Well, here we are, the final ficisode in my Sue-Pernatural season 8. I hope you've enjoyed the ride and I pray this has helped anyone else who just couldn't fully digest what we saw on screen and needed something to replace it in your memory. Again, these stories were made better by the wonderful input of my incredible beta, Sharlot. Without her encouragement, I probably would've just stopped halfway through, but thanks to her, here we are. Without further ado, we continue on with…

Worlds Collide

Act I

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop next to the concrete entranceway and cut the engine. They were miles outside Lenexa, Kansas, the only thing in sight, the industrial looking doorway set into the low hillside.

"Is this it?"

Kevin turned in the backseat, his knees pressing into the leather as he gaped out the back window. Dean turned, throwing an arm across the back of the front seat, and leaned his head around Kevin's, eyeing the desolate looking entry.

"These are the coordinates Henry wrote down," Sam confirmed, dropping his phone onto his lap and leaning to his right to get a look out of the passenger side window.

"Doesn't look like much." Dean intoned. He wasn't sure what he was expecting – one didn't come across a top-secret archive of supernatural paraphernalia housed in a warded bunker every day – but this plain, forgotten looking doorway, wasn't it.

Sam harrumphed in agreement. "Guess we better go see what all the fuss was about, huh?"

Dean shrugged and opened the door, the familiar creek of the old Chevy's metal loud in the remote silence. He rounded the car to the trunk and grabbed two flashlights from inside, handing one to his brother as Sam and their young charge exited on the passenger side. All three took slow, cautious steps, approaching the entrance to the Men of Letters' archive.

"You have the key?"

Dean nodded in response to his brother's question and pulled the small brass box from his pocket. Sliding the intricately carved top back, he reached in and pulled out the old-fashioned skeleton key nestled inside.

"You think there's anyone home?" Kevin asked.

Dean looked back at his brother, the hunters sharing their nonverbal opinion of the young prophet's inquiry.

"I doubt it," Sam answered out loud. "Henry had the only key and, according to him, it was the only way to turn the wards off and on. If anyone was still inside when we pulled Henry and Abaddon into the present, they would've either been trapped or been able to leave but not return."

"You mean we may have to deal with hippie geek ghosts in there?" Dean joked as he approached the door and inserted the key into the lock.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "I think we can handle a couple of ghosts, Dean. But I doubt any of them stayed behind once Henry disappeared into thin air." He knew his brother was playing down the danger for Kevin's sake, and he had no problem playing along if only to assure the teenager they could handle whatever they found inside. If any of Henry's cohorts had remained, the food would've run out decades ago. He couldn't imagine anyone dedicated enough to stay behind and starve to death just to protect a few books and trinkets. Besides, Henry had told them it was the safest place on the planet for Kevin, warded against all kinds of evil – especially demons – so Crowley wouldn't be able to find him again. Whatever they found inside, it would be worth it simply to give Kevin some much deserved peace of mind.

"Well, here goes nothing," Dean grinned as he turned the key then stepped back, eyes wide with expectation.

The result was anticlimactic.

There was a series of clicks and the door slid open with a hiss, a musty smell drifting out, carried off immediately by the breeze.

"Well, that was… underwhelming."

Sam rolled his eyes again and brushed past his brother, snapping on his flashlight as he entered into the darkness of the bunker. Kevin followed with Dean bringing up the rear. They moved down a narrow, dark hallway, emerging into what felt like a large chamber. Sam's flashlight highlighted a waist high metal railing directly in front of them and he stepped over to it, shining the beam out into the gloom.

"Wow," Kevin whispered beside him. "This place must be huge."

The light disappeared into the darkness about thirty yards ahead, highlighting a room with high ceilings and wide, arched openings leading into more darkness. Shining the light straight down, Sam realized they were standing on a balcony. He moved the flashlight, following the railing to a set of stairs bordering each side that led down to the room below. He let the beam trace over outdated equipment lined up against the wall of the main room, recognizing a short wave radio set up and what looked like an old fashioned Hewlett Packard, large bank computer complete with giant input terminal and reel-to-reel tape storage.

"Dean, check this out."

"Hold on." The reply was muffled and Sam turned, seeing the halo of his brother's flashlight peeking out from behind a large square panel. Dean tinkered for a few moments than grunted, throwing a heavy switch and the overhead lights powered on, replacing the silence with a low hum.

Sam's eyes widened as he took in the extent of the bunker.

"Holy shit!"

Huge was an understatement.

The main room below was as big as four of their motel rooms put together. At the far end, low steps led up into another massive room with a sizeable wooden table visible through the large, arched entrance. Sam felt his brother step up beside him, but couldn't take his eyes from the sight that lay before them.

"Wow," Dean said quietly. "I think we've got ourselves a real live Batcave, Sammy."

Sam grunted his agreement, his brother's Batman obsession, for once, oddly accurate. In perfect synchronization, they turned and each descended down a set of stairs to the main room below. Dean ran a hand along the old, derelict equipment, surprised to see there was little dust collected after almost 40 years of sitting idle.

"You think the place comes with a cleaning lady?"

Sam shrugged.

"Maybe it's just hermetically sealed or something." Kevin offered, standing behind Sam. "Or maybe the ventilation system is self-cleaning?"

It was Dean's turn to shrug. The teenager's guesses sounded as good as anything he could come up with. There should be layers of dust if the place had been abandoned since 1972. Like Sam, he doubted anyone would've hung around, knowing they could never leave and return without the key. He crossed the room, meeting Sam and Kevin at the base of the wide stairs and all three solely ascended into the second room.

"Whoa," Kevin breathed, his head swiveling to take in everything.

The room was lined with books. From floor to ceiling, wall to wall, books, magazines, tomes… throw in some overpriced coffee, pastries and a few loitering hipsters and it could've been a slightly dusty Barnes & Nobles.

"There has to be thousands of books in here." Sam crossed to one wall, his hand running reverently across a shelf full of ancient looking texts.

"Geek heaven," Dean agreed. He watched his brother, a grin lifting one corner of his mouth at Sam's wide-eyed admiration of the library. "Looks like you'll be busy for the next decade or so."

Sam threw him a look of agreement, not reacting to his brother's amused chuckle.

Dean moved toward another tall archway off the far end of the library and peered into the darkness beyond, shining his flashlight down both ways. "Looks like more rooms off this corridor," he announced. "Why don't you two see if you can find some kind of map of this place. I'm gonna do a little recon."

Sam nodded, without turning from the book he was perusing. "Don't do anything stupid," he said casually.

Dean huffed. "Dude, it's me!"

…..

Castiel sat rigidly in the small chair watching his companion take sips of a frothy beverage in a tiny cup. The angel frowned as Metatron sighed happily and sat back, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Why are we here?"

Metatron looked at Castiel, waving a hand at their surroundings as if it should be obvious. "There's no place like Paris to get a really good croissant."

They were currently sitting in an outdoor bistro on the Champs-Elysees, ignored by the throngs of people visiting the city's attractions. Metatron had insisted they go somewhere where they could talk, and Castiel had been surprised to find himself sitting at a small round table, in an uncomfortable chair, in the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe. So far, all Metatron had done was order a latte and a pastry and commented on the many tourists roaming the street.

"Metatron…"

The older angel held up a hand. "Please, call me Clarence," he said with a wide grin.

Castiel's expression did not change. "A… friend… used to call me Clarence. I did not understand why. Is it a term of endearment?"

Metatron's smile faded, his joke falling on deaf ears. "It's from a movie," he shrugged. "You don't get out much do you?"

"I 'get out' quite often," Castiel responded. "I am 'out' now."

Metatron stared at the blue-eyed angel, not sure how to respond.

"Fine," he finally acquiesced. "I wanted to talk to you about what your friends are doing."

"The Winchesters," Castiel clarified.

"Yes, the Winchesters. The spell they are attempting is very dangerous."

Castiel nodded. "They are aware."

"Good," Meatron took another sip of his latte then pushed it toward the center of the table. "I want to make sure they have everything worked out before they attempt to rid the world of demons. One false step and something terrible could happen."

Castiel's head tilted in curiosity. "Such as what?"

"Well, they could die." Metatron said matter-of-factly. "If they forget an ingredient or use a wrong one, they could turn the spell back onto themselves and blow themselves to Hell."

"I do not believe they have made a mistake with the ingredients."

"Good, good." Meatron nodded his head. "Your prophet must be very wise."

"He is a seventeen year old honor student."

"That is rather young, don't you think?"

Castiel nodded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Perhaps, but Kevin Tran has proven himself capable. Why? Do you believe he is not qualified to read the tablet?"

"Oh no, I'm sure he's qualified. He is a prophet, is he not?" At Castiel's nod, he continued, his voice concerned. "But I wrote those tablets, and I know how difficult it is to fully comprehend our Father's meaning. I just hope he hasn't missed anything, that's all."

"You believe there is something missing for the ritual?"

Metatron shrugged. "You're convinced they have all the correct ingredients, but there are a few things with the spell itself that are important that I may have… glossed over when writing the tablet."

Castiel simply stared, waiting patiently for the scribe to elaborate.

"Has your prophet explained about the blood?"

Castiel's frown deepened. "Blood?"

Oh yes," Metatron leaned forward, his face composed, but a light twinkling behind his eyes. "There must be six drops of blood from whoever is casting the spell mixed with the six ingredients – a kind of … catalyst, if you will. Without them, the spell is harmless."

Castiel nodded. "I will inform Dean and Sam of this. I don't believe Kevin has read this from the tablet."

Meatron leaned back in his chair. "It would be easy to miss. I had a tendency to be quite… cryptic… while writing. "

Castiel stood. "If you are finished, we should go now."

"We?"

"Yes," Castiel pointed to the almost empty cup on the table. "If you are done with your beverage. We must inform the Winchesters of this development."

Meatron fidgeted in his seat, but made no attempt to rise. "Why don't you inform them, Castiel. I… I don't really get involved with humans."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he studied the scribe, finally nodding and disappearing from view.

Metatron sighed and picked up his cup, leaning his elbows on the table as he sipped. "Besides, I'm sure you can be much more convincing, my friend."

…

Dean entered the library, clapping his hands together in glee. "We have a real kitchen, dude. There's no food in it, but once we stock up, no more take-out. We can actually cook!"

Sam looked up from the thick book he was reading, his brow creased in confusion. "Since when do you cook?"

Dean looked insulted. "I can cook," he insisted. "How do you think you became a giant? It wasn't because of that rabbit food you're always eating."

Sam huffed a laugh and returned his attention to the book lying open on the table before him. "It wasn't because you knew how to warm up SpaghettiOs either."

"It wasn't because you knew how to warm up SpaghettiOs either," Dean mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Just see if I make you any gastrointestinal works of art."

"Can I have that in writing?"

Dean flipped him off. "Where's Kevin?"

Sam huffed and sat back in his chair, realizing he would get no reading in as long as his brother was around. "Probably picking out his room."

Dean stiffened. "I call dibs on the one by the showers." At Sam's expected eye roll, he continued. "So what do you think happened to everyone?"

Sam shrugged, letting his eyes roam the massive library. "I don't know. I'm guessing they all left after Henry disappeared. I mean it is a secure bunker, it's not like they needed to leave someone on guard all these years, right?"

"You're probably right," Dean said, picking up a book and blowing a bit of dust off the cover. "It's better than thinking we could be surrounded by Ghosts of Letters. Because that's just disturbing."

Sam snorted a laugh. "A better question is what are we supposed to do with all this?" He waved an arm, indicating the vast archive of books surrounding them.

Dean let his eyes roam the walls, shrugging a shoulder at the question. "Well, this is more up your alley, little brother. Just being in the same room with all these books is giving me the heebie-jeebies." He faked a shudder for effect.

Sam shook his head fondly and picked up a key ring that was lying next to the stack of books on the table. "Then maybe this is more your style." He tossed the keys to Dean who caught them deftly in one hand. The older man singled through them, frowning at the different colored fobs attached to the tops of the keys.

"The red one opens the armory," Sam informed him with a grin.

Dean's eyes went wide and he looked at his brother, his face lit up like Christmas. "We have an armory?"

Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped at his brother's unabashed excitement. "Dude, it's like Candyland."

…

Dean returned a few hours later, face flushed, eyes twinkling with happiness.

"Have fun?" Sam asked, sitting back and stretching his arms above his head. He had managed to get through a couple of the books in his brother's absence, but was starting to get overwhelmed by the sheer volume of knowledge surrounding him. He found himself actually welcoming Dean's interruption this time.

The older hunter tossed a set of iron manacles on the table, watching while Sam picked them up and examined the sigils carved into the metal.

"Is this what I think it is?" The manacles were heavy, the iron beginning to rust with age, held together by a two-foot length of chain. The etchings on each iron band were recognizable and Sam's brows rose at the implication.

Dean nodded, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "Yep. A mobile devil's trap. Slap those babies on a demon and they're your bitch."

Sam set the manacles back on the table with care. "Those were in the armory?"

Dean shook his head and pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table, allowing himself to sink into its comfortable confines. "Nope. But let me tell you, we have every weapon known to man and then some. We even have a damn rocket launcher. Dude, we could take out a third world country."

"Good to know," Sam drawled. "But where did these come from?"

Dean sat back and lifted his legs onto the table, the smirk growing wider. "The dungeon."

"The what?"

"Dude, not only do we have massive firepower and…" he waved a hand at the surrounding shelves, "…whatever geekified information you can find buried here, we have an honest to demon dungeon complete with permanent devil's trap and soundproof walls."

"Seriously?"

Before Dean could answer, his phone chirped and he twisted to pull it from his pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he frowned before putting the device to his ear.

"Cas? Where the hell are you?"

"I am outside. I need to speak with you, but apparently your wards keep angels out as well as demons."

"Oh," Dean let his feet drop to the ground, giving his brother a sheepish look. "Sorry about that. We didn't know. We'll be right out."

Sam had only heard one side of the conversation, but surmised the problem as his brother clicked off the call.

"The bunker is warded against angels, too?"

"Seems like," Dean responded, pushing up from the table.

"Think we can figure out how to fix that?"

Dean shrugged, waiting for Sam to close the book he was reading and stand to follow him out. "A better question is do you think we should?"

…..

Cas was standing near the Impala, a frown across his face. He pushed himself off the car as the Winchesters exited the door.

"Sorry, Cas," Dean said as they approached the angel, pocketing the key. "I guess the Men of Letters weren't the trusting type."

Cas nodded, apparently unconcerned. "It would make sense to ward off anything that was not human, angels included. We have seen that not all angels can be trusted."

"Amen to that," Dean mumbled.

Sam ignored him. "What did you need to talk to us about?"

"I have, on good authority, found out a missing part of the spell you intend to undertake."

Sam stood up straighter. "You figured out what the last ingredient is?"

Kevin had deciphered the ingredient as "the Word" but as of yet had no idea what that meant. With the Summer Soltice rapidly approaching, they knew they could use whatever help they could get and so far, Castiel had been invaluable to their cause.

"No, but I will ask Metatron."

"Metatron?" Dean asked, surprised. "You actually know where we can find Metatron? The scribe who wrote the tablets?"

Castiel nodded. "He approached me at the cabin, after you had left."

"Why?" Sam voiced the obvious question. "He's been incommunicado for centuries, right? Why just show up now?"

"He sensed what you were doing with the tablets and he was concerned that it work out. He has offered to help."

Dean looked around, noting the angel was the only other entity there. "Then where is he? If he wants to help so bad, why doesn't he just come right out and say it?" Due to past experiences, the hunter was instinctively suspicious of angels offering to help.

"He has not interacted with humans for a long time," Castiel explained. "He would rather remain in the background."

Dean's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Uh huh."

Castiel shrugged. "He has given me information that could affect the success of your spell." He quickly explained about the blood offering, telling them both how Metatron had described it as a catalyst for the spell to work.

"Kevin never mentioned a blood offering," Sam said cautiously.

"Metatron feared it would be overlooked," Castiel justified the information.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look of wariness before returning their attention to the angel.

"Okay, Cas," Dean said with a grim smile. "We'll check it out. Let us know if Metatron comes up with anything else."

Castiel nodded and with a flutter of wings, disappeared from sight.

"You think Kevin just missed it?"

Dean shrugged in response to his brother's question. "I don't know. Maybe. The kid's been working hard, but he's still just a kid. This is all new to him."

"Yeah," Sam responded. "But you don't think so."

"Call it a hunch," Dean sighed. "Angels have screwed us over more times than I can count."

"Cas seems to think Metatron is on the up and up." Sam wanted to believe Castiel. Ever since they'd begun their quest, he'd noticed that Dean had started to regain some trust in the angel. Cas had been doing everything he could to help them, showing Dean that he was there for them, that he was not going to betray that trust. Sam hoped it was real, because one more betrayal would be the last straw for his brother.

Dean nodded and turned, his lips set in a tight line. "And Cas has never been manipulated before."

Sam reluctantly agreed. "So what? Do we take him at his word?"

Dean took a deep breath, lifting a hand to rub at the headache that had sprung up suddenly behind his eyes. "For now we have Kevin take another pass at the tablet. See if he can find anything about a blood offering."

"What about the wards?" Sam asked. "Do we find a way to let Cas inside?"

Dean shook his head, regret playing on his face. "Until we know anything for sure, we're better off alone."

TBC…