The Wheels On The Bus Chapter 34

“Do you care about them?”

Belphegor turns to the shadow hovering over his shoulder, still in the process of getting skin to form around its shape. The demon barely blinks as flesh starts knitting itself in front of him. “About?”

“The humans,” this Shedim says. “That human. That Nephilim.”

“Depends,” Belphegor says. “I care about Jack and Adam.”

“He’s not lying,” another says, this one looking a lot more human than the other, its face still forming itself. “That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“A little demon found his place amongst the humans,” it says, voice mockingly sweet. “That’s angel shit.”

“Bit of news for you, angels hate humans,” Belphegor says. “Most of them anyway.”

“Funny that,” the first Shedim says. “I always thought they loved humans.”

“Why is that?”

“Because demons are the antithesis to angels, right?” it says. “And if Hell hates humanity…”

“Nah, angels are dicks,” Belphegor says.

“So you don’t miss being one?” yet another one says. This one’s vessel is fully formed.

“No,” Belphegor says. “I don’t remember it.”

“Ooh,” it says. “No love lost between you and your father, then?”

“He’s not my father,” Belphegor says. “Not if I don’t even remember him being one.” He pauses for a moment. Ahead of them, he can see the entrance door. It’s still closed, but there’s blood all over it.

It flashes him back to the last time he’d been here, running towards the door, trying to help as much as he can for the sake of his own survival. There’d been blood all over it the last time too.

“I don’t think most of the angels really remember him being one either,” he says.

“That’s funny,” the first Shedim – he can see it – her? her. He probably shouldn’t call his own allies ‘it’s – her face this time. “I always thought Heaven to be so warm. Kinda like the opposite of Hell, you know?”

“Is that why the angels are dicks too?” the second one asks. “Because Heaven isn’t as warm as we’d thought it was?”

“Probably,” Belphegor says.

He stops as they’re all by the door now. He tries to see as much as he can through the blood all over the glass.

Someone gets slammed onto it, and then slides down, dead. Shit.

“What about earth?” the third one asks. “Is it nice here?”

“It’s terrible,” Belphegor says. “Loud and obnoxious and chaotic.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Belphegor says. “But it’s not fixed-terrible like Hell, and it’s not cold like Heaven.” He shrugs. “It’s whatever it wants to be, and sometimes it just wants to be loud and obnoxious and chaotic.”

“Is that why you’re trying to save it?” the third Shedim asks.

“That,” Belphegor says. “And the fact that we’re all going to die if the end arrives.”

He hears Dean yelling outside, shouting out orders. They need to get out there.

“Listen,” he says, turning to the Shedim, most of them already humanoid and staring at him in rapt attention. “Get the humans inside and kill every angel you can. That’s the plan.”

“The humans won’t listen to us,” someone says.

“I’ll talk to Dean,” he says. “Just don’t harm them. Throw them out of harm’s way if you must, but do not hurt them.”

“But we get to kill the angels?”

“With extreme prejudice.”

He’s answered by identical grins on all the demons’ faces, so wide their skins should have split, but somehow they haven’t.

“That we can do,” the first one says.

“And I’m counting on you to,” he says. “Get your revenge.”

“Gladly.”

The entrance slams open as all of the Shedim rush out, speeding past and over him, leaving laughter in their wake. Belphegor turns, following after them. At his feet, there’s a dead hunter, a gun in one hand and a crowbar in the other.

He takes both, settling the crowbar by his shoulder.

He takes in a deep breath.

“Dean!”

-

He’s not going to be able to fly. He’s barely able to stand as is, leaning most of his weight on his siblings as all four of them look up at Amara and their father duking it out above them.

Still, Michael’s going to find a way around it, somehow. He’ll have to.

“We’ve never fought with The Darkness before,” Raphael says.

“But we’ve fought with each other,” Lucifer says. “And we’ve fought against her. That’s experience enough, right?”

“It’ll have to do,” Michael says.

He focuses on his Grace, trying to bring it to the forefront, condensing it around his physical form. It’s slow, but after a few seconds, he’s wrapped in armor.

He feels three other pulses of energy as his siblings summon their own weapons.

“Any chance we can catch him off-guard?” Gabriel asks.

“I don’t know,” Michael says. “But we can try to hit him as hard as we can.”

“That’s the plan?” Raphael asks, a little disbelievingly.

“We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel,” Lucifer says.

“We’re going to wear him out,” Michael says. “I have friends outside that can close the Cage.”

“We’re going to cage him?” Lucifer raises an eyebrow.

“He can’t die,” Michael says. “The universe would end, us included.”

Lucifer clicks his tongue. He continues to watch the fight overhead. “It’ll have to do,” he says, eventually. “We can never have what we want, huh?”

Raphael steps on his foot. He hisses, trying to get away, but Gabriel holds him in place.

Lucifer bares his teeth. “I am going to kill – ”

“Focus,” Michael says.

“You already lost me the second you said you had friends,” Gabriel says.

“Can they close the Cage?” Raphael asks.

“Yes,” Michael says. He’s not sure how, exactly, but if Belphegor can create a weapon to put Hell under control, and he’d told Michael earlier that he can close the Cage, then Michael’s going to wager that he can find a way to close the Cage even without the Horsemens’ rings. “They can close the Cage, but we’ll have to give ourselves enough time to get out.”

There’s a loud screech above them, a clash, and then an explosion of black smoke.

“We’re gonna have to trust them,” Michael says. “We have no time right now.”

“Fine,” Lucifer says. “Just make sure I’m not gonna be stuck here.”

“If you move fast enough, sure,” Michael says.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, and as he steps back, Gabriel lets him go and Raphael steps aside.

He puts a hand on the back of the collar of Michael’s armor. Michael raises his hand to the top of his own head, not touching his hair. Lucifer tightens his hold.

He pulls his arm back. And then, he launches Michael straight at the fighting above.

Michael sweeps his hand down his face, Grace following it, forming a helmet right over his head as he shoots like a bullet towards Chuck. His father barely registers he’s flying towards him, having only a second to glance before Michael’s bashes into the side of his torso, crushing his ribcage in a single blow from how hard Lucifer’s thrown him.

It’s not going to be enough, though. It’s only his physical form that has been damaged.

And Michael’s already falling, having no wings to anchor himself in the physical-not-physical realm of the Cage. He tips his weight backward, head angled towards the ground, easily getting out of the way of the arrow that Raphael fires at their father.

Chuck screams.

Belphegor! Michael sends out, as loud as he can, tapping into whatever reserves of Grace he still has. Belphegor, are you alright?

I’m good.

Relief floods Michael. He swings his knees up to his torso, effectively tipping his weight again and flipping him over so that he’s poised to land feet-first.

“Incoming, big bro!” Gabriel yells, and Michael readies himself as he hears a horn sound out.

Can you still close the Cage?

I can, Belphegor says. I’m taking it your siblings made their way to you?

The sound of the horn seems to taper off, and there’s a sudden low vibration around them, similar to how Jack’s powers manifest as vibration pulses. Michael crouches and hits one of the pulses, and it launches him straight into the air again. He catches a glimpse of Amara’s surprised face as he speeds towards them.

His father is taking out the arrow that’s stabbed his side. His ribcage is still caved in, one of his shoulders and legs angled wrong from the injury, and his torso is barely half of what it’d looked like earlier. There’s blood all over his shirt, having thrown it up when Michael had bashed into him earlier.

He snaps his attention to Michael, seething.

Chuck throws a hand towards him. Michael’s ripped out of the trajectory he’s going, slammed backwards by an invisible force.

A loud note sounds below. Not even a second later, there’s vibrations heading towards Michael, bouncing him back upwards.

Yeah, Michael says. We’re helping Amara fight Chuck.

He forces his weight back again, flipping back so that he can ride the momentum of the pulse rightside up. Another pulse bolsters him upward.

Shit, Amara’s fighting? Belphegor says. What do you need?

We’re going to wear Chuck out, Michael says. When we get him down, we’ll escape, and I’ll need you to close the Cage.

Keep me on the line, then, Belphegor says. I’ll be on alert.

Thanks.

“Insolent brats!” Chuck screams.

“Keep your eyes on me, brother!”

Chuck turns, too late, as Amara’s glare is already an inch away from his face. She backhands him across the Cage, and he barely gets a breather as another arrow shoots him dead on, impaling straight through his chest.

Michael comes up to Amara’s level just as the Cage shifts, the darkness of it ebbing away to make room for what looks like the inside of a stone castle. Unfortunately for Chuck, the room makes itself fully tangible before he can hit a wall, and he ends up crashing into one directly behind him.

Michael’s feet touch down on cold concrete. He stumbles, quickly pushing his Grace to form a sword to keep himself up.

The room they’re in is large – it’s more of a hall rather than a simple room, with its high ceilings and winding staircases. Michael and Amara are both on a high platform, a long staircase a few ways off from them, connecting them to the far, far ground, where Raphael and Gabriel are, Raphael with her bow and arrow still at the ready and Gabriel with a silver trumpet up.

Chuck is all the way across the hall, having crashed into a wall and remained stuck there. The stone around him has cracked. Debris is falling around him.

“Michael,” Amara says.

Michael turns to her, snapping out of his battle trance for a moment. He nods to her. “Amara.”

“You’ve seen better days,” she says.

He manages to crack a smile underneath his helmet. “Yeah, I’ve been better,” he says.

“And your siblings are here,” she says, nodding towards where Raphael and Gabriel are.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Michael says. “But we don’t have time.”

“Unfortunately,” Amara says. She drops it, though. He’s going to have to rest if he survives this fight, since he’s got a lot of talking to do. He doubts his siblings are going to be as cooperative when none of their existences are threatened anymore.

“We’ll talk later,” he says.

Across the hall, the dust is settling. Michael turns to see Chuck’s injuries glowing, his caved-in torso slowly cracking itself back into place with sick, crunching noises. There’s blood all over his face, his already badly-angled leg and shoulder bent  in further wrongly.

His eyes are glowing, rageful. He’s looking straight at Michael.

Michael pushes himself up to stand straight.

He’s gonna have to give it his all.

-

In the gymnasium commentator’s booth, amidst the constant shaking and the gunfire outside, Sam Winchester wakes up, clutching his side in pain. He tries to roll over, to get away somehow, but only ends up falling off the bed he’s on.

“Sam!” Adam says, rushing to his side.

He can’t breathe. His chest feels like it’s caved in on itself, unable to fill in air because there’s no room for it at all.

“Sam? Sam, what’s wrong?”

He tries to motion to his mouth, to his chest, and ends up patting it forcefully to indicate that something’s wrong there. Adam’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Jack, I need you in here!”

Footsteps. In a second, there’s hands on his shoulders, the familiar feeling of Grace flooding his system. The pain doesn’t ease, though, only gets kicked back to brain static, as if his whole body is shutting down pain receptors instead.

“Chuck,” Sam manages to get out. “It’s Chuck.”

“What?” Jack asks, sharing a look with Adam.

Adam frowns, but it lifts as realization dawns on him. “They’re fighting Chuck,” he says. “Michael – I could feel him, and he’s here – that means he’s fighting Chuck.”

“He’s giving him shit, it looks like,” Sam grits out, trying to offer a laugh, but it only comes out sounding strangled.

“How bad is it?” Jack asks.

“I think – I feel like…I can’t breathe,” Sam says.

Jack’s eyes glow brighter, kicking up the healing process, not that it’s doing much when he’s not injured.

“We need to do something about your shitty mindlink,” Adam says.

“How?” Jack asks. “It’s not like our mindlink.”

“Well, there has to be something,” Adam says. “There’s gotta be something. Sam – what started this in the first place? You had a wound, right? You shot Chuck and got injured too and then you started having visions – is there anything you can think of right now that might help?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away, still working on catching his breath. Outside, the gunshots and screaming continue.

Eventually, he motions to his injured shoulder. “Bullet,” he wheezes out. “Bullet. We…we could never…take out the bullet.”

Adam blinks at him.

He does it again.

“Excuse me?” Adam asks. “How long ago were you shot?”

Sam waves a hand. “Weeks.”

“And you never took out the bullet?”

Sam glares at him.

“We – ” Wheeze. He draws in a slow breath. This time it feels like he’s able to fill his lungs up. “We couldn’t find the bullet. The gun was originally…empty. It fires – fires whatever the price the shooter pays.” He pauses. “I think. Something like that.”

“The bullet disappeared?” Jack asks.

“It probably merged with him or something, if it wasn’t exactly a regular bullet,” Adam says. “Like, if it was originally empty and you shot Chuck…”

Sam nods. “Likely made out of a part of me, so this bullet could be a part of Chuck.”

“What do we do?” Jack asks.

“Try to find it, I guess,” Adam says. “There has to be a way. It doesn’t exactly belong with him.”

“I can look for it,” Jack says. “Or I can try to.”

Sam shakes his head. “No,” he says, lifting his head to look around the room, listening for the noise outside that hasn’t died down since it started. “You need to be ready…to help everyone else.”

“But – ”

“Chuck already knows what we’re doing anyway,” Sam says. “It’s too late - ” He gasps, the breath knocked out of him as a sharp pain pierces his chest, like he’s been stabbed.

“Easy, easy,” Adam says, pushing him back so he can lean on the edge of the bed.

Jack presses his lips to a thin line, obviously displeased with the situation but seeing Sam’s logic. A look of determination crosses his face.

“Jack – ” Sam starts, but Jack beats him to it.

“Belphegor,” he says.

-

“You’re awake?” Dean’s barely got the question out before he has to turn his attention back to the fight again, shooting an angel away with a shotgun. The thing goes down, taking the angel-killing bullet straight into the chest and exploding into light.

“Call for a retreat,” Belphegor says. “We’ll take care of this.”

“What?!” He flinches as one of the Shedim speed past him and sinks its teeth into an angel’s arm.

“You’ll be massacred out here!” Belphegor says. “Those demons are with me.”

“What?!”

“They’re the Shedim.” An angel launches itself at him, sword in hand. Belphegor angles his head to the side sharply and it’s knocked out of its trajectory. He hefts up the gun he’s got, aims, and fires. “We can stand to take a lot of injuries. Your hunters can’t.”

“You can do that?” Dean asks, then follows up, for clarification: “The telekinesis.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s like everyone’s base power, man, haven’t you noticed?” Belphegor aims the gun to the side as he notices someone else running towards them. He fires again. Another one dead. “Although I will say, if you’ve got telekinesis, absolutely abuse that power. It’s handy.”

“How the fuck are you walking around, you were in a coma,” Dean says. He takes the butt of his gun, spins on his heel, and slams it into the temple of an angel. He flips the gun and shoots it straight through the skull before turning back to the conversation. “If you collapse – ”

“I won’t,” Belphegor says. “And I don’t need to control the Shedim, they’ve…got their own reasons to fight.”

“Like what?”

“Revenge, for one,” Belphegor says. “The Shedim – the one who went with the others in Hell. He’s dead.”

Dean pauses. “Angel?”

“Angel.” Belphegor nods. “They’ve got a score to settle.”

The hunter hesitates for a moment. Then, above them, a loud sound, like a trumpet ringing out. The wind around them starts to pick up.

Belphegor raises his head to the skies, watching the storm clouds gather.

“Shit,” he says.

“What is it?”

“That’s a war horn,” Belphegor says. “They’re summoning every warrior they can spare to attack.”

-

“What?” Sam says, trying to see where Belphegor’s bed has been placed. “Belphegor’s – ”

“Outside,” Adam says. “Belphegor’s awake. He has been this whole time.”

“What?”

“He’d know, somehow. He’d know something,” Jack says, pulling his hands away from Sam’s shoulders. His eyes flash gold for a moment, and he pausing like he’s listening to someone talking. Then he nods, looking to Adam, who frantically starts checking his pockets for something. He takes out a creased card.

It’s a bingo card.

“Found it,” Adam says.

“Did you win?” Jack asks.

“What?” Sam asks, again, having no idea where this is going.

“I don’t know, I’ve never kept track,” Adam says, flipping it over to check. “I haven’t been marking things off.”

Both of them wince. Whatever Belphegor is saying is intense.

“Fine, fine, I’ll try,” Adam says. “Do you have a pen?”

“No,” Jack says. “The world is ending and we’re being attacked by angels, why would I think about getting a pen – oh. Oh, wait.” He pauses again, listening. “Hang on.”

He feels around his jacket. From his left pocket, he takes out a pen, one of those cheap mini gel pens.

“Oh,” he says. “I forgot about that.”

He winces at something Belphegor says. Adam snatches the pen from him and starts marking off his bingo card.

“Are you sure this will work?” Adam asks. Jack doesn’t answer, so the question must be for Belphegor. Sam, unable to do much but wait it out, raises a hand to gently knead his chest in an effort to stave off the pain. After a few seconds, Adam finishes marking off the card.

“Done,” Adam says. Then, “Yeah, I – I won.”

He waits again, listening to instructions. Then he flips the card over and starts writing on it.

Enochian, Sam realizes. Of course Adam would know Enochian from all his years with Michael in the Cage.

“You are sure this will work?” Jack asks this time.

“Yeah - look man, this sounds insane,” Adam says.

Whatever Belphegor says back, Adam rolls his eyes to.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he says. “Whatever, you’re the expert here.”

Adam carefully traces out the lines of whatever Belphegor’s having him do, a look on concentration on his face despite his questioning.

“Done,” he says. He listens again.

For a second, his confidence in Belphegor’s abilities seems to falter, actual hesitation crossing his face. Then he nods.

“Okay,” he says, in a small voice.

“Can I help?” Jack asks.

His face falls after a moment. Whatever it is, Adam has to do it.

“Okay,” Adam says, lifting the card. He stares at it for a moment, and then he speaks: “I invoke the rules of the universe, I invoke the law of balance, for actions have consequence and everything is the product of the history before it. I call upon the threads in the fabric of existence that answers to causation, that says everything in this universe answers to everything within it. With the authority I have as a part of this world, I demand what is rightfully mine.”

The card starts to glow, a rich, bright blue, not unlike angel grace.

“It works,” Jack says.

Adam is listening to Belphegor again. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s see if it works against Chuck.” He focuses on the card again, trying to sort out what he’s going to say next. He turns to Sam, lifting the card near his shoulder. “This is the injured one, right?”

“Yeah.”

Adam nods. “Every victory implies something to be won,” he says. “For my prize, I demand that what links Sam to Chuck be removed.”

Sam’s brow furrows, even more confused this time, but he doesn’t have time to say anything, because there’s a sudden burning pain in his shoulder.

He screams.

It’s searing hot, and he realizes, suddenly, that he can feel something moving in his shoulder. It lurches forward, and he hunches over in pain.

“Fuck!”

“It’s working,” Jack says. “Holy fuck.”

“It’s something holy alright,” Adam says, getting the card out of the way.

The bullet – the bullet that has somehow reformed, moves again, drilling its way out of Sam’s joint. Sam grits his teeth, trying not to thrash.

“Sam?”

“Bone,” he says. “It’s in the bone.”

Adam winces in disgust.

The bullet moves, slowly, his injury glowing as bright as the card that’s still in Adam’s hand. He feels it sluggishly trying to get its way through, and then suddenly, when it’s finally dug its way out the bone, it shoots out of his shoulder, lightning fast.

The only thing that stops it from blowing a hole into Adam’s head is Jack’s hand snapping out and catching it.

“Holy shit,” Adam says, staring at the blood-soaked bullet between Jack’s fingers.

“I panicked.”

“One hell of a way to panic, Star Platinum,” Adam says, scooting to the side to get away from the bullet. He hisses, suddenly, flapping the hand holding the bingo card away. He drops the card.

It’s burnt.

“Guess it’s used up,” Jack says.

“Probably,” Adam says. He motions to Sam. “Fix his shoulder.”

Jack obliges, tossing the bullet over to Adam and placing a hand over Sam’s injured shoulder, making sure not to touch it so he doesn’t aggravate it. This time, the wound heals, much to Sam’s relief. Castiel hadn’t been able to heal it, after all.

“Belphegor’s asking if you want to join the mind link,” Adam says, carefully placing the bloody bullet into his pocket. Probably for a funny story later of how he nearly got shot by it. “Now that we don’t have anyone doxing your thoughts, that is.”

“Give me a moment,” Sam says, still in the process of catching his breath. Even as the wound in his shoulder heals and the pain ebbs away, he’s still sweating and exhausted by the whole thing. “Where’s Dean?”

“Outside, but I think Belphegor’s trying to get him inside,” Adam says. He looks up, listening to the link. “Yeah, he is. Your brother’s stubborn.”

“What’s going on? Catch me up.”

“How much do you know?” Adam asks. “You were linked to Chuck, right?”

“For a while,” he says. “I’m still trying to – ” He motions to his shoulder. “I was in a lot of pain, wasn’t in the headspace to sort through everything.”

“Fair enough,” Adam says. “Well, angels are attacking us. Bel woke up and is trying to get the hunters to take cover in the gymnasium. He and the Shedim are fighting the angels.”

“He’s trying to minimize casualties,” Jack says.

“Doubt the hunters will stand down easily, but – ” Adam says. “It is going to be a bloodbath out there.”

“Done.” Jack pulls his hand away from Sam. The skin on the shoulder is unmarked, good as new.

Sam tries moving his shoulder. There’s no pain. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jack says.

“Mind link?” Adam asks.

“Go right ahead,” Sam says. Jack presses two fingers to his forehead, and there’s a sudden rush, like he’s falling from a high place. The silence of his thoughts gets violently interrupted by a myriad of emotions, none of them his.

Sam leans his head on his knees, trying not to be motion sick when he’s not even moving.

“It takes a while to get used to, especially with so many of us on the line,” Adam says. “But it’s convenient.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Sam groans, slowly sitting up. Everything looks so bright, but the light is slowly dimming, the room coming back to focus again. “What are we doing?”

“If everything goes to plan, all the hunters should be here soon,” he says. “We’ll hold down the fort and protect everyone we can if angels get past the Shedim.”

“Are they going to be okay?” Sam asks. He puts a hand on the edge of the bed behind him so he can stand. Jack and Adam follow.

“It’s the Shedim,” Adam says. “They’re probably gonna be alright.”

“And they’ve got Belphegor,” Jack says. “He’s got Hell.”

“True.”

Sam hums, nodding. His legs aren’t agreeing with him too well, unfortunately, and he has to sit for a moment.

“You okay?” Adam asks.

“Yeah, just – ” He frowns, trying to focus. “Trying to sort everything out.”

Between the pain and the spying on Chuck, I imagine things are rather jumbled, a thought slips into his head. He recognizes the voice.

Rowena?

The very same, Samuel, she says, Good of you to join us.

Welcome to the chat, Sam, Belphegor says. I’ll catch you up on what’s been going on, on our end as soon as you’re ready. Just give me the word.

“Thanks,” he says, not even minding that he’s saying it out loud. Now that he’s not worrying about his chest feeling like it’s collapsed in on itself, he can focus, sort through everything he’s felt through his link with Chuck. The man had known immediately that Sam was spying on him, and he’d hijacked the plan to have the Empty resurrect angels, fought Michael – let him grab him, really, he’d felt confident about the whole thing…ripped out someone’s wings, at one point? He’s in the Cage right now…

Sam opens his eyes, not even sure when he’d closed them.

Sam? Castiel asks, concern flaring through the line.

“I just remembered something,” Sam says. He looks up at Jack and Adam’s worried faces. “The Cage can’t contain Chuck.”

-

“Motherfucker,” Belphegor hisses. “Dean, they have to go. Get inside.”

The clouds above them are rushing in, fast, almost in fast-forward. Within a few seconds, the grey of it has covered everything he can see.

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” Dean asks.

“We’re demons, Dean,” Belphegor says. “We’re supposed to be fighting angels.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Dean says. He takes a step back so he can duck an incoming swipe from an angel, and then fires a shot. As he’s ducked, Belphegor takes a shot above him, hitting another angel on the way towards them.

Dean runs closer to him, so he can fight off anyone attacking them while Dean takes in a deep breath and lets out a loud yell: “Everyone retreat! Get inside!”

Around them, Belphegor sees the hunters give them confused looks, but just like the last attack, they start swinging and shooting their way out of the fray, already starting to head back towards the school as much as they can.

Belphegor fires off a round at an angel to their left. He nails it straight between the eyes.

Dean yells again: “Everyone get inside! Let the demons – ”

The earth shakes, suddenly – another earthquake, but this time not from the Shedim’s rage. Belphegor sees lightning strike the ground, meters away from the school grounds.

A second later, there’s another.

Then another. And another. And another and another and another, the lightning striking the area all around the school.

Angels, he realizes.

Shit.

“Everyone inside, now!”

“Go!” Belphegor shoves Dean back, pushing him towards the school. “Go, go, go!”

Dean nods, taking off running. All the other hunters around them do as well, plowing through angels on their way. A few of them yell out the command, passing it on to their fellow hunters.

Belphegor turns forward, and brings forth every ounce of awareness he has on Hell’s situation. He feels his body sway, nearly shutting itself down into a coma again as his mind spreads out thin, spiderwebbing into every branch of Hell’s hivemind.

Around town, there are ghosts spread out, frozen in place with his command. There’s ghosts going as far as the cemetery, just as frozen.

“Boss?” There’s hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady.

He lets them take his weight, still trying to get to even the smallest parts of what makes up Hell. It looks like veins, in his stretched-out mind, and he reaches his entire being out to everyone he can.

Belphegor opens his eyes, irises glowing gold.

“Hell,” he says, watching the angels continue to gather around, one lightning strike after another. All the ghosts in town turn, in unison, all to the direction of the school.

Belphegor grins.

“Kill them.”

-

There’s a rush of information flooding through the mindlink. Michael can barely pick anything apart considering he still has to focus on what’s going on.

Chuck’s already halfway through healing himself, lifting a newly-healed hand and placing it onto the wall he’s embedded in. Michael starts to step forward, but Amara raises an arm in front of him, blocking his way.

“Let me talk to him,” she says.

“What?”

“Let me talk to him, Michael,” she says. “Please.”

Michael holds her gaze, for a moment. She doesn’t look away.

After a while, he nods. “Alright,” he says. He looks towards Gabriel and Raphael, who turn to him as he raises a hand in a signal. Confusion crosses their faces, but with a single flap of their wings, they’re standing right beside him.

Amara descends the staircase and makes her way towards her brother.

“What’s going on?” Gabriel asks.

“She wants to talk to him.”

“To try and talk some sense into him?”

“Probably,” Michael says. “But keep your guard up.” He looks to Raphael as he says that, and she nods, stepping up beside him and aiming her weapon at Chuck, who’s stopped moving and is glaring down at Amara, who’s undeterred, approaching him.

With the brief calm of the situation, Michael tunes back in to the mindlink, letting the information rush at him. He can feel Sam with them now, can feel Rowena and Castiel’s annoyance and worry outside, can feel everyone’s general confusion at feeling Belphegor in the line, and a sense of panic from both Belphegor and Dean.

Is everyone alright? Michael asks.

We’ve got angels raining down from Heaven, Belphegor says. I’ve taken the reigns outside, since Hell can take more of a beating than the humans can.

Good call, Michael says. And Adam? Jack?

In the gym, safe.

Good.

Amara is standing in front of Chuck now. With the emptiness of the stone hall that the Cage has shifted into, the sound carries extremely well.

“Brother,” Amara says.

“Sister,” Chuck says, idly brushing aside hair from his face, since it’d stuck to his forehead due to the blood earlier. “What a wonderful reunion for us, don’t you think?”

Sam’s with us now? Michael asks Belphegor.

They’ve gotten the Equalizer bullet that let him have a link with Chuck out, Belphegor says.

How?

Invoked the else-if part of the universe.

I don’t – we’ll talk later, Michael says. A cackle runs down the link. But he’s alright?

I’m keeping tabs on them, he’s still a little woozy from the sudden connection in the line.

“You know why I had to resort to this,” Amara says.

Chuck just laughs, extracting himself from the wall easily. He snaps a broken leg into place with a kick and steps forward, standing face to face with her, glowing with power. “Do I?” he says. “Do enlighten me, sister.”

“You’re going mad, brother,” she says. “A full reset? A full wipe of everything you’ve ever made?”

“A full wipe of all my mistakes,” Chuck corrects, gently.

“What mistakes?”

“All of this,” he says, motioning around. “The structure of this universe, the composition of all of this – the humans.” He shakes his head. “What was I thinking?”

“You were curious,” Amara says. “You had a love for creation, a love for discovery. That was why you invented choice, because you wanted to know what possibilities humanity could create with that power. That was why you wrote free will.” She takes a step forward, as if to reach out for her brother, but stops before she can touch him. “Is that not the beauty of humanity? The point of it all? The fact that they weren’t – aren’t set like Heaven or Hell, that they have so much in front of them because they create?”

Chuck only frowns.

“Made in your image,” she says. “And you wanted to see what they can do.”

“And they ruin everything they touch.”

“That is part of it!” Amara says. “You wrote that actions have consequences in this universe. And that’s how they learn, that’s how they grow, isn’t it?”

“Have they grown, Amara?” He steps to the side, and Amara takes a step to the opposite end, making sure to not be near him. “History repeats itself, again and again and again, and what have they done? Repeat every mistake, run through the same hamster wheel despite the fact that they’ve been here before.” He looks away, disappointed. “And the magnum opus – the very reason why this universe was created, those stupid Winchesters. They’re no different. Two idiots doing the same thing over and over and learning nothing from everything they’ve ever lived through.”

“And you won’t let them grow through realizing that on their own?” she asks. “You would take that choice away from them?”

“They’ve run my patience to the ground,” he says, stepping to the side again, walking away from her. “Chance, after chance, after chance, and they’ve squandered it all.” He throws his arms up, exasperated. “I’m over it. I’m over all of it. I’m over Dean’s broodiness and Sam’s martyr complex and Castiel’s self-hating self-destructiveness.”

“Just tell it to their faces, why don’t you,” Gabriel mutters.

“I’m done with it!” Chuck says. “What’s the point in going through the same story over and over again? This world is ending even without my help anyway, and the Winchesters are going to ruin themselves in the same way over and over again whether I do anything about it or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I am omniscient, dear sister. What part of that do you not get?” he says. “I created this world. I am a part of this world. I am this world, and I am tired of it.” He actually looks sad as he says it, and Michael can’t tell if he’s lying. “I want to start over again. A blank slate. A new chance. This time – I can do it right. I’ve learned from my mistakes. I know what to do now.”

“And it won’t be the same.”

“That’s exactly it,” Chuck says. “I don’t want this flawed, hateful world, with humanity killing each other over and over, ruining everything it touches. This world that cares for neither of us, that doesn’t care for you.” He motions to her. “None of it does, not even your dear friends. Not even your precious Dean.”

“What – ”

“Do you think he would have thought about you if they didn’t have a use for you?” Chuck asks. “Do you think they would have bothered? If they had a way to kill me and they knew it would kill you along with it, they would take the chance. And Dean wouldn’t bat an eye. Dean would be the one to suggest it.”

Amara frowns. “He wouldn’t.”

“You think he wouldn’t?” Chuck motions to Michael. “Michael, who’d saved Dean’s youngest brother, was locked in a bunker, because they didn’t trust him. Their own brother, Adam, left in the Cage and unremembered, only addressed when they literally nearly ran over him after he and Michael had crawled out of Hell. They were ready to kill Belphegor at any given moment, even when he was already helping them.”

“They were wary.”

“The Winchesters do not trust anyone other than themselves,” Chuck says. “What the hell could their brother have done? What the hell warranted Adam being shunned to the bunker as well, when his soul is held together by shoestring and gum from years in the Cage that they were responsible for? What warranted the wariness for a demon at the very bottom of the rank?” He drops his voice to a near-whisper. “What warranted the wariness for Jack, a child desperate for their approval since the moment of his birth?”

Amara hesitates.

“Why would they trust you?” he asks. “Why would they care for you, when they’ve never even thought of you this whole time? Don’t lie to me, that you didn’t feel their suspicion, their hostility, when you approached them. They care for no one but themselves, Amara. If they can run Castiel ragged when he’s been nothing but loyal to them for years, they sure as shit don’t care for you.”

He motions upwards, to the mouth of the Cage. “And do you know why they had Michael drag me here?” he asks, and Michael’s eyes widen. Oh no. No, no, no. “Because they were planning to close it with him and me here. The only reason the Cage hasn’t closed is because an angel has intercepted the attempt, but as soon as they get back on track, guess what?” He smiles. “They’re locking us all in here, and they’re not going to care. Because they’re going to justify it by saying it’s for the greater good, that it’s because they lose people all the time - what difference does losing all of you make, when sacrifices are commonplace?”

No, no, no. Amara hates any mention of being caged. Hates any insinuation of restraint.

“Shit, right in the trauma,” Gabriel mutters.

“No,” Amara breathes out, disbelieving, her eyes already glossing over as panic starts to steamroller past every other thought she has.

“Raphael,” Michael says.

Raphael nods and checks her aim.

She fires.

Chuck easily catches the arrow with his hand.

Amara blinks, snapping out of her trance at the sudden interruption.

Chuck clicks his tongue, annoyed, and twists the arrow around so the head is pointed outward. He takes a step back and throws the arrow right back towards Raphael. It sails through the air, bullet fast.

“Get back!” Michael yells, pushing his siblings back and raising an armored arm up. The arrow bounces off the metal on his forearm.

“This changes nothing,” Chuck says. “None of it does. When that demon of theirs gathers his strength, this Cage will close.”

“Shoot him again!” Gabriel yells.

Raphael readies another arrow.

Except Chuck moves first, too fast for any of them to notice. One moment, he’s standing in front of Amara, and in the next, he’s up in the air, thrusting a hand out, curling it around something and digging his nails in.

The Cage shifts abruptly, the stone hall blinking out of existence and Michael, Gabriel and Raphael falling as the platform they’re standing on disappears under their feet.

In the air, Chuck has Lucifer by the neck, nails digging into his throat and drawing blood and Grace, the pain of the attack having broken the illusion he’d shifted the Cage into.

“Lucifer!” Michael yells.

Michael, Belphegor’s panicked, angry thought shoves itself into Michael’s already-frantic mind. Michael, bad news.

How could it possibly get worse now?!

The Cage can’t contain Chuck.