Episode 20 – Rule the World, part II

Summary: With nothing left to lose, Dean sets out to kill Lucifer once and for all. That, or die trying.

Author's Notes: This is it, guys – the last chapter. The finale. Gosh, I'm so nervous. I really hope you love it as much as I do.

Credit is due to tumblr user supernaturalapocalypse because their end!verse theory was incredibly inspirational.

xXx

I hear voices calling all around
I keep falling down
I think my heart could pound right out of me
I see a million different ways
To never leave this maze alive

- "Angel in Blue Jeans", Train

xXx

Dean's knees give out when he realizes the full implication of Cas' absence. He grabs the side of his car and slides down along the door, his eyes burning in the heat of whatever wasteland he's currently in.

His breathing is erratic and he has to gasp to get enough air as his stomach churns with dread. His chest feels like it's open, laid bare, too much pain blinding him to everything else.

Something rings. It barely registers at first but it's persistent, getting louder with each ring.

Dean breathes in through his nose, releasing the breath slowly, again and again until the panic attack subsides and he's finally coherent enough to connect the ringing to his cell phone in his pocket.

"Finally! Dude, not cool leaving me hanging like this! What's going on? Luci's still out and about and you're missing, what the fuck happened?"

Gabriel. For a guy who spent the past weeks being tortured by the devil, he sure as hell sounds chipper.

"He…" Dean's shocked at how thin his voice is. He tries to go on but he has no idea what to say, how to explain it when he himself hasn't fully accepted it yet.

"What? Where are you?"

A voice in the background, maybe Jesse. Dean doesn't hear the exact words but the Antichrist apparently argues to simply get Dean and zap him upstairs.

Which is why, three minutes later, Dean is standing in Heaven's office rooms on shaky legs, still clutching the cell phone like an idiot. He only snaps out of his daze when he sees Hannah's worried look.

"Dean-o, I hear I have you to thank for that rescue mission. Seriously, thanks for that. If I'd had to listen to Luci complain and nag and ramble for another day, I probably would have smitten me myself…"

"Where is Castiel?"

Three words and Dean feels like Hannah has just stabbed him with a spoon.

"Yeah, right – where is dear Cassie?"

"He, uh," Dean begins but finds his throat's still not working. Snap out of it, Winchester, damn it, a voice in his head that sounds eerily like his father snubs him. The job ain't done yet. You can cry after that monster's dead.

So Dean clears his throat and meets Hannah and Gabriel's questioning gazes head on. "He's gone. Lucifer killed him."

"Holy crack on a cracker, you're kidding, right? Right, Dean-o?"

He shakes his head. Gabriel keeps rambling – Hannah meanwhile takes the route of stony silence, drawing in on herself. Dean can see her walls coming up and closing her off to her surroundings.

"- and then I'm gonna smite that bastard so hard he'll never stand up again before the sun implodes, seriously, Lucifer better warm up 'cause I sure as hell won't go easy on him –"

"You ain't doing anything," Dean interrupts as a sense of calm overcomes him, washing the pain away and replacing the panic. Suddenly the path ahead of him is clear. "I'm gonna do it. I got the scythe, I'll ram it so hard up his ass that it'll split his nose in half. I'm gonna make him pay for this."

Gabriel doesn't seem convinced. "Dean, confronting the devil alone's a lame-assed plan, even with that fancy blade you got. What is it with you and special blades anyway?" He shakes his head. "Never mind that – you're not going off alone."

"Watch me."

"No can do buddy –" is as far as Gabriel gets before Dean has him slammed into a wall, hands fisted in his shirt.

"Listen up, bitch. You're gonna take me back to my car, then you're gonna leave me alone and let me deal with this on my own. Lucifer's mine to kill. If I fail, then feel free to step up to the task but for as long as my heart's still beating I'll gank everyone who gets in my way, and Gabe, even your archangel mojo won't help you when you're on the other end of the scythe."

Gabriel has the good sense to lift his arms in surrender, nodding to someone to his right to show he's honoring Dean's wishes.

"Good."

Dean has almost reached his ride – some scrawny angel with blond hair – when Gabriel calls his name again. When Dean looks over his shoulder, Gabriel's expression is a mixture of pain and fury.

"If you fail, I'll take over. He's not getting away with what he's done."

Dean nods, not expecting anything less. "As long as you're not gonna interfere this time around. This is my fight."

"Sure thing, boy."

Before the archangel can say anything else, Dean motions to the scrawny one to get a move on. He's got a devil to kill.

xXx

Area 51, Nevada

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley sees Red and Kahr being whisked away by a member of the Bible Group. At least they are getting out of this alive and free, while Crowley can but rattle his chains. Well, one chain. Unfortunately one pair of cuffs is sufficient to tie Crowley to the spot.

"I have heard a lot about you," comes a voice from his right. It's oddly familiar and sure, as soon as he turns his head, there stands Moose in all his six-foot-plus glory, wearing a pristine white suit.

Nothing Moose would be caught dead in. Which means this really is…

"Yes, Crowley. I am Lucifer. My minions have been full of stories on the topic of your little self. Tell me – how does a petty crossroads demon manage to take over Hell itself?"

"What can I say, I am a born leader," Crowley jokes, at a loss about what else he is supposed to do in this situation. Cower, perhaps? Beg? Yes – not going to happen. "People just flock around me, you know. Maybe it's the accent, gives me an air f mystery. So many of you demons are American. I've always wondered why that is – are Americans inherently more evil than the rest of the word?"

"Nervous bumbling won't safe you, Crowley."

"Well, I'll try anything once."

"I can see right through your false bravado, too. You are terrified of what I am going to do to you, are you not?"

A shiver runs down Crowley's spine. In any other context – role play, maybe – the sentence would have sounded rather hot coming from a man like Sam Winchester, yet with the threat of death or worse hanging over him, Crowley can only muster a shiver.

"Good for you that I am in a generous mood. You know, I just killed that angel, the one you teamed up with once in the fight for purgatory. Not your smartest move, I must say."

"Wait – Castiel? You killed Castiel? And the Squirrel hasn't dismembered you and crushed your bones?"

"Winchester was lucky to get away," Lucifer sneers, the expression looking extremely weird on Sam's face.

Interesting. Crowley can't help being suspicious that there is more behind this than the Morningstar lets on. Too bad Crowley's in no position to find out more.

"As I was mentioning – I am in a generous mood, so I will tell you what is going to happen to you." Crowley swallows, bracing himself. "I will take you down to Hell where you will remain my prisoner until the earth itself ends. Maybe before that I'll have some fun with you on my own. After all everyone's yearning for a piece of you. You will be tortured and you will beg for death but never be granted reprieve. You betrayed me, Crowley. I don't stand for betrayal."

Pretty much just as he expected. Nothing that surprises him, but everything that fills him with palpable dread, pooling in the pit of his stomach like lead.

A hand grips his arm – it's Merrick's, apparently ready to transport him somewhere else. Before they are off, Lucifer steps close, towering over him and looking down due to Moose's height.

"You will soon curse the day you decided to cross me, demon."

"Oh, believe me. I already do," Crowley sighs, giving in to the desire to let his shoulders sag and let the self-pity drown him.

xXx

Refugee Camp, McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas

It's Charlie's first time in a camp like this. She's heard a lot about them, the conditions, the work the angels put into protecting them, but she's never really thought about what it would mean.

Las Vegas was a magnetic place when the apocalypse first started, at least that's what Charlie heard. Everyone who could afford to travel flew to Sin City, opting to go out in a blaze.

The city lies mostly in ruins now. All Charlie can see from the rooftop is the tall rectangular Mandalay Bay casino. The hotel's upper right corner is missing, and if she squints she can almost imagine the hotel rooms that have been exposed by whatever it was that caused the damage. A low flying plane, maybe. Or an explosion.

The sun is setting but the temperature's still around a hundred. Charlie cradles the water bottle in her hands, incredibly grateful that the humans here were ready to share so easily.

Alex hasn't spoken a word ever since they got here, too busy shooting Charlie glares and staring daggers at her. Charlie won't apologize for saving the woman's life, even if it meant that Alex couldn't get her revenge in person, even if that in turn means that the huntress is currently sitting on the edge of the roof, dangling her feet in the air all broody and sexy.

The sound of Alex' cell phone jerks them both back to the present.

"Yes," the other woman snaps, not bothering with turning on the loudspeaker. "Oh."

Must have been something sad, judging by the shadow that passes over Alex' face.

"Any idea where he's off to? … Yeah, we're fine. Beth's dead. … No. I'm not talking about it, Gabriel."

So they freed the archangel? Charlie feels a smile forming on her lips.

"No, forget it. I'll do what you asked for, alright? … I can't promise anything." Alex hangs up, probably before the angel has finished, yet by the looks of it Alex hated whatever he told her at the end.

"What happened?" Charlie tries, hoping for a reaction. To her surprise Alex is willing to explain.

"Castiel is dead. Gabe isn't sure about the details but Dean was there and now he's on a suicide mission and won't accept help."

"So Gabriel wants us to tail him?"

Alex nods. "No idea where he's off to or where Lucifer is, seeing as they found out his last base of operations."

"Well, get me a serviceable laptop and an internet connection and I'll work my magic." Another nod. Alex's eyes, usually so expressive and alive, are dull and empty, as if she's running on autopilot. "Listen, Alex, I'm –"

"You don't need to apologize. I know you saved my life. I'd like to say thank you but I'm not grateful at the moment. Just leave it. I'll be fine."

Charlie really wants to believe her, but it's a lost cause.

xXx

A bar somewhere outside Washington, DC

In general, Brian Remy oscillates between split-second decisions in high-pressure situations (mostly client meetings) and intricate, thought-out plans where he leaves nothing to chance. His instincts are rarely wrong – they are what made him senior partner at one of the most prestigious advertising firms in the capital.

So when the fighting started and his instincts told him to run as far away as possible, he didn't even contemplate his decision for a second. When an army of angels attack the side you're working on it then doesn't take someone as clever as Brian to figure out that strategic retreat might be the best choice.

Brian has never believed in the concept of karma – too many years of too many ruthless decisions that were rewarded with ever more power, more money… Now, however, as he is sitting in a bar a few miles outside of Washington, sipping half-way decent scotch and the door bursts open with a bang revealing none other than Lucifer himself, Brian wonders if this is the moment that karma is going to cash in a lifetime of egoistic behavior.

"I thought you were smarter than the average human, Brian."

He is too shocked to argue, or actually formulate any kind of answer.

"You fled. Now, why would you do that, Brian?"

Thankfully his voice decides to work again. "You know me – always the survivor." It sounded more suave in his head.

"Logic like that simply doesn't apply to the apocalypse, Brian. The way I see it, you are a deserter. Weak. Maybe not actually worthy of my time, but I am slightly disappointed by your lack of loyalty at the slightest sliver of danger, so I thought I would come to see to you personally."

"I doubt it will do me any good to beg for forgiveness?"

"I don't believe in forgiveness."

The statement shouldn't surprise Brian, but it does. For all intentions and purposes, he considers himself a cold, opportunistic bastard, yet he has forgiven and been forgiven. It is an essential part of life. Or maybe just of being human.

"You're missing out," Brian quips, a kind of giddiness rising in his chest. He has always wondered how he would act in the face of certain death. When there was still a chance of a favorable outcome like when he first met Lucifer, Brian seems capable of keeping his cool. Now, however, his response appears to be inadequate bravado.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Everyone makes mistakes and while I concede that some errors are beyond forgiveness, there are quite a lot that aren't grave. One mistake does not make or break the man."

"I think we are applying different standards. After all, I merely stated my opinion, declared my father's newest creations beneath me, and I did not receive any lenience. I was cast from Heaven and into Hell."

"Well, between that and Jesus Christ, your father seems to have come a long way."

"Do you intend to involve me in a philosophical discourse on my father's various mood swings as a way to distract me from why I am really here?"

Damn. Brian swallows thickly. If he can't come up with a last-minute rescue, these are his last moments on earth. And he doubts God has a place in Heaven for people like him.

"That was my plan. I never really thought it would succeed, however."

"Indeed. Do you want to make a break for freedom and run away? I would even give you a head start. I'm in a particularly good mood today."

"Good enough to give me another chance?" Brian asks, his giddiness changing into desperation from one breath to the next.

Lucifer's reply is a simple snapping of his fingers. Brian senses what is coming before his neck breaks from invisible pressure. Then he is standing apart from the scene, gazing down at his lifeless body, a young woman with exotic features standing next to him as he watches Lucifer shrug, down the scotch still standing on the counter and blink out of existence.

"Come, now. You have to follow me," the woman tells him.

A thousand questions come to mind, like who she is, what she is doing, if his body is lying there is his current form his soul, yet he doesn't ask any of them.

"Where am I going?"

"I think you know," the woman says, her tone devoid of caring or any other emotion. Her eyes flicker down.

Brian closes his eyes, resigned.

xXx

US-287, near Wichita Falls, Texas

Dean has been driving for about four hours, ever since he found himself next to his car again, somewhere near Albuquerque, Texas, with no idea where to go from there. He checked his baby over, thrilled at how she was in top condition, not one scratch, let alone traces from the explosion on her. As soon as he was finished and slid into the driver's seat, relishing the feel of being back behind the wheel despite his shitty mood, his cell phone chirped with a text.

There is a magic shop in New Orleans. Dylan, the owner, should be able to find who you're looking for – Jamie

It was as good a plan as any, especially since Jamie had the whole prophet-of-the-Lord-thing going for him, so Dean maneuvered his car onto the 287, set to drive until he hit the end of the line.

Usually it's a fifteen hour drive, though Dean figures that speed limits don't really have any justification anymore, so he floors it, practically flying down the road with nothing around him but far-reaching lands, the setting sun, the scythe on the seat next to him and his tapes, all of them. He turns up the volume loud enough to silence his own thoughts and just keeps driving, driving, until he needs gas.

All gas stations are abandoned and mostly one of the pumps still works. One time, around two in the morning near Dallas, still Texas, a gang of demons attacks him. Dean strikes them down with ease, ash piling on the floor at his feet.

His mind flashes back to blue eyes crumbling at the hand of the very weapon he's holding and he jerks back, dropping the scythe. It takes five or ten minutes – too long either way – until Dean's got a handle on himself again.

He gets right back into the car, his knuckles white from their grip on the steering wheel.

xXx

New Orleans

Dylan jerks awake when his phone goes off, rubbing his eyes and blearily looking at the digital clock next to his bed. August 2nd, 7:03. Too damn early.

"I was having such a great dream," he tells the person on the other end, rounding his statement off with a yawn.

"Sorry," Charlie's voice comes through the speaker, "but this is important. I'm going to describe a man to you and if you hear about him or see him or anything, you tell me asap, okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

Dylan listens to Charlie describe a guy that sounds way too familiar, absent-mindedly scratching his hellhound behind his ears. Yes, the dog's allowed on his bed. It's surprisingly comfy. "What's his name?"

"Uh, Dean."

"Dean? As in 'Winchester'? Why would he seek me out of all people? He's not gunning against me, is he? I'm sure he's got bigger fish to gut than petty little warlocks…"

"He might ask for your help. Maybe it's best to give it to him; he's not in the best place right now…"

"Well, who is?" It was intended as rhetorical, but Charlie answers after all.

"His, uh, his boyfriend died last night."

"Sucks for him. But Charlie, it's the apocalypse. Everyone gets the same amount of pity from me."

"You don't understand, Dylan – this guy, Castiel –"

"Castiel?!"

"How do you know him?"

"Charlie, you really underestimate the level of information I possess. When something epic goes down in the supernatural world, I know it. So what, this angel and Dean Winchester of all people decided to shack up in time for the apocalypse and now Winchester's on a one-man mission to avenge his lover without really caring whether he lives or dies 'cause he's got nothing else to live for?"

"When you put it like that…"

"Never mind that – why do you need to know where he's heading?"

"Alex – the huntress I was telling you about?" Dylan makes an affirmative noise. "She and I are going to shadow him. He threatened Gabriel if he tried to stop him or help him or anything really, so it's our job now."

"Gabriel's been freed, then?"

"Yes! Sorry, I should have led with the good news."

"It's fine. And I'll call you in case he shows."

"Thanks, Dylan. I owe you."

"You and so many other people. Put it on my tab," he quips, hanging up shortly after.

Dean Winchester. The stories Dylan has heard about that man… he and his brother are legends, the stuff that gives monsters nightmares. Dylan has been content to have never met the brothers – too much trouble, really. Maybe when he sees him, Winchester will have a sign with "Hello Trouble, here I am" around his neck to explain his propensity to get involved in the worst things.

Chuckling to himself, Dylan climbs out of bed.

xXx

Dean makes it to New Orleans around eight in the morning. To his surprise the city's almost alive, and definitely vibrant compared to the ghost towns he passed on the way. There's even a couple walking their dog, two women pushing a stroller, just about to enter the City Park.

"'scuse me, ma'am?" Dean calls out through his rolled-down window.

One moment later there's the barrel of a gun in front of his face while the second woman draws an angel blade. Huh.

"I gotta recommend your reflexes there, but I'm just looking for directions. There a diner still around that serves breakfast? And I'm looking for a guy named Dylan, runs a magic shop somewhere in town."

"Why should we help you?" the one with the blade shoots back and Dean figures they've probably learnt to never give away anything for free pretty soon after the shit started hitting the fan.

"Listen, I got some weapons in my trunk, including guns and ammo. How's that sound? We got a deal?"

Fifteen minutes later Dean's rid of one handgun and a rifle as well as a decent amount of ammo and entering the diner with a second sports bag full of similar contraband.

As soon as he sets foot inside the restaurant (and it actually deserves the title; got booths and everything and it looks pretty clean, not at all like the dive Dean expected), he's once again on the receiving end of several glares and weaponry.

"Ain't no need for that. I got weapons, ammo and some salt to trade against some grub. Think we can make a deal?" he asks into the room.

The person to answer is a big, black woman who looks as if she could do some serious damage.

"I'm Monique, I run this place. Show me what you got, boy."

Dean bristles slightly – 'cause seriously, he's in his thirties and the woman's maybe three years older than him – but he complies. Monique inspects the cargo with a trained eye, leaning back when she's finished and crossing her arms over he chest.

"This'll get you a hearty breakfast. What do you want?"

Dean gives her his order, almost afraid that she'll say they don't have any bacon or whatever, but they're apparently well stocked. Monique sits him down at the bar, gives him coffee and food before sending him out of the joint, the looks of every other patron following him out.

It's good to see people getting on despite the shitty circumstances. Suck that, Lucifer.

He's in for a surprise when he pulls up in front of the magic shop. It's big, for one, and not hiding behind some lame-ass cover of selling esoteric new-age crap. Dean inspects the walls and windows, failing to see any visible wards. Probably intentional, he figures as he climbs out of the car, taking another sports bag with weapons with him, throwing in a few of the ingredients for spells they keep hidden underneath the floorboards for emergency summoning. Dean would marvel that everything's still in place in his baby but that'd mean thinking about who restored his car and that'd lead to thoughts about Cas and Dean's got no time to ward off another fucking panic attack.

A bell above the door chimes when he enters. There's a kid behind the counter, maybe in his twenties if you squint, tall and somewhat scrawny.

"You Dylan?" Dean asks, approaching the counter while noting exits and windows.

"Wow, who taught you manners?"

"I've got no time for freakin' manners, kiddo. I need you to do something for me and I got enough stuff to pay for it."

"Let me guess, you need this ominous thing done yesterday?"

"You got it," Dean grins, placing the bag on top of the counter.

Dylan inspects the contents, letting out a low whistle. "Now I'm kind of hesitant to ask about what you need me to do."

"Locate someone. I got it on good authority that you're someone who could pull that off."

"Well, who is it that needs locating?"

"Lucifer."

The kid splutters, eyes widening almost comically. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"But – why?! Shouldn't you be glad to be as far away from that guy as possible?"

"I got a score to settle with him, which, just for the record, is none of your fucking business."

"What would you do if I told you to get the hell out of my shop?"

Dean draws the scythe, almost lazily. Dylan takes it in, swallowing hard as soon as realization hits. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yup."

Dylan lets out another low whistle. "Can I hold it?"

"It was lent to me, kid. Not happening. Wouldn't want you to cut yourself."

The boy looks disappointed. Hell, a powerful warlock like him can probably feel the energy this thing's probably leaking all over the place.

"So, we got a deal?"

Dylan bites his lower lip, looking up at Dean with a thoughtful expression. "I'll do it under one condition. In addition to the weapons and supplies, I get a phial of your blood."

"What the hell'd you want with my blood?"

"You're Dean Winchester. I'm sure your blood's good for something."

Dean takes in the kid, wondering if he's bluffing, if there's some kind of ritual that'll need his blood. Fuck, this ain't Harry Potter, he decides eventually. It's not like Lucifer can use his blood to make him immune to any of Dean's charms.

"Alright, kid. You got yourself a deal."

xXx

Dylan waits until Winchester is back in his car and driving off before reaching for his phone and giving his dog the signal that he can come out from the back again.

"Yes, Charlie, he was here. Wanted me to trace down the devil himself. I take it he's the one who killed his boyfriend?"

Charlie's sigh is answer enough. "So where did you send him?"

"Chicago. The devil's in Chicago."

"Huh. What's in Chicago?"

"What am I, a tourist information?"

"Sorry… Do you know when he'll get there?"

"Looks like he's driving. That's about fourteen, fifteen hours. You got time."

"Alright. Thanks again!"

"Good luck, girl."

xXx

One day later, I-57

Even though it takes him ages to get to Chicago by car, Dean's glad to be driving. It clears his head, the endless road stretching before him, only his tape collection keeping him company.

He catches a few hours of shut-eye when he's practically falling asleep at the wheel, re-establishing the wards inside his car that Sammy removed back when… back when he was still a demon, and Sam was still Sam and Cas…

Dean shakes his head. He's almost there, can taste the revenge on his tongue.

He's fully aware that chances are he's not gonna make it out of Chicago alive. He's fine with that. He's tired, too, tired of years and years of fighting and then still ending up in that goddamn rose garden with the world in ruins.

He overheard the folks in the diner talk about the Euphrates, filled to the brim with human blood. There's no radio anymore, only the info service that someone established at one of the refugee camps that's transmitting all over the country. If twenty per cent of the population's still breathing, it's a generous estimation.

So yeah. Dean'll take his shot, give his very best to stab that son of a bitch who's ruined his life and that of his family, but if in the end Lucifer gets one over him and kills him, Dean'll greet Death without complaining and accept Hell as his new home for eternity.

He's never been this focused in his life. He's grim, sure, but he's determined and eerily calm when the first buildings of Chicago come into view.

Into battle.

xXx

Art Institute, Chicago

Crowley's screams are music to his ears. The former "King of Hell" is enveloped in green flames, which provide the sensation of being burnt alive yet never actually scarring the flesh.

Lucifer has been torturing the demon all through the night and into morning. It's been a while since he had the muse to focus his ministrations on one individual rather than entire cities or regions. In fact, the last person he tortured like this was Sam Winchester, back in the cage.

Sam seems to recall that time – Lucifer can feel his anguish as he watches his not-quite-friend suffer.

Crowley's no usual demon, his true form still twisted and mangled, yet with strange spots where his humanity has been brought to the fore, an after effect of the Winchesters' attempt to cure him. It makes conjuring hurtful visions to drive him out of his mind even easier.

"Please, please stop," Crowley gasps, his chest heaving and tears of pain spilling from his eyes.

"Oh, I haven't even started yet."

xXx

Dean finds the Art Institute of Chicago without trouble. He only had to pass by two groups of demons scouring the streets, one of which dies at the end of the scythe before they reach his car when they spied him.

According to Dylan's spell, Lucifer's in there. Maybe he's feeling cultural? Taking in some sights before annihilating the city?

Dean does a quick sweep, noting the lack of guards. The arrogant prick probably figures he's above that. Well, Dean's gonna show him.

The inside of the building is empty as well, save for the posters and exhibits. Dean advances slowly, listening to his surroundings, the scythe raised and ready to slay anything getting in his way.

He's passed the Grand Staircase, opting to check out the lower level first, when he hears the screaming.

xXx

"There!" Charlie yelps when the black Chevy rounds the corner, only to have Alex shush her.

"He really drove that car all the way from New Orleans?" Alex wonders, sounding as though she'd rather take on a Wraith all by her lonesome.

"Dean loves his car. And he loves driving. I guess the time on the road did him some good."

"Well, he looks like crap," is Alex' assessment and she's not wrong. When Charlie watches Dean get out of the car she can see his rumpled clothes and the circles underneath his eyes. Charlie hopes he at least got some sleep.

"Let's go. We have to get off this bridge first."

They climb down to the street level again, tailing the Impala at a safe distance, watching with bated breath as Dean outright slaughters a band of ten or twelve demons without breaking a sweat. Charlie's seen Dean in soldier-mode and this is something totally different.

Alex raises an eyebrow when he enters the Art Institute, though doesn't comment. True to the promise they gave Gabriel, they sneak into the building, unknowing what will wait for them inside.

xXx

Dean's not sure how he feels about seeing Crowley suffer like this. Sure enough, the dick's always been more trouble than help, but in the past few weeks he did help Charlie and Alex and he did kill Gavin. He's the evil they know.

Lucifer has taken up residence in the big exhibition rooms on the side of the Millennium Park. Whatever art adorned the walls before that is impossible to tell – paintings, vases, everything's been piled into a corner to make room for… well, one chair. And Crowley.

Dean thinks fast. Back in New Orleans he nicked two magic grenades he glimpsed on his way out. Two chances. He retrieves the first one while passing the scythe to his left hand.

He aims. Reaches back. Breathes out. Throws.

The grenade hits its target, exploding right at Lucifer's feet and catapulting both him and the bound demon out of the center. Out of the corner of his eye Dean can see Crowley getting up – the ropes must have burnt off.

Lucifer, meanwhile, is glaring at him, his usually unblemished suit dirty and torn.

"Dean. What a surprise," he drawls, the sarcasm evident in his tone. He swipes a hand over the ripped fabric and one blink later the suit's as good as new.

"You and me got unfinished business."

"Oh, is this the part where you try once again to kill me and fail epically? Any more boyfriends here to save your life?" Sam's features transform into a sneer, an expression Dean's never seen his brother make.

"I'm not getting involved in this," Crowley comments from a corner, apparently about to flee the scene.

"Oh no, you're staying here," Lucifer decides, extending his arm. Crowley flies back against the wall, pinned into place by invisible forces. "I'm not finished with you."

"That your new hobby, Luci? Torturing lowlifes?"

Dean doesn't expect the surge of pain that hits him in his chest and spreads quickly through his entire body, almost making him drop the scythe as he collapses to his knees.

"I hate that nickname," is all the explanation he gets.

"That why you tortured Gabriel? 'cause he hurt your delicate feelings?"

"Not at all. I tortured him because killing him would only led to another resurrection. Can't anyone simply die in this world?"

"Plenty died because of you, you goddamn son of a bitch!" Dean snarls, finally upright again and poised for attack.

"Like it was always meant to be."

"Well, I've never been good with keeping to plans," Dean quips, then lunges at the devil.

Lucifer sidesteps him easily, is suddenly on his left but Dean anticipated a move like that and he swings the scythe. Lucifer barely moves out of the way in time but the moment's enough for him to blast Dean back. He uses the momentum to roll to his feet again, starting another attack only to be slammed against the wall, one of Sam's large hands closing around his throat, the other pinning his wrist to restrict the range of the scythe. Dean tries to kick but it's no use – his vision is already darkening around the edges but then out of nowhere, a bottle comes flying. It hits Lucifer right in the back and bursts into flames.

He screams in agony, Sam's voice still making Dean's heart clench even though it's not his brother anymore. Then the air is back in his lungs and another explosion rocks the building.

When Dean gets up there's a gaping hole in the wall and Lucifer's half-burnt form is lying on the grass. A quick glance upwards shows Alex and Charlie on the balustrade on the first level.

"I told you to stay out of this!" he bellows but is already jumping over the rubble, hoping to get to Lucifer before the guy gets his bearings back.

He's too late and takes a large brick to the chest for his trouble, knocking him on his ass. His grip on the scythe doesn't loosen.

"You think you can defeat me with tricks and pyrotechnics?" Lucifer laughs sardonically, his voice loud enough to carry across the park.

This would usually be the point where Dean pulls some extraordinary weapon from up his sleeve, says "Surprise, bitch!" and ends this motherfucker but all Dean's got is the close-range scythe and he's beginning to doubt he'll ever get the chance to burry it inside Lucifer.

"Is that all you have to offer?" the devil bellows, his tone a cross between derisive and amused. "You really thought you were a match for me?"

Another piece of rubble hits Dean, this time in the back, and he tumbles forward, the momentum propelling him into the ground too fast for him to catch is fall.

Two distinct voices gasp and scream behind him and when he blinks through the blood, he can see Alex and Charlie pinned to the outside wall of the Institute. Wait, blood?

Dean's hand touches his head, crimson coating it when he pulls it back. Meanwhile Lucifer's still standing there, eyes closed and arms spread, but his expression focused. The mystery of what he's doing evaporates as soon as the ground starts to shake, worse than any earthquake Dean's ever heard of. He can see the skyscrapers beyond the Institute sway; can hear buildings start to crack and metal snap from too much pressure.

Dean seizes the chance. He breaks into a run, willing his legs to work faster, faster and comes at Lucifer at full speed –

He is frozen mid-jump.

He's thrown back a few feet and before he can get to his feet again, a ring of fire bursts into existence, successfully closing him in.

Then the ring starts shrinking.

There's no other way but to jump through the green flames, so Dean braces himself, wiping the blood still oozing from his head wound away with the arm of his jacket as he gets ready.

One last, deep breath.

One step has to be enough of a run-up he figures as he takes it, then pushes himself off the ground, prepared for the pain that never comes. He lands with too much momentum and rolls forward, confused for a moment.

The fire is gone. The ground stopped shaking.

"Don't you think this is enough, Lucifer?" someone says.

It ain't Gabriel, nor Alex or Charlie. The knight in shining armor's not wearing battle gear either but a brown corduroy jacket and a blue-grey shirt as well as a benevolent smile.

"Chuck?!" Dean bursts out, staggering to his feet.

"Not quite."

Chuck's voice is different. Gone's the ever-present wavering, the insecurity. He's not trembling at the sight of Lucifer whereas the Chuck Dean remembers used to piss his pants at every corner.

"Who are you?" Lucifer snaps, clearly angry that whoever this is stole his mojo and interrupted his big showdown. Dean's just glad for the chance to breathe.

Chuck tilts his head, his smile still in place. "Don't you recognize me, son?"

Processing that sentence takes Dean's brain even longer than Lucifer. Even Alex gasps in understanding long before Dean connects the dots.

"You're not him," Lucifer snarls. "You're not the father I remember."

"And yet I am him. Character development – it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?"

"Prove it," the devil growls, which is the moment the reality of the situation finally catches up with Dean, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest.

"With pleasure."

Chuck – no, God – snaps a finger completely matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Lucifer's.

Suddenly there's another figure standing in the park, right between Dean and Lucifer. The person stumbles, arms raised as if they're holding onto something, but they catch their balance a moment later and straighten um.

Dean chokes.

He's not wearing jeans or the shirt Dean gave him that morning, but his old suit and the same trench coat he had on all these years ago when Dean laid eyes on him for the very first time.

"Cas?" It's barely more than a whisper, his voice too thin for anything else.

Blue eyes find his and it's really him, it's Cas, alive and in the flesh and before Dean knows it he's closed the distance between them and thrown his arms around the man, pulling him close to make sure he's really there and not just an hallucination.

"Damn it, Cas," he sniffles, not caring in the slightest that there's something wet on his cheeks and when Cas murmurs his name, sounding dazed, Dean can't stop himself.

"You stupid son of a gun, Cas, why'd you do something so stupid," he babbles, words slurring together 'cause he can't articulate them right now, his thoughts are tripping over themselves too much. "You can't just do that, you hear me man, you said I should tell you after we won and then you were gone and I'd never told you, screw you, screw you to Heaven and back, fuck, Cas, I love you, I love you…"

Cas silences his endless stream of confessions with a kiss. It's barely even a kiss, just his lips touching Dean's and it's like the air has returned to the world and where everything was black and white suddenly the world's in Technicolor again.

He distantly realizes how truly pathetic his thoughts sound but he just got Cas back and he doesn't give a fuck, not a single one.

Then something soft touches his cheek and he startles back, narrowing his eyes at the empty space next to his face, then at Cas, who's beaming at him.

"What you felt were my wings, Dean."

"You mean –"

"I have my mojo back," Cas finishes with a grin.

"So that means…" Dean trails off, turning around to look at Chuck again. Who is watching them. With a smile. God's smiling at him kissing Cas. Of all the things Dean thought might be within the realm of possibility, this one really wasn't on the list.

The moment ends when Lucifer clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention, Dean and Cas' as well though Dean still sneaks an arm around the angel's waist, not ready to break contact.

"I take it you are here to smite me, father."

"No. I'm here to offer you forgiveness. There is a place for you in Heaven – all you need to do is ask for it."

Lucifer's expression probably mirrors the one Dean's wearing now and he can feel Cas tense next to him.

"Forgiveness?" Lucifer spits out, his entire body trembling with rage. "You cast me from home! You locked me in a cage! You weren't there to offer me forgiveness when I last escaped my prison."

"At the time I thought the punishment fit the crime. I was angry, Lucifer, so angry. Time has not left me unscathed and I needed time away, which is why I was gone."

"And now you're back and expect me to beg for forgiveness at your feet like some insect you could crush with one foot?"

Fire starts to emerge from Lucifer's fingers, licking up his arms before evaporating into nothing. Chuck doesn't flinch, just lets him rage.

"You are my son."

"Screw you and the high horse you rode on!" Lucifer is screaming now and whatever spell Chuck worked suddenly breaks for the ground starts shaking again.

Cas shifts his stance and an angel blade falls into his hand, reminding Dean that he's still clutching the scythe.

Lucifer disappears in a ball of green fire. He's gone but the earthquake ain't over and there're dark clouds forming above them, thunder rolling in the distance.

"We gotta go after him," Dean shouts over the noise of the oncoming storm.

Cas nods, but looks to Chuck for a final confirmation. He nods and one heartbeat later they're gone.

xXx

Alex is still staring at the spot where Dean and Castiel just disappeared. Resurrection at the flick of a wrist. Granting forgiveness to the gravest sinner of them all.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Crowley roars when he emerges from the hole in the wall of the dangerously swaying Institute. "Where's Moose and Squirrel? Who the hell are you?" he snaps at the man that Dean called Chuck.

"God."

"Yes, aren't you hilarious. Red, then you tell me. Who's this bloke and where are the Winchesters?"

Alex doesn't listen to Charlie's stuttered explanation; all her attention is focused on the man claiming to be God. It doesn't compute insider her mind. Granted, he did resurrect Castiel and Lucifer seemed to believe him but… God can't be… God is…

"You get used to the vessel," Chuck says and it takes Alex a moment to realize it's directed at her.

"I apologize," she manages.

"No need for that. I'm afraid our talk has to wait until after the situation at hand has been solved. Would you care to see how it ends?"

Alex nods, as does Charlie. Crowley is outside her field of vision yet when they re-appear on top of a hill outside Chicago, the former King of Hell is there as well. The hill offers a breath-taking view of the city but instead of a picture-perfect blue sky with the sun's reflection visible in the water behind the skyscrapers, the sky is filled with clouds and lighting strikes at frequent intervals while the first fires start to spread through the city.

A little further away there are Lucifer, hands clutching his head, with Dean and Castiel apparently talking vehemently at him.

xXx

"Take his offer," that stupid voice insists and try as he might, Lucifer can't shut Sam out of his mind. "You've had your revenge – you've had your apocalypse. This is your chance to put it all behind you, man. You'd be foolish to let that pass."

"Whatever Sammy's saying, listen to him, pal," Dean tells him outside of his head.

"ENOUGH!" Lucifer roars, throwing Dean and the annoying angel back and erecting a circle of fire around him to prevent them from approaching again.

"Your father has changed, Lucifer, just as you have changed."

"I'm still the same –"

"You're not! When we first met you wanted to destroy the planet, burn it to the ground. Now you've got followers, you're letting it go 'cause you're not finished yet, are you? You don't want it to end. So take the next step, go home and find some peace."

"You're just telling me that because making me change my mind will score you brownie points, isn't that right, Sammy?"

A moment of silence. "I know where I'm headed, Lucifer. I deserve it, too. After everything that I've done I'm beyond forgiveness. But you got a chance here. Don't you want to stop fighting? Stop being angry?"

"He'll never truly forgive me, Sam. Do you think your father ever forgave you for abandoning them and running off to Stanford?"

"My Dad was flawed and human. Your Dad wrote the book on mercy. If anyone's able to forgive what you did, it's him."

"You really think my siblings are going to sit idly by while I reclaim my old room? Gabe will be the first of many to spit in my face."

"Gabriel will follow your father's directive, Lucifer. It's gonna take a while but you'll be able to mend those bridges. Your family's gonna be just as dysfunctional as any other."

Lucifer says nothing.

"And what if you return to Heaven and you find out it's just not working? So what? You can leave the place, right? Gabriel did it for years. I'm sure if it doesn't work out your father will offer you somewhere else to go."

Lucifer says nothing.

"He's not the same guy he was when he cast you out, don't you see that? I mean, I know that Gabe said the Bible's not all true, but back then during the Old Testament God was so wrathful, so violent. He changed. Your old Dad would've killed you without giving it a second thought but now he's here, he's talking to you, he wants you to go home. Don't you want to go home?"

"Of course I do!" he finally blurs, immediately cursing his lack of restraint.

"Then what's the problem?"

"It shouldn't be so easy. It's too neat. I kill his favorite son, destroy his favorite toys and now I'm just forgiven? Just like that?"

"He said you need to ask for it. And hang on – didn't you say way back that you were his favorite son?"

Sam's right. He was. He remembers that time when his life was full of love and happiness and long talks with his father and teaching Gabriel all the tricks he knew, sparring with Michael when he got bored.

Lucifer tells himself that it's never going to be like that again, that Michael has died at his hand and that Gabriel won't even look at him should he return, yet all that prevails in his mind is the image of him and his father, drinking hot ambrosia and talking about everything and nothing.

Maybe. Just maybe…

xXx

Dean immediately grips the scythe's handle tighter when the flames recede into the ground. Lucifer's standing tall, his expression blank. It's still Lucifer, Dean can say that beyond the shadow of a doubt.

He walks past them without so much as a glance in their direction. Cas and he exchange matching puzzled looks when it becomes clear that Lucifer's heading towards Chuck who's not doing anything but standing there, still smiling softly. Dean wonders what drugs he's on 'cause he doesn't even twitch.

"Dad," Lucifer begins and Dean's ready to jump at the slightest hint of bad intentions. Nothing happens, though. Lucifer's eyes are on the floor before he forcible drags them up to meet Chuck's. "May I go home?"

Dean's completely floored by the question, unable to grasp the implications. Chuck doesn't seem to have the same problem. His eyes shine wetly and his lips part, curling into a brighter smile.

"Of course, son," he says and wraps his short arms around Sam's considerably larger body.

Then they're gone.

xXx

"What the – " is as far as Dean gets before Chuck's back among them, looking content and happy.

"I'm sorry, I just had to bring Lucifer to a place where he does not need a vessel."

"What've you done with Sam?" Dean demands immediately, ignoring Cas' hand on his harm.

"No need to worry, Dean." Chuck blinks, then looks to the side. When Dean follows his gaze, Sammy appears, wearing plaid and jeans and sturdy boots instead of that douchy white suit and gaping at all of them.

"But - how -" Sam stammers. "Why am I here?"

"Oh, Sam," Chuck sighs. "Did you really think your soul would go to Hell?"

Dean watches his brother swallow and croak, "Yes."

"You did what you thought was right. You acted because of love. And in the end there, if I am not mistaken, you convinced my son to come home. Hell will never touch you, Sam Winchester."

Dean knows what it looks like when Sam's dams are about to burst after years of teenage drama and fretting over tests. He's closed the distance between them before the first sob escapes Sammy's throat and then just holds him, breathes in his brother's smell that's so achingly familiar and doesn't even complain that Sammy gets his shirt wet and that his grip is so tight that he can feel it in his ribs.

"What happens now?" Dean hears Charlie ask, her eyes darting between Chuck and them.

"That is up to you, Miss Bradbury. And you as well, Miss Kahr."

Alex straightens up, narrowing her eyes.

"The world is in a bad place," Chuck explains. "I don't need to tell you how it looks, how dangerous it has become. You two have done great work and I am both grateful and proud. I will gladly take you with me right now, if you so desire. Or you can stay here, keep up what you have done so far. There are still demons out there and I believe the internet is still working just fine. In case you wish to stay, rest assured that Heaven awaits you whenever your life runs its course."

The two women are stunned into silence. Dean's stroking Sam's hair with one hand and rubbing his shoulders with the other, leaning his head against Cas' leg 'cause at some point the angels stepped closer.

Alex is the first to speak up. "I'll stay."

"Please only do that if you don't see it as punishment for mistakes you believe to have made but which, in fact, were dependent on circumstances beyond your control."

"I'm not – I mean… I'm not done here. I still have some fight in me."

Chuck considers her for a long moment as if he's inspecting her soul. Damn, maybe he is, Dean muses. He's God after all.

"As you wish. Miss Bradbury?"

"Uh, what she said. I'm not that good at fighting but… If the web's still there, I got some use."

Chuck nods. "Anywhere in particular you would like to start?"

"Uh, maybe New Orleans? There's a warlock, he's been helpful."

Something in Dean's mind slots into place. "Warlock? Wait – that scrawny kid? Did he rat me out? Is that why you're here?"

"Yes, and for the record," Charlie tells him sternly, "we totally saved your ass back there."

All the fight leaves Dean's body before it ever really filled it. "Yeah. You kind of did."

He watches as Chuck zaps both Alex and Charlie away just as Sam starts to calm down.

"How're you feeling, Sammy?"

"Exhausted," is all his brother manages.

"I guess that is to expect when the devil uses you as a prom dress for several weeks," Crowley drawls, 'cause right, that bitch's still there.

"What're you still doing here, assbutt?" Dean demands as he helps Sam to his feet. Cas chuckles at the use of the word, and Dean flashes him a quick grin before returning his glare to the demon who's watching them, hands in his pockets.

"Yes," Chuck interrupts, blinking into existence in their midst abruptly.

"Jeez, some warning would've been nice," Dean grumbles, which earns him an jab into the ribs from his brother.

"Don't you have a throne to reclaim?" Chuck adds, still looking at Crowley.

"Pardon?"

"Well, Hell needs a King. I am given to understand that you filled that position rather adequately."

"Sure, if I'll manage to kill Merrick, all should be dandy," he sneers but falls silence when Chuck hands him… something. Dean would call it an angle blade but it's black, the hilt topped off with red.

"I thought a trident might have been a little laughable."

"You got a point there," Crowley returns, accepting the weapon cheerfully. Before he goes, he turns towards the three of them one last time. "Moose. Squirrel. Boytoy."

Crowley smirks, then he's gone.

Well, now's as good a time as any, Dean figures, clearing his throat. "Excuse me, uh, God?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"What about us?"

"First and foremost, I believe you have a weapon to return to its rightful owner."

"Yeah, right," Dean mumbles, looking down at he scythe. When he glances up again, Death is standing there, him and God sharing some sort of ancient secret handshake in the form of a look paired with a few eyebrow twitches. It's all very weird and bromance-y.

"Dean," Death says with a smile. His face falls when he acknowledges his brother and partner. "Samuel. Castiel. Hello again."

Cas inches back. Dean can't wait to hear that story, seriously.

"Thanks for giving me this," he says, balancing the scythe in the palm of his hand. Death waves a hand over it and it disappears.

"Well done, Dean."

Without any other word Death is gone, leaving a warm sensation behind in Dean's chest.

"Now," Chuck says, startling him out of his thoughts. "I will give you a choice as well. You do not need to decide collectively on one option, remember that."

"What are they?" Cas voices what all of them are thinking right now.

"You can retire. Stop hunting. You have done so much for this world that it could fill five lives. Retire, spend the rest of eternity in Heaven with your loved ones. Or," Chuck continues, "you decide to stay here. Become the first in a new generation of warriors, protecting humanity as they find their way out of this darkness. I would endow you with a few special powers if you so desire. And you can rest assured that whenever your lives end, your place in Heaven is certain."

Chuck is looking at Dean when he speaks the last few words and he can feel something break inside him.

"Me, too?"

"Yes, Dean."

He's about to ask in what world he deserves to go to Heaven, that he's done things, terrible things, that he's been a monster more times than he was a hero but then his eyes fall on Sam and his blinding smile and Dean recalls that just a few minutes ago he watched Lucifer be accepted into Heaven – so if God can forgive the devil himself… Dean figures he has it in him to forgive Dean's infractions.

"Thank you," he rasps, not really sure what else to say.

"Good. Now all I need is to know what you decide?"

Dean looks at Sam, then at Cas. A moment passes quietly between them, testament to how good a team they still are that they don't even need to exchange words.

When Dean turns back towards Chuck, he's smiling.

xXx

EPILOGUE

The sun is standing high in the sky, reflecting off of the black paint of the 67 Chevrolet Impala as it speeds down the road, passing a sign reading "Route 66" in black letters against white background.

The radio is blaring some classic rock song or other, clearly audible through the open windows.

Dean Winchester smirks as he floors the gas pedal, earning him an annoyed "Dean!" from the backseat where his brother is trying to find a way to accommodate his long legs.

Castiel, reclining in the passenger seat, merely chuckles.

"I'm serious, Dean, if you keep speeding like this we'll need to stop for gas before we reach our destination."

"Stop whining, Samantha."

"Only if you change the music – that song was old when I was born," he complains.

Cas, probably taking pity on the younger Winchester, reaches out in order to adjust the radio, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Ey, hands off! You know the rule: driver picks the music –"

"Shotgun shuts his cakehole," both Sam and Cas finish in sync. It's frightening and Dean stares at them with wide eyes as the two of them burst into laughter.

It's infectious, though, and soon Dean's joining in for a bit until the song changes and he recognizes the lyrics and the voices joint in the chorus immediately.

Carry on my wayward son,
There'll be peace when you are done,
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more

Dean's ready to impress Cas with his air-guitar solo that he'll execute any second now on the steering wheel when a Sasquash appears between the front seats and switches the radio to another channel and Dean whimpers at the loss of bass and drums.

"I really hate that song," Sam grouses.

Dean rolls his eyes, although it's more fond than annoyed. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shoots back.

"Assbutts," Cas adds, switching the radio off entirely and bringing all further arguments to a premature end.

Dean would complain but then Cas places a kiss on his cheek and he's too busy smiling to give a damn.

He brings his foot down on the pedal and off they are, speeding down the road.

∞ fin ∞

xXx

End Notes: ... and that's it. It's done, I can't believe it. I'm so proud that I finished it, wohoo!

Thank you all so much for reading, for your comments and favorites and all the support and motivation! I'm always thrilled when someone tells me what they thought of my work, so don't be shy, even though it's over now (*grabs-a-tissue*).

A note on the ending: I hope it comes across that it can be interpreted in more ways than one. Either you decide for yourself that our Team Free Will retired and are now cruising through Heaven, or you choose to go with option B, namely that they're still on earth, kicking ass and taking names, until their hearts give out or Chuck decides enough is enough.
Either way works, I think. So it's up to you, dear reader, to decide which one you prefer.