The Apocalypse Will Go On As Scheduled [Supernatural]

The Apocalypse Will Go On As Scheduled

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Lucifer's voice startled Sam from his not-sleep and demanded his attention. What?

A low, rumbling chuckle was all he got from the fallen angel before Sam's...spirit? soul? consciousness? was yanked forward just enough to be able to see through his--their?--eyes.

Taking in the scenery, Sam longed for the slightly-less depressing solace of his little corner of existence somewhere in his old body. Currently, Lucifer was holding court in an abandoned prop and scenery warehouse somewhere on the Jersey side of the Sandy Hook Bay. Standing on the front steps, Sam could clearly see the steaming heap of death and destruction that had been Manhattan. 

If he'd had a body, Sam would have shuddered in disgust.

But he didn't. He never would again.

As it was, Lucifer just made a pleased little hum before turning and entering through the heavy metal door. Sam caught a brief glance of his--their--reflection in the window on the door before they moved completely inside: face smiling from ear to ear, dimples at full wattage.

If he'd had a hand, Sam would have punched that smug grin right off their face.

Lucifer started whistling tunelessly as he strutted down a long aisle lined with boxes before emerging into a wide-open space. Like a little kid, he'd insisted on using all of the medieval props he'd found to set up a replica throne room for him. Before he'd even finished giving the orders, his slaves and sycophants started diving into boxes and crates and set about filling his every whim.

The angel paused a moment to take in the beings before him, and certain they were all properly obedient to his ever-changing will, made his way to the large dais against the wall that held his throne. It was a garish thing done up in cheap gold paint, but it didn't disturb Sam nearly as much as the trophies Lucifer hung on the wall behind it.

Three pairs of wings housed in enormous shadow boxes drew the eyes of anyone in the room. On the left hung Raphael's dull bronze wings. Lucifer had dispatched him first, easily disposing of his brother during another of Heaven's raids on Hell. Dozens of angels already slaughtered trying to retrieve Dean Winchester's soul, and Raphael had still believed he'd succeed where so many other had failed. Lucifer's unholy glee at his brother's demise still haunted Sam.

The place of honor in the center belonged to a pristine white pair that had been Michael's. Sam could still remember how it had felt to rip those bare-handed from the archangel's still body after their long battle came to its bloody end. Despite it all, Sam had still harbored hope that Lucifer would be defeated, ready to welcome his own death if it meant an end to the Morning Star's rampage. The sickening crunch of bones snapping killed that for him.

The golden pair on the right, though...those hurt Sam the worst. As if summoned by his musing, Gabriel appeared from one of the offices to the right of the dais. He was carrying a tray holding a large bottle of demon blood, eyes lowered, shoulders slumped. Defeat was written over every fiber of the former-Trickster's being.

Thinking back on his dream, Sam dredged up what sympathy was still left to him and gave it all to the pitiful creature now bowing at the bottom of the steps. It had been a shock, finding out The Trickster that he thought had ruined his life was really an archangel. When he found out why Gabriel killed Dean, well...

If Sam had had knees, they would have given way in shock.

Gabriel had explained that he'd taken out Dean to try to stop the Apocalypse before it could even get close to going. He said he'd believed that Sam would be too grief-stricken to continue hunting, and then wouldn't get conned into killing Lillith. Finally, he'd screamed that it had all been done out of love for his brothers.