Chapter Text
„I’m proud of us.“
Sam grabbed his glass, but found it empty. Again.
He decided not to bother with glasses anymore. Fuck sophisticated. Fuck civilization. He was drunk. Or well, at least he was trying to be.
His hand eye coordination was a bit off. He couldn’t really reach the bottle. Or maybe he just didn’t know anymore which one the real one was.
Sammy started giggling. He’d always been a happy drunk. Dean used to make fun of that. Tears joined the giggles. The giggles turned hysterical.
Sam had never really been one to drink his feelings. That was more Dean’s thing. Or his Dad’s. Or Bobby’s. But sitting there in the bunker, too drunk to notice that he was crying (or giggling for that matter), he decided from now on this would be his way of honoring their deaths: drinking away his consciousness until he was suffocated by his own vomit. And if he was lucky, that would happen soon.
Or he could always reconsider about that driving of a bridge thing.
He had come close the last time Dean had disappeared (Sam liked to think of it as disappearing instead of dying, mainly because his older brother had a way of always coming back – even if he shouldn’t), but really in the end all he had really needed was a reasons to go on. Because he still had had some hope left.
Maybe he should get a dog again. His brother couldn’t really complain, could he? Sam briefly wonders if they let drunks adopt dogs. He should look probably look that up.
Or he could ask Amalia. And tell her about his brother. She would understand.
Had Sammy ever told her, that his brother wasn’t dead? Maybe…
Then again, it wasn’t really the dead thing that bothered Sammy these days, it was the NOT STAYING DEAD part.
It’s been two days, since “I’m proud of us.”
Great last words, by the way. Sam liked them. Maybe he would reuse them for his death.
Except no one would hear him. Damn those hunters for always dying.
Crowley’s face was burned into his brain. The look on his face.
Like he actually cared. Like he actually felt remorse, when he told him what had happened. When he claimed he hadn’t known.
Because behind him stood Dean, more stoic than ever, unmoved by everything going on around him. Like one of the guard’s in front of the Buckingham Palace. What were they called again? Sammy didn’t know. Sammy didn’t care. Sammy was too drunk to care.
All he cared about was Dean with wearing of those hats.
His huge frame was shock by another fit of giggles. Dean would look stupid.
Or maybe not.
From early childhood on, Sam had accepted a few universal truth:
1. His father didn’t care about him.
2. His father cared even less about Dean.
3. They were all Dean cared about.
4. If he did his puppy eyes, he’d get anything. From anyone. Even Dad.
And most importantly 5. No matter the situation, anyone who spent more than ten seconds looking at Dean Winchester fell in love. Or at least lust. Which was why he hated bringing home girlfriends. Or any friends for that matter. Because that was without adding his personality to the equation.
Sam loved his older brother. He adored him. Wanted to be like him.
Instead he became their dad. Life sucked.
Two days ago. Every second was burned into his skull.
He was about to summon Crowley, when the demon appeared, with that stupid look on his face, Dean behind him like an honor guard, eyes black holes of nothingness.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t know, Sam. I just heard rumors, Sam. He’s a demon now, Sam. He’s my first knight, Sam. You don’t have to sell your soul, Sam.”
Sammy felt like dying.
His older brother, the righteous man, whose soul was pure enough to break the first seal, was now a demon, and he, Sam, could do nothing to fix this.
He could never fix anything. Dean always fixed everything.
Except himself. Dean could never be bothered with that.
Stupid self-hate. Stupid self-esteem issues. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Sammy grabbed the bottle again. He drank.
----- x -----
The king of hell sat in his chair and stared down into the arena. For the past two days that’s all he’s been doing. He couldn’t say he was bored. Yet.
Heaven, hell, purgatory – even earth – hat felt it: The awakening of a knight. HIS knight. His first knight. The knight of hell.
Hell had celebrated. Heaven had wept. Purgatory had trembled in fear (wasn’t like they forgot the last time Dean was there to visit). And earth, well, they were confused, as always.
Humans! They were all Jon Snow. They knew nothing. Gotta love them and their ignorance.
Crowley smiled gleefully. Oh, all these non-believers, who had thought him weak. Thought he was en league with the Winchesters. Had thought him a traitor. Oh, how he had shown them. Crowley loved it.
No, he hadn’t known this would happen, but he had hoped. Had hoped, that one day those denim-clad nightmares would be his. And his wish had come true. Or at least half of it.
Now he watched his first knight of hell, Dean Winchester, fighting the best and most loyal demons (and a few he just wanted to see die) he possessed. Because having only one knight was boring. So they would make more.
Oh, it was marvelous. Like a fight club. But without rules (and Brad Pitt, but that was really just a matter of time).
Well, okay, he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone (unless Crowley said otherwise, so it was more like everyone).
Still, it was a massacre. A bloodbath. All his demons were overjoyed.
They had thought him weak, when he stopped torture. Had thought he was no real demon. But Crowley had just tricked them.
Though, it was true. With him as king of hell, fewer souls did get tortured. But the torture they got was far more effective. Crowley was a good king of hell. Even Lucifer had respected him, after all.
Crowley smiled. Everything was good in hell.
----- x -----
Castiel stood in his favorite heaven – the Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in his bathtub in 1953 - enjoying the quiet. He was finally alone. At least for the moment.
Castiel had been standing there for two days, not once moving, while all most of heaven’s angels came by to ask for direction. He hadn’t spoken once.
The angels, of course, were mourning. They were confused. They were afraid. Like sheep without a Sheppard after smelling a wolf.
Of course, no one seemed to consider Castiel’s feelings in all of this. As generally good as angels may be, they were also incredibly selfish. They believed Castiel could lead them, so he was expected to lead them, whether he wanted to or not. After all, the angels NEEDED someone to lead them and, once again, they had decided to give this honor to him. It seemed like the logical conclusion.
If he were human, he would have snorted in disgust or laughed, but he wasn’t human, so he just sat there, unmoving, enjoying this beautiful Tuesday afternoon. But, like all beautiful things, his quiet time should soon come to an end.
The new visitor though, didn’t say a word at first. He didn’t ask questions. He just stood next to him.
Until he couldn’t take it anymore. Gabriel had never been one to stay quiet for long. He preferred the chatter of Ash’s roadhouse by far to this heaven. If patience was a virtue, he surely did not possess it. And neither did god, for that matter. After all creating a universe in seven days? If he’d just taken some more time for everything, maybe the world wouldn’t be as flawed. Just saying.
“Well, this is mildly boring, don’t cha think?” He announced after endless minutes of staring into space. “I’m happy to inform you, most of our brothers and sisters have returned home. Not that you don’t know that already, right? They all seemed rather keen on visiting you and most of them preferred to ignore me, if you can believe that!”
“Oh Cassie, why so blue? It’s like someone has died!” Gabriel laughed at his own lame attempt at humor, but quickly sobered again. It wasn’t like he had never lost anyone before. Angels may take longer to form attachments (or generally develop any kind of feeling), but once they were there, they were here to stay. “Now, come on, put a smile on your face. If you want my help fixing this mess, you’ll have to cheer up, mate! Light up those pretty blue eyes that make all the girls go crazy! And boys.”
“And how do expect to fix this?” Castiel’s voice was barely a whisper, but Gabriel still counted it as a win. He HAD spoken after all.
“Now you’re just being cruel, Brother! You wound me deeply!” And then with a wink and snap he teleported them away.
----- x -----
Funnily enough not too far from Castiel’s very silent favorite heaven a door was ripped open so violently, the bang with which it hit the wall was nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of the ripper yelling: “Idjits!”
Chuck Shurley, who set on his usual chair at the bar of Ash’s Roadhouse, filched. Other than that, no one really reacted to Bobby’s antics. By now everyone was used to them.
Besides: All of them were hunters. If they’d be scared so easily, well, they’d be killed rather fast – not that they weren’t all in fact dead, but: technicalities.
Bobby walked up to the bar, his wife following him slowly, and took the bear the younger man, Ash, already had prepared for him. “So the news has reached ya after all?” He asked with a smile. “How about we find a solution, then?”
“Swear, as long as those boys are still alive, I’ll never gonna retire. I finally go to heaven and how to I spent my time? Cleaning up their messes! Because I didn’t have enough of that being alive.” Agreeing sounds followed Bobby’s declaration. The way things were going though, Ash thought to himself, he couldn’t see the brothers dying and staying dead any time soon – or at all. Then again he didn’t wanna imagine how much worse everything would be once they did.
Of course, Ash didn’t voice any of those thoughts out loud. He was surrounded by hunters after all - if anyone knew those truths, it was them.