Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 23rd, 2031 

“That’s a horrible plan,” Cas said. 

“We have to do something!” Sam cried out, pacing back and forth the old wooden floor. “We can’t just sit here!” 

“What can we do?” Jack asked. “Everyone’s gone. All of them. They’re- they’re all de-” 

“I know that!” Sam snapped. He instantly regretted his harsh tone at the way Jack flinched. “I’m sorry, I just...” 

“It’s okay, I get it,” Jack said. “I miss them too.” 

Sam sighed, falling into a chair. “I was supposed to protect them. I was in charge of them.” 

“Sam, there was nothing that you could’ve done,” Cas told him. “We all knew that it would happen eventually. It was only a matter of time.” 

“Yeah,” Jack said, nodding. “It’s amazing that we lasted as long as we did.” 

“Well we should’ve lasted longer,” Sam said, quickly getting back up and looking over the shelves of books. “Maybe we could find a way in, figure out how to disguise ourselves? Maybe one of the books we saved has a spell. Dammit, if Rowena’s books didn’t get burnt, or if she was still here, we could’ve-” 

“She’s dead,” Cas cut him off in a stern tone. It hurt to admit, but they all knew it was true. “There’s nothing we can do, Sam. It’s just us now.” 

Sam looked over at him, frowning. “What? Cas, you can’t be serious.” 

“What are we meant to do?” Jack asked anxiously. “It’s useless.” 

“You too Jack?” Sam said, looking from Jack to Cas, and back at Jack again. “You’re just... giving up?” 

“We’ve been fighting for over 10 years, Sam,” Cas was shaking his head. “We’ve given all we’ve got, and he has only gotten stronger. At the start, we might’ve had a chance, but now...” 

Sam turned away from them, staring out the dusty window. It was tinted brown from years of collected dust and dirt that seemed to cover every inch of this place. He sighed, bowing his head. 

“I miss him.” 

He didn’t need to say it for them to know what he was talking about. He had been gone for years, yet a piece of him clung to them no matter what they did. It didn’t help that his face seemed to haunt them all wherever they went. 

“I know that- that he's probably dead, but... but I guess a part of me still hopes- or thinks, that he’s still alive.” 

Sam had lost everything now. First Dean, then Bobby, then Mary, then Eileen and everyone else. His loss of Eileen had only been three days ago, and though he had refused to say a word about her, it was clear that he missed her. They had been together for 10 years, and she had been killed in seconds. 

“I know,” Cas said. “I miss him too. We all miss him. But it’s not worth risking everything for him.” 

“It’s not just him that I want to fight for,” Sam said firmly. “It’s everyone. Cas, it’s never been just for Dean. He’s my brother, and I love him, but in the big picture, he’s just one person. I want to do this for the entire world, humans and monsters alike.” 

Cas stared at him for a long moment. “Sam, you’re telling me that you want to risk your life for a plan that might not even work?” 

Sam looked at him, properly looked at him, with more honesty and determination than Cas had ever seen on a Winchester before.  

“If there’s a chance,” Sam said, “Even if it’s almost impossible - if there’s even a tiny chance that I could save the world... I’d risk my life any day. Doing something with a chance of winning is better than not doing anything and letting the world be damned. We’ve fought Michael before. I think... I think we can do it again.” 

------

Sunday, November 3rd, 2031 

A bitter wind blew past like ice on his skin. Two headstones stood tall in the dry, forgotten, garden, one grave freshly covered in dirt while the other lay untouched. They only had one body to bury.  

It was a pitiful sight. The garden in which they had been buried had been untouched for who knows how long, and the plants were all dry and dead. D.W, the first gravestone read, and the second one, S.W. 

If only they had been able to make the two a proper funeral. If anyone deserved it, it was them. 

Cas had considered burning Sam’s bones, give him a proper hunter’s funeral, like he’d want, but he hadn't suggested it to Jack. Secretly, they both still had a glimmer of hope that somehow Sam would come back to life. He always had, why would now be the end? 

Cas felt Jack’s eyes on him. He ignored this, unable to take his own eyes off what was in front of him.  

“What are we meant to do now?” Jack asked in a small voice. “Without Sam, we-” he shut his mouth and looked away.  

What now? That was a question that Cas didn’t have an answer to. 

Jack was all he had left now. He missed Sam. He missed Jody, he missed Bobby, he missed Charlie, Donna, Rowena, Meg, hell even Crowley. Everyone who had ever helped him more than once had only gotten killed. 

More than anything, he missed Dean. He loved him more than he had ever loved someone before, and he never got to say it aloud before it was ripped away from him. 

“I’m going inside,” Jack said quietly. Cas didn’t reply. Jack left. 

---- 

Wednesday, December 27th, 2445 

Castiel was alone. Sam was still dead. Jack was dead. Dean was still lost to the world. Cas was still alone. The world kept turning, but nothing had changed. 

A tortoise crept across the room, slowly making its way toward Cas. 54 years ago, he and Jack had found a trashed tortoise nest. This not-so-little guy was the only survivor. Jack had insisted that they take it home, saying that it was just like them. Alone, lost, hurt. The tortoise was deemed Fergus. He had been Jack’s pride and joy.  

Cas existed in an old, small castle. It had been empty for a long time before he, Sam, and Jack had found it. Jack and Cas had been the only ones who lived there since discovering it. They had filled the library shelves with the few books they had saved from the bunker and others that Jack had written himself.  

Jack had used his spare time wisely. He had found an old paint kit and taught himself to paint. He had learnt how to take care of the garden, growing flowers and fruits and vegetables of all kinds. He had written down stories about everyone that was important to them, apparently to keep their memory alive.  

When Cas asked him why he bothered, when he told him that the only ones who’d ever read the books would be himself and Jack, the Nephilim had only smiled in reply.

The walls were covered in paintings, the shelves were scattered with books, and the garden still thrived even now. Even after death, Jack was still everywhere, glowing brighter than even the Morningstar himself.

Christmas came and went. That’s how it always was. 

He couldn’t go into town yet, not so soon after Christmas and so soon before New Years. It was a risk he couldn’t take. They’d be setting up for New Years, and everyone knew how that went. 

He closed the book and stood up to return it to its place.  

Suddenly, a strange feeling came over Castiel. It was something he had felt before, but not for a long, long time. It was like a sparkle, a whisper in his ear, a light flashing at the corner of his eye. A presence. 

He turned around. 

“Hello Castiel,” said the angel.  

For a moment, Cas was speechless with fear, because Michael had found him. After all these centuries, he had finally found him, and he was going to either kill him or torture him until he begged to be killed. 

And then he looked at the angel again and realised that he wasn’t right, but he wasn’t wrong either. 

This was not that Michael. This was the Michael.  

The original Michael. He was alive. 

He was out of the cage. 

Chapter Text

Monday December 25th , 2445  

{Two Days Earlier}

“Hurry up! We don’t have all day!” Michael yelled, his voice booming over the hushed chatter of the monsters below. “You should all know how this works by now!”

A surge of energy ran through the ground, sending a shiver up his spine. Michael smiled, breathing it in and letting it travel through his veins. 

Ah, Christmas. There was no better day than it. Reapers rushing around to collect the mountains of souls piling through, humans hurrying to their houses to cower inside, angels patrolling every street all over the world, killing any and all humans and monsters that were foolish enough to be found.

As useful as the monsters were, they had souls just as powerful as a human’s. After all, that’s exactly what they had been. Killing a few thousand monsters each year wasn’t a problem. He could make more just as easily, and it was so entertaining to watch.

He watched with a twisted grin as the reapers gingerly placed each new soul into the machine, keeping it whirring consistently. Each new soul meant new power, and new power meant new worlds to burn.

By now, he had destroyed 87 different worlds. He would have destroyed more if he had enough soul power to open it every year, and not every 8 years. He could have destroyed more if failure wasn’t such a common thing. There was always a problem. Sometimes the portal didn’t open, sometimes the portal did open but it opened to a world he had already been to, sometimes the portal took him to a world that had been destroyed, sometimes some idiot screwed the whole process up.

This would all be a lot easier if he had an archangel other than himself. He would be able to use their grace instead of wasting years on gathering enough souls to match the power of the amount of grace. 

His grace alone wouldn’t work to keep it open for long enough to destroy the entire world. Occasionally, he’d find a world where there were archangels that were still alive. He had drained each of their grace in a few days. They were all useless now. They weren’t even useful entertainment.

It would be even easier than that if he had the Black Grimoire. With that book, he could keep the door open for so much longer. He had been searching for it for centuries, to no avail.

This year, he will be able to get to a new world. Power blasted through the earth every few minutes, causing earthquakes all over the globe. Michael couldn’t care less. More souls for him.

“Keep going!” He ordered the angels who were in charge of tearing each soul open in order to harness the power. It was almost like a coconut. He smiled at the comparison.

“Uh, s- sir?”

Michael’s smile fell. He turned to the angel who spoke to him. Ah. Daniel. One of Raphael’s old servants.

“What is it?” he asked, already growing impatient.

“T- there’s a slight problem,” Daniel stammered, shrinking in on himself under Michael’s piercing gaze. “It’s about Hell, sir, it’s-”

“Have they finally opened their doors?” Michael interrupted the pathetic thing.

Daniel trembled, shaking his head quickly. “No sir. It’s-”

“Then what use are you to me?!” he shouted. “If it isn’t affecting me right now, I do not care!”

“Yes sir,” Daniel nodded, straightening up. “My apologies, sir.”

“And tell your buddies that the next time one of them comes to me with useless information I will throw them in the dungeons and torture them myself.”

“Yes sir.”

Daniel flew away without another word. Weak thing.

Thwack. A rock bounced off the wall, tumbling across the stone floor. 

Thwack. Another rock bounced off the wall.  

Thwack. Again. 

Lucifer groaned, flicking another rock at the wall, in which a target was roughly carved in. Every rock he flung hit the centre before scattering across the floor. He huffed, standing up and carrying himself to another room. 

This section, he liked to call the prison. Tens of thousands of marks, covering the walls. He snatched a rock off the floor, making his 155938th mark for the new day.  

155939 days stuck here.

Wow. Time moves slow as hell. 

He could carve out another room with his blade. Or learn to carve out statues. Become the modern-day Michelangelo.  

The renaissance artist, not the ninja turtle. A ninja turtle would be cool though. 

Centuries ago, not long after Michael took over the world, Lucifer found himself right back in said world, when he should’ve been very much dead. Nick had been so desperate that he brought Lucifer back to life, and now he was stuck in this miserable world. At first, he had been overjoyed, but that joy was quickly erased as the world slowly got torn apart. 

Lucifer had tried to escape back to Hell, but they had shut the doors before he could make it. He retreated to a cave, deep down in the earth, where he had stayed since. 

He wished that Nick had just left him there. He wished someone had stopped that human before he was brought back. He wished God had never left. He wished he was dead again. Anything was better than this hell. Except torture. That was the only bright side to hiding away. 

Suddenly, an explosive surge of power trembled through the ground, so strong and sudden it made him jump as it shook through his grace. 

Ah. It must be Christmas. 

Lucifer shook himself off and couldn’t help but wonder what the world looked like now. He imagined it had only gotten worse, with that sadistic tyrant ruling the world. At this point, earth must be as bad as hell. Possibly worse. 

Every Christmas, a surge of power would rush through earth. He didn’t know what it was that caused it, but he assumed that it was something to do with Michael. That douchebag did like to experiment. It was hard to think that he was once the same guy that raised Lucifer, or, well, close enough to it. 

Another tremble ran through the ground, followed by a much, much stronger blast of power. 

He recognised it instantly. How could he not?

Hell was open. It was weak, barely opened even a crack, and the only reason Lucifer felt it was because of how familiar it was but it was there and open and that meant that something was changing for the first time in centuries.  

He had to get there, take back his place in Hell and- 

It disappeared just as quickly as it came. The doors were closed again. 

As much as it hurt to know he just lost possibly his only shot, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this sudden change. The doors were closed, but they must have opened for a reason.  

Could it be Jack? Could he have opened it? Could it be his father coming back? Could Michael be trying to weave himself into hell now?  

Whatever it was, it was something different. For the first time in centuries, something was different. 

He didn’t know what it was, or who it was or even why it was happening now, but it was different.

It intrigued him, and that was a first.

Everything in him felt compelled to find out just what this different thing was.