Death Of The Author (SPN, Gen)
May. 2nd, 2019 07:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lucifersprizeFic happens, that's what.
Title: Death of The Author.
Rating: Gen
Pairing: None, some oblique references to wincest
Description: Coda to season 14 and also s10e05 (kinda) It's the end of Sam and Dean's world. What happens if they decide to take Chuck down with them?
Warnings: Death? end of the show? Nothing substantial, it's complicated.
Length: 1938 words
Disclaimer: The boys and their world don’t belong to me. I like to play in the CW's sandbox and I promise I will give it all back.
***
A week after Chuck kills Jack, Rowena makes a call from the bunker, her eyes glow blue and words spit power from her mouth. She’s wearing a once-fabulous dress which is as scorched and tattered as her heart.
It’s a last ditch battle cry from an apocalyptic world.
Monsters surround their home and Sam and Dean are weary, battle scarred and unshaven. Baby sits uneven and crumpled on its axle in the garage and all the other hunters are lost. They have faced the trauma of battling long dead friends and killing them again while Rowena searched the undead masses for Fergus, but she found no zombie to fix.
Sam rests his fingers lightly on Dean’s arm. His brother is warm and present. To be together is their comfort as they set events into motion that are intended to reach far beyond their own world. In the moment, Sam, Dean and Rowena form an unholy trinity around a spell of foul bones, angel ash, blood and spit. Sam stands stoic, his eyes gleaming with reflected flame but Dean cannot hide a sneer of distaste in an upturned lip, he never liked witchcraft.
The answer to Rowena’s call, when it comes, lacks drama. It’s a simple rustle and soft exhale as Amara arrives in their midst. “Dean,” she says fondly and then, with a brief look around, “Sam, Rowena,” is said with more edge and dripping with distrust.
“So, how is the family vacation going. Ripleys, right? Did you believe it or not?” Dean quips awkwardly.
Amara looks confused, “I, er, I don’t know. Why did you summon me? How did you summon me?”
“Witch, remember…,” says Rowena.
“We won’t waste your time. We need your help,” Sam gets straight to the point.
“I gave Dean what he needed, I am done here.” She starts to fade.
“So, Chuck, God, whatever. It’s working out well for you two?” Sam asks.
Amara reappears, “He is my brother.”
“Oh, well then, it’s all peachy.” Dean replies.
Rowena smirks, twists an old bone between her fingers thoughtfully, “Opposites, right? Light and dark. Good and bad. Except, it’s not nearly so clear cut is it? Your brother does some very bad things.”
Hurt and malice infuse the words that Dean speaks next, “He lies.”
“God made you. It is his right.”
“Was it his right to lock you away, because you wanted to play with his toys? Is he any less reckless with us?” Sam’s anger simmers close to the surface.
“That is not my concern. I have the universe.” Her words are flat and her body language disagrees. She is starting to dissipate in a trail of smoke.
Dean continues, eager to keep her on the hook. “Good, right. Super. We’re glad you’re happy. Only if you weren’t and if he lied about you…”
Amara snaps back into solid form. “What could you do? Mere humans?”
“Well, technically, not just mere humans,” Rowena crinkles her nose as she speaks. Behind the circle of three, in a dark corner of the room a match is struck, a black candle is lit, revealing a second circle of three. A monstrous trinity.
Amara tilts her head and stares.
Death, a nephilim and the anti-christ look back at her.
“Interesting but you know you can’t kill God.”
Sam looks intently at her, “Really?”
“He locked you up.” Dean stated.
“True.” Amara looks almost tearful. “I think he’s bored with me. I think he wants to lock me away again.”
“So help us.”
“Even God can be reaped,” Billie adds as she dodges a sudden, terrifying bolt of lightning.
“ENOUGH!”
Amara disappears in a cloud of black smoke, barely visible in a rising plume of brick dust and concrete that is now raining down on them. Jesse ducks a large brick as the squeal of crumpling steel assaults their ears, and Jack puts out his hand to reassure his new friend.
“Oh, there you are,” Dean smirks at Chuck who is suddenly there, brushing down his jacket and glancing around him. He clicks his fingers several times and glares daggers at the Winchesters when it becomes obvious that he is somehow bound.
Dean chuckles with relief that their plan is working. “Tell me. Was she ever real, your sister?”
“I wrote her, she’s real.”
“Oh, she’s real, but maybe she is your excuse, all your darkness. You made us in your likeness and it must really piss you off how alike we are.”
Chuck taps his foot and narrows his eyes. “I told you. I am done. This binding will not last and you may have made it through my zombies but you are dragging out the inevitable. This is the end.”
“Oh we know it. And then you’ll go on and make another world with another Sam and Dean to torture? And then another...” They all know it’s a rhetorical question.
Chuck’s lips curve, a rattlesnake smile, “And Dean’s precious Sammy might be a real, actual moose this time. Nothing you can do about it.”
“You sure about that?” Billie moves up to face him and for the first time Chuck flinches. The floor steadies under their feet and the avalanche around them ceases.
“I never liked you. You’ve been Death for two minutes and you think you can change the rules?”
“We all can.” Jack steps up beside her.
“I’m bored of you. I don’t know how you are back,” Chuck complains and clicks his fingers.
Nothing happens except, for a moment, Jack seems to change, quicksilver, faceless and gleaming. “I brought someone with me from the Empty. They are tired of being disturbed.”
Chuck’s eyes widen and he backs away from them, into a wall. Dust rains around him. “And you?” he asks Jesse, “Why would you help the Winchesters?”
Jesse has grown up tall and broad, with a surfer’s tan and unruly hair, but his dark eyes seem wiser than his years. He answers in a thick aussie drawl, “Because they helped me to make the right choice. Because it’s the end and I’ve seen the messes you made.”
Chuck clicks his fingers again. Candlelight fades until only Sam and Dean can be discerned in the gloom, their shoulders touching, their stances mirrored. He addresses them, “If you kill me, everything you have gone through will be for nothing. It will be as if you never existed.”
Sam shrugs his shoulders and snarls, arrogance in the face of his God. “And no other Winchesters will ever need to suffer.”
Dean gives a cocky grin, “Bring it!”
Rowena claps her hands. Within the ring of monsters a flame flares high with the stench of Brimstone. Jack, Jesse and Billie clasp hands and stand firm through a tornado that engulfs the bunker. Rowena’s eyes shine as she joins their Enochian chant.
Sam and Dean drop to the floor for shelter, and they cling to each other - all that they have ever truly had. Chuck disappears first, melting into the floor in howls of agony before the Bunker and everybody inside it disintegrates into a billion flecks of dust. The Empty beckons. As a black void engulfs them, the last thing Sam and Dean see is each other.
***
Click.
In an abandoned motel, in Lebanon, Kansas, an ancient television switches off. Sam and Dean shrink into the blip of a white dot and then nothing. You could call it an absence or a void but it’s simply the blackness of an empty screen. Nothing to see here.
***
Click, click, click.
Marie groans. How are there so many channels but not a single interesting show to watch? She wishes she could get into Lost or Buffy but for some reason they aren’t quite right. She thinks there should be something else, another show, and its like an itch that needs scratching in the very core of her. She sighs, chooses a rock channel with classic tunes and classic cars and hums to Back in Black as she completes her math assignment.
Her phone comes to life during Kansas’ Carry on My Wayward Son. “Hey, Maeve, did you have any ideas for our English assignment?”
She sits up straight, turns a little pale on hearing Maeve’s reply. “What? Haha, it’s not April 1st.”
A minute later and she’s logged into their shared Google Drive, staring in disbelief at a story simply labeled ‘draft 1’. Maeve says she dreamt that they wrote it together, but there it is, for real, on the screen. It’s got monsters, horror, a road trip and co-dependant brothers and it’s good. Really good. They have no explanation for it, so they look it up online. A search for core parts of the text reveal no plagiarism.
A calm settles over Marie. Her itch is gone. “We should write more of this,” she tells Maeve.
In the coming weeks writer blogs light up with new stories found on laptops and PCs, even some scrawled on scraps of paper. There are thousands of them, about Sam and Dean Winchester, all with core characteristics but different writers, and none of them are exactly the same. As they search they see surprised comments rolling in under many of the stories. It’s a phenomenon, some are calling it supernatural.
***
Dean opens his eyes but there’s only a crushing, black darkness. Or is there? He squints, and squeezes the steering wheel in his hands. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Yeah, it’s definitely getting closer and it isn’t Hell fire.
Back in Black blasts from the cassette player. Dean’s driving with the window rolled down and Sam’s hair blows in the breeze as he naps beside him.
Dean nudges him and he startles awake.
“Rude!”
“Listen to her purr! Have you ever heard anything so sweet?”
“You know, if you two want to get a room, just let me know, Dean.”
“Don't listen to him, baby. He doesn't understand us.”
As they emerge from the road tunnel a truck honks on the other side of the freeway. The late autumn sun gives a bright glow to the trees beside the road and their Impala kicks up leaves to flutter and fall again in their wake.
Sam yawns and stretches, then looks confused, a deep frown forming.
“Dean, did we…,”
“Yeah, we did. Fried a wendigo! Boom, baby!”
“That’s not how it’s supposed to…,”
“Gotta love a molotov cocktail.” Dean glances over at him, “Are you okay, Sammy?”
“It’s Sam!” He rubs his hand through his hair, “Yeah. I had a strange dream.”
“Yeah? Clowns or midgets?”
Sam rolls his eyes and smiles fondly at Dean, “Haha.”
AC/DC gives way to Guns n’Roses and they ride in comfortable silence as the miles drop behind them and they reach the sign that heralds their next destination.
“Um, Sammy…” Dean’s deep green eyes are wide with shock. He brakes and Baby slows.
“Is that?”
“Yeah. I think it is.”
“A robot. That’s new.”
“A freakin’ killer robot. You should look in dad’s journal, see if he’s got anything on ‘em.”
“Should we shoot?”
“Can’t harm. Today, Sammy.”
Sam lets loose a hail of bullets through the passenger side window, with his hair flying majestically in the wind. Dean grapples with the steering wheel to pull his baby around in a dramatic, tyre-screeching U turn. They will drop back to a seedy motel to research the monster. Maybe they will have to share a bed, or comfort each other, or perhaps they will shower together to save hot water. One thing is certain - they will heroically defeat the monster. It’s what they do - saving people, hunting things, the family business.
THE END
THE EN
THE E
THE
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