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Once it becomes clear that the brothers aren’t going to break, the angels and demons begin different methods of persuasion. Bobby is the first to go, and they arrive back to his home to find nothing but a wheelchair on its side, wheels spinning.
“You will say ‘yes’ to me,” Michael tells Dean in a dream. “It is written.”
Castiel is killed by a demon with an angel sword. There is some sort of irony in that but neither Dean nor Sam can be bothered to look for it. Instead they mourn their friend, and Dean clutches a golden amulet in his hand and promises never to yield.
“They won’t fight until you say ‘yes’,” the demon spits at Sam. “The more you prolong it, the worse it gets.”
Croatoan is unleashed upon the world. They hunt down Pestilence but it makes no difference as cities begin to fall. Still they continue to say ‘no’.
The first clue they get that something is off occurs when two hunters sneak up on them and shoot them with shotguns. They wake hours later, alive.
At first the brothers write the event off as a fluke, but then the nightmares catch up.
Half a year later the pagan gods stab Sam in the chest. He wakes up with a heaving breath, the scent of hell still clinging to his skin and the word ‘no’ on his tongue.
“Lucifer killed Gabriel,” Dean greets him.
“I know,” Sam whispers. “He told me.”
They find a camp of refugee survivors. It turns out they’re taking orders from the Whore of Babylon. In the fight to kill her Dean is thrown against the wall and his neck snapped.
“I’m sorry,” the priest consoles Sam as he sits silently by the body.
“He’ll be back,” Sam whispers.
Seven hours later Dean jolts awake as if electrocuted, and if he flinches from bright lights and silver swords Sam doesn’t say anything.
He wonders which is worse. Being tortured in hell or being tortured in heaven.
Yet still ‘no’ is the only answer the angels and demons get. Michael and Lucifer remain without their vessels.
The world continues to end, slowly, painfully, and screaming all the way.
Suddenly it is fifty years later and neither of them are surprised that they still look around thirty. People tell stories in the camps they pass through of monsters and angels. The whispers follow them around, and everybody knows their name, but know not whether to hail them as heroes or curse them as villains.
They long since abandoned the Impala on the side of the road. There’s no gas, and not much road left that’s drivable. Dean casts it one sorrowful look before walking away, but he doesn’t look back.
They walk among the dead now, for they are the dead.
The past fifty years have taken their toll on the pair. Many times one has considered giving in only to relent to the brother’s pleas because they both know that if one falls the other will quickly follow. The only reason they are still refusing is each other. Dean has prayed to Michael, only to have Sam drag him away just in time. Sam’s dreams are haunted by Lucifer, and he bites his lip as Dean wakes him before the word slips out.
Anna shows up. She kills Sam, tears him apart. Three days later Sam is back, screaming of hell fire and the pit. The brothers are forced to move on once more.
They meet up with Crowley at one point, waxing on about the rings of the horsemen, the three of which sit over Dean’s chest next to his amulet. Famine was easily dealt with, though the demon blood took Sam several weeks to recover from.
“I can find you Death,” Crowley pleads to them.
Sam laughs, and there is madness in his eyes. “Death stalks us,” he bites back. “Leave, demon. We’re not dealing with you.”
Dean sits in silence. They don’t talk much anymore. They can communicate well enough without words. Then again, Dean hasn’t spoken since the last time he woke from where a vampire ripped out his throat. His last words had been a hoarse scream to Michael, begging and pleading and endless litanies of ‘no’ and not a single ‘yes’ before he fell silent, shaking and shivering and flinching away from the heat.
Sam doesn’t like the ice. Hell burns with ice, and he can’t bear the cold. At night he curls up next to Dean for warmth, even while Dean flinches away from the fire.
“We want you to leave,” a man at the camp they are staying at stares at them with the same mix of reverence and fear that all the other people do. He’s the only one brave enough to voice his opinion.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” Sam says, wearily.
“You’ll leave now,” the man snaps, and pulls out a gun, already cocked. Dean might not speak, but he still protects his brother and he steps in front as the guy pulls the trigger. Dean crumples to the floor.
“Dean!” Sam screams, because watching his brother die never got any easier.
“Good riddance,” the man sniffs, because no one ever really believes that the brothers are immortal. He looks at the body, and thinks ‘dead is dead’ and stalks off.
Sam doesn’t leave. He sits there cradling his brother, huddled near the fire for warmth and trying to ignore the bitter cold of winter that seeps into his bones. In his mind he can hear the bitter screams of hell and wonders how Dean managed for forty years there.
It varies each time he dies. Once he was there for three years, but another time it was barely a month. There must be a limit, because he’s never been there for longer than five years. He doesn’t tell Dean, but he knows that Dean knows, and he knows that Dean knows that he knows.
It’s the same with his older brother, and the way he doesn’t mention how long he spends each time in heaven before they send him back, but he can still tell. Just the same way that they used to laugh over happy memories to keep them going, but now for every memory Sam brings up Dean flinches and can’t remember it correctly. Heaven is made up of memories, and the angels are slowly tearing them apart bit by bit until Dean has no reason left to say ‘no’.
They used to erase their memories of both heaven and hell, but now they don’t bother, tormenting them even when the pair are far away from their clutches.
Sam can’t remember why he keeps saying ‘no’ only that he does.
It takes Dean thirty-six hours to wake. The man who shot him sneers at him cradling Dean’s body. He doesn’t move. It’s not exactly like he’s going to die from not eating anything, and the last time he died, Dean sat there with three inch deep slash marks from the bloodthirsty Croat without treating them.
His brother is resurrected with a cry that brings the camp occupants running. The man who shot him goes pale as Sam tries to calm Dean’s thrashings, the endless pleas of ‘no no Michael please no don’t no no no no!’.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Sam says, as Dean finally stops, lying there like the dead and shivering violently. He helps his brother to his feet and the crowd parts, silently.
It is fifty years since Sam and Dean opened the cage, like two halves of a whole breaking the first and last seal. It is fifty years since all their friends died and the end of the world began.
The world was still ending.
“I think…” Dean speaks one night for the first time in years by the fire in the middle of nowhere Wyoming. They were vaguely trying to head for the Devil’s Gates for protection from the demons at the very least. “I can’t remember why we’re saying ‘no’.”
Sam doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know either. Only last week hell hounds dragged him back to the pit, and the cries still echo in his ears.
“Do you think it would be so bad… if we said ‘yes’?” and they’ve been down this road before so, so many times.
“I don’t want the world to end,” Sam whispers.
Dean contemplates the fire for a moment. “Bobby managed to overcome Meg when she possessed him.”
“It wasn’t Meg,” Sam replies lifelessly. “It was one of her grunts.”
“Still,” Dean hums some random key notes of Metallica. “Do you think we could manage that? Overpower Michael and Lucifer?”
“I couldn’t overpower Meg when she possessed me,” Sam replies, but it’s neither a ‘yes’ nor a ‘no’.
The night draws on and somewhere, something howls.
Months later it comes to a head. It is now sixty six years since the final seal broke, not that either brother knows that, because if they did they wouldn’t appreciate the irony. A group of people sold them out to the angels and demons, who after years of their leaders in makeshift vessels (Adam and Nick had long since burned out) finally decided to work together to get what they want. They try the torture, and the killing of each brother in front of the other, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before.
Finally the archangels in question stalk forwards towards where the pair slump on the ground, back to back at the very end.
“Why do you continue to defy us?” Michael asks with infinite sadness. His vessel is a dark haired third cousin or something, and already his face is half burned away.
“Why do you continue to chase us?” Sam asks, so, so tired.
“Dude,” Dean wheezes from behind him, “Take a hint and back off. We’re not interested.”
“You say that now,” Lucifer smirks. ‘He’ is a ‘she’ with a lithe young woman smirking at them. She tilts her head at them mockingly. “I think it’s time to stop running, boys. Play your part.”
Sam can feel Dean sag behind him and he gropes blindly for his brother’s hand. He finds it for a moment, and then it’s gone, but that is all that he needs.
“Okay,” he sighs.
Lucifer takes a moment to process that. “What?” she blinks.
“We said ‘okay’,” Dean continues.
Michael steps forwards, eyes gleaming eagerly. “You have to say it,” his voice is filled with anticipation.
In the same moment Dean and Sam look up to meet the gazes of the two archangels and the same word leaves their mouth.
“Yes.”
The people and demons watching are vaporised instantly as the archangels spread their wings and claim their hosts, eager and uncaring of the observers in the light of this success. Dean keels forwards until he is kneeling, screaming at the white, bright light of the archangel… it’s like being thrown into the sun.
Sam finds soft icy wings wrapped around him and he’s standing, something else controlling his movements like a puppet and for a moment he thinks of Dean’s Master of Puppets Metallica song with some sort of weird empathy before the ice freezes until it burns and he feels the rest of the fallen angel sink into him.
Dean’s limbs move against his will, moving for the sword and for the battle and for Lucifer, but he struggles and fights with strength he didn’t know he had left. The fire rages, all duty and discipline and order but he can’t he won’t not Sammy won’t kill Sam any but Sam and Michael pauses, almost unsure and then continues to move. Through stolen eyes he can see Sam standing still, Lucifer staring at Michael but through Lucifer’s eyes he can see Sam, and the devil pauses, shaking his head and not moving, even as Michael falls back to his knees screaming.
Kill fight Lucifer good son paradise not Sam never Sam I won’t let you stop stop no no no not Sam and white light seeps out around him as he screams. Sam shakes his head and the eyes change from Lucifer to Sam and back again and his hands curl into fists.
Dean sucks in a breath and looks up and meets Sam’s gaze. His soul is burning in grace and fire and Michael’s cries and he can see Sam is cold and frozen in Lucifer’s ice. Their gazes meet and Sam sinks to floor as Lucifer’s wings burst from his back in white light, pierced through with snow crystals. Dean can feel Michael’s own wings of fire and bronze molten gold spread, and the light is bright and burning and the last thing he sees is Sam, just Sam, before his eyes close.
Above them the sun burns and somewhere, chained and bound by two mortal souls, Michael and Lucifer scream in frustration.
The sun finally dies as the light grows overpowering and the world breaths a breath it didn’t know it had been holding.
That is how the world ends.
This is how it continues.
Souls are infinite power and the tangle of souls and grace and purpose wrapped into a very human body reaches out through the light and the darkness and...
And everything resets and it’s 2011 and Gabriel wakes knowing something is wrong.
(And on an empty highway a black impala sits with two brothers perched on the hood with invisible wings strewn behind them and a mutilated mess of soul and grace twisted into human shape and Dean smiles at Sam over a beer with the sun in the sky above them and what is left of Michael and Lucifer stir feebly and is brutally squashed down.)
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“What the hell?”
“I don’t know.”
Gabriel watches from afar as events unfurl. It is 2011 and one second it was the Apocalypse and he could feel the strands of Grace from Michael and Lucifer as they were stretching their wings in preparation for the big prize fight while the vessels and their pet angel run around trying to do something to stop it, and the next thing he knows is that Michael and Lucifer are gone with a gap where they used to be and the vessels aren’t around.
The only explanation that makes sense is that the pair both said ‘yes’ and then somehow managed to end up back in the cage, but Gabriel had been keeping track of the horsemen, and while three of them had met their untimely end at the hand of something or other, Death had until recently been raising zombies and killing people in Illinois.
That was, until Gabriel had awoken to find everything was different. Death was gone too, his chain snapped, leash broken.
And Sam and Dean are nowhere to be found.
That’s to be expected, given the sigils on their ribs, but when combined with the ruckus on angel radio as they reported Michael gone, and the panic the demons were in over the disappearance of Lucifer, and the general confusion from little Castiel and the human-in-the-wheelchair who had once tried to stab him with a wooden stake…
Then again, lots of people had tried to stab him with a wooden stake. A few had even succeeded.
Not that it ever stuck.
He lounges around Singer’s house and listens in as Bobby tries and fails to phone one of the brothers. The number is disconnected, as if it was never in service.
It leaves only one conclusion.
The four star players of the Apocalypse have vanished and nobody has a fucking clue where to start looking for them.
He hangs around the other pagans, hoping to hear something on the rumour mill. Kali tries (and succeeds) to stab him with a can of orange soda and so he decides to leave that and not to poke it with a ten foot pole. And finally he stops and wonders what he has to do now there’s nothing to run from and nowhere to run to.
He pops into the prophet’s house uninvited. Then again the man probably knew from a dream so it’s not like it’s a surprise.
Chuck is in the lounge and he walks through to the desk where Gabriel is leafing through manuscripts. “It’s that one,” he points tiredly to a completed work. The archangel raises one eyebrow and grabs it, leafing through. He gets the gist of it pretty quickly, even without his magical angel superpowers.
The world went to hell. The pair continued to say ‘no’ right up until they finally said ‘yes’. And that’s where Gabriel can’t make sense of the writing, because according to what Chuck has written they actually managed to not only overpower Michael and Lucifer, but they somehow managed to harness the archangel’s power to fix the world.
He is aware of eyes on him and he looks up to see Dean leaning wearily on the doorframe behind Chuck.
“What happened?” he asks stiffly, his eyes taking in Michael’s wings that spread invisible from Dean’s shoulders. A shadow shifts and he spots Sam, still six foot four and with wings of ice folded up against his back.
“I don’t know.” Dean shrugs one shoulder and the molten bronze metal fire wings flutter.
“What the hell?” he drops the papers, snarling at them and taking an aggressive step forwards.
Dean holds up on hand to stop him, or maybe in defence, but there is a twist of Michael beneath the skin and so Gabriel stops as he repeats: “I don’t know.”
“Michael?” Gabriel peers at Dean, and then to Sam looming behind. “Lucifer?”
“Not really,” Sam says quietly.
“Can I?” Gabriel gestures for them to step forwards and after casting each other wary glances, a thousand words flowing silently between them in that one look, the humans step forwards. His palm presses against their chests, and his eyes close. He vaguely is aware of Chuck making coffee, and then adding some strong alcohol to it, but his focus is all on the souls of the two humans.
Or more rather… what is left of the souls… Usually he has to search or look deeply to find the human nuclear reactors but whatever happened to the pair has their souls near the surface. He can feel a faint hum, but he can tell that it isn’t from their souls. It’s from the grace… Michael’s fire and Lucifer’s ice burn so brightly it almost threatens to overwhelm the soul light. Their souls aren’t broken, or torn apart, but more rather stretched thin into chains that would match Gleipnir in strength, wrapped around grace that rests within them.
His eyes open but he doesn’t take his palms away. The pair watch him uneasily, but he can see that they already know what happened. “You chained them down.” He whispers. “They’re still chained down. How long can you…” he swallows, because he knows that the only way Michael and Lucifer are getting free is if the brothers let them, because the only other way is to break their way out through soul and spirit, and that would shatter everything, breaking the delicate balance.
“They used to fight more,” Sam sighs. “But less and less now... And it becomes easier and easier to draw on their power.”
Gabriel steps back suddenly, alarmed. “You realise you have their…” he gestures at the ice and fire wings.
There is a rustle of feathers and Michael’s wings fold down. He blinks, and then corrects himself, as Dean’s wings fold away. Michael and Lucifer were gone.
Then again, so were Sam and Dean.
What was left standing in front of him… that was something new… a mix of the two.
He felt a bemused smile appear on his face, and then it froze in sudden realisation.
Technically Sam and Dean were now his brothers.
Who would have thought it, huh? Sam and Dean Winchester, Hell's Prince and Heaven's General.
Taking a sip of his alcohol laced coffee, Chuck let out a small smirk and turned away.
“The Campbells?” Bobby peers suspiciously at the four hunters. “Any relation to Mary Campbell?”
The old guy’s head snaps up. “She’s my daughter,” he whispers, “Why… where is she? Do you know what happened to her?”
The grizzled hunter eyes the four in front of him. The Campbell clan used to be bigger apparently, but demons used to have a thing for hunting them down one by one. The fact that most demons acted under the orders of one with yellow-eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Bobby. “She’s been dead nearly thirty years now,” he frowns, “I know her sons.”
There is surprise at that, and the one cousin, Gwen, asks, “She had children?”
Bobby nods, staring at the man who must be the brother’s grandfather. “Two boys. Sam and Dean Winchester. I practically adopted those kids whenever their daddy left them here.”
“Where are they now?” the older man asks.
“And who are you meant to be again?”
The bald guy stops short. “Samuel Campbell,” he repeats. “You said you had some information about the alpha vampire.”
Bobby nods slowly. “I haven’t seen Sam and Dean in a year,” he replies, stiffly. “Last thing I heard it was the Apocalypse and they were staying on the low from angels and demons and horsemen. Next thing I know the End of Days is over and the pair have vanished off the face of the earth.”
“But…” one of the guys, Christian, screws his face up in a frown, “You just said you were like their father. So why haven’t they phoned you or let you know they’re not dead?”
Bobby shrugs, “I’d give you their numbers but their phones are disconnected. All ten of them. Now…” he pulls out a manila folder, “About that vampire…”
They shoot him looks but he ignores them, feeling his chest grow tight at the few possibilities that Castiel had offered him for where Sam and Dean were. One possibility and the preferred option considering the situation was that they were dead, and their souls in Heaven or Hell or somewhere in between. The less favourable options involved them still being playthings for Michael and Lucifer, although whether they were possessed or merely being toyed with until their inevitable consent was unclear, because the world hadn’t ended yet, and it didn’t look like it was going to anymore.
Bobby helps the Campbells and their hunter friends with the vampire nest. He pretends not to see the vampire they chain down in the van drugged up on dead man’s blood. He pretends he isn’t tracking where they take it, and pulls up outside the old warehouse. He pretends he isn’t loitering or breaking and entering when he picks the lock and sneaks inside.
He pretends he doesn’t miss the companionship of Sam and Dean in moments like this.
There are cages filled with monsters, each bloodied and near death. Even monsters shouldn’t be kept like that, he thinks, and keeps walking.
There is the sound of a gun being cocked and he stops, turning slowly and spotting Samuel standing there, the two still living cousins behind him.
“Robert Singer,” Samuel peered at him over the gun in a manner creepily reminiscent of Dean. “I don’t recall inviting you to this part of the hunt.”
“That’s okay,” another, suave British voice chimes in, “He’s with me. Isn’t that right, sweetie?” And Bobby doesn’t want to turn to look at the stupid red eyed crossroads demon that may or may not have had something to do with the use of his legs.
“Crowley,” he growls and he can see Gwen look surprised at the demon’s appearance, but Christian just blinks black eyes and Bobby can’t say he’s surprised.
“Hello sweet cheeks,” said demon smirks, “Say, I was wondering… have you heard from Moose or Squirrel recently..? Word is they took down Michael and Lucifer into some sort of death trap that they didn’t make it out of. I wondered if you could correct assumptions…”
“I don’t know where they are,” Bobby spits. “What are you doing with these monsters?”
“Expansion and development,” the demon smirks, turning and stalking to a large room at the end. Bobby follows, although not willingly as Samuel pressed the gun against the back of his neck.
“Getting hunters to work for you now?” Bobby sneers, because he is pretty sure Samuel used to be dead.
“They hunt their monsters, and I deal with them. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Crowley examines his finger nails.
“And you do what? Torture them for kicks?”
“For information…”
“On what..? Lego Land..?”
“Purgatory...” Crowley sneers. “Where the monsters go when they die… it’s vast, full of souls and most importantly, hell adjacent and I want it.”
“You’re working with a demon!” Gwen finally hisses out, but her angry rant is relayed by the flutter of wings.
“Ah, Castiel,” Crowley turns towards the sound with a smile which drops almost instantly off his face at the sight of Sam and Dean Winchester.
Bobby’s jaw drops open, but the pair doesn’t look at him. Instead Sam strides forwards and Crowley doesn’t even try to do something as one hand pins Crowley to the wall by his throat. “How dare you?” Sam hisses, head tilting to one side. “You… a filthy flea bitten punk ass crossroads demon… and you claim the throne of Hell for yourself…?”
“Moose,” Crowley chokes out, “Nice to see you to... Glad to know you’re so interested in Hell politics…” he coughs a little.
With a disgusted snarl Sam drops Crowley in a pile, “I should be,” he snaps, “It’s mine. Do you understand that, demon? Hell is mine and if I find you with your filthy smoke stained hands on it again I will rip you into shreds.”
“I’d listen to him,” Dean points out conversationally, but there’s a strange glint in his eyes and his head tilts in the same manner Sam’s did. “Because if he doesn’t kill you I will, and believe me… he had to learn his tricks from somewhere.”
Crowley stands, brushing off his suit. “Rude,” he mutters, “You boys have no concept of politics. With Lucifer gone, the spot of Hell King is vacant. I simply moved in to take his place.”
Sam begins pacing back and forth, and he laughs, and it’s a bitter, cold thing. “What makes you think that Lucifer is gone?” he smirks, and the lights flicker and Crowley’s face freezes.
“You see,” Dean takes a step towards Crowley. “There are all these rumours about what happened to Michael and Lucifer… but do you want to know the truth? Hmm?” he paces towards Crowley like a cat, sleek and at perfect ease. For the first time since he met the brothers, Bobby feels a fraction of fear as watching Dean stalk like a predator towards his prey. “You see Michael and Lucifer are… well… they’re gone.” He shrugs casually. “We ripped them apart,” he continues and Bobby chokes on nothing.
“We said ‘yes’,” Sam steps forwards, “And then we chained them down. We… two humans, chained down the archangels ripping apart our own souls to do so.”
“And so now they’re gone and well…” Dean's lip curls up in a lopsided grin, “We’re left. And you’re in our way.” There is a lick of gold that curls in his iris and the air hazes behind his shoulders and Crowley looks terrified.
“Did you practise that speech?” he asks and Sam turns from where he is pacing to glance over his shoulder at the demon.
“You have two options.” Sam lays them out for the demon, “You go back to managing the crossroads, or you start running. Now. And in ten minutes Meg will set her dogs on you.”
“I…” Crowley holds up his hands in a surrender motion, “I don’t think there is any need for that, boys…” he laughs weakly. “I… I think I need to surrender to your superior firepower, Moose…”
Dean snarls, and shoves Crowley back against the wall, and a silver sword materialises from somewhere, pressed against his throat. “You’ll surrender,” Dean says evenly, “Because it’s the only thing that is going to save your sorry ass. Because you know that my brother and I can end you with one thought. You know that we can tear down countries and burn this pathetic hunk of stone and rock to the ground. And we will.” With a final shove Dean pulls away and between one blink and the next he is gone in the sound of wings.
“Great,” Sam glares at Crowley, “You pissed him off. Again. Thank you,” and he spins around, but pauses and looks back towards Bobby. “Uh…” he actually quails a bit, before pulling out a number and shoving it at him. “We kind of fried the phones. And the car actually. Dean was sad.” Then he too is gone, and poor Bobby is torn between feeling relieved that they are okay, terrified that Sam and Dean are now in a sense archangels, and worried because … well... they were his boys. It was his job to worry.
“Is it me or do they both seem to be going through one of those phases?” Crowley suggests weakly.