#'HELLO THEY HAVE ALL BEEN STUCK IN A PERPETUAL HELL FOR THE LAST DECADE'

[gabbingwaves]

Nevermind. His most dire foe was, once again: The Trauma

Jiyan's most dire foe yet: A sapient bubble.

[ohbeaby]

Part 1

The man had made him and taken everything from him. This is how he saw Lucifer, he was everything he loathed about himself, wholly created from wrath and anger that Lucifer simply discarded, a pressure that finally burst forth into a being that had no meaning. A person with no personality.

“He’s so much like you.” People would say to Lucifer when Satan was younger.

“Well that is to be expected, he was part of me.” Lucifer would explain with such pride.

“How stubborn, just like you Lucifer.” People would complain when he was frustrated as an adolescent.

“It’s quite annoying if I’m being honest.” Lucifer would mutter with such arrogance.

“So intelligent! He must get it from his father.” People would whisper behind his back.

These little comments built over time. No matter how many things he tried, how much he learned in any subject, how mastered he would become in spells and potions, everything he did would be attributed to a man who didn’t even want him. A man that would constantly hold his position above him over his head in any form he could.

It was painful, a constant rage towards a man he could never even touch let alone kill. He wanted to be free, to finally just be a person, he didn’t even think of his personality as his own, just some fragmented part of Lucifers that he had broken off and thrown away.

Just let him go.

He’d tried begging in the beginning, in his own way.

“Who am I?” He’d question when he first started speaking.

“You are Satan.” The brothers would reply, thinking his small mind couldn’t comprehend the horrid truth of his existence.

“What am I?”

That question was always met with an awkward silence before someone would just reply: “A demon.”

Even as a child he knew he was the odd one out of the brothers, they told stories of the celestial realm and a woman named Lillith. While he was treated as a brother by most of them, Lucifer always seemed to find a way to treat him perpetually as a child.

When he first started getting introduced into Devildoms society he could never get out from the long shadow Lucifer cast. He had little reason to hope that a student from the exchange program would treat him any differently than the demons of Devildom.

“Hello, how are you today?”

“I had the highest grade in my potions class for the last test, I’m pretty happy about that.”

“You’ve always been good at potions haven’t you? Wish I had that much talent!” They’d laugh.

He was perpetually waiting for the day they’d compare him and Lucifer, it was bound to happen eventually.

“Gah! You’re so stubborn sometimes!” They’d playfully whine at him when he teased that he wouldn’t study with them without a promise or a deal.

“What can I say, I see a chance to make a deal and I’ll take it.”

“Okay what if I help you out on cooking duty? I’ve been wanting to learn some of your recipes anyways.”

Maybe they didn’t know? Could they possibly be so oblivious to those around them that they couldn’t see the similarities between him and Lucifer? Everyone else could see them.

“Woah! What is that?”

“Just an old alchemy machine. Built it a few decades ago.” He said in passing, he was focused on his book, not the strange antics of the human in his room.

“You built this? You’re ridiculously smart, you know that right?” They looked right at him, fully focused on him. On only him.

“So I’ve been told.” He laughed a bit sadly.

Maybe they were just too stupid to understand who they were around. Their ignorance was solely because of their obliviousness, not an actual recognition of differences.

“Satan was one apart of Lucifer. He burst forth as Lucifers bottled up wrath towards God. I guess you could say that Lucifer is Satan's dad, though it’s not surprising since they act so similar.” Satan overheard in the halls one day.

This was it, the moment the human would finally just join in with everyone else and treat him like a mini Lucifer.

“Really? I wouldn’t have ever guessed. They’re so different, I can’t see them being the same person.”

Stop being ignorant human, stop giving him hope, stop being oblivious.

“You live with them don’t you, surely you’ve noticed how closely they act.”

Just agree.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lucifer pull a prank or build a machine for the hell of it so I have to disagree.”

Lucifer had come into his bedroom at one point. He’d missed a few days of classes and the eldest was wondering just what the blond was up to.

The room he was greeted with took him by surprise. He was used to the disastrous state of the room but it seemed particularly bad. The typical flying books were whipping about with exceeding frenzy while the piles seemed to have doubled in size, teetering and threatening to fall over on any unfortunate guest.

“What are you doing?”

“Leave. I don’t want to see you.”

“You’re just going to bury yourself in all this mess?”

“It’ll be more bearable than what the alternatives are at the moment. Leave.”

It was a few hours later that a soft knocking was heard at the door. None of his brothers would be stupid enough to try and talk to him, certainly Lucifer had informed them of his currently state, over exaggerating how dangerous he was like he always does. Like they all do.

“Satan? Can I come in please?”

It was you. Why were you here?

“No. Stay out.”

Please don’t leave him. Don’t leave him. It hurts to think you’re comparing him to Lucifer. What does he even want from you?

“Okay. Can I just sit here at the door? I just don’t like the thought of you being alone like this.”

Why do you even care? Why don’t you just go running to Lucifer or any of his other brothers, they’re more a person than the thing he is.

“I don’t care. Just stay out.”

Does he really want that though? Of course he does but does he? He doesn’t even make sense to himself. He hates this human.

“I will!”

There was a small laugh in your voice, did you really find this so funny?

“Just know I’ll listen if you need me to.”

“Why?”

“Because I can tell you need the company? I don’t know what has caused you to be so upset but I do know that you don’t deserve to be alone through whatever it is.”

What’s caused him to be so upset? It was the humans fault he was like this. This dumb human couldn’t just comform and see him like how everyone else saw him. This dumb oblivious human couldn’t just see that he wasn’t a person like the rest of them.

“You. You’ve upset me as you put it.”

“Huh? Can I ask what I did? Maybe it’s just a case of miscommunication?”

“No. I heard you loud and clear. You’re just a dumbass.”

“Well that’s a bit harsh. I may not be the brightest bulb but I certainly don’t think I’m a dumbass!”

There was that dumb laugh again. He hated it so much. He hated how open and friendly they were acting. He hated them.

“Are you just blind then? Willfully ignorant? I knew humans were oblivious but you seem to be holding the first place spot.”

“I still have no idea what I said though.”

“It’s more a matter of what you refuse to do.”

“And what’s that? I’ll do it if I’m okay with it.”

No...no he didn’t want them to compare him to Lucifer. If they start thinking about it they’ll see just how similar they are. How much better Lucifer is. They’ll leave.

“Just shut up.”

“Uh-uh. You said I need to do something. Tell me what it is.”

“No shut up.”

“I can be just as stubborn Satan. I’m not leaving until you spill what I need to do.”

Why wouldn’t they just drop this? Just stop...please...don’t make him have hope.

“Just...you can’t laugh, got it? It’s pissing me off.”

“Full serious mode engaged.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I, now tell me what I need to do.”

This is stupid. This stupid human wouldn’t just leave him be. Why did he have to get stuck in a house with such a nosey pest.

“Tell me, how do you see Lucifer and I?”

“Eh? Lucifer and you?”

“Yes. Just...how would you describe each of us?”

“Well that’s a tough one! Give me a second to think.”

Tough? Why would it be tough? It’s easy, just describe Lucifer and you’ve described a better him. He’s the chaotic wrathful being who doesn’t even have a damn personality.

“Well starting with Lucifer I’d say he’s pretty arrogant. I get that he has a lot on his plate but he’s letting himself just walk around with a stick up his butt for no reason. I wouldn’t say he’s a bad person but he definitely needs a break. He’s pretty organized though so I’ll give him that. Wish he’d crack a joke for once in his life.”

“And me?”

“Funny and witty. You’re always cracking me up with your clever comebacks and wisecracks. I can always count on you to make me laugh when something gets too serious. You’re also really playful? Like you love teasing your brothers. Also I’d describe you as a prodigy who is aware he is a prodigy and wants to show it off.”

Funny. This stupid human just found him funny. How pathetic. At least they called Lucifer arrogant.

“I guess I would also say Lucifer needs more hobbies. You have what looks like a million but I really don’t know what Lucifer does in his free time. Have you ever tried teaching him anything?”

“Teaching him something? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, just to teach him? I like helping people learn so maybe I’m just weird.”

“You’re very weird.”

“Agreement has been achieved.”

“You sound like Leviathan.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot. I wouldn’t say it’s a bad thing though. He’s pretty cool.”

“Leviathan. Cool? I really can’t see how.”

“Ever seen him code? It’s weirdly mesmerizing.”

This was weird. What was this human trying to achieve?

“Oof!”

They came spilling through the door that had been opened by a stray strand of magic. Maybe his subconscious had opened the door?

“Uh, little bit of warning next time?”

“Get out, I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t think Diavolo would like that too much. Man, your room is a wreck, where even are you?”

“I said leave.”

“I can’t leave you in here like this. These books look like they could fall at any second, you could get hurt.”

His tail whipped around beside him as he stared in the direction the human was. They were just sitting prey. He could just kill them or throw them out.

Why couldn’t he bring himself to?

“You’re being stupid.”

“That makes two of us. You’re trying to just stay in here. At least let me sit next to you or something.”

“And why would I agree to that?”

“I don’t know, maybe for the company. I don’t think you’d be entertaining this conversation if you didn’t want some kind of company.”

Leave. Leave leave leave. He was going to kill you. He was upset and always ended up hurting the people around him.

He didn’t want you to be scared of him.

“Ah there you are! Woah, I love the tail.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I seem very much alive right now so I think in the long run I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll eat you.”

“Beel threatened me with that earlier too, do you guys just have a preference for humans or something? What do we even taste like? Chicken?”

“Why do you even want to know that information?”

“You say strange threats and I ask strange questions. Balances out the strangeness.”

The human was so close now, sitting next to him on the bed. They didn’t seem scared of him at all, if anything they kept looking at his horns and tail before settling on his face. Just analysing him, as if they were only curious about him.

“Do you want a hug?”

“A...why would I want that?”

“Well you’re crying but I don’t want to make you more upset by touching you without asking. Some people don’t really like hugs.”

Crying? When did he start crying? Why was he crying?

“Hey, do you want to vent? I get it, sometimes you just need to yell about your problems and stuff yeah? I usually write everything down and then burn the paper, but if you just need to yell at me I can take it!”

Yell? No he didn’t want that. Why couldn’t he get the tears to stop? His vision was so blurry now.

“Satan?” They slowly reached out and put a hand on top of his, just gently rubbing the back of it. “Please, tell me what I can do?”

“I...I…” He took a deep breath. “Just...why?”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you see him in me?”

There. There he said it. Now they couldn’t avoid saying that he and Lucifer were the same person.

“You mean Lucifer right?”

He could only nod.

“Well you aren’t anything like him so it’s a bit hard for me to say I see him in you.”

“We were once the same person. That doesn’t just go away.”

“Well I guess not but I honestly don’t see you and him as the same person. You two are much too different to be the same.”

Satan didn’t know what to do with himself. He was internally fighting a bunch of urges he’d never dealt with before. What was happening to him. What was this human doing to him?

Did he like it?

“Why? Why are you here? Why do you care? Do you find this funny? My pain a simple amusement to your mortal eyes?”

The questions were spilling out of him faster than he could think to stop them. He hadn’t been this confused on anything in a long while. Every answer he’d wanted in the past had an answer, why weren’t you giving him an answer?

“Well I care because you’re clearly hurting. Lucifer said not to disturb you because you were having some sort of episode but I just didn’t think that was a good idea. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

They brought his hand up to their chest and held it tight.

“I don’t want you to be alone if you're in pain, you don’t deserve that.”

“I’m a demon. Your kind would consider me a monster, a beast. Why don’t you just run?”

“To be honest I am a bit scared but it’s not really of you. It’s more just a constant fear of this place in general.”

There was that dumb laugh again.

“But when I’m with y’all I can’t help but feel a bit more at ease.”

“Even now?”

“Yes, even now. You’re not some savage blindly killing people Satan. To me you’re not just a demon.”

The books that were flying around the room fell to the ground and the teetering towers collapsed around them but neither were in the way of any of them. The human looked started and let out a small squeak of surprise, jumping a bit closer to Satan who hadn’t taken his eyes off them. His expression was unreadable but the human could tell it wasn’t threatening, just curious maybe.

“Satan?’

“What am I?”

“What?”

“What am I?”

He’d asked this question so many times when he was younger. A curious question that was really a plea for an explanation for his existence, a meaning besides just a wrathful being.

“You’re a person Satan, a very strong and powerful person, but a person nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well I think it means you get to be whoever you want.”

“Whoever I want…”

Satans eyes shifted to a spot somewhere above the humans head, concentrating on something. Suddenly they pulled the human close and wrapped his arms around them.

“Wanted that hug after all?”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t take you for such a cuddler.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Not the worst thing to be.”

Satan laughed softly before squeezing the human a bit closer to him. He didn’t notice how his tail had also begun weaving its way around them until they started poking at it.

“Is the tip poisonous? Like scorpions?”

“Well you’ll know if you die in about 30 minutes wont you?”

“Oh ha ha. Wise ass.”

“Seems to be one of my defining characteristics.”

The two chatted back and forth like that for a bit. It was easy. This was nice. It was peaceful.

Satan was...happy.

“Human. I thought I told you to stay away from here.”

In the door staring down with barely hidden concern was Lucifer.

Of course. How could Satan forget. Lucifer was here to take away what little he had, couldn’t even get a whole hour of peace.

“Yeah but I felt like the company might serve him well.”

“You need to not be so nosey human.”

“Well so far it seems to be helping more than hurting.”

“Just come with me. Satan let them go.”

Part 2

[creeping-crowley]

♱ Satanic Panic ♱

Something in the air felt wrong.

The perpetual absence. The sudden drop in the atmosphere that comes in the breath between lightning and thunder. A plummeting sensation of wrongness had settled over London beneath the darkened clouds that chanted for rain. From outside, everyone was stirring and hurrying about the Mayfair streets, scurrying about as the first errant drops of the coming storm cascaded downward.

Crowley was busy. What he was busy with few acknowledged as a real task, but he went about the routine with just as much (if not more) dedication than to most of his other work-related endeavours. Every week he would patrol his flat, tending to the plants and stirring the petrifying knowledge into them of what happened if he noticed any failures to thrive. As he went about his business (with a good degree less discussion than he usually made), Crowley permitted his attention to dip in and out of the news report on the television in the living room.

The disembodied voice echoed softly throughout the flat.  A man’s voice presented numerous stories in a stern sort of severity- the way one might deliver the news that a family member had suffered an unfortunate accident.

‘With last year being London's bloodiest in almost a decade, as the number of homicides reached 135, the plague of knife crime is not nearing its end.’

Crowley closed a window as the first drops of rain devolved swiftly into a torrential downpour.

‘…Slews of schools across London have introduced them…But for some people, the implementation of knife arches comes too late.’

The TV flickered, jumped, then continued. A low rumble shook the sky.

‘Tory leadership contender Jeremy Hunt has refused to guarantee that the UK will leave the EU before Christmas, but said he "expects" it to happen by then.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. There was a rumour flying around that he’d had a hand in setting Brexit in motion. A rumour that Crowley had not directly addressed to anyone. Nor did he intend to.

‘Up to 160,000 Conser—’ The power blinked, crackling as another rumble of thunder passed overhead.

Ignoring it, Crowley moved onto the next plant. A quiet frown crossed his features. He had already started to tune out the topic as talk of politics babbled away across the empty rooms.

‘…voting for their next party leader - and UK prime mini—’ Static broke the report, lulling into a temporary hiss until the voice returned.

‘… replace Theresa May.’

A flash of lightning filled the room with a temporary brightness. And then it was gone.

As was all the brightness. And power. And sound.

Crowley ignored it. Moving on to the next plant that trembled at his mere proximity.

From the living room the distant hum and crackle of static flickered in and out, picking up on the hollow tone of the reporter’s voice but failing to provide enough clarity for his words to carry in anything more than an indistinct hum. The lights did not turn back on.

“…Well that’s not good.” The demon remarked at last with an absent sort of tone that implied the comment was not entirely tied to the thoughts he was having towards the power cut. Or the storm.

“IT’S SIMPLY DREADFUL, CROWLEY.”

The silky tone of his Master oozed from the sound system, echoing out of the hollow reporter’s mouth.

Static continued to pick apart at the voice, but the message came loud and clear. After a long moment of remaining rooted to the spot, Crowley abandoned his plant mister and skirted back into the living room. Perhaps this was what he had possessed such a vile feeling about. He’d felt some sort of ill-will in the air and now Satan himself was reaching out- it had been a while since they had spoken. He certainly sounded significantly less angry on this occasion.

“YOU’VE QUITE MARVELLOUSLY OUTDONE YOURSELF, CROWLEY.”

“Err.” A faint noise of acknowledgment sounded at the back of the demon’s throat as he eyed the static that danced across the television screen, playing with the features of the news reporter and occasionally causing his expression to twitch into a wicked smile.

Well hang on, Brexit hasn’t actually been completed yet. Wasn’t this a little early for a commendation?

“YOUR EFFORTS TO CORRUPT OUR ENEMY FROM THE INSIDE OUT HAVE BEEN RECOGNISED, CROWLEY.”

Crowley squinted. Perhaps this wasn’t to do with Brexit.

“WHILST MY DUKES AND BARONESSES HAVE SECURED ME SOULS OF THE MORAL KIND, YOU HAVE EXCEEDED EVEN THEIR WORK, CROWLEY.”

A thin sheen of sweat began to creep across Crowley’s forehead.

“HEAVEN HAVE INFORMED ME THAT THE NECESSARY PAPERWORK WILL BE COMPLETED SHORTLY, CROWLEY. THE ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE IS OURS AND IT’S ALL THANKS TO YOU, CROWLEY. HE WILL BE COLLECTED SHORTLY FOR THE PROCESS TO BEGIN. YOU HAVE ACHIEVED THE UNACHIEVABLE, CROWLEY. AND

YOU

WILL BE

R̸̨̛͙̱̙̭͐́̐͗͝ Ẹ̴͍̼͎͉̩̫̝͙̮͖̣̪̪͈͑́ Ẃ̸̗͍̼͐̀̄̀ Ḁ̶̞͇̒͐̒̽̊͌́̅̽̊̌͘͝͝͝ Ṟ̸̡̡̜͕͎͚̮̲͇̼̥̗̀̒̍̍ͅ D̸̛͎̗̅̅̎̆̈͆̽̌̕͜ È̸̛͙͉͙̣̯̦̤̤̭̯͋͐͂͗̎͑͘͘ D̶̡̖͕̦͙͚̮̻͎͖̼̰̤͋͆́̈͒̎̄ “  

“…Thank you, lord.” Crowley breathed. His voice almost as numb as the news reporter’s.

A horrified sinking sensation bored its way through him.

How?

What had taken place in recent history to justify such a vast overreaction from heaven?

Deep down, a part of Crowley felt he knew. Along with the mounting fear, there kindled a deep, unforgotten hatred. A hatred towards the ones who had likely come to this decision. The ones who were about to enact a ritual of such pain, hurt and humiliation it had stripped away the very essence of every angel that survived it.

A thought stuck in Crowley’s mind as the television flickered back to life and the reporter began drawling on about referendums and deals once more.

They were coming to collect Aziraphale.

Scenes of the bookshop engulfed in flame flashed back into the demon’s head. He scrambled out of the flat as though it had been doused in holy water. Like a bat out of hell. Or like one whom had the fear of God put into them. The latter would be the most accurate.

Half-throwing himself into the Bentley, Crowley set himself hurtling towards the first place he knew the angel would be. With the help of breakneck speeds, tactically willing traffic lights, officers and pedestrians out of the way, Crowley worked to slice his journey down to a mere fraction of what it should have been.

“Call Aziraphale.” A wracked voice that hardly sounded like his own demanded.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Until an automated voice ended the call after a redundant offer to leave a message. With a snarl Crowley smacked the steering wheel.

“CALL. AZIRAPHALE.” The phone shuddered.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Nothing.

Faster than should have realistically been possible, the Bentley pulled up by the bookshop. No fire. At least not visibly. Ignoring the ‘Sorry, we’re closed!’ sign and the locks, Crowley entered. The entire bookshop radiated the essence of Aziraphale- every corner was so thoroughly steeped in love and many cared-for volumes that it felt as though he was always there even on the occasions where he was absent.

“AZIRAPHALE!” He couldn’t not shout. By this stage it was horrifically urgent.

“AZIRAPHALE YOU BASTARD DON’T DO THIS TO ME AGAIN.” Crowley’s voice shattered mid-roar. Saving little time, he tore into the back room, growing frantic. Snake-like eyes bolted across the room for the sign of anything that appeared remotely out of place. The sign of a struggle. Anything.

“WHERE ARE YOU!?”

“IT CAN’T HAVE HAPPENED YET!” Desperation twisted his tone upward.

After pacing the shop a good number of times, Crowley fell to his knees atop the thread-bare carpet that covered a neatly-drawn chalk circle. He wasn’t supposed to be in such proximity to it. But it hardly mattered now. Golden eyes lifted, pleading skyward for someone, anyone, anything- some divine voice that had cast him aside only just after time began- to listen.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!

HE’S—

HE’S GOING TO LOSE EVERYTHING AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT!

I’M THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE HURTING! NOT HIM! HE’S GOOD, KIND, FORGIVING—NONE OF THE BAD STUFF WAS HIM! WHY DO YOU PREACH FORGIVENESS BUT NEVER PRACTICE IT? YOU’RE GOING TO BE THE REASON THERE ARE NO GOOD THINGS LEFT!”

A series of deep, ragged pants stole Crowley’s words away. No reply.

They never replied.

Frustration spurned him back into motion. Although a dawning part of Crowley knew that if Aziraphale was not in the bookshop and failing to answer his phone, he was too late. But abandoning the search was unimaginable. He had to find him.

In a series of stray attempts to locate the angel’s aura, Crowley simply found himself stumbling upon various places they had met over the previous two weeks: places that had been touched by the angel’s aura. Restaurants, cafes, The British Museum and Hyde Park. Two hours later, Crowley returned to his flat, soaked through from his attempt to battle the rain on his hunt. Outside, thunder and lightning continued their violent dance. He had not given up, but a grim realisation had presented itself to Crowley: now that he had exhausted his most likely options (and checked the bookshop once more for good measure), it would make sense to reconvene, dry off and attempt to focus somewhere more quiet in order to tap in to Aziraphale’s energy.

It was difficult to not feel defeated as he scaled the stairs to the flat. Once entering, Crowley kicked off his sodden shoes. With a wave of his hand, the rainwater vanished from his clothes, leaving the only evidence of his trip outside in the mop of sodden auburn hair atop of his head. After a couple of steps, Crowley stilled.

‘Thanks very much and hello! Welcome to The Chase, tonight four celebrities will be raising money for a charity of their choice. Hello, yes, welcome to the show Ian,’

That’s strange.

He hadn’t left the television on when he’d left.

Warily, Crowley began to slink towards the living room. A familiar shape sat on the sofa. No-less tense, Crowley edged over the threshold. He didn’t need to see Aziraphale’s face to know he was too late. At Crowley’s presence the television flickered, blinked, and switched itself off.

“Angel…” The word dripped painfully from his mouth, thoughtless in the very moment of things.  

Not anymore…

Resignation swept over the demon as he rounded the sofa to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale’s face. It was too late. There was no undoing such an act. Hopeless guilt writhed across Crowley’s features as he inched closer, not quite knowing what one says to someone who falls and does not mean to. Crowley had been in the minority in that sense (and nobody had offered him any words of assurance when the day of his fall had taken place).

“What have they done to you?” A mournful whisper encapsulated Crowley’s words as he uttered them. Golden eyes drank in the extent of the damage. With great care to be gentle a finger extended to run reverently along a coal-black feather. Oh, the world was wicked.

It was unjust.

But never quite so much as those who had created it all.

(( @gaily-gavotte ))

[headfulloffantasies]

Angel with a Shotgun

Chapter 22: Close Call

Ao3

Dean and Sam struggled their way out of the basement Zachariah had trapped them in. The warehouse lot was overrun with weeds and trash. On the edge of the property, a black car gleamed.

“No way!” Dean whooped and ran up to the Impala.

“Why would Zach bring your car here?” Sam asked as he approached warily.

“Who cares?” Dean ran a hand over the hood. “We’ve got wheels. We can drive home.”

Sam made a face. “We’re three days from where we left Bobby.”

“Then we better get going.”

Sam and Dean bundled themselves into the car. Dean tossed Sam a rag. Sam used the rear-view mirror to help him wipe the blood from his face as they sped off.

The grungy city fell away into open roads lined with trees, and then into fields of yellow canola as far as the eye could see. Dusty September blew by as combines and farmers worked to get their crops off the golden acres.

Around hour six of their drive Sam suddenly piped up. “I don’t feel so good.”

Alarmed, Dean raked eyes up and down Sam. Sam pulled his long legs up to curl into a ball.

“You’re not going to puke, are you? If you yack in my car, you’re walking.”

“Thanks a lot, Dean,” Sam curled tighter around his stomach.

An almighty thunder roared from Sam’s belly. Dean’s wide eyes found Sam’s saucer sized gaze. They both burst out laughing.

“You’re hungry,” Dean wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I’ve never been this hungry,” Sam giggled.

“There’s a truck stop a couple miles ahead.”

They pulled into a greasy excuse for a gas and sip. Half the pumps had smudged hand written ‘Out of Order’ signs flapping in the wind. Dean got out of the car and wrinkled his nose at the crusted windows and peeling paint.

“We could wait. Find some place nicer.”

Sam slammed the car door. “If I wait any longer to eat, I am going to waste away. Then I’ll come back and haunt your car for all eternity so that your radio only plays Celine Dione.”

“Okay, geez. Cool off, will ya?” Dean led the way into the crummy store.

Their entrance knocked a decades’ worth of rust off the bell over the door. The pimply kid behind the counter looked up with so much surprise Dean had to double check his wings weren’t showing. He gave the kid a tight smile and led the way to the food aisle.

Sam suddenly buckled beside a shelf of energy drinks. Dean reached for him in alarm. Sam waved him off, clutching at his temple.

“It’s just a headache.”

Dean frowned. “Angels don’t get headaches.”

“Well I’m not an angel anymore, am I?” Sam snapped.

Dean let it slide. He scowled at the selection of dusty ravioli cans and packaged cookies. He glanced up. The cashier was still staring. “Pick something will you? That kid’s giving me Dahmer vibes.”

Sam grabbed a handful of assorted snacks and they made their way to the counter. The cashier rang them through. Dean fumbled for his wallet.

“Do you need a bag, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean’s gaze snapped up. The kid’s eyes flashed black. Dean lurched for the demon blade in his jacket.

           An invisible force hit him in the chest and sent him flying. Dean crashed through a display of washer fluid and toppled to the floor.

           The demon stepped out from behind the counter. He buried his fist in Sam’s collar. Sam squawked, struggling in its grasp. Dean groaned, his head spinning.

           “Who would’ve thought,” the demon grinned. “That this boring crossroads post would have landed me the Winchester boys? You just waltzed right in, didn’t you?”

           Dean struggled to his feet. He was too far away for the knife to be any good. He had a gun in his waistband, but the bullets would be useless.  “Let go of him.”

           The demon pouted dramatically, “Oh, Dean. Don’t be a party pooper. You know Sam has to go back to the Basement. He’s got to finish his treatment.”

           Sam landed an elbow in the demon’s ribs. It didn’t so much as flinch.

“Play nice,” It snarled, shaking Sam like a rag doll.

Dean grabbed his pistol and cocked it at the demon’s head.

The demon’s grin widened. “You can’t kill me with that.”

“I’m not trying to,” Dean pulled the trigger.

The bullet slammed into the demon’s shoulder, knocking it off balance. Sam twisted out of its grip. Dean was already on top of the demon, unsheathing the demon blade and burying the knife in its chest. A wet gasp escaped as fiery light flashed through its bones. It fell limp.

Sam wretched. Dean yanked the knife from the demon’s chest and knelt next to Sam. He was crouched on the floor, one hand clamped over his mouth.

Dean touched his shoulder. Sam was burning up under his hand.

“Come on,” Dean pulled Sam to his feet. Dean snagged a handful of the food on the counter on their way out the door.

Dean half dragged Sam to the Impala. In the back of his head, a siren was screaming. Dead demons attract attention. They couldn’t afford that, not when Sam was powered down.

“Stop,” Sam stumbled against the side of the car. “You gotta clean the knife.”

“Later,” Dean snapped.

Sam shook his head. “I can smell the blood. I’m gonna puke.”

Perplexed, Dean fished in the backseat for a rag. He wiped the knife and tossed the bloody cloth in the dirt.

“Better?”

Sam nodded, one shaking hand still pressed against his mouth.

Dean piled him in the car and raced around to his side. He took one last glance at the gas station. In the distance a dust cloud rose over the empty horizon. For just a second, it looked like a column of demon smoke.

The paranoia Dean had inherited from Bobby had them speeding down the highway and then crisscrossing over several back roads. No one was tailing them. The rear-view mirror only reflected Dean’s worried expression.

The pressure finally burst. “Are you going to tell me what all that was about? You can smell blood now?”

“Demon blood,” Sam said miserably. “It stinks. Like burnt sulphur and charred meat.”

“Yummy,” Dean sassed.

“Don’t be a jerk.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles cracked. “I’m going to murder every single demon in Hell. I mean it.”

“Dean-,”

“No. This is ridiculous. I feel like we’re running for our lives and spinning in circles. Hell wants you and Zach wants me and if we say no they’re just going to torch the planet anyways.”

“What?”

Dean pulled off the road. He wrenched the Impala into park and slammed his fists against the steering wheel. Sam watched him in silence. Dean let out a measured breath.

“Zachariah told me I’d have to kill you.”

He explained in broken starts what Zachariah had said. The Apocalypse. The big smackdown. How Sam’s kidnapping was part of the plan.

Sam sat in stunned silence. Dean stared through the windshield at the twisted trees on the side of the road. The quiet stretched. Sam had always needed a long time to process, but he was starting to think he was in shock.

“So, all of this is Heaven’s will? God wants me to be a monster?”

“What? No!” Dean whipped around at Sam. “There is no God. He’s not running the show. It’s just a bunch of junkless angels being butt hurt about daddy running away. They’re following the only script they have left.”

“How is that a bad thing?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “If God wrote the script aren’t we supposed to stick to it?”

“No, Sam.” Dean had to take a deep breath. “There’s no such thing as Fate, or Destiny, or a Master Plan, okay? God left. He doesn’t get a say anymore. We make our own way.”

A shrill cellphone chirp startled both Dean and Sam. Dean dug in the glovebox. An old emergency flip phone rattled away. Dean frowned at the number on the display.

“It’s Cas.” He answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Dean, where are you?” Cas’ gravelly voice was tinned and distant.

“Somewhere in Ohio. Where are you?”

Cas ignored the question. “Is Sam with you?”

Dean glanced at Sam. Sam frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

“I need to know exactly where you are.”

“I don’t know man,” Dean leaned to peer through the windshield. “Somewhere off the interstate. Look, we just ran into a demon-,”

“Dean, I don’t care about demons in gas stations.”

Dean straightened. A tight feeling constricted his chest.

“This is bigger that petty demon activity. I have… I have information.” The tiny pause burrowed a worm of doubt in Dean’s mind. He clenched the phone tighter to his ear.

“Cas, what’s going on?”

“I can’t say over the phone. Where can I meet you?”

Dean glanced at Sam again.

“Trap,” Sam mouthed. Dean nodded.

“You know where we ganked that wendigo? We’ll be there in an hour.”

“I’ll wait right here.” Cas hung up.

Dean tossed the phone into the backseat with a curse.  

“What was that?” Sam asked.

Dean clenched the steering wheel in his fists. “He knew about the gas station. We’re being followed.”

“Cas has been caught,” Sam realised.

Dean nodded stiffly, “Poor bastard.”

“So what are we going to do?”

Dean cranked the keys in the ignition. “We’re going to get him.”

“What was thing about a wendigo?” Sam asked as Dean peeled onto the dirt road. “We’ve never hunted a wendigo in Ohio.”

“Yeah, so whoever was listening in on that call will be on a wild goose chase. Or wendigo chase.”

“You’re not funny.”

“The point is, they’ll be distracted. We can sneak in and get Cas.”

“We don’t know where he is.”

“We know they’re close. They were at the gas station.”

“That was thirty miles back. They could be anywhere.”

“Cas said he’d wait right here. He figured we knew where he was.”

The drive back to the gas and sip was tense. Silence reigned. Dean mulled over everything Cas had said, searching for the hidden meaning. Right here. Where was here? If he could only talk to Cas without anyone else hearing-.

Dean slammed on the brakes. The car skidded on the old road. Sam shouted and braced himself against the dashboard.

Dean threw the car in park. He wrenched the seat recliner and lay back, his mind racing.

“What are you doing?” Sam yelped.

“Angel radio,” Dean shut his eyes.

“Oh,” Sam said quietly. “You’re going to talk to Cas?”

“I’m going to try. Shut up.”

Dean breathed deep and tried to slow his pedalling heart. He imagined Cas. In his head, a trench coat flapped in a breeze. Dark hair stuck up in perpetual bedhead. Blue eyes flashed with lightning. Wings as dark as Hell opened and slowly, so slowly, the blue glow of Grace edged the pinions and guided Dean forwards. Dean imagined his voice.

“Dean.”

The rich cadence was like the Impala’s tires over gravel.

“Dean, you shouldn’t be doing this. Someone might hear.”

“Shut up,” Dean thought projected. “I’m trying to save you. Where are you?”

“Behind the gas station. In a house. But Dean-,”

Dean opened his eyes. “I got him.”

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