The Wheels On The Bus Chapter 15

Adam feels a chill run down his spine. He startles, looking up in confusion from the arm he’s stitching up.

“Kid?” Dean calls over to him, reloading a shotgun.  Beside him are several other hunters assigned to the same task of reloading everyone’s weapons. 

“Nothing,” he says, sounding unsure. He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just a bad feeling.” He motions a hand. “Which means jack shit right now, considering…”

Dean laughs. “Shit ton of reasons to get a bad feeling right now,” he says, but after a minute, he asks, “Do you think they’re okay?”

Adam, who’s gone back to stitching up the arm he’s working on, blinks. “What?”

“Mike and Bel,” Dean says.

“Michael hates it when you call him that,” Adam says, automatic. “I...don’t know.”

Dean looks to him.

“I don’t know, they’re not talking to me right now,” he says. The wound he’s working on is closed now, so he snips the surgical thread. The hunter he’s helping gives him an appreciative nod and makes her way over to Dean’s group to pick up a reloaded gun. “Why’re you asking anyway?”

His brother gives him a casual shrug. “Experience always tells me that when I get a bad feeling, it’s not something to brush off.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, how many situations do you think we’ve gotten in?”

“You have a point, you practically live in danger all the time,” Adam says. He returns everything he’s used back into the kit they’d ripped off the infirmary wall. Tentatively, he tries to find that familiar mental link between him and the others. The one connecting him to Belphegor is strained from the distance, with the one connecting him to Michael doing a little better. 

“Guys?”

Focus broken, he looks up. The hunter who’d spoken had sounded concerned. Adam turns towards the salt barrier. 

The ghosts appear to be stepping aside, parting to make room for something.

“What the fuck are they doing?” someone mutters. 

Dean motions for the others to stand and take up arms. Thankfully, majority of everybody’s wounds have already been patched up, and they’ve rested a bit. 

“Les, go tell Sam the ghosts on our end are acting weird,” Dean says, and a hunter in a blue jacket with one of the sleeves ripped off nods and makes his way towards the other side of the school, where Sam’s group is. 

Adam stands, picking up the first aid kit, careful not to drop the bulky thing on his foot. He steps back slowly as the hunters around him form a defensive line on Dean’s command, Dean himself standing in front of him so he’s effectively shielded from the ghosts’ view. 

Still, he peeks to the side. The ghosts have now formed a clear path for a smaller group of ghosts who’re lumbering forward slowly, carrying something between them.

“No fucking way,” Adam breathes.

A vengeful spirit, or any ghost, given enough experience in the human world, can manipulate certain things. It’s the very reason why there are movie cliches of people getting scratched and things getting thrown around places. Often, it takes a long, long time to be able to achieve these things, and at most, the common vengeful spirit is able to manipulate small things for a small period of time.

But a group of them, however, would be able to do a considerable amount more, especially when they concentrate their efforts together.

Like say, for example, drag a leafblower over to the salt circle.

“Shit, fire!”

At Dean’s command, all the hunters start shooting, aiming for the group at the very center of the path that are painstakingly trying to carry the leafblower by holding onto the plastic parts. 

For all the determination and the teamwork that the hunters have, however, the ghosts seem to be just as fired up by team spirit (no pun intended), as the second the shooting starts, several of them at the front start diving in the way, taking salt bullet after salt bullet, while a few others immediately dive for the leafblower to grab it and keep it moving even as several of them are gunned down. 

And with their massive numbers, it looks like it’s working.

“What the fuck,” Adam says, frozen in place as he watches the scene. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying that the ghosts have figured out a way around the salt.

They can’t send them all back to Hell even if they somehow found all of their graves. Not when the entirety of Hell is open. They’re sitting ducks. Adam doesn’t want to know if the ghosts know that, because if they do, they’re fucked. 

“Aim for the leafblower!” Dean yells.

Adam bubbles up an almost hysterical laugh.

The next round of salt bullets are all aimed towards the leafblower, which takes them with the resistance that a leafblower has to salt-and-metal projectiles heading towards it at terrifying, destructive speeds, which is that it gets holes peppered into it, even as the ghosts continue to attempt to hold onto it.

The damn thing gets ripped to shreds.

The ghosts stop, suddenly, although the ones still holding onto the leafblower aren’t letting it go. All their efforts have brought them three steps away from the salt circle.

The hunters also stop, not keen on wasting their limited amount of salt bullets.

Then, the ghosts - the ones holding onto the leafblower - start forward again, one slow step at a time.

“What are they doing?” Adam hears someone ask. “That thing’s broken.”

Another step. Dean’s shoulders tense. He turns back towards the school.

One last step. They’re by the salt circle.

“Everyone get close to the building!” Dean yells. “It’s not over yet, the hallways and doorways are salted!”

Adam mentally punches a fist into the air. Their plan did come in handy. 

“Get that fucking leafblower, and don’t let them hold onto anything else.”

There’s confusion all around even as the hunters start pedalling back to get closer to the building. Adam runs up to the porch before turning back to the fight in front of him, his back to the door. He realizes it, suddenly.

The ghosts, carefully, tip the broken leafblower forward, the mangled plastic tube touching the ground. Then, with it firmly touching the grass, it’s nudged forward.

Breaking the salt circle.

Almost immediately, the field erupts in a chorus of gunshots and inhuman screaming. Adam vaguely catches the sight of the leafblower being dragged sideways so that more of the salt is scattered before he rushes back inside the school building - making sure to step over the salt line inside - not keen on getting in the way when Dean needs to focus on fighting. 

The hunters are shooting, some waving around iron pokers and a few other items that they’d managed to scrounge up around the school, but there’s almost an entire field of spirits out there, pushing and shoving and scratching at everyone. The only advantage they have is that the ghosts are easy to dissolve momentarily with the iron, but only if they’re fast enough to hurt them without getting attacked. 

The school’s hallways and windows are salted, which is going to make it harder for the ghosts to get inside and essentially trap them in a maze if they should get in, but the civilians are trapped in here too, and there’s enough ghosts out there that the barrier around the cemetery didn’t even need to be broken for this sort of attack.

“Hurry up, guys,” Adam murmurs, looking out at the carnage through the glass of the front doors. He’s not talking to the hunters. “We need your help.”

-

“Michael.”

“Father.”

Belphegor goes rigid, even when Michael’s right in front of him shielding him from Chuck’s gaze, and even when the man himself is only looking at his oldest. His arms are frozen, still holding up the crook, and he knows he should put them down and he should get away from here as fast as possible, but his body isn’t listening to him. His own corrupted grace isn’t listening to him, and all he can do is just stand there and stare.

He’s not under any control. He’d know if he was. 

He’s just afraid.

Chuck’s smile is warm, and it scares him more than anything how the man can look like that despite everything that’s happening.

“Did you send the ghosts to attack the school?” Michael asks.

“Give me some credit, Michael, I plan things better than some freshly-emancipated demons who’ve finally crawled out of their pocket in Hell,” he says. “That attack’s kind of haphazardly put together, don’t you think?”

“I see,” Michael says. “Then goodbye, Father.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa -” Chuck holds up his hands, laughing lightly. “We see each other for the first time in years and you won’t even catch up with your old man?”

“I have no need when you are the reason we haven’t seen each other in years in the first place.”

“I admit, I messed up by leaving you in the Cage,” Chuck says, or at least starts to say, because Michael cuts in the moment he finishes that sentence. 

“Did you mess up leaving Heaven prior to that, too?”

A pause. If he had the clarity to, Belphegor would have laughed, but he’s focused on not metaphysically pissing himself right now.

“You know why I had to.”

“No, you didn’t have to,” Michael says. “You created this world. You write everything that goes into it and you can, if you wished to. You just let it run according to its rules most times. Nothing about this had to or has to happen. You chose to leave Heaven. You chose to abandon all of us.”

The warmth on Chuck’s expression is fading, slowly, even though he’s still smiling. Belphegor feels a shiver down his spine. 

“I don’t like the tone you’re taking with me, Michael.”

“Good,” Michael says. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Belphegor wishes Michael would shut the fuck up. If Michael shut the fuck up then they’d probably get out of this alive or be smited with a minimum amount of pain. But since Michael’s running his mouth, they’re both likely to die now.

Chuck clicks his tongue. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“But you’re still going to listen, anyway,” Chuck says. “This universe is collapsing in on itself, and you know that. I’m starting anew. Starting with a fresh canvas, and - well, I’d rather skip some steps.”

“I’m not interested,” Michael says.

“I am a forgiving father, Michael,” Chuck says, with a softer look on his face this time. “I know that your time in the Cage hasn’t been kind to you, and I admit that it wasn’t in my plans. The plan was for you to defeat Lucifer - “

“Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Belphegor startles so bad he actually takes a step back, focus switching to Michael. 

“The plan was to see how the Winchesters would overcome your plan for the first apocalypse, that was it. I was never in the equation, and neither was Lucifer,” Michael grits out. “Do not fucking lie to me.”

“Language.”

“Fuck you.”

“Michael,” Belphegor says, sounding so, so small and so, so afraid, that his own voice pulls up a memory for him. Somewhere bright but cold, somewhere where he could hear screaming and he was trying to put his hands over his ears. Somewhere where he invented his first creation, which wasn’t any spell or any weapon or any ritual - just pure, unadulterated fear in a universe still starting out. 

Michael glances at him, but only for a brief moment. His expression doesn’t change.

“You know, I was planning on solving this peacefully,” Chuck says. “I still do love you.”

“Funny that,” Michael says, “I never felt your love.”

Belphegor feels the air being knocked out of him before he realizes what’s happening. He’s tipping backwards, feeling the very atoms of his physical form being pulled away all at once, and he flails and panics, almost forcing himself to get out of Jack’s former body before he understands and reaches out for the archangel. 

“Michael - !” 

But Michael’s only gracing him with one fleeting glance, a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face that Belphegor wouldn’t have picked out if it hadn’t been for the weeks he’d spent with him. A single thought is shoved into his head in the space of the millisecond that Belphegor has to look at him one last time.

Go save everyone.

And then suddenly Belphegor isn’t in Hell, instead travelling miles and miles and miles through Hell and Earth, until he’s blasted backwards into an empty school hall.

He crashes against the wall, nearly impaling himself with the end of the Crook that he’s still holding onto - his fear is good for one thing, at least, in that he’d clutched onto the thing tight - and he nearly bites his tongue as soon as his back makes impact with concrete. He slumps forward with a cough, his entire body shaking. 

“...egor?....Belphegor...Belphegor!”

He only realizes that Adam is calling him when he feels his friend’s hands on his shoulders, helping him sit up and leaning him back on the wall gently. 

“Belphegor? Hey, hey, hey, focus.” Adam slaps his cheek lightly. Belphegor weakly pushes him away, but the kid is still talking. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He notices the ram’s horn held close to Belphegor’s chest. 

“Is...is that the Crook?”

Belphegor, just a little bit more present, nods wordlessly. He takes in a breath, just as unnecessary as the last other ones he’s been taking his whole time on earth, but it’s comforting. Something about it makes his chest feel a little less stuffed and suffocating.

Adam’s expression doesn’t turn joyous, even with the confirmation that they have the Crook. 

“Belphegor,” he says. “Where’s Michael?”

Go save everyone.

Stupid fucking angel. Stupid fucking Prince of the Heavenly Hosts and Heaven’s General who can’t even think his way through a situation and instead just pulls a sacrificial card even though he’s faced with the guy who made him and could probably unmake him with a snap of his fingers. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Belphegor!” Adam’s hands on his shoulders are crushing with their grip. Belphegor’s mildly aware that the shoulder he’d dislocated earlier hurts, but he’s still so out of it that he can’t even tune in to his body anymore. 

Adam looks like he’s about to cry, and Belphegor’s dazed-out look isn’t helping. “Belphegor, where’s Michael?”

It’s when he notices that there’s actual tears at the corners of Adam’s eyes that he manages to scrape up the strength to speak. 

“T-the stupid fucker,” he starts. His voice is shaking and weak, a far cry from his usual smartass snappiness. “Agitated Chuck so his focus would be on him and him alone, and he wouldn’t even notice me.” He laughs, not feeling a single shred of mirth. “I don’t think he thought I’d notice, but of course I did. Of course I fucking did, I’m not dumb, but the fucking asshole - that fucking asshole - “

Adam is crying.

“He sent me back,” Belphegor says. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to him, but Chuck’s down there, and he sent me back, and he told me to save everyone - “

A memory. Somewhere bright but cold, somewhere where he could hear screaming and he was trying to put his hands over his ears. Somewhere where he first invented fear. Somewhere where he saw someone with bloody wings and a sword of fire, fighting against someone else made of pure light, and he swore to himself that he would always hate this place and those two selfish angels who decided a bloodbath would be better than anything else. 

Stupid fucking archangel. 

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor says. “I’m so sorry.”

And he is, he really is. For the first time in his long, long life, he can say that he is.