3A/N: Hihi! So, I actually feel kinda bad that this update and the last happened so quickly because I know it's inevitably gonna slow down. Especially since the semester starts in five days. *sadface*
The boys are back and they are in the thick of things! But really, would they be the Winchesters we love if they weren't? Let me answer that. Yes. Yes, they would. I could love them just as easily if Dean was a soccer dad who made pancakes on Saturdays and Sam had delightfully nerdy kids that won chess tournaments and had no social life because they read all the time. But that wouldn't be natural for them, would it? It would almost be...weird. Haha! Gotcha!
Shoutout to 1Corinthians 1313! Glad you're enjoying thus far!
Enjoy!
Oh, bytheby, I didn't think to point this out before. The Angels don't have vessels here, they have physical bodies but can still burn your eyes out with their Grace if they so choose. So, Cas looks like Cas, with that dark hair and those impossibly blue eyes, etc. (Thank you, God, for allowing Misha Collins to grace this earth.)
Dean Winchester crouched behind a crumbling brick wall. The ground was broken and buckled and the air was laced with the smells of sewage, smoke, general decay and burning flesh. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't bathed in days. He leaned over until he was almost laying prone and craned his head around to check the lay of the land beyond. He saw a small group of Demons but they were preoccupied with…something he'd rather not consider.
He rolled up into a crouch again and looked back the way he had come, motioning his brother forward.
Sam starting moving toward him, leading a small train of survivors. Dean held his breath, certain that his younger brother's greater height would defeat his attempts at staying low and undetected but Sam reached him with no difficulty. They all crouched behind the wall and Dean glanced down the line of survivors, doing a quick head-count. A young family: Mom, Dad, three kids, a six-year-old girl, a ten-year-old boy and a twelve-year-old girl, and two college age kids, a boyfriend/girlfriend duo.
"You know, I gotta ask," Dean began and Sam gave him a weary look. "What about this dystopian society made you think having kids was a good idea?"
"Dean," Sam said in low voice, "not now."
The father glared at him but the mother just petted the children's blonde heads. "We didn't plan on it," she said quietly. "It just happened."
Dean nodded, pursing his lips in way that said it made perfect sense but was far from a satisfactory answer. "Okay," he replied, in an oddly flippant tone and turned back to make sure the Demons were still occupied.
"How are we doing?" Sam asked quietly.
"I think we can slip by as long as we're quiet," Dean answered, drawing his attention to the Demons.
Something exploded in the distance and the six-year-old girl shrieked and started crying. Her brother just sat there with tears pouring down his face while his older sister held him in a tight embrace, her jaw trembling with tears.
"Sh!" Dean hissed, crabbing over to them. "Keep her quiet!" he ordered in a harsh whisper.
"She's afraid!" the father snapped in the same manner.
Dean got right in his face. "There are Demons down there," he informed him coldly, pointing in the direction they were headed and the little girl whimpered. "You want your kids to see tomorrow? Keep her quiet."
The man glared back at him but didn't say a word.
"Dean!" Sam hissed
Alarm filled Dean's eyes and he hurried back to his brother. The Demons were prowling in their direction, sniffing the air, their dead gray bodies tense with the hunt and their misshapen heads twisting around on grotesquely stretched necks. He could see the black claws on their hands, the shreds of gore hanging from them and the dark stains covering their fang-filled mouths.
"Back!" he ordered. "Everybody move back! Now!"
They scuttled backward until they were out of sight, then Dean took the lead again. Sam lingered for a moment, hoping that the Demons wouldn't be able to detect a stronger than normal smell of humans in the putrid air. Just in case, he picked up a brick. The Demons swarmed over the place where they had just been hiding and after a moment of finding no humans, they started to head back to whatever they had been doing. Then, one of them found a fresh puddle on the ground where the little boy had wet himself.
Before it could let out a triumphant screech, Sam threw the brick with all of his might toward a pile of debris and listened with cautious satisfaction when he heard it hit, knocking some of the pile askew and shattering glass of some sort. The pile had been more precarious than he'd thought because it started sliding apart, then it collapsed in the center. An angry, startled screech echoed up from it and the Demons perked up at the sound, then ran to check the commotion with hungry shrieks. Sam sighed with relief and ran to catch up to the group.
Dean turned to check the group and froze, a look of horror on his face.
"Where's my brother?" he demanded.
"He was right behind us," the college age boy said.
Dean shoved past him, his green eyes sparking like flint as he prepared to go back for Sam.
"You're gonna leave us here?!" the father cried.
Dean paused and gave him such a cold look that the man actually flinched away. Then, at the sound of running footsteps, Dean raised his shotgun to his shoulder with a speed born from a lifetime of practice. When he saw Sam running toward him, he lowered it, but just slightly, checking for signs of pursuit.
"Dean," Sam began, only to be cut off by his brother grabbing his shirt and bringing them nose-to-nose.
"Where were you?!" Dean demanded wrathfully, but Sam could hear the fear bubbling just beneath his anger.
"I bought us a couple of minutes," Sam replied. "We have to go now!"
Dean nodded and moved back to the front, leading them on a winding path through the debris of what used to be Northeast Philadelphia. Two hours later, the gray clouds started spilling rain over the ruined city and they stopped to take a quick break in a ruined building that used to have multiple stories. Now, it was a ground floor and a piece of a second floor that acted as a shelter from the rain.
"I'm thirsty," the little boy whimpered quietly.
Dean unscrewed the top off of his canteen and handed it to him. "Just a little bit, alright?" he said, squatting in front of the boy. "That's all we've got, for now."
The little boy nodded and took a few careful sips, just enough to wet his mouth.
"You can have a little more than that," Dean said dryly and he took a bigger swallow.
Sam passed his canteen to some of the others, as well.
"I don't understand," the college girl whispered.
Sam and Dean looked at her in shock. During the twelve hours they had been trying to get out of the city, she hadn't said a word.
"They were gone," she went on, her blue eyes haunted and her hoarse voice cracking painfully. "It was just us here. There were no Demons. They all left. Why did they come back?" She looked up at Sam, as though hoping he had an answer.
"I don't know," he said sadly. "I wish I did. What's your name?"
"Becka," she answered. "This is Chad," she introduced her boyfriend.
"I'm Sam," he introduced himself. "My brother and I are gonna do everything we can to get you out of here, okay?"
"Where are we gonna go?" her boyfriend asked dismally.
"Go?" Dean repeated darkly. "That's just it. You go. You go and you don't stop. Stopping gets you killed."
"How can you have a family if you're always on the run?" Becka asked hollowly.
Dean almost scoffed at the girl's naiveté. "Sorry. Never had the luxury of entertaining such a romantic notion."
"Dean," Sam scolded with a pleading frown.
"Let's go," Dean said, ignoring his brother.
They moved on, not talking, barely daring to breathe, ghosting between the gutted buildings and debris. Suddenly, the ground opened up before them and Dean held up his fist and they stopped, immediately falling to crouch behind a pile of overturned, rusted cars. Two parallel roads stretched across the land and to their right was a collapsed overpass. The rain was falling harder and Dean wiped the water out of his eyes.
"Any idea where we are?" he asked.
"This looks like Roosevelt Boulevard," Sam answered.
"I don't like it," Dean said. "Too open." He pulled a small pair of binoculars out his jacket pocket and scanned the area. "Son of a…"
"What is it?" Sam asked, tightening his grip on his shotgun.
"We got an Angel on that hill," Dean reported.
"What?" the father demanded. "Demons now an Angel?!"
"Keep your voice down!" Dean snapped. "We can't move until he leaves," he said. He spun with curse at the sound of screeching echoing behind them.
"Screw that," the father spat. "We're running. We can make it!"
"Shut up and sit down," Dean ordered. "You won't make it. They won't find us here as long as we're still and quiet. The Angel will get bored eventually and then we can leave."
"No," the man snapped. "We're this close to being out of this god-forsaken place—"
"You've never seen what one of those things can do, have you?" Sam demanded. "We have. And believe me, Don, we'd take fighting a Demon any day."
Don glowered and shook his head in stubborn disbelief but didn't say anything else.
Dean turned back and scanned the ground ahead of them again. "We can make it to those cars," he said to Sam and his brother edged closer to look. "See the van? Maybe we can wait there."
"Yeah, sounds good," Sam agreed. "Everybody, we gotta move. We've found place where we can wait, maybe dry off a little."
They all nodded, their expressions exhausted and haunted.
Dean and Sam started moving forward slowly. Sam kept an eye out for the Demons they could hear and Dean kept checking on the Angel with the binoculars. They reached the cluster of vehicles and to their relief, there was just enough space between them to get to the van. Sam and Dean stood on either side of the sliding door and at Sam's nod, Dean opened it and went in gun first.
"We're clear," he called and Sam motioned the group closer.
They were missing five people.
He looked around frantically and saw them running across the open ground. Don's wife was carrying the smallest girl while he carried the boy and half-dragged his oldest daughter.
"No!" Sam cried and dashed toward the front of the van.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, catching his brother by his shirt collar and dragging him back. Demons swarmed the area like ants, their hisses and screeches drowning out the drumming rain.
"Get them inside!" Dean ordered, shoving Sam back toward the open door.
As soon as Sam got the couple inside the van, Dean gave his backside a hard shove and closed the door behind him, ignoring his brother's indignant, terrified shout. He ran forward, some part of his brain still believing he could get to Don and his family in time and stopped before he'd taken five steps. The Demons surrounded and swallowed them from sight and he sank to the ground with his back pressed against the hood of a flipped truck, helpless to do anything but listen to the screams until they ended.
More Demons skittered past, several passing right by where they hid and he held his breath, unwilling to make the slightest noise. He waited until he could hear nothing but rain and crept back to the van. Just as he got there, it opened and Sam dragged him inside.
"What was that, Dean?!" he demanded, then pulled his brother into a rough embrace. "Don't ever do that again, you jerk! You scared me to death!"
"Those kids, Sammy," Dean said quietly and only then did Sam notice that his brother hadn't broken the embrace.
"I know," Sam answered softly, his heart twisting inside his chest.
"We had it, Sam!" Dean growled, sitting back on his heels, water streaming down his face from his hair. "We had it! We were home free! And then…the fricking Angel!" He shook his head in disbelief, at the unfairness. "How long have we been here? Nearly a whole day. A whole fricking day we've been trying to get out of here—get them out of here and right at the last minute, he's gotta go and pull that crap!"
"It was too much, Dean," Sam told him, keeping a firm, grounding grip on his arm. "With his family, the Demons and then the Angel. I think, deep down, he knew what it could do…and it was just more than he could handle."
"He wasn't handling it! We were!" Dean snarled. "That's what we've been doing this whole fricking time! Handling this! I mean, you wanna off yourself? That's fine. But the kids…"
"I know," Sam said again and Dean realized what his brother was saying. He understood everything. He felt the frustration, the grief, the helpless rage at the injustice of it all.
Dean nodded, took a deep breath and Sam finally let him go. He glanced at Becka and Chad and saw him wrapping her up in his jacket. He pulled her close in a one-armed embrace and his other hand rested protectively on her stomach. She looked up and caught Dean staring.
"I know you think it's pointless," she said quietly.
"I never said it was pointless," he corrected with a weak smile. "I just said it was a bad idea."
"The timing will never be good anymore," she said. "We'll never have a home again. We're being hunted by Demons and Angels and everything else. They've taken everything away from, but if we insist on going on, if we keep on living, then they haven't won yet. At least, that's the thought that gets me through the days."
"Whatever helps," Dean told her.
"What helps you?" she asked.
"Killing every evil SOB that crosses my path," he replied, a dark gleam in his eyes. He checked the hill again. "And that SOB isn't moving. So we may as well get some rest before we leave."
"I'll take first watch," Sam said.
Dean nodded and pulled the curtains over the windows so a curious Demon couldn't look in and see them. Becka and Chad curled up on the backseat and Dean leaned against the side panel with his legs stretched out as far as they could go. He laid his shotgun across his lap, kept his hand on the grip and nodded off, his chin touching his chest. A few hours later, Sam woke him for his turn and promptly dozed off in the side chair.
"Sam," Dean hissed and his brother was instantly awake. "It's dark. We gotta go."
They woke Becka and Chad and left the van as quietly as possible. Fires seemed to glow everywhere they looked and it was hard to tell the shadows apart.
"Okay, we have to be quick," Dean said. "Don't make a sound. I don't know where the Angel is, but Demons are more active at night and the longer we stay now, the more chances we have of getting caught."
Sam nodded and they started moving across the open ground. Screams echoed through the night and the hissing and cackling of Demons set their teeth on edge.
"What are they doing? Why can't you get them out too?" Becka whispered in horror.
Dean paused behind a car and turned to her. "Okay, one, you don't want to know what they're doing. Two, we didn't come in here looking for survivors. We came to hunt supplies. If we'd known there was a Demon Prince in residence, we wouldn't have come at all."
"A Demon Prince?" Chad repeated. "That's where they all came from?"
"That'd be my guess," Dean told him. "They tend to follow the big bads around. The bigger the bad, usually the more Demons you find. Now, no more talking."
Once they were clear of the city, Sam and Dean clicked on flashlights and kept a tight grip on their guns.
Philadelphia may have been in ruins, but the area around it had nearly been turned into a moonscape. Nature had slowly started reclaiming the places were the towns and other cities had stood but aside from that, the land was barren. Whatever battle had taken place here had completely remolded the ground, cracking it with deep fissures and forcing up slabs of dirt and rock into miniature mountains.
"Is that a crater?" Becka asked, pointing to a place where the ground fell away into darkness.
Dean swung his light around. "Yup."
"What makes craters like that besides meteors?" Chad asked, pulling Becka close.
Dean gave him a dry look. "Angels."
"Come on, the car is close," Sam told them. "Just hope that's all that's close," he added under his breath.
Dean heard him. "Right," he agreed.
About half an hour later, Dean's light hit on something reflective and relief flooded him. Immediately after that, he brought his gun up.
"What?" Sam asked, mimicking the action and checking behind them.
"I covered the car before we left," Dean reminded him. "Don't play with me!" he yelled the threat into the night.
A lone figure stepped into his light. "Dean. Sam."
"Dad?" Dean exclaimed in shock.
John spared his sons a small smile. "Boys, glad to see you're in one piece."
Sam's shoulders sagged with relief. "Hey, Dad."
"Where'd you find those?" John asked, nodding at Becka and Chad.
"Inside," Dean told him. "Along with a few others that…didn't make it."
John cast a disapproving glance over his oldest son and Sam stiffened, stepping up to Dean's side.
"They ran off when they caught sight of open ground," he told John in a steely voice. "Demons got 'em."
John gave Sam a warning glare, not liking his tone. "What did you plan to do with them?" he asked, looking at Becka and Chad again.
"Get 'em some place safer," Dean replied.
John shook his head. "I'll take them with me."
Dean clenched his jaw at that. "We can handle it, Dad." He felt like a child being told to run along so the grownups could handle the job.
"I know," John told him. "But I need you boys doing something else."
They both straightened up at those words.
"It's okay," Sam told Chad. "You'll be safe with him."
They nodded and walked toward John. Chad kept an arm around Becka as they all followed him to an old truck. They climbed in and John turned back to his sons.
"Do you boys know what a Devil's Gate is?" John asked.
Dean and Sam exchanged startled looks.
"You mean, like a gate to Hell?" Sam asked.
"Yes, Sam, that's exactly what I mean," John answered. "There's a sealed one in Wyoming." He pulled out a map and spread it over the hood of the truck. "It's sitting in the middle of the biggest Devil's Trap I've ever seen," he said, tracing the lines on the map with his finger.
"Railroads," Dean commented approvingly.
"Yeah, you have Samuel Colt to thank for that," John said.
"He locked it down with iron. Smart," Dean said with an appreciative nod.
"Colt? As in…weapons manufacturer?" Sam queried.
John nodded. "He built the locks, but he also made a key. It's a gun. The Demons are all buzzing about it. But it's not just a key, he made bullets to go with it. And supposedly…they can kill anything."
"Well, almost anything."
The three of them spun around, locking their guns on the newcomer.
The man smiled. "Hello John, Dean, Sammy…you've grown up. So good to see all of you." His eyes flashed a sick yellow in the beams of their flashlights.
"You!" Dean breathed dangerously.
Becka screamed inside the truck.
"Stay where you are!" John yelled at them without dropping his eyes.
"Now, John, here I am to do you another favor," Azazel said. "The least you could do is put down the gun. You'll just waste your ammo anyway."
"What's he talking about, Dad?" Sam demanded.
"I let you all go," Azazel replied. "The night of The Fall. Allow me to do you one more favor. Hunt for the gun. I don't care. It'll be a fruitless venture because, like I said, it won't kill everything. But…just be careful during your hunting, that you don't overlook a much closer danger." His eyes glanced over each of them, lingering briefly on Sam. He smirked. "See you soon, John."
He disappeared and they huffed small sighs of relief.
"Fricking Demon," Dean hissed.
"You boys, start hunting for that Colt," John said, gathering up his map. "Keep me updated."
"What did he mean that it won't kill everything?" Sam asked.
"Don't know," John said. "But I know it'll kill him and that's good enough. Watch yourselves."
"Yes sir," Dean said, watching as his dad climbed into the truck and drove away.
"Dean, what was that about?" Sam asked.
"Let's go, Sam," Dean told him and started for the driver door of the Impala.
"Dean!" Sam's voice was earnest now.
Dean stopped and shot him a hard look but deep in his eyes was a plea for Sam to let it go.
"Who. Was. That?" Sam demanded, suddenly feeling afraid.
Dean bowed his head and his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yellow-eyes," he said in a pained voice. "He was there, the night Mom died. Dad said he's the one that killed her. I just remember the fire. How it wasn't there and then it was. Dad gave you to me and he got us outside. Then, when he started to go back in, Yellow-eyes showed up and tried to take you from me. Dad stopped him, but only because he let him. Said he was in a 'good mood' and that if he hadn't been, he would've made Dad watch us die."
Sam stared at him in horror. "How did I not know any of this?"
Dean gave a humorless chuckle. "Well, first, you were six months old," he said. "And then…I didn't want you to know." He climbed into the car.
Sam slid into the passenger seat and Dean started the engine and ran his hands through his wet hair. The rain was still falling steadily, pattering against the windshield.
"I couldn't sleep at night," Dean said quietly.
Sam looked at him, surprised that he was continuing the conversation and shocked by the emotion in his brother's eyes.
"I'd wake up a hundred times because I was convinced that, if I fell asleep, Yellow-eyes would come and take you away," Dean went on with a few forceful blinks. "I'd lost Mom. I couldn't lose you too."
They sat in silence for a moment as Sam waited to see if he would talk more.
"We'll get him, Dean," he promised and there was a chill in his voice, a hardness in his eyes that surprised his older brother. "We'll get this gun, and we'll end him."
Dean nodded, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, we will."
He put the car in gear and they drove away.
"Well, we didn't get any supplies," Sam commented.
"I'm not going back in there," Dean said.
"Me neither," Sam agreed. "So, what now?"
Dean pursed his lips in thought. "Let's find something we can eat. I'm starving."
"Sounds good," Sam said. "You know that wasn't your fault, back there."
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked in a wary tone.
"Back in Philadelphia—"
"Sam, I'm not talking about this," Dean warned.
"It wasn't your fault," Sam repeated emphatically. "What you said back in the van? We'd spent nearly an entire day looking out for that guy and his family and he picked that moment to do what he did. He might have been scared, but it wasn't like that was a new development. Don't blame yourself for that. It's not on you."
Dean shook his head. "Those kids, Sammy…"
Sam nodded. "I know. It's still not on you."
"I don't see it that way," Dean told him.
"I know," Sam nodded again. "We should still have some food back at the house," he said after a moment of silence. "Let's just head back, eat, get some sleep and get moving."
Suddenly, Dean slammed on the brakes and the car slid in the mud. A man stood in the road, hunched over like he was preparing to charge the car and in the glare of the headlights, they could see the claws on his hands and his jagged teeth.
"On second thought," Dean began, sounding oddly pleased, "let's kill us a werewolf."
