaned.

            “…Necklace,” said (Y/N), gesturing to it. “Remember? I don’t get as affected by the Horsemen’s influence.” That’s all it was. It was nothing else. It was like resisting Zachariah or other witches or other pieces of magic. It was the protection of their necklace. It had nothing to do with the lights bursting, the wind whispering to them, Nephthys’s words—they stopped thinking and cleared their throat.

            Dean and Sam stepped forward over the bodies, holding themselves up on the walls, and (Y/N) followed, careful to avoid the strange green slime. Dean and Sam stumbled as the world spun and turned blurry. They collapsed over one another, and (Y/N) rushed to grab them and support them before doubling over and hacking a cough with their lungs feeling full of pressure.

            The door of Room 210 opened, the very room they’d fought to get to. A nurse—demon—regarded them expectantly.

            “The doctor will see you now,” she said, stepping to the side.

            Pestilence sat on a dead woman’s bed, and the grin he wore was sadistic. “(Y/N),” greeted Pestilence. “Sam. Dean.” He waved a hand at them to enter.

            (Y/N) stepped forward, and Dean and Sam collapsed on the ground. (Y/N) doubled over and coughed. They weren’t about to pass out, but the hacking cough that rubbed their throat raw forced them to abandon standing up straight.

            “Come right in,” said Pestilence with considerable satisfaction at their current states. “Hm. You three don’t look well.” His eyes narrowed as (Y/N) coughed but had a steady gaze on him. “You could look worse.” He twisted his ring, and Dean and Sam wretched, but (Y/N) just doubled over as their stomach ached. However, they made it look agonizing—they didn’t need more of Pestilence’s wrathful attention on them. “Scarlet fever should do it to you all. Or meningitis. Or how about both at once? I can toss in some more for good measure.” Blood trickled from Sam’s lips. Pestilence tutted but grinned. “That’s no fun.” He leaned down, grabbed Dean’s hair, and forced him to look at him. “However you feel right now? It’s gonna get so very, very much worse. Questions?” He let Sam go, and his head hit the ground with a thunk.

            Pestilence straightened. “Disease gets a bad rap, don’t you think?” He took hand sanitizer and sanitizer his hands. “For being filthy. Chaotic. But, really, that just describes people who get sick. Disease itself…very pure, single-minded. Bacteria have one purpose—divide and conquer.” Dean tried to reach for the demon knife, and Pestilence stepped on his hand, grinding his heel down on the pressure point. Dean’s face twisted at the pain. “That’s why, in the end…it always wins.” He kicked the knife away from Dean and took a step away. Dean cradled his fingers close.

            “So, you’ve got to wonder why God pours all His love into something so messy and weak,” he almost seethed before collecting himself. “It’s ridiculous. All I can do is show Him He’s wrong, one epidemic at a time.” He put on his glasses. “Now.” He became almost professional. “On a scale of 1-10, how’s your pain?”

            The door of the room swung open on its own, and Castiel, bedraggled, appeared in the doorway. He also looked worse for wear.

            “Cas?” croaked Dean.

            “How’d you get here?” said Pestilence, taking of his glasses.

            “I took a bus,” said Castiel. He looked at his fallen friends. “Don’t worry, I—” He chocked, gagged, and coughed. He doubled over and coughed up blood. His knees hit the ground.

            Pestilence leaned over and chuckled. “Well, look at that. An occupied vessel, but powerless.” He looked at Castiel carefully, amused and curious about this development. “There’s not a speck of angel in you, is there?”

            Castiel glared up at him, his arms shaking. (Y/N) watched him cough up more blood, and Pestilence watched him with clinical carefulness. (Y/N) took their chance. They lunged towards Pestilence, grabbed the demon knife, and slammed his arm against the table. Instantly, Pestilence pulled back, but (Y/N) stabbed down with the knife. They hacked through multiple fingers, and Pestilence cried out as his ring was removed.

            The demon nurse lunged for (Y/N), but Castiel pushed himself off the ground to protect them. He took the knife from them and stabbed the demon before she could hurt (Y/N).

            “Maybe a speck,” he growled as the demon was killed. Her body collapsed.

            With his power removed, the three hunters and angel were returned to their previous state of health, and Dean and Sam scrambled to their feet. (Y/N) held Pestilence’s ring and glared at him as he held his bleeding hand.

            “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s too late.” He disappeared, just as War had. But his words hung in the air behind them. What was too late?

 

l

 

            Bobby stared at Pestilence’s ring on his desk. “Well, it’s nice to actually score a homerun for once, ain’t it?” Dean, Sam, Castiel and (Y/N) were not wearing smiles, and Bobby frowned. “What?”

            “Last thing Pestilence said,” said Sam. “ ‘It’s too late.’ ”

            “He get specific?” said Bobby warily.

            Sam shook his head. “No.”

            “We’re just a little freaked out that he might have left a bomb somewhere,” said Dean.

            “A new, deadly epidemic,” said (Y/N).

            “So please tell us you have actual good news,” said Dean.

            Bobby grimaced. “Chicago’s about to be wiped off the map. Storm of the millennium.” Everyone’s eyes closed at the image of the horror that would accompany it, the lives lost, the tragedy. “Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die.”

            “I don’t understand your definition of good news,” said Castiel, furrowing his brow.

            Everyone sighed.

            “Death, the Horseman,” continued Bobby, “He’s gonna be there. And if we stop him before he kickstarts this storm, get his ring back—”

            “Yeah, you make it sound so easy,” sighed Dean.

            “Hell, I’m just tryin’ to put a spin on it,” said Bobby.

            “One Horseman to another,” said (Y/N) with a tired sigh.

            “Bobby, how’d you put all this together, anyways?” said Sam, furrowing his brow.

            Bobby looked guilty. “I had, you know…help.”

            A glass clinked, and everyone turned to face the kitchen. Crowley was pouring himself a drink and looked up at them all casually.

            “Don’t be so modest,” he said. “I barely helped at all.” Bobby rolled his eyes, and Dean, (Y/N), and Sam looked at him with considerable incredulity. “Hello, boys. Pleasure, etcetera.” He took a drink and then looked at Bobby. “Go ahead. Tell them. There’s no shame in it.”

            “Bobby?” said Sam warily. “Tell us what?”

            Bobby hesitated a long moment. “World’s gonna end. Seems stupid to get all precious over one little…soul.”

            “You sold your soul?” said (Y/N), horrified.

            “Oh, more like pawned it,” said Crowley. “I fully intend to give it back.”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. They didn’t believe that.

            “Well, then give it back!” snapped Dean.

            “I will,” said Crowley.

            “Now!” commanded Dean.

            Sam frowned. “Did you kiss him?”

            “Sam!” exclaimed Dean.

            “Just wondering,” said Sam, shrugging.

            “Huh.” (Y/N) hadn’t thought of that yet.

            Everyone looked at Bobby. “No!” he said.

            Crowley cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him. He held up a selfie of himself and Bobby locking lips.

            Bobby let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why’d you take a picture?”

            “Why do you have to use tongue?” retorted Crowley.

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam looked back at Bobby, scandalized. Not by a gay kiss—that was cool—but by it being with Crowley.

            “Alright, you know what? I’m sick of this,” said Dean, switching back to outrage rather than shock. He stood and glared at Crowley. “Give him soul back now.”

            “I’m sorry. I can’t,” said Crowley.

            “Can’t or won’t?” challenged Dean.

            “I won’t alright? It’s insurance,” said Crowley.

            “What are you talking about?” said Dean.

            “You kill demons,” said Crowley. “Gigantor over there has a temper issue about it. But you won’t kill me…as long as I have that soul in the deposit box.”

            “You son of a bitch,” said Bobby. Clearly, he hadn’t realized he was going to be blackmailed with his soul.

            “I’ll return it,” said Crowley. “After all this is over and I can walk safely away. Do we all understand each other?”

            There was nothing the hunters could say to that. They had no power over Crowley. Bobby’s soul was his until Crowley decided it wasn't.

Chapter 30: Chapter Thirty: Death

            The evening had settled over Bobby’s junkyard. It was time to head out—two teams, one to Chicago to find death, the other to Niveus Pharmaceutical’s warehouse. Bobby packed a bag solemnly for Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). Castiel sighed as he stood by a van that was in working condition.

            “What’s your problem?” said Bobby.

            “This is what they mean by ‘the eleventh hour,’ right?” said Castiel. He held a shotgun in his hand; he needed the weapon now.

            “Pretty much,” said Bobby.

            “Well, it’s the eleventh hour, and I am useless,” said Castiel. He lifted the shotgun and let it drop to his side limply. “All I have is this. What am I supposed to do with it?”

            “Point it and shoot,” said Bobby.

            “What I used to be—” Castiel shook his head.

            “Are you really gonna bitch? To me?” said Bobby incredulously.

            Castiel just hung his head. He still felt useless, no matter what Bobby had gone through.

            Bobby rolled himself forward. “Quite pining for varsity years—” he tossed the duffle bag to Castiel “—and load the damn truck.”

            Castiel obeyed, and, as he worked, Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) came out with their final bits of supplies. Dean loaded the impala and truck and closed the trunks.

            “Alright, well,” said Dean. He looked at Sam. “Good luck stopping the whole zombie apocalypse.”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “Good luck killing Death.” He looked at Dean while (Y/N) checked their stuff in the impala’s backseat. “Keep them safe.” He and Castiel would face the demons, but (Y/N) and Dean were going to meet Death. They were equally in danger.

            Dean nodded. “I will.” They hadn’t wanted (Y/N) with them, but they needed two teams, and Dean and Sam had the most experience hunting, and since Castiel didn’t have his mojo, it made sense for him to handle demons, which humans could kill, too.

            “I think it’s crazy that that’s what we’re doing,” said (Y/N). “Killing Death? Who does that? Crazy people.” They didn’t mind being crazy, though.

            Sam chuckled. “I, uh, I remember when we used to just hunt wendigos. Things were so simple.”

            “Not really,” said Dean.

            “Well, um.” Sam took the demon knight from his belt and handed it to Dean. “You might need this.”

            “Keep it. Dean and (Y/N) are covered.” Crowley appeared before Dean took the knife. He held up a sickle and let Dean take it. “Death’s own. Kills, golly, demons and angels and reapers and, rumor has it, the very thing itself.”

            “How did you get that?” said Castiel suspiciously.

            “Hell—King of Crossroads,” said Crowley with a smirk. “So, shall we?” He glanced to Bobby. “Bobby, you just gonna sit there?”

            “No, I’m gonna riverdance,” snarked Bobby.

            “I suppose if you want to impress the ladies,” remarked Crowley. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. Really wasted that crossroads deal. Fact—you get more if you phrase it properly. So, I took the liberty of adding a teeny little sub-a clause on your behalf.” Everyone stared at him. “What can I say? I’m an altruist.” He smirked. “Just gonna sit there?”

            Everyone looked at Bobby, who stared, wide-eyed, at Crowley in near-disbelief. Hesitantly, Bobby raised his legs, and his feet hit the ground. He put his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushed himself up. He stood.

            “Son of a bitch,” he said in the silence of shock everyone was experiencing. Bobby had his legs back.

            “Yes, I know. Completely worth your soul,” said Crowley. “I’m a hell of a guy.”

            Bobby stared at him. “Thanks.”

            “This is getting maudlin,” said Crowley. “Can we go?”

            It was time to face death and Death.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) pulled their dark plum jacket tighter around them as they followed Dean and Crowley across the empty parking lots of Chicago. After driving overnight, they were left to search for Death in the chilling winds.

            “Hey,” said Crowley. “Let’s stop for pizza.”

            “Are you kidding?” said Dean.

            “I’m hungry, but is now the time?” wondered (Y/N).

            “Just heard it was good,” said Crowley. “That’s all.” He slowed. “Up ahead. Big, ugly building.” It was a square, grey warehouse. “Ground zero. Horseman’s stable, if you will. He’s in there.”

            “How do you know?” said Dean.

            “Have you met me?” said Crowley, offended at the lack of faith. “Cause I know. Also, the block is squirming with reapers.”

            “Lead with that next time,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes.

            Crowley simply hummed. “I’ll be right back.” He started to walk forward and disappeared.

            (Y/N) and Dean rolled their eyes.

            “Boy is my face red.” The hunters whirled, and Crowley stood placidly behind them. “Death’s not in there.”

            “Cut to the chase and tell us where he is,” said (Y/N).

            “Sorry. I don’t know,” said Crowley. He began to walk away.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute.” Dean grabbed him by the shoulder. “You don’t know?” he barked.

            “Signs pointed. I’m just as shocked as you are,” said Crowley.

            “Bobby sold his soul for this!” shouted Dean.

            “We’re counting on this to stop Lucifer!” snapped (Y/N).

            “Relax,” said Crowley. “All deals are soul back or store credit. And we’ll catch Death in the next doomed city.”

            “Millions, Crowley,” said Dean. “Millions of people are about to die any minute.”

            “True,” said Crowley. “So I strongly suggest we get out of here.”

            “You—!” (Y/N)’s voice rose, and their anger burned. The wind picked up around them and whistled past Crowley.

            Dean put a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. He shook his head. They’d figure it out. But not by yelling at Crowley—no matter how good it felt. They solemnly headed back to the impala and got into it.

            “So, what?” said Dean. “Call in bomb threats? A thousand bomb threats? I mean, how the hell are we supposed to get three million people out of Chicago in the next ten minutes?”

            “Magic,” said (Y/N). “And Crowley left.” There was an empty seat where he’d been.

            Dean’s hands curled into fists around the steering wheel. “Come on!”

            “There.” (Y/N) pointed towards a pizzeria. Crowley was peering through the glass doors and abruptly straightened. He looked back at them, mouthed something, and gestured inside.

            “What? We can’t hear you,” said Dean, knowing he couldn’t hear either.

            “I said I found him.” Crowley reappeared in the car, and Dean jumped. (Y/N) had anticipated it, and their eyes went to the pizzeria. “Death—he’s in there.”

            Dean immediately got out of the car. He leaned back down to Crowley. “Are you coming or—” Crowley had evacuated.

            “Coward,” said (Y/N).

            “Whatever. I’m going in,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) was out of the backseat in a moment. “I’m going with you.”

            “There’s one weapon—”

            “There’s only one of you but two of us.”

            “That’s Death!”

            “We’re going to die in less than ten minutes anyways! I’d rather face Death head-on. Literally,” said (Y/N).

            Dean couldn’t say no to them, even if it was dangerous. And if this was the moment they died, he’d rather be with them.

            “Fine,” said Dean. “Stay close.”

            They circled around the back of the pizzeria and entered through the backdoor. They crept through the kitchen, and Dean held the sickle tightly as they passed bodies. No blood or signs of death other than the corpses themselves existed—like the people had simply dropped dead of their own accord. In the dining room was the same scene. Bodies slumped over plates, laying in booths, scattering the floor.

            A single man, skinny—nearly skeleton—sat at a table. He faced the street, and lively people walked by as he calmly ate a pizza. However, for all the seemingly calm of his actions, his very presence made (Y/N) shift. This was a force of nature, and they could feel it in their bones. Death sat before them.

            Dean approached, and (Y/N) remained close behind him. As they took steps closer, his sickle began to quiver and rattle in the presence of its original wielder. It grew hot, and Dean couldn’t hold back a hiss. He let go of it as the iron burned red. The clang as it hit the floor was deafening, and (Y/N) stiffened.

            “Thanks for returning that.” Death spoke calmly, unconcerned.

            (Y/N) looked down, and Dean furrowed his brow. The sickle had disappeared. It now sat on Death’s table.

            “Join me, Dean, (Y/N),” said Death. “The pizza’s delicious.”

            (Y/N) glanced at Dean, who hesitated, but (Y/N) knew they didn’t really have a choice, so they stepped forward. Dean kept close to them, and at the small, four-person table, he pulled a chair over to his side so that (Y/N) was across from Death instead of near him at all. As they arranged themselves, Death kept eating his deep-dish pizza the Italian way—fork and knife.

            “Took you long enough to find me,” he remarked. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

            Dean and (Y/N) exchanged glances. What did that mean?

            “I got to say,” said Dean. “Mixed feelings about that. S-So, is this the part where…” he cleared his throat and looked worriedly at (Y/N) “…where you kill us?”

            Death paused in his eating and raised his head. His features were defined, but not like a marble statue. It was like the bones existed in a stronger manner than the skin of his face. The afterlife clung to him like cigarette smoke on a jacket. However, despite the inhumanness of his appearance and general air, Death was pleasant to look at. As soon as they made eye contact, (Y/N) felt some of their fear dissipate. A healthy dose remained—they weren’t stupid—but Death had a calm expression, and (Y/N) knew that if this is where they died, they weren’t going to suffer. That was the look in his eyes. It would be the literal definition of Death taking someone into their arms.

            “You have an inflated sense of your own importance,” said Death to Dean. “To a thing like me, a thing like you, well…” he took a slurp—a slurp—and continued. “Think how you’d feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky.” Lightning flashed, and the white light turned Death’s face bone-white. “This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that’s barely out of its diapers. I’m old, Dean. (Y/N).” He added their name, and (Y/N) shivered. They took their necklace in hand, and, strangely, for once, it wasn’t warming with their nerves. “Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you.”

            After dropping that bomb, he took the serving knife and lifted two pieces of pizza onto the two plates that were already laid out at the table. Death had been expecting Dean and (Y/N). “Eat.” He sat back, and Dean swallowed glancing at him. (Y/N) couldn’t lie, the pizza looked good, but they weren’t sure they should eat. Death stared back at them evenly.

            Slowly, (Y/N) picked up their fork and knife. They might die. Death could kill them in a moment. They had nothing to lose by indulging his…patience? Kindness? Condescension? (Y/N) wasn’t sure. They took a bite. Dean followed suit, his hands trembling ever-so-slightly.

            “Good, isn’t it?” said Death. It was the first time he almost smiled—just the slightest upturn of his lips, nothing more.

            Dean and (Y/N) chewed slowly, but they gave indications of agreement. It was true, no matter how strange the situation was or how nervous they were. Death took another bite of his own pizza.

            “Well, I gotta ask,” said Dean. “How old are you?”

            “As old as God,” replied Death, and it was quite the statement to make as fact. “Maybe older. Neither of us can remember anymore. Life, death. Chicken, egg. Regardless—at the end, I’ll reap Him, too.”

            “God?” said (Y/N), unable to help themself from speaking. “You’ll reap God?” They had no idea He could die.

            “Oh, yes,” said Death. “God will die, too, (Y/N). Gods all do. The only eternal things in this world are life, death, and magic.” He took another bite of his pizza after that announcement.

            Dean cleared his throat. “Well, this is way above our paygrade.”

            “Yours, perhaps. Just a bit,” said Death.

            Dean grimaced. “So, then why are we still breathing, sitting here with you? Uh…what do you want?”

            Death’s expression shifted minutely to one of irritation. “The leash around my neck off.” (Y/N) frowned in confusion, and Death continued, “Lucifer has me bound to him. Some unseemly little spell. He has me where he wants, when he wants. That’s why I couldn’t go to you. I had to wait for you to catch up.” Dean blinked as his brain continued to play catch-up. “He made me his weapon. Hurricanes, floods, raising the dead.” He spoke with distaste, like the pizza was no longer delicious but uncomfortably bitter. “I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child having a temper tantrum.”

            That’s one way to describe Lucifer, thought (Y/N). Rather appropriate, though. And this made them…respect Death somewhat. He was doing his job, and now Lucifer was forcing him to act in certain ways that weren’t natural. It was relieving to know Death wasn’t cruel or evil. He was simply a man with a job.

            “And you think I can unbind you?” said Dean. He didn’t say (Y/N). He was the adult. He was Lucifer’s vessel. Death couldn’t be looking to a teenager for help. Dean didn’t want him to. Dean didn’t want Death—or death—anywhere near (Y/N) if he could stop it.

            “There’s your ridiculous bravado again,” said Death, tone like dealing with an unruly child. “Of course you can’t.” He looked at (Y/N), and they felt frozen in their seat at the look in his eyes. “And you…”

            “Me?” said (Y/N). “Unbind you? I wouldn’t know where to start.”

            “Certainly not as you are,” said Death. “No, what I want is for you two to help me take the bullets out of Lucifer’s gun.” Lightning flashed and turned his face skeletal. Death leaned forward. “I want you to understand this.” He lifted a hand to display a silver ring with a large white stone it.

            “Yeah?” said Dean hesitantly.

            “I’m inclined to give it to you,” said Death.

            “To give it to us?” said (Y/N) incredulously.

            “That’s what I said,” said Death.

            (Y/N) paused. “But what about Chicago?”

            Lightning flashed as the storm readied itself for destruction. “I suppose it can stay,” said Death. “I like the pizza.” He plucked his ring from his finger and held it out to (Y/N) and Dean. “There are conditions.”

            “Okay. Like?” said Dean slowly, politely.

            “You have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer in his cell,” said Death.

            “Of course,” said Dean.

            “Whatever it takes.” Death’s warning rested in the air.

            “That’s the plan,” said Dean.

            “No. No plan. Not yet,” said Death. “Your brother. He’s the one that can stop Lucifer. The only one.”

            Dean swallowed. “What, you think—”

            “I know,” said Death. “So, I need a promise. You’re going to let Sam jump right into that fiery pit.”

            (Y/N) swallowed and glanced at Dean, who stared at the ring with extreme hesitation. His gaze lowered.

            “Well, do I have your word?” said Death.

            Dean swallowed. “Okay. Yeah. Yes.” But as he damned his brother with those words, he could not bring himself to lift his arm.

            With a strange sense of assuredness, (Y/N) extended their hand, palm up. “Yes.”

            Death regarded them carefully, somewhat approving as they spoke firmly. “You must understand the consequences should either of you lie here.” He looked at Dean. “He may be your brother, but this is bigger than that, bigger than anything in this world.” Dean swallowed. Death looked to (Y/N). “And you…you have an old soul.”

            “I’ve been told,” said (Y/N).

            Death’s face turned skeletal in the lightning, and (Y/N) swallowed their words. “Do not let that go to waste.”

            (Y/N) forced themself to nod jerkily instead of showing another sign of their nerves. Death let go of the ring, and it fell into (Y/N)’s hand. It felt heavy, and a tingle ran down their spine. The lightning flashed again, and Death and (Y/N)’s eyes met. There was something knowing in his eyes. (Y/N) swallowed, terrified of what he could be seeing.

            “Now,” he said, breaking eye-contact and looking at Dean as well. “Would you like an instruction manual?”

 

l

 

            As soon as they arrived back at Bobby’s, Bobby, Sam, and Castiel were waiting for them.

            “You’re okay,” said Sam, relieved.

            “So are you,” said Dean, but his tone held more weight in it. The burden of the promise he’d made felt like a shackle. Even if Death’s plan was what Sam had wanted, Dean had still damned him to following it. He could barely look at Sam without mourning already.

            “We committed an act of domestic terrorism,” said Castiel succinctly.

            “Went well,” said Bobby. “Did you two kill Death?”

            “No,” said (Y/N). They took the ring from their pocket and held it up. Everyone’s eyes were immediately drawn to it. “He wanted to help us.”

            “Death?” said Sam. “But he’s working with Lucifer.”

            “Being forced to,” said Dean. “By magic. He wants to get rid of him, too.”

            “That’s good, isn’t it?” said Sam, seeing his brother’s expression.

            “Yeah,” said Dean quickly. “Yeah, it is. Just means this is gonna get dangerous.”

            “Lucifer must go back in the cage, no matter the cost,” said Castiel gravely.

            “Right,” said Dean. That was the problem.

            “I’m gonna go and change,” said (Y/N). “We got soaked during the storm in Chicago and I feel gross.”

            They fled to the guest bedroom where their bags were waiting before anyone said anything else to them. They didn’t really need to change, though they would. The reality was that, from the moment they’d taken Death’s ring, their head pounded with the most powerful migraine they’d ever experienced. But they didn’t say a thing. (Y/N) was terrified if the way Death had looked at them, like he knew something about them they didn’t know themself.

            Or worse. Death knew what (Y/N) knew but didn’t want to know.

            “Unbind you?”

            “Certainly not as you are.”

            (Y/N) swallowed. They wanted to forget their conversation with Death, their conversation with Nephthys, and their memories of everything strange that happened around them.

            Witch child.

            I’m not, thought (Y/N). I’m not!

            The shutters banged against the window as the wind picked up, and (Y/N) jumped. The world itself was laughing at them.

Chapter 31: Chapter Thirty-One: Detroit

            Dean cracked a beer and leaned on the impala. (Y/N) lay on the hood, staring at the blue sky, and Sam sat next to them. Dean popped his beer open, but his gaze remained on the ground instead of lifting.

            “What’s going on?” asked Sam.

            “I’m in,” said Dean. He looked at (Y/N). “We’re in.”

            (Y/N) realized the discussion they were having and looked over. “Right.” They were going to let Sam say yes.

            “In with…?” Sam trailed off.

            “The whole ‘up with Satan’ thing,” said Dean. Sam sat up in surprise.  “We’re on board.”

            “You’re gonna let me say yes?” said Sam in disbelief.

            “No. That’s the thing,” said Dean. “It’s not on us to let you do anything.”

            “Speak for yourself,” said (Y/N). They liked being bossy. Sam and Dean looked at them, and they shrugged. “It’s…our only plan. I don’t like it, but I get it. And I get why you’re doing it, Sam.”

            Dean nodded. “If this is what you want, we’ll back your play.”

            “That’s the last thing I thought you’d ever say,” said Sam.

            “Might be,” said Dean. Sam chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie to you, though. It goes against every fiber I got. I mean, truth is…you know, watching out for you…it’s kinda been my job, you? But more than that, it’s-it’s kinda who I am. You’re not a kid anymore, Sam, and I can’t keep treating you like one. Maybe I got to grow up a little, too.”

            “Maybe,” said Sam. “But we’ve still got (Y/N) to raise.”

            “I’m doing fine,” said (Y/N).

            “You’re a Winchester. You’re never fine,” said Sam. (Y/N) rolled their eyes but smiled.

            Dean smiled a little. “I don’t know if we’ve got a snowball’s chance. But-But I know that if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

            “You want to help the world, help your family. You want to do this for the right reason,” said (Y/N).

            “Thank you,” said Sam.

            “If this is what you want—Is this really what you want?” asked Dean.

            Sam took a deep breath. “I let him out. I got to put him back in.”

            (Y/N) looked back at the sky. That was it. The weight of the world rested on Sam’s shoulders. It was starting to feel like it rested on (Y/N)’s, too.

 

l

 

            “Look, we got two angels in the backseat,” said Dean with a grin.

            Sam leaned back and shook his head in amusement. Castiel and (Y/N) were both passed out as they drove. (Y/N)’s head leaned against the window, and their hand curled loosely around their necklace.

            “Angels don’t sleep,” observed Sam, even if this sight was cute.

            Dean’s good humor fell. “Sam, I got a bad feeling about this.”

            “Well, you’d be nuts to have a good feeling about it,” said Sam.

            “You know what I mean,” said Dean. “Detroit. He always said he’d jump your bones in Detroit. Here we are.”

            “Here we are,” repeated Sam.

            “Maybe this is him rolling out the red carpet, you know?” said Dean. “Maybe he knows something that we don’t.”

            Sam chuckled. “Dean, I’m sure he knows a boatload we don’t. We just got to hope he doesn’t know about the rings.” He paused and exhaled. “Hey, um…” he licked his lips “On the subject, there’s something I got to talk to you about.”

            “What?” said Dean.

            “This thing goes our way and I…triple lindy into that box…y-you know I’m not coming back.” Sam glanced at his brother.

            Dean’s eyes went to the road. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

            “So you got to promise me something,” said Sam.

            “Okay. Yeah,” said Dean.

            “…You got to promise not to try to bring me back,” said Sam.

            “What?” said Dean incredulously. That was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “No, I didn’t sign up for that.”

            “Dean—”

            “Your Hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland,” said Dean. “Y-You want me—us—just to sit by and do nothing?”

            “Once the cage is shut, you can’t go poking at it, Dean,” said Sam. “It’s too risky.”

            “No, no, no, no, no,” said Dean.  “As if (Y/N) and I’re just gonna let you rot in there.”

            “Yeah, you are. You don’t have a choice,” said Sam.

            “You can’t ask us to do this,” said Dean.

            “I’m sorry, Dean. You have to,” said Sam.

            Dean’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “So then what are we supposed to do?”

            Sam looked at Dean. “You go and find Lisa.”

            Dean scoffed.

            “You take (Y/N), and you go to her, and you pray to God she’s dumb enough to take you in, and you-you have barbecues and go football games, and (Y/N) gets a childhood and a real family back,” said Sam. “You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean.” He swallowed. “Promise me.”

            Dean couldn’t say anything.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) paced through the alley while Castiel, Dean, and Sam waited on Bobby to return from casing the joint Lucifer was in.

            “Demons,” said Bobby as he walked back. “At least two dozen of them. You were right—something’s up.”

            “More than something,” said Dean. “He’s here. I know it.”

            Sam straightened, and Bobby faced him.

            “I’ll see ya around, kid.” He wasn’t saying goodbye to one of his kids.

            “See ya around,” said Sam through just as much emotion. He knew he wasn’t coming back.

            Bobby hugged Sam, and Sam hugged him back—the truest father figure he knew.

            As they stepped back, Bobby squeezed his arm and said, “He gets in…you fight him tooth and nail, you got it?” Sam nodded. “Keep swingin’. Don’t give an inch.”

            “Yes, sir,” said Sam. He swallowed and looked at Castiel. He extended a hand. “Take care of these guys, okay?”

            Castiel’s head tilted sadly. “That’s not possible.”

            Sam was forced to chuckle. “Then humor me.”

            “Oh. I was supposed to lie,” realized Castiel. “Uh. Sure. They’ll be fine. I—”

            “Just-Just stop talking,” said Sam.

            Castiel ducked his head.

            Sam looked to (Y/N). “(Y/N)—”

            “You’ve got to beat Lucifer,” said (Y/N). “Please.”

            “I know. I will,” said Sam. He put a hand on their shoulder, and he smiled slightly. “Take care of Dean, okay? We both know you’re better at it.”

            “I will.” (Y/N) hugged Sam. “I’m going to miss you.”

            Sam held them close. “I’m going to miss you, too.” He let them go and finally faced Dean. He said nothing and just turned to the trunk of the impala—filled with jugs of demon blood to strengthen him. He swallowed. “You mind not watching this?” he said softly, vulnerably.

            Everyone turned away, and no one looked back until Sam had finished. He slammed the trunk closed, and all eyes snapped to him. Sam’s eyes were wild, but focused—focused like a predator animal with its prey.

            “Okay. Let’s go,” he said, walking by everyone with purpose.

            Dean looked grim but followed. (Y/N) was after them in a second—they’d rather die than just wait around to also die. Facing it head-on and all that.

            “Alright! We’re here, you sons of bitches! Come and get it!” shouted Sam wildly.

            The door of the building opened, and three demons in suits walked out. Dean put on his shit-eating smile.

            “Hey guys. Your father home?” said Dean.

            “They’re dressed so nice, I’d bet yeah,” said (Y/N).

            The demons were not amused, and they grabbed the hunters roughly. (Y/N)’s every instinct wanted to fight the demons—they swore the pounding in their head was thunderous—but they stayed silent and let themself be pulled into the building with Dean and Sam. They were shoved into the room, and (Y/N) felt an oppressive force all around them.

            “Hey, guys.” Lucifer stood where the cool moonlight cast strange shadows across his scar-mottled face. “So nice of you to drop in.” He looked at the window and let out a breath that turn the entire window icy with frost. “Sorry if it’s a bit chilly. Most people think I burn hot.” He traced a symbol in the mirror. “It’s actually quite the opposite.”

            “Well, I’ll alert the media,” said Dean, but his voice was hoarser with worry than confident and biting.

            Lucifer looked at them, and Dean went silent. His face dropped as Lucifer’s gaze bore into him. Lucifer walked towards them.

            “Help me understanding something, guys,” said Lucifer. “I mean, stomping through my front door is…a tad suicidal, don’t you think?”

            “We’re not here to fight you,” said Sam.

            “No?” said Lucifer. He narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you?”

            “I want to say yes,” said Sam.

            A beat. “Excuse me?”

            Sam inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes, and small pops of light exploded from demons’ heads as they collapsed, dead. Sam opened his eyes and looked back at Lucifer. Dean looked at Lucifer warily, and (Y/N) remained tense and careful as their fingers twitched at their sides.

            “Chock-full of Ovaltine, are we?” said Lucifer.

            “You heard me,” snapped Sam. “Yes.”

            “You’re serious,” said Lucifer with a tiny bit of surprise.

            “Look, Judgment Day’s a runaway train,” said Sam. “We get it now. We just want off.”

            “Meaning?” said Lucifer.

            “Deal of the century,” said Sam. “I give you a free ride, but when it’s all over, I live, he lives, they live—” he wasn’t going to leave Dean and (Y/N) out of this “—you bring our parents back—”

            “Okay, can we please drop the telenovela?” Lucifer interrupted him.

            Sam’s eyes narrowed, and (Y/N)’s stomach dropped. Lucifer wasn’t buying it.

            “I know you have the rings, Sam,” said Lucifer.

            Shiiiiiiiit, thought (Y/N), and Sam and Dean wore expressions that said the exact same sentiment.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Sam, forcing the words out.

            “The Horsemen’s Rings?” said Lucifer, half-playing along and half-calling it out. “The magic keys to my cage?” He strolled closer. “Ring a bell? Come on, Sam. I’ve never lied to you.”

            Dean let out a shuddering breath as he realized how fucked they were.

            “You could at least pay me the same respect,” continued Lucifer. He circled Sam like a shark, and his path took him around (Y/N), who stiffened at the dangerous predator watching them like prey. “It’s okay.” He ended up in front of everyone again. “I’m not mad.” He looked at Sam. “A wrestling match inside your noggin…I like the idea. Just you and me, one round, no tricks. You win, you jump in the hole. I win…well, then I win. What do you say, Sam? A fiddle of gold against your soul says I’m better than you-ou.” He sang lightly.

            Dean looked at Sam worriedly. Sam swallowed. (Y/N) shifted.

            “So he knows,” said Sam. “Doesn’t change anything.”

            “Sam,” breathed Dean.

            “Sam,” said (Y/N) anxiously.

            “We don’t have any other choice,” said Sam.

            “No,” said Dean.

            But (Y/N) knew the answer had to be yes.

            Sam stepped forward. “Yes.”

            Lucifer closed his eyes, and a blinding light shone from within him until the hunters had to close their eyes. As it died away, Dean and (Y/N) opened their eyes. Lucifer’s body lay on the ground, and Sam lay on his back, eyes closed.

            Dean pulled the rings from his pocket, bonded together through metal. He threw them onto the wall, and (Y/N) spoke.

            “Bvtmon tabges babalon!”

            The rings sunk into the wall, and the room shook with a rumble. Cracks spiderwebbed up the walls, and plaster was sucked back into a black hole that spread into a wide circle. (Y/N) stood straight as the wind rushed past, their eyes stuck on the hole, mesmerized. Dean grabbed (Y/N) and pulled them to the side as the pressure pulled towards the hole.

            Behind them, Sam stood, and their eyes went to him warily. Dean let go of (Y/N) and ran to Sam.

            “Sammy!” he said.

            “Dean!”

            “Sammy!” Dean pulled him to his feet.

            “I can feel him,” said Sam, face screwing up in pain. He held his head and collapsed back. “Oh, god!”

            “You got to go now!” said Dean.

            (Y/N) grabbed him and tried to pull him towards the hole. “Come on!”

            “Go, Sammy!” said Dean, but unlike (Y/N), he wasn’t pushing Sam. He trusted Sam to do it. “Now!”

            (Y/N) pulled Sam, the older adult stumbling behind them. Sam slowed, resisting them, and (Y/N) looked back. His expression turned blank and then cunning. His hand twisted around (Y/N)’s arm, and he threw them back. (Y/N) stumbled into Dean, and he caught them. His eyes widened, and Sam—Lucifer turned towards them.

            He smirked. “I was just messing with you. Sammy’s long gone.” Dean’s grip on (Y/N) tightened worriedly, and (Y/N) swallowed. “Chdr bvtmon tabges babalon.” The portal closed, and Lucifer strolled to the wall. He wrenched the Horsemen’s rings free and faced them again. “I told you…this would always happen in Detroit.”

            Dean shivered as he thought of Zachariah’s future and all of the references to Detroit he’d heard in the past year. (Y/N) watched Lucifer, and the drumming grew strong—the rings quivered in Lucifer’s grip.

            Lucifer disappeared. Dean and (Y/N) were left behind. They had failed.

            Sam was gone.

 

l

 

            “It’s starting.” Castiel looked at every news station as reports of earthquakes, wildfires, hurricanes, and various other natural disasters came in. The death toll mounted with every moment.

            “Yeah, you think, genius?” said Dean, the words acidic as they spat towards Castiel. It didn’t make up for the bitterness in his heart.

            “You don’t have to be mean,” said Castiel.

            Dean swallowed. “So, what do we know now?”

            Castiel just shook his head. The motion was hopeless. “I suggest we imbibe copious amounts of alcohol…just wait for the inevitable blast wave.”

            “Swell,” snarked Dean. “Thank you, Bukowski. I-I mean, how do we stop it?”

            Castiel turned on his heel and looked at Dean incredulously. “We don’t. Lucifer will meet Michael on the chosen field, and the battle of Armageddon begins.”

            “Okay, well, where’s the Chosen Field?” said Dean. He couldn’t let this go. He couldn’t forget Sam. He had to do something. Save Sam, save the world, save everyone he loved.

            “I don’t know,” said Castiel.

            “Well, there’s got to be something that we can do,” said Dean.

            “I’m sorry, Dean,” said Castiel. “This is over.”

            “You listen to me, you junkless sissy—we are not giving up!” said Dean. “Bobby?” Bobby remained silent. Dean stared. “Bobby?”

            Bobby raised his gaze that burned with unshed tears. “There was never much hope to begin with,” he said, voice rough but quiet. He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

            Dean looked at (Y/N), pleadingly. “(Y/N)?”

            “I’m angry,” said (Y/N), voice coming out in a rush. They hadn’t spoken since Lucifer’s disappearance. “Sam is strong, but Lucifer knows that. He’s using all his strength to fight him right now, and Sam’s gonna keep fighting, but Lucifer is going to break his spirit to stop him, and Sam’s too fucking stupid and caring to realize that’s what happening, and so Lucifer is going to win unless Sam gets reminded what’s at stake, and I—” (Y/N) took a deep breath as they spiraled. The drumming thrummed into thunder in their mind, and their fingers twitched.

            “I’m pissed. This was our plan, and Sam was confident, and we believed in him, and he failed, and now I need to figure out how to stop this because I’m not going to just give up like our pathetic angel over there—” Castiel started “—and resident grouchy old man!” Bobby frowned. (Y/N) threw up their hands. “If I have to, I’ll fucking die because who the fuck wants to roll over and wait for Lucifer to kill us like doormats?! Is that what you all want?! To stop being a hunter now!? Huh?!”

            The lamplights flickered, and the televisions glitched.

            “We’re supposed to be the people who stand up to monsters that can kill us with no effort!” seethed (Y/N). “That’s what hunters are, and no matter what the hell is going on, no matter what the monster of the week is, it could be Lucifer or Death or God, I’m going to do something about it because I’m a hunter!”

            The lamplights burst, the televisions flashed off, and the street was thrown into darkness.

Chapter 32: Chapter Thirty-Two: End of the World Showdown

            “Thank you.”

            (Y/N) looked up from their seat—shotgun, Sam’s sea—at Dean. Their hands fell from their necklace. “For what?” they said. “I haven’t done anything to fix this.”

            “For not giving up,” said Dean. “If-If you did, too…” He shook his head. It would be that much harder to go on.

            “Yeah, well…” (Y/N) tried to smile. “You know me. I’m stubborn. And Sam…No matter how he’s feeling right now, he is strong. We just need to remind him, somehow. And if not…we still need to do something. Or die. But Lucifer’ll kill us anyways, so what’s there to lose?”

            Dean swallowed. “You shouldn’t—You shouldn’t have to talk like that.” He leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry we brought you into this life.” He ran a hand down his face. If he hadn’t pulled Sam back, if he hadn’t brought (Y/N) in, if he hadn’t dragged Castiel from Heaven…this was all Dean’s fault. He hadn’t been a good brother, a good friend, a good man.

            “It’s okay,” said (Y/N) softly. “But…I’d rather die with family than die alone. You guys gave me a home after…” They swallowed. “I’d rather face the end of the world with family than lying down.”

            Dean reached over and pulled (Y/N) into a hug. They hugged him back. For a moment, that’s all they had, and it’s all they needed. Family.

 

l

 

            “That’s a good line.” Chuck leaned forward at his computer. His phone rang, and he picked it up. “Mistress Magda?”

            “Um, no, Chuck.” In the impala, Dean rolled his eyes, and (Y/N) grimaced.

            “Oh, uh, Dean,” said Chuck awkwardly. “Uh, wow. I-I didn’t know you’d call.”

            “Who’s Mistress Magda?” teased Dean.

            (Y/N) elbowed him. “This is not the time.”

            “Right. Right,” said Chuck nervously. “Um, what (Y/N) said. What did you call about?”

            Dean swallowed. “Sam said yes.”

            “I know,” said Chuck solemnly. “I saw it. I’m just working on the pages.”

            “Did you see where the title fight goes down?” asked Dean.

            Chuck sighed. “The angels are keeping it top secret, very hush-hush.”

            “Crap,” said (Y/N).

            “But I saw it anyway,” said Chuck. “Perks of being a prophet. It’s tomorrow, high-noon—place called Stull Cemetery.”

            “Stull Ceme—Wait. I know that,” said Dean, sitting up straighter. “That’s-That’s an old boneyard outside of Lawrence.” Outside of their old home. “Why Lawrence?”

            “I don’t know,” said Chuck. “It all has to end where it started, I guess.”

            “Okay, Chuck,” said Dean.

            “Know any way to stop the Apocalypse from going down?” asked (Y/N). It was a longshot, but they might as well ask.

            “Besides the rings? No. I’m sorry,” said Chuck.

            “Well, do you have any idea what’s gonna happen next?” asked Dean.

            “I wish that I did,” said Chuck. “But I-I just—I honestly don’t know yet.”

            “Alright,” said Dean, swallowing. “Thanks, Chuck.” Dean hung up.

            “Dean,” said (Y/N). “Bobby and Castiel are here.”

            Dean glanced at the rearview mirror and watched them walk closer. He got out of the impala, and (Y/N) followed suit.

            “You goin’ somewhere?” said Bobby, looking at the impala and the determined expressions on Dean and (Y/N)’s faces. “You’re goin’ to do somethin’ stupid. You got that look.”

            “I’m gonna go talk to Sam,” said Dean.

            Bobby shook his head in disbelief. “You just don’t give up.”

            “It’s Sam,” snapped (Y/N). “And we’re hunters.”

            “If you couldn’t reach him here, you’re certainly not going to be able to on the battlefield,” said Castiel.

            “Well, if we’ve already lost, I guess we got nothing to lose, right?” said Dean.

            “I just want you two to understand…” Castiel looked at them with intensity. “The only thing you’re gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother.”

            “Well.” Dean shook his head. “Then I ain’t gonna let him die alone.” He got back into the impala.

            “(Y/N)—” began Castiel.

            “I’m not rolling over and waiting to die like a dog,” said (Y/N), standing as tall as they could. They were a hunter.

 

l

 

            Lucifer in Sam’s body and Michael in Adam’s circled each other warily. It was time for the end of the world to arrive. Only one brother would survive, that was certain, no matter how much they didn’t want to hurt each other. They had a duty, a point to make to the world—God.

            An engine revved. “Rock of Ages” began to blast across the empty cemetery. An impala drove into the graveyard, and the archangels watched it come to a stop. Dean and (Y/N) got out of the car.

            “Howdy, boys,” said Dean.

            “Great day for the end of the world,” said (Y/N). Bravado, stupidity, bravery, all those words applied to them. But they’d already decided they’d die doing the right thing, fighting the good fight.

            “Are we interrupting something?” said Dean. Lucifer and Michael glared at them, and Dean stepped forward. “We need to talk.”

            “Dean, (Y/N),” said Lucifer with irritation. “Even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid.”

            “Not talking to you,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes.

            “We’re talking to Sam,” said Dean.

            “You’re no longer the vessel, Dean. And this child is an interloper, as ever,” said Michael. “You got no right to be here.”

            “Adam,” said Dean. “If you’re in there somewhere, I am so sorry.”

            “Adam isn’t here right now,” snapped Michael.

            “Well, then you’re next on our list,” said (Y/N).

            “But right now, we need five minutes with him.” Dean glared at Lucifer.

            “You little maggots,” said Michael. “You are no longer a part of this story!” He glared at Dean and then at (Y/N). “You are no part of any story!” He stalked towards them.

            “Hey, ass-butt!”

            Everyone turned to see Castiel standing with Bobby. A flaming Molotov cocktail burned in his hand. He threw it.

            It cracked on Michael and lit him up, his body burning as he screamed. The powerful—holy oil-filled—container forced him to disappear in an explosion of sparks. Everyone stared.

            “ ‘Ass-butt?’ ” repeated Dean.

            Castiel put up his hands, unsure how he came up with it. “He’ll be back—and upset—but you got your five minutes.”

            “Castiel.” Lucifer’s voice was low and dark. “Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?”

            Castiel put up his hands and stepped back. “Uh…no.”

            “No one dicks with Michael but me,” snapped Lucifer. He snapped his fingers.

            Castiel exploded. His body was a shower of red, and Bobby, Dean, and (Y/N) stared, eyes wide. He was—He was gone. Dead. Horror filled (Y/N), yet they couldn’t move. Lucifer could do that to any of them in an instant.

            Dean swallowed the grief welling up within him. He had one chance—the one chance Castiel had now sacrificed himself to give them. “Sammy, can you hear me?” said Dean.

            Lucifer faced him. “You know…I tried to be nice. For Sammy’s sake. But you…” He touched Dean’s jacket “…are such a pain—” he gripped the collar tightly “—in my ass.” He shoved Dean back, and he slammed into the impala’s hood, cracking the windshield.

            “Dean!” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Lucifer turned on them.

            Bang! Bang! Bullets fired into Lucifer’s back, even if Bobby knew they would do nothing.

            Lucifer turned his attention away from (Y/N), however, and that’s what Bobby had wanted. Lucifer glared at him. He lifted a hand and twisted it. Bobby’s neck cracked, and he crumpled.

            “No!” shouted Dean.

            “Yes,” said Lucifer, and he went to grab Dean’s legs.

            (Y/N) shoved him away from Dean, and Dean scrambled to stand. He couldn’t let Lucifer hurt them, he couldn’t lose someone else, he couldn’t—

            Lucifer grabbed (Y/N) by the throat. “I’m going to leave you to rot, maggot.” It was thrown like a slur.

            (Y/N) felt a strength well up in them as anger took hold, and Lucifer grunted. (Y/N)’s necklace lit up and exploded with golden light.

            Lucifer’s eyes widened, and he was thrown backward. The force sent (Y/N) flying, too, and they hit the ground rolling. Lucifer stood, enraged, and parts of his face began to slowly heal from burn wounds.

            “How do you have a container of grace?” he said. “You, a pathetic little mortal?!”

            (Y/N) coughed and stood shakily. “Guess Anna left me a gift.” A half-truth. Anna’s little packet of grace had given them additional strength because they were a child who deserved to be protected. But that had only been half…

            But how did I summon—

            A muscle in Lucifer’s face twitched in frustration. “Well. It can’t help twice.”

            (Y/N) braced for their death, and their mind flew to the sky where they could picture their parents. Lucifer raised his hand, and (Y/N) lifted into the air. He flicked his wrist, and (Y/N) was tossed effortlessly away.

            “(Y/N)!”

            (Y/N) hit the top of the iron gate of the cemetery, and they screamed as the railing stabbed their arms, legs, and side. They fell with gravity, and the iron spikes tore across them. They landed in a heap, blood pouring from their sides and the burn of the iron wounds spreading like wildfire around them. They raised their gaze, unable to move, and watched helplessly as Lucifer hit Dean across the face, and blood splattered from Dean’s lips.

            “Sammy?” he croaked. “Are you in there?”

            “Oh, he’s in here alright,” said Lucifer cruelly. He hit Dean again, and Dean’s head snapped to the side. “And he’s gonna feel the snap of your bones.” Another punch. “Like he watched (Y/N)’s body be torn apart.” He kicked Dean in the side and then grabbed him. He slammed his back against the impala. “We’re gonna take our time.” He punched Dean over and over.

            Dean floundered and grabbed onto Lucifer’s—Sam’s—sleeves. “Sam, it’s okay,” he croaked, his lip busted and eye swelling already. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” More punches, but Dean just spat out blood and continued, “I’m not gonna leave you.”

            Lucifer pulled his fist back. It hung there, and nothing, no one, moved. (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            Sam?

            The fist dropped, and Sam gasped as he stumbled back. Dean slumped to the ground. Sam panted, looking around himself wildly. He could see Dean on the ground, bleeding, and (Y/N), body torn up, lying a few yards away. Sam swallowed shakily at all that he allowed to pass.

            “It’s okay, Dean. (Y/N),” said Sam. “It’s gonna be okay.” He tried to smile through the pain. “I’ve got him.”

            (Y/N) looked up in relief and let out a breath. From Sam’s pocket, Lucifer’s, the fused Horsemen’s rings fell to the grass, and (Y/N) lifted a hand. The rings trembled, and (Y/N) spat the blood in their mouth out.

            “Bvtmon tabges babalon…” they said, the words coming out in a rush.

            The ground fell away, and Sam looked at them gratefully as the void opened up. Dean limped to (Y/N) to hold them as they coughed up blood. The ground rumbled, and the wind howled around them. Sam looked at them and Dean. He looked to the void and then at them. He nodded solemnly. He was terrified, but he knew what he needed to do.

            “Sam!” Michael had arrived once again, and Sam’s eyes widened. “It’s not gonna end this way! Step back.”

            “You’re gonna have to make me!” shouted Sam over the howling wind.

            “I have to fight my brother, Sam!” said Michael. “Here and now! It’s my destiny!”

            Sam looked desperately at Dean and (Y/N). He closed his eyes. He tipped backwards. Michael grabbed him to stop him. Sam grabbed Michael back, and Michael’s eyes widened. Sam tipped back, and he held Michael with him. Sam, Michael, Adam, and Lucifer fell into the void, disappearing below the earth.

            Light exploded from the void before it sealed abruptly. The wind died away, and the quake of the ground halted. Only four scorching rings lay in the grass as evidence of what had been there previously.

            Dean held (Y/N) a bit closer, and they hugged him back. Sam was gone. They could do nothing but lay there, bleeding and mourning. Dean held onto (Y/N). He couldn’t—they were bleeding so badly—(Y/N) hugged him and knew blood was staining their sides, his jacket, everything, but nothing could compare to the grief of losing Sam.

            The world stood still for a few minutes that felt like hours, the eternity of mourning. A shadow crossed them, and Dean and (Y/N) raised their heads.

            Castiel stood above them, a gentle, caring look in his eyes.

            “Cas?” said Dean like a prayer.

            “You’re alive?” said (Y/N) with blood. He wasn’t gone. Another piece of their family was alive. They hadn’t lost everyone. Like they lost Sam.

            “I’m better than that,” said Castiel. He placed two fingers on each of their foreheads. A warmth spread through (Y/N) and Dean’s bodies, healing them of their wounds and pulling them from the brink of death.

            Dean and (Y/N) got to their feet, eyes not leaving Castiel in shock at him being an angel again. (Y/N) felt their sides where a dozen tears had revealed their insides, bloody and marred. They were healed, now, unmarked and unscarred from angelic magic. The only roughness left on their skin were the overlapping scars from Alistair and Ruby’s stabs making a single rough line on their side.

            “Cas, are you God?” said Dean with uncertainty.

            “That’s a nice compliment,” said Castiel with a soft smile. “But no. Although, I do believe he brought me back.” He turned away. “New and improved.” He went to Bobby and knelt. He touched Bobby’s temple, and Bobby sucked in a gasp. His eyes opened, and he blinked.

            (Y/N) nearly sobbed. Bobby was alive, too. He could get to his feet, confused but living and breathing. Castiel stood as Bobby stared at him. Dean watched him walk away. (Y/N) knelt and picked up the Horsemen’s rings. They no longer felt heavy in their hand. They had done their job. (Y/N) stared at them and then at Dean.

            What happened now?

 

l

 

            “What are you gonna do?” said Dean, looking at Castiel.

            “Return to Heaven, I suppose,” he said as the impala sped down the dark highway.

            The world was steadying, no longer facing its end, and no one was the wiser to what had occurred to save it. Cars went by, returning from work, going to sports, returning from parties, normal people living normal lives, none the wiser to what lurked in the darkness.

            “Heaven?” said (Y/N) absently, fiddling with Death’s ring on the key they held.

            “With Michael in the cage, I’m sure it’s total anarchy up there,” said Castiel.

            “So, what, you’re the new sheriff in town?” said Dean.

            “I like that,” said Castiel. “Yeah. I suppose I am.”

            “Wow,” said Dean hoarsely. Castiel would be leaving them, too. “God gives you a brand-new, shiny set of wings, and suddenly you’re his bitch again.”

            “Dean.” (Y/N) was too tired of losing people to have another fight to push Castiel away because Dean couldn’t stand feeling so vulnerable.

            “I don’t know what God wants,” said Castiel. “I don’t know if He’ll ever return. It just…seems like the right thing to do.”

            “Well, if you do see Him, you tell Him I’m coming for Him next,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) felt their declaration of being willing to fight God if necessary reverberate, and they swallowed. They held their necklace tightly.

            “You’re angry,” said Castiel.

            “That’s an understatement,” said (Y/N).

            “He helped,” said Castiel. “Maybe even more than we realize.”

            But (Y/N) knew it was Sam seeing his brother and them that had brought him back. They knew that the rings falling to the ground, them…their spell had opened the portal. They had thrown Lucifer back with— (Y/N) swallowed. God had nothing to do with it. Something worse had been at play.

            “That’s easy for you to say,” said Dean, scoffing. “He brought you back. But what about Sam? What about (Y/N)? What about me, huh? Where’s my grand prize?! All I got is my brother in a hole!”

            “You got what you asked for, Dean,” said Castiel. “No Paradise. No Hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or Freedom?”

            Dean stared straight ahead. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Sam back.

            (Y/N) curled up in the backseat. They wanted the knowledge of the forbidden fruit taken away.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) watched Bobby give Dean a goodbye hug. They hugged him next, vowing to never forget the kindness the man had showed them. Then they were in the impala on another long drive, a long drive to somewhere safe. That’s what Dean called it, her, them, Lisa and Ben. Safe.

            Dean knocked on the door of a suburban home that was so familiar it made (Y/N)’s heart ache. It opened, and a woman with soft dark hair and dark eyes opened the door. This was Lisa. She looked at Dean.

            “Hey, Lisa,” he said, his voice breaking.

            “Oh, thank god,” she breathed. “Are you alright?”

            Dean stared at her. “Yeah.” It was a lie and they all knew it. “Uh, if it’s not too late, I…” he trailed off. “I think I’d like to take you up on that beer.”

            Lisa smiled. “It’s never too late.”

            Dean nodded and cleared his throat. “Lisa…Um…this is (Y/N).”

            He stepped to the side, and Lisa took in the sight of the teenager. They had a wild look in their eyes, but their body looked tired. Their clothes were torn at one side.

            “Hello, (Y/N),” said Lisa. She glanced at Dean, wondering if this kid was—He shook his head, and she understood. “Would you like to come inside?”

            (Y/N)’s shoulders sagged in relief as they weren’t rejected. “Yes, please,” they said, voice so tired. Frail. “Thank you, Lisa.”

            Dean took them by the shoulder and guided them inside. He touched Lisa’s hand, and she squeezed his in return. Dean and (Y/N) would be safe there. They had a home welcoming them already.

 

l

 

            (Y/N) stared at the bed. The room was bare—Lisa promised to go and get them decorations, their own stuff—but it had a soft bed covered in blankets waiting for them. They were wearing real pajamas, not a t-shirt ready to get up and run. This felt eerily like the world they used to inhabit, the home they used to have with their parents.

            (Y/N) swallowed and turned away from it. They weren’t ready for the softness yet. They didn’t feel safe yet. They wouldn’t. (Y/N) stared at the rings on the empty dresser. They swallowed, grabbed them, and shoved them into their duffle bag. They pushed it under the bed. Out of sight. They had to keep it all out of sight—out of mind.

            Crossing to the window, (Y/N) looked outside. The moon was high in the sky. The darkness extended out beyond the streetlights that kept the shadows at bay. Everyone was so unbearably normal. Like the world hadn’t nearly needed. Like (Y/N) hadn’t nearly died so many times. Like Sam wasn’t gone. The world was just going forward without a care in the world.

            (Y/N)’s fist clenched, and the lamplights burst. There. The world was dark—the way (Y/N) felt. They swallowed and back away from the window. The-The lights weren’t following (Y/N)’s feelings. They couldn’t be. That—That would make them— (Y/N)’s fingers twitched with panic. Their breaths grew shallow.

            (Y/N) turned away from the window, fear spiking through them. All they could think of was the broken bulbs, the rituals that came so easily, the spell they’d used against Lucifer, Nephthys’s goddamned witch child nonsense, and they couldn’t—

            (Y/N) looked at their mirror, and they held up a hand, focusing intently on it. The grace had protected them. It had given them the power to throw Lucifer back. This wasn’t…

            Crack

            Their mirror stared back at them. It was broken—shattered with cracks. A thousand distorted images of (Y/N) stared back at them. (Y/N) fell to the ground and covered their face. Sobs wracked their frame. They couldn’t escape it. Pandora’s box had been opened. The forbidden fruit lay in their hand.

            Witch child, laughed the wind.

            (Y/N) was a monster.

Chapter 33: Book 3 Teaser

Season 6 Episodes:

(Not all episodes covered for time)

• Episode 1: Exile on Main St
• Episode 2: Two and a Half Men
• Episode 3: The Third Man
• Episode 6: You Can’t Handle the Truth
• Episode 7: Family Matters
• Episode 10: Caged Heat
• Episode 11: Appointment in Samarra
• Episode 12: Like a Virgin
• Episode 15: The French Mistake
• Episode 16: …And Then There Were None
• Episode 19: Mommy Dearest
• Episode 20: The Man Who Would Be King
• Episode 21: Let It Bleed
• Episode 22: The Man Who Knew Too Much

 

Here's a little teaser as we draw near the next book getting posted. A trailer for it is coming next weekend...

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Nobody's Soldier