Title: There Goes the World
Rating: FR-15 for subject matter, violence, and mild gore.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Some dialogue taken from “All Hell Breaks Loose, part 2”. Spoilers: UP THROUGH “All Hell Breaks Loose, Part II” the Supernatural season 2 finale. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Summary: When it rains it pours. In the last four days, every one of Dean’s worst nightmares had come true, even ones he had never thought of before. Why should he be surprised that this one would top off his week? AN:
See end of story.
Bobby had only been gone a few hours, when Dean finally sat down in the chair at the foot of the bed where Sam was laid out.
Sam. Not Sam’s body. Sam.
He swallowed another gulp of whiskey, and welcomed the burn that dulled his nerves and kept sleep at bay. It had been three days since Sammy had disappeared in the diner, but Dean still wouldn’t sleep. Not with Sam’s – Sam laid out like that. Not yet. He wouldn’t welcome the respite it would offer. He didn’t deserve it.
In the past, Dean might have been afraid of the terrors that would haunt him the moment he closed his eyes, the guilt and shame of getting Sammy killed, but not now.
He knew She’d be there. She would comfort him, let him grieve. He knew that somehow, someway she’d make this better.
He couldn’t allow that. To let himself feel better about this was… Words couldn’t describe how low that was.
He kept telling himself that and chugging back whiskey right up to the point where the blurry image of Sam laid out on the dingy mattress switched to the view of a peaceful valley laid out in front of him.
The tears came before his knees even hit the grass. He couldn’t remember what he was crying for, but that wasn’t important in this place.
He grieved. The pain poured from him like a torrent from the sky after a long drought. It felt like tons of grit and dirt being washed out of his soul until after an eternity had passed, he was cleansed and hollowed.
But she wasn’t there. She hadn’t held him in her arms and cried with him. So when Dean finally dried his face he looked up for her, expecting her to be there.
Dean sat down on the hill under their tree and waited. He felt he needed to leave; there was something that needed to be done, and he had to go take care of it. But something else stilled him. This was something even more important. He needed to wait for her.
And another forever seemed to pass as he sat under their tree watching the shadows of the clouds chase each other across the rippling green grass.
And then she was there. Still the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.
Dread did not exist in this place, but there was an urgent finality that seemed to push him to act. To speak.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured, the realization that he was speaking for the first time in this place not occurring to him.
“I was delayed.”
To say Dean’s awakening was rude was the understatement of the decade. He barely made it to the sink, unaware that he was even moving, before he vomited the alcoholic contents of his stomach.
When the retching stopped, he rested his head against the cool metal of the tap as the sink was washed out. He splashed the cold water against his face and dried it on the dingy hand towel on the counter. When he looked at the clock, he stopped cold.
He had only been asleep eleven minutes.
“Felt like days,” he muttered, and thought back on the strange differences in the dream; mainly, the way she had spoken to him like he was real, like she
was real, and that what she had to say was the most important thing in the world. But she wasn’t real; she couldn’t be.
Sam needed to research this.
No sooner than the thought began crossing his mind than he turned to look at Sam.
Sam who was sprawled out dead in the other room. Sam who was dead.
Dean stayed in a trance for a long drawn out moment, his eyes fixed on his brother’s form before he let out a furious curse, grabbed a beer bottle off the counter and threw it against the wall. He gripped the edges of the counter even as the tinkling of shattered glass tapered off, and he desperately fought back the tears. He didn’t deserve to cry. He didn’t deserve to grieve. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to feel any better, even by the tiniest sliver. Not when it was his fault.
The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.
He didn’t know why he started talking to Sam. But as the words poured out of his mouth he just knew that he owed his brother this. To simply go on; even when you can’t find anything to live for.
“It’s like I had one job. I had one
job. And I screwed it up." To keep fighting when you know you can’t win.
“What am I supposed to do?” We fight. We go on.
“Sammy.” We sacrifice the things we want the most, and we lose the people we love the most.
“What am I supposes to do?!” he shouted. We do what must be done, no matter the cost.
“If you try and welch or weasel your way out, then the deal is off. Sam drops dead; he’s back to rotten meat in no time,” the demon warned.
Dean didn’t care. In all honesty he would have taken nothing in return at all, and was only holding out for the time needed to finish off the Demon and save Sammy. A year seemed like so little time when two decades hadn’t been enough. But he was not going to quit on Sam. He would go as far as it took, no matter the cost. But most of all we never give in.
He pushed away the image of pleading eyes and the feel of hands holding his jaw, and instead focused on the sulfuric taste of the demon’s kiss.
Hell on earth.
When it rains it pours. In the last four days, every one of Dean’s worst nightmares had come true, even ones he had never thought of before. Why should he be surprised that this one would top off his week?
The major head wound was just the cherry on top of listening to the Demon taunt him by hinting he might not have brought back just Sammy. Making him wonder if he had damned both of them.
So when he saw his father wrestle the demon out of its body, he wasn’t going to waste any time questioning it. Or the filthy blue haired woman that also appeared out of thin air and grabbed the Demon by the back of the neck as soon as it went back into its body, yanking the yellow-eyed bastard upright and holding it still in Dean’s line of fire.
He did question when she stumbled back over to the Devil’s Gate in the blink of an eye, swatted Ellen and Bobby aside before they could finish closing it, reaching in and pulling on something.
Before any of them could reach their guns, a giant blocky, (really no other word for it) hell-beast was flung out. As soon as the thing was clear of the gate, it’s six-inch long claws digging into the dirt as flaming-eyed beast found purchase in the ground, the amount of demons streaking from the gate increased ten-fold, and they once again had to take cover from the sulfurous black bodies streaking past. Dean could see Ellen trying to creep forward and Bobby trying to aim his gun at the tattered looking blue woman-thing.
Sam was staring wide-eyed at massive hell beast she had flung out, and so missed the woman (demon?) grabbing hold of one door and slamming it shut against the hoard. Sam didn’t miss the beast rushing forward and slamming itself against the other door, bracing its head and shoulder against it and pushing until it shut.
The blue demon-woman collapsed against the gate, breathing heavily, and Bobby, being the closest, was the only one who could see the gaunt features and bulging eyes.
The beast collapsed as well, wheezing, and the blue woman turned to it, fear beginning to show. Then she/it spoke.
“You cannot survive in this environment. You must change,” she spoke stridently, desperately pushing out the words.
The beast let out a brief wheezing growl. The blue demon said, “Do not dare to lecture me on impossibilities. Shed this form or I will throw you back in.” Bobby couldn’t see her face as she addressed the creature, but he’d bet a week’s worth of his best moonshine that he heard fear in her voice when she added, “I will, of course, join you.”
The hunters were staring at this strange tableau, guns at the ready, but unknowing what to do, when Dean saw his father’s spirit rise from the ground.
They all turned, even the two creatures at the gate to see John Winchester stand there amongst his two sons. They hadn’t forgotten he was there, but a lifetime of training left them unable to take their focus off the threat still in their midst before their father walked up to them.
He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and for the first time in over twenty years, Dean saw his father look at him the way he used to before Mom had died. He had forgotten that once upon a time his father had actually been happy.
Dad looked over at Sam, and for the first time in his life, Sam saw approval and pride on his father’s face.
Then he looked over at the two creatures at the gate, and he nodded briskly with unmistakable thanks shining in his eyes.
The beast remained utterly still, staring at the three of them, but Blue looked angry and simply said, “I do not make false oaths, hunter.”
Then their father was stepping back and looking at them one last time, before he shimmered, splintered, and disappeared.
The moment was broken by the wheezing of the beast, it’s scaly and spiny hid scraping against the gate as it tried to regain its feet unsuccessfully.
Dean didn’t know whether to help it or kill it. Too much had happened in a short span of time. Then the blue woman reached over to the beast, grabbed one of its forepaws, twisted it halfway around its socket causing and amazing shriek of pain that almost had them all covering their ears, before she yanked and pulled off
the beasts rocky flesh, leaving a red and bleeding stump only three feet long and maybe half a foot in diameter. Tiny in comparison to the giant rocky club that Blue tossed away, and which dissolved into a sulfuric substance as soon as it hit the ground.
However, the bloody stump immediately started morphing into another claw, this one smaller and fleshier. Blue repeated the process with the other four limbs, before moving on to rip off chunks of shoulder, hind, ribcage. The hunters stood transfixed as the seven-foot-tall-on-all-fours rocky beast, was violently and bloodily reduced to a four-foot-tall fleshy, oozing, furry beast that was more and more resembling a wolf with a giant stone head attached.
Then when there was nothing else left, Blue braced a leg on the beast’s reformed shoulder, grabbed the back of its neck, and pulled the head, and what appeared to be a lot of internal stuff, off its shoulders and out of its throat. The shriek that accompanied this had all them on their knees, hands over their ears until the high-pitched sound was silenced, and they turned to watch the stumpy head grow eyes, teeth, ears (and it was definitely looking like a wolf, just a really large, slightly demonic one).
The last of the sludge and rock that Blue had pulled out was already disintegrating into a fine ash on top of her, as she lay on the ground, appearing unable to move any further. The beast careened around for a few feet until the growth slowed to a stop, and it collapsed at Blue’s feet, panting, but no longer wheezing.
Blue lolled her head to look at it and said, “That is not your human form.”
It whimpered something, and closed its eyes, appearing to lose consciousness. Blue continued studying the unconscious creature for several moments before saying, “It will do.”
She turned her head to the side, and noticed the humans standing around pointing their projectile weapons at them. Ellen was the first to speak up.
“Just what in the Sam Hell are you two?”
“And what the hell is going on?!” Bobby added in a loud voice.
At this point, Dean thought that there couldn’t be any way this night could get any more bizarre.
“I am Fred. This is Buffy. We require rest,” she stated succinctly before passing out.
Ok, so he was wrong. “Buffy?!” he spat out amazed. Who named a hellhound ‘Buffy’? Hell, who named a hellhound, period? He wasn’t going to even start on ‘Fred’.
No one had an answer for his outburst, and he turned to Sam, but Sammy was staring back behind them at the dead Demon.
And then Dean forgot all about strange hell-creatures and devil deals.
AN: I’ve had this plot bunny kicking around in my head for a while; I was just figure out where to put it in the Supernatural timeline, or how to get two beings from a hell dimension into a reality that didn’t exactly have inter-dimensional gateways or hellmouths. Then I saw last night’s season finale, twice, and spent the next three hours churning this out. I hope y’all enjoy it, though I wouldn’t expect much continuation over the summer. Oh, and feel free to play around in this ‘verse if you so desire.