Who Knows When But Definitely Before Everything Went To Crap That's For Sure

There they were.

Under shimmers of light that danced along the window panes, their laughter drifting from the just slightly open door.

"Bitch," said a deep voice, tainted with unsaid pain, but for now it was fairly upbeat, poking fun.

"Jerk," responded another voice, another attempt at light banter. It was genuine though and you could practically hear the grins.

Two other voices chimed in, their own comment cutting over the two before.

"Mystery twins?"

"Heck yeah. Mystery twins!"

Except, with cans clinking and bottles tapping with a sweet ring, there were quiet voices, keeping low, hardly a whisper that existed behind the partially open door.

"I want you gone, you hear me?" Said one, threatening and calm yet firm. "You took my house, my name and who knows what else. The kids aren't safe."

Stan wouldn't look Ford in the eye. Wouldn't nod. Just quietly faced the left, his gaze impassive.

The door creaked open.

Dean called out from the porch, interrupting but unaware he was doing so. "Hey Stan you got another beer?"

More brief, tense quiet.

Stan broke away. "Yeah, one sec," is all he got out before a shadow entered the door and it swung open wider. Dean entered, took one glance at Ford and Stan's faces and his face fell as he backed off.

"Sorry. I'll-"

"No, no, it's fine." Stan tossed another beer to Dean, refusing to so much as acknowledge his brother. "We're done."

And then he was gone.

Ford was left alone in the Shack. He'd pushed Stan away; he felt it was best but it was at the cost of being utterly and completely alone with no one to confide in.

But he won't be stupid again. He did it once; not this time. This time he wasn't going to budge and he was putting his foot down.

Which made his family safer, right?

Ford nodded to himself.

Right.

-THEME SONG-

Grant brandished his blade but everyone in the room, especially Dipper who was gasping for air on the floor, knew that he really didn't need it.

He stood there for a little, staring down the Winchesters with an even gaze, saying nothing, and then footsteps were heard.

Ford burst from the vending machine, ragged coat catching on a nail, his expression full of shock. "What in the name of-" he began, about to reprimand his brother or Dean or someone, when he spotted the dead bodies and froze. "Oh." Because, really, what else can you say?

Grant spun on him, missing the perhaps crucial moment of Dean motioning to Sam. There was a relaxed grin. "Ah, Ford. Just in time."

Mabel helped her brother up, frowning. This guy was bad news. If Dean and Sam got taken down, the entire family plus Wendy would be toast. "In time for what?" She asked Dipper. "What's he talking about?" He rubbed his throat.

"I-"

Without giving Dipper any time to think, reply or adjust, the three dead bodies on the ground began to shudder. One sat up abruptly and it's pure black swirling voids that everyone called eyes snapped to the left to look at him. The next rose to a standing position as though controlled by a puppet master, it's arms swinging, while the third got up on one knee, significantly more controlled, and bowed it's head.

"You called?" It asked with a smirk, all teeth, confidence and death.

It had all happened in seconds, but seconds are never wasted with the Winchesters. Sam quickly pulled out Ruby's knife; Dean announced it. "Hey! We only have one of these so we're going to have to play hot potato with it, alright? It'll kill these sons of bitches!"

"What about salt?" Dipper asked, watching Grant as he turned to face the demon kneeling on the floor who was rising to their feet much to fast for his liking.

The younger Winchester shook his head and took a massive step towards Grant. "Doesn't kill them. But it slows them down. Also iron and holy water. Dean, show them!"

"Gotcha." Dean grinned, the grin that didn't save lives 100% of the time but it was always reassuring. He moved into the Pine's living room and reached behind Grunkle Stan's favourite chair and grabbed one, two, then three sawed-off shotguns and tossed one to Wendy, Ford, and Stan, who barely caught his. Then he took an empty cup on his left and dipped it in the fish tank, emptying its contents into the demon, who was no longer sitting, before anyone else could move.

Demon #3 shrieked, it's scream piercing the shack.

"Holy water," Mabel's mouth dropped. "You turned the entire fish tank into holy water?"

"You bet we did. We don't always make smart decisions, especially when it comes to family, but we learn from our mistakes, don't we Sammy?"

"Hell yeah we do. After your encounter with that cloud we decided we wouldn't be caught off guard in case they chose to come back. Looks like it paid off."

And Dipper couldn't help but smile.

The demons nervously exchanged eye contact and Grant hissed. The four of them gathered together while the Pines cocked their shotguns. Mabel reached behind the TV, held up a squirt gun and filled it. Sam and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder, the prized knife glinting in the dim lighting of the shack's gift shop. Dipper clutched in his hand the metal piping from Jim the poltergeist, used only weeks earlier.

"Alright. Let's do this!"

One of the demons, blood still staining their neck, snapped their fingers. The door trembled on its hinges and flew open, revealing another who basked in the darkness, eyes laughing with cruelty.

Wendy let loose a salted shotgun shell on that same demon with a whoop.

It had begun.

Mabel unloaded her holy water at Grant who growled and blinked, his own eyes turning that familiar blood red hue that they'd seen before. "Come and get it, ya nasty!" She shouted, another shot burning into his chest. He stepped towards her, only to be met with a swipe from Sam, who grunted as he missed.

Back to back, slowly edging into the living room, closer to the holy water and perhaps safety, Stan and Ford fired their shots as well, resulting in pained screams. Demon #3, still pissed at Dean, locked it's eyes on the floor, chuckled, and wrapped the TV cord around Ford's ankles. It jerked Ford off his feet, the shotgun falling from his hands. He cried out, "Stanley, I-" his head smacking straight into the table that held up the fish tank.

"Hot Belgium Waffles," Stan cursed, watching his twin collapse. He fired another round, blasting that demon back. Throwing his weapon to the ground, he narrowed his eyes and dug out his iron rings. "You want more? Let's go, black eyes."

Inside the gift shop, dodging swipes from demon number two, Dipper whacked it with the metal pole.

It sneered.

He frowned, scrambled between Grant and Sam, lunged over the counter and ducked out of sight.

When a pair of shadowy irises appeared, Dipper stood and as hard as he could, swung the pole like a bat. The demon's head resounded with a crack and it's body rolled off the counter.

Wendy saw Dipper's swing, gave him a thumbs up and called out, "Sam!"

He looked towards her, hair dishevelled, jacket torn. "Knife!" She said.

The younger Winchester ducked, dropped to one knee, underhanded it to Wendy and caught her axe as a trade-off.

She slid under Dean's pistol salted shot, ran past Dipper, gave him a high five and smiled. A fight? She was your fighter. And a damn good one at that. The redhead reached the demon, the left side of its face uncomfortably distorted as it stood, teeth bared. She waved. "'Sup, ugly." Then with the knife spinning in her hand, she plunged it into the demons chest.

A hellish, red-orange light radiated from the skull as the demon howled, then fell, vanquished.

"Four weirdos left!" She crowed, triumphant.

"Nice work! Let's kick their sorry asses," Dean replied, then clenched his teeth as his back slammed up against the shelf, his demon cracking it's bones eerily.

Dry laughter resonated from the middle of the fight where Sam was striking unsuccessfully at Grant with the axe. Their leader had barely broken a sweat. Not that demons sweat, but that is fairly irrelevant. Sam would swipe and Grant would humorously throw a sharp object him whereas Sam would dodge, and the cycle would began anew.

"Cute effort, Pines, Winchesters! Trying so hard, as per usual! But it's no use! I'll get the journals and then where will you be?"

Dead had the knife now. He struck out at Grant's arm from the left, a bloody, shining gash appearing.

Grant's red hair covered his eyes as a dark frown grew on his face, the mood dropping like the temperature on a freezing day; chilling, cold, and bad.

"I don't know where we'll be," Sam Winchester admitted. "But I know you'll be up to your ass in pain."

"Good enough for me," Dean said and tossed the knife back to his brother.

One demon who was being oddly neglected, seemed to renter the room with a grin -- though it had been there all the while -- as demons are fond of doing, for they are dastardly brutes from hell who know no better. A pack of matches in hand, the face of what had been a beautiful woman now wickedly struck a single match in the middle of the chaos, void pits of eyes piercing into Dipper's and he felt his legs freeze.

Their leader, his arm still steaming, managed to turn his frown to a smile as well.

Everyone was occupied; there was not a soul to stop it as the flame was tossed outside the window, and then another, and another.

The possessed body stepped outside, still yet to be challenged and continued to throw matches. A cloud of smoke began to rise and a single drop of sweat trickled down Stan's face.

"Doing great Winchesters," Grant mocked. "If I can't take you down tonight," he spread his arms, all attention focused on him momentarily, except Ford who was still out cold, "than I'll take you all down with me!" The other demons laughter echoed in Dipper's ears and he struggled not to cover them.

Smoke drifted in from outside, the smell of it tainting Dean's nostrils and he wrinkled his nose. "Son of bitch."

But Grant was not recognizing his odds. He continued to fling the group around, knocking Dipper into Dean, who swore, mocked Wendy, threw her into the wall and laughed at Mabel's efforts.

Which, looking back, was probably his downfall.

Because then, as the shack dangerously filled with smoke and licks of fire touched their feet, Sam stabbed the demon Stan had heavily dented with his iron rings from behind. It's eyes lit up hellishly like the last, a red-orange glow flashing in Stan's face and he covered his eyes.

"Three left, including Grant!" He announced, throwing the knife to Dipper.

Dipper quickly got rid of it, handing it off to his other idol. Dean shanked another as Mabel doused it's face in holy water. "Two!" He corrected, throwing it to Stanley. Stan caught it, but his breathing was laboured. Small gash or not, the wound on his mid-section stung. And it stung bad. Blood loss was minimal but the pain was something else.

There was an evil grin, a voice louder above the grunts, the sweat, the blood. Something Sam couldn't quite hear and Dipper straightened, fixing his blue and white cap, glancing at his Grunkle Stan worriedly. Their adversary said something, something, "I hate to do this, but it looks like I'll have to use my ace! Congratulations, kids. Now, Dean, you're fairly familiar with this entity, aren't you? Why don't you say hello? Crowley isn't the only demon who can get hell-hounds to be pets!"

Instantly Dean paled and Dipper watched him spin, an alertness and fear in his movements. 

Sam, blinked, eyes narrowing, huffing, said, "Crowley? Who's that-" 

In a fraction of a second the Mystery Shack's front door slammed open forcefully. There was something there, something gigantic. It was the size of a dog, but one of the biggest dogs that Dipper had ever seen. Or, one of the biggest dogs Dipper imagined he'd seen. Because he couldn't see this dog. And it wasn't friendly. Not at all. A snort escaped the creature; there was a howl, long and deep, menacing, threatening. And it was straight from hell. 

A bark and the hell-hound entered the fight, bounding towards Dean eagerly, most likely on Grant's command. It ripped through the front door, the wood cracking as the wide body forced it's way in.

It was Dipper's turn to pale. "Oh heck!" He managed, attempting to get out of the way as fast as his feet would carry him. Mabel also noticed this bad dog and rushed to Ford, rolling him out of the hounds path, pouring water on his face. He jerked awake with a shout and she shushed him, quickly explaining their predicament.

Sweat rained down every face and back, the shack only getting hotter with no one to attend to the fire that continued to rage outside, eating up any dry grass in it's path.

The hound reached Dean, leaping onto him as he grabbed Dipper's discarded iron pole, smacking the beast in the side, resulting in a loud, injured yelp. With renewed vigor it bit into Dean's arm and he swore aggressively, blood dripping down his bicep. "Sammy! Dammit!" He shoved the pole into the hounds mouth, or, at least, what he thought was the mouth, and called again. "Sam! A little help here?"

Ford, now moderately mobile, stood from the floor and thanked his niece. "Thank you, Mabel! Now, time is of the essence! Priorities call! I think I'll head to the basement. I'm sure I have a version of a fire extinguisher somewhere around here . . . I wasn't much of a cook when I lived by myself, you see."

She nodded. "Sounds good, Great Uncle Ford!" And he was into the vending machine, his coat a blur of motion, the box full of snacks closing behind him. She rose and re-filled her water gun.

Wendy and Dipper, on the other hand, after avoiding the hound, had not been idle. Both of them, with salt and scattered iron objects and an occasional holy water shot from Mabel had cornered the other demon. A salt line between it and the two of them, it's eyes flicked to black, ugly, distorted. Dipper pulled out the fake partially filled journal given to him by the Winchesters and winked at Wendy. Even though the Latin was new to his lips, he pronounced it right and the demon began to shudder, convulsing eerily. Perhaps due to hearing Sam's voice from the recording? Regardless, with a shriek the demon opened it mouth and a black cloud flew out, spiraling towards the roof with the smoke and exited the shack, defeated. They shared a high five. "Nice going, dude!" She said and Dipper snapped the book shut with a smile. "Thanks! I learned from the best!"

However, the war wasn't even close to over. The smoke was getting thicker; there was a burnt taste in the air, and Ford had not yet returned. Grant had got a hold of Dean, slamming the older Winchester into the wall. His hair was still somehow immaculate, but blood covered his clothes and his arm was on fire.

He shouted in Dean's face, practically screaming. "You think you're so smart, don't you? Well you'll burn in hell eventually, Winchester! You've no idea what plans we have for you! Thanks to you, my father is dead! My father, my brother, my sister! That's all your fault!"

Dean chuckled, his head spinning. "Been there, you son of a bitch, done that. I don't know who your father was but he did a damn awful job if this is what he turned you into. Besides, I kill monsters all the time. You're going to have to be more specific, man." Sam looked up briefly from tussling with the hell hound, waving over the rest of the group, grunting at Mabel to help Stan and enlisting Dipper and Wendy's help to dislodge the fire dog from his grip, where it was growling ominously.

Grant, not noticing Sam, much too engrossed with his brother, continued on. "Ever the comedian, eh, Dean? So be it! I'll be more specific. I'm not Grant, he's long gone, unfortunately. And I'm not Bloodstain, either. That's a nickname thanks to a friend." But even as he said friend, his face soured and Dean doubted that this demon had any 'friends' at all. At best, acquaintances. "But he's not here right now, so pay him no mind! Usually, you see, I leave the past behind but this past, this past I cannot ignore! And this past I will avenge! I am Razaiel! And I will avenge my father, Azazel. I will avenge my sister, Meg! I will avenge my brother: Tom! They deserved better, and you murdered them in cold blood!" 

"Do all douchebag fallen angel's names sounds the same?"  Dean snapped, his gaze swimming, graying at the edges. His head was smashed into the wall once more and he struggled not to black out, gritting his teeth.

"You shut your mouth, bastard," Razaiel replied.

Then it came to him. Yellow eyes. The demon who'd murdered his father, his mother. Ruined his brother's life and his. Azazel. That name did ring a bell. And Dean felt a rage pulsing in him that he hadn't felt in a while. He could hear the bastard's voice in his head, even after he was long dead.

"Boys shouldn't play with daddy's guns." "I couldn't have done it without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family!" 

And Dean let it control him as he bellowed angrily, a red hot frustration sweeping through him, blinding his vision, temporarily closing off all pain, throwing red-eyes away from him.

"So you're the last one left huh?" He growled, ramming the iron into Razaiel's midsection, pushing him back, back. "How do you feel about your odds now? Feel good? 'Cause if you do," and something in Dean changed, something Dipper wished he never had seen but he did, he saw it. And it filled him with fear. Dean got in the demon's face, smirking, looking him up and down, the iron bar at his neck, hissing, steaming. "You better think again."

The younger Winchester heard Dean's roar and Sam sighed inwardly, knowing that when his brother went on a rampage that it was difficult to calm him. He too threw off his opponent, the hound crashing through the curtain that blocked off his view to the museum. "Now!" He said, and helped Dipper and Wendy shove a shelf from the Gift Shop in front of the opening to prevent the hell-hound from breaking out. Just to be safe, he made a salt line and then patted Dipper on the head and nodded to Wendy. "Good job, guys."

"Dean!" He called, and without even turning his head, as Ruby's demon slaying knife was tossed to him, Dean caught it and slashed another cut into Bloodstain who cursed the Winchester's name in frustration.

Stan, mended slightly, bandages around his chest, came to a stop behind Dean, Ford at his side. "Step away Dean," Stan said, once Ford and Sam created a demon's trap. Dean did, face unreadable, then breathed in deep and stepped away further. Mabel whooped, "Hot! Hot!" As she used one of her uncle's inventions to put out the fire outside, the smoke slowly becoming less thick.

Behind the shack, the second to last demon whistled, it's last match reacting to the gasoline it had poured. A group of monsters exited the forest, eyes glowing and muscles tense.

There was a breath, though it felt as if everyone was holding it in.

Finally, Dean clapped Stan on the back. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Nah, don't mention it," Stan replied, wincing. "You did good."

Which is, of course, when Razaiel began to laugh.

-COMMERCIAL BREAK-

"This isn't over!" The demon cried, held in place by the grim silence of the group before him and the knife that came dangerously close to his chest. But he egged them on all the same. "Come now, girl," he said in a different tone and there was scratching behind the shelf, getting increasingly louder, "I know you can do better than that!"

In response, the hell-hound burst out, wood snapping, creaking, shattered; everyone reacted in a panic, except Dean, who didn't move an inch.

Everything in his mind screamed at him to fight back, turn and run, anything. Except he couldn't. This time, the memory of the last hell hound he met slammed him and he doubled over, lost in a flash back.

The hound had already slashed his right leg. Now it was attacking his chest and he screamed in pain. He turned over onto his stomach, to get a leeway, something. Nothing. It grabbed him by his legs and pulled him closer as he screamed again. It began to rip at him as he watched Sam, standing against the wall, helpless, scared and panicked. It slashed Dean on his back, his shoulder. He flipped over to fight and it slashed him over his chest, blood gushing out. Sam just watched in horror. The blood kept coming, pouring out of Dean's chest and he's wasn't screaming anymore, because he was dead.

Presently, Sam saw his older brother in shock, frozen, and he didn't know what was happening but he shouted, "Dean!" And stepped in front of him to intercept the beast that barrelled into him like a freight train. He wrestled with it, buying time. "Wendy, the knife!" He called as his own flashback uprooted him from the now. He hadn't heard the name Azazel clearly, but his brain had. Without his permission it was dragging him back to the exact moment when Dean killed yellow eyes.

As the yellow eyed demon cocked the Colt, he aimed it at Dean. Their dead father, now revived momentarily, John Winchester, grabbed the demon from behind. The body the demon possessed fell to the ground, the gun still in hand, while John and the cloud of yellow smoke that was the yellow eyed demon, Azazel, wrestled. The demon pushed him to the ground and entered the body once more. When he stood up, Dean was pointing the Colt at him, and without hesitation, shot him in the heart. Azazel fell to the ground, dead.

And then Dean snapped out it, his brother's call bringing him back. There was desperation in his voice as he tackled Grant with a yell, restraining to choke him. Bloodstain twisted Dean's wrist, the knife clattering to the ground.

But Wendy saw it and picked it up, no questions asked.

Leaping to Sam's rescue, she kicked the creature in the side, feeling it's gaze turn on her. "That's for Sam!" She said, and kicked it again, gaining it's full attention. "And that's for Dean!

Ford, just in the nick of time, retrieved his fallen sawed-off shotgun and fired his second shot, the blast knocking the hound away from Wendy.

It yelped, growling.

"And this-" -she jumped, rolled, felt the gross breath of the monster on her face as she slid under its belly, the knife cutting it open as she went- "- is for the Pines family!" Cut to ribbons the beast gave a last mournful howl, whimpered, and collapsed, dead. She straightened, patted the dust off her green plaid shirt.

That instant, a powerful force threw everyone off their feet, against the wall, against their will.

In the scuffle with the hound, the demons trap had been opened. That is one downside of painting it on the floor, truly. 

And now Razaiel was free.

He wiped the blood crusting on the corner of his mouth, a grin developing like a photo in a dark room. "Well, that was fun, but I have to take care of those journals! Perhaps they're down in the basement, eh old man?" He strode to the vending machine. "What was the code I watched you put in again? Ah yes! A, 1, B, C, 3. Much too simple for my liking, but humans are always like that! Don't have a great time without me," he coined and closed the door behind him with a last laugh.

As soon as the pressure on their bodies released, everyone groaned, standing up from the floor. They were all in bad shape, but it wasn't over yet. Sam was about to explain the plan he was thinking of when Mabel came dashing around the corner of the shack, the modified fire extinguisher in her hand.

"It's empty!" She said, waving it frantically. "And the back of the shack is on fire again! I went for the hose but a group of monsters got in the way! I need backup!"

"Okay," Sam acknowledged. "No time for a plan, then. Wendy, Stan, with me. We'll stop the fire. Dipper, Dean and Ford? You follow Grant. He's got no where to run now. Good luck," he told his brother. Dean simply nodded, stone faced as Ford entered the code and Dipper smiled back at Sam worriedly.

They split off, each to tackle their own tsunami of a problem.

Mabel led them out of the gift shop, Wendy and Sam not far behind, Stanley, huffing but keeping pace in the back. They rounded the corner, then came to a halt as they were met with the demon, a human who's teeth were abnormally sharp, a vamp, and a group of gnomes who gnashed their teeth. Wendy raised the knife still in her possession and that's when Sam groaned audibly.

"Crap," he said. "The knife! I forgot to hand off Ruby's knife to Dean!"

---

Ford held up his six fingered hand, motioning them to pause when Dean thought of the same thing, groaning as well, spotting their decent down the hallway.

"Dammit!" He said, the three of them just reaching the elevator that would take them down further below, though how far down Dean had no clue and neither Dipper or Ford was saying a word.

Dipper turned. "What?"

"The knife we had. I forgot to ask Wendy for it before we went our separate ways. I have salt pistol with five more rounds and an extra canteen of holy water in my jacket, luckily, but that's it."

The younger Pines held up a different knife and the can of spray paint. "I grabbed Grant's knife and the can our Great Uncles used to keep him in check."

Dean tapped Ford who had just pressed the button to operate the elevator. "What about you, Ford? We can't go in blind. Not after that rough fight upstairs. I don't know how much I have left in me."

"I have a crowbar and my mind," Ford replied grimly, showing it in the side of his coat. "But I've faced worse odds when I was in the portal for thirty years. The good news is that no matter how bad the percentage is against us, he's trapped, so I believe we stand a chance." The elevator dinged as it arrived and they all sighed, warily. "Alright," Ford said, "here we go."

----

On the third floor, Grant cracked his neck and stretched his aching joints.

"Boy did they put up a fight! Now let's see . . . where would those journals be hiding from dear old Cipher, hmm? Somewhere . . ." And he spotted them on a shelf, neatly organised, number one directly next to number two. He frowned. "But where might the  third one be? Bill claimed that Pinetree had the third, but the one he used to exorcise my soldier in front of the redhead was obviously not what the dream demon is looking for. Must be somewhere else, then."

He moved forward, into the massive expanse of the room that opened to reveal the upside triangular portal, broken down but still, in a way, magnificent.

The ding of the elevator alerted him to his visitors and Razaiel sneered, a scuttling stray bug getting unceremoniously crushed beneath his foot. "Just don't know when to give up, do you?"

----

His raspy voice greeted them as they exited the metal container.

"Back for round two?" Grant asked. Dean led the pack, gun blazing, Ford hefting his crowbar and Dipper behind them, knife in hand.

But Dean wasn't ready to fight just yet. He needed a longer breather, so he said, ignoring the demon's question and swapping the canteen for another object, "Looking for this?"

Held aloft, Dipper watched his journal being raised above the older Winchesters head and met Grant's eyes as they gleamed in delight. He shifted his weight, waiting for the reaction that would surely follow.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Dean prompted, head tilted just so. "What do you need these for anyways?"

A smirk. "It's a gift for a friend."

Dipper tapped Deans side, cautiously and Dean gave him a smile as the two swapped books, the original being given back to its newer owner and the fake being dropped with a muffled thump to the floor. "Well then," the Winchester said. "How about you come and get it?"

Grant's eyes flicked to red, bloody and menacing in the dark.

"Gladly."

----

"You killed my pack, kid," the stray vamp snarled, clearly pissed off, advancing on Mabel even as the other three closed around her to protect her. "You're gonna get it you little grappling hook beast!"

The vampire lunged and Grunkle Stan smashed it in the jaw with his iron rings, another fist driving into the vamps neck and they stumbled, hissing.

"Man, some vampires are cool but you're just a jerk!" Mabel replied, frowning.

Sam kicked a gnome to the side, picked up another and threw it at the demon who laughed, waving a hand. The gnome launched into the forest with a squeal. "Mabel, I'll distract the other gnomes! Wendy has the knife so we'll slow the demon down; get the hose and put out the fire!"

"Got it!" She said, ducking under her Grunkle's right hook and tripping. Mabel jumped right back up, then felt a pain in her side as she was picked up and swung toward a tree. "Ow!"

Wendy spun the knife, Sam at her side. "Here we go again."

----

Back in the third level of the basement, the other three were fighting -- and mostly failing -- to stop Grant from completely destroying the journals; one which was currently in his possession, two which had slid across the floor and was near the portal and the last one which resided in Dipper's vest.

"As long as we keep them apart, we win!" Ford encouraged.

"Sure," Grant chuckled, dodging the crowbar with ease. "You win! But Bobby doesn't."

That caused Dean to pause. "What was that you son of a bitch? I'd better not have just heard you say Bobby, because whoever brings up Bobby that isn't me, Sam or a hunter is going to get it, and you can bet your ass on that."

Razaiel shrugged. "Your loss, not mine. But I'd get in touch with him quickly, if I were you. Not sure what kind of state those vampires left him in. Not really very trustworthy creatures, after all, are they?" The demon brought a wooden beam from above crashing down near Dipper who yelled and jumped. "Keep up, Dipper Pines!"

Dean shook his head. Dammit, Bobby, you better be alright.

Jumping into action, Ford nodded to Dipper. Both of them drew their weapons, Ford with his crowbar, Dipper with his borrowed knife and the can of paint.

This time Grant just sighed. "Not worth the effort," he claimed, knocking Dipper away after a poorly aimed swipe. Dipper collapsed to the floor with a moan and he could feel his head swelling as he heard his Great Uncle Ford shout at the demon. The iron was striking for the nape of their adversary's neck with pinpoint accuracy, when Razaiel flung Ford away. Ford crashed against the portal, dazed. He was playing with them now.

"It's just the two of us, Dean! How's about you and I have a little fun."

Grant advanced on Dean, a cruel smile painting his features. Dean cleared his throat, stood his ground, aiming the pistol with his last salt round at Bloodstain's forehead.

"I'd like to see you try, punk."

----

Ashes were burning, but the shack was no longer aflame.

It was simply smouldering, wisps of smoke drifting from the burnt strips of grass and weeds and wood. The last gnome gave some kind of cry and waddled off.

"Great," Stan said, rubbing his arm, staring down at the now headless Vampire on the ground in front of him. Sam was breathing hard; he pulled out Ruby's knife from the collar bone of the demon's previously possessed body. "This is great."

Wendy glanced at Mabel.

"Now what?"

----

Dean closed his eyes, the pain washing over him. The cuts stung, the bruises ached. It has been a long night. They'd done good.

But not good enough.

His heartbeat thundered within his chest, pounding, rushing. Letting out the breath he was holding, the Winchester nodded to himself.

He hadn't wanted to do this, but with Bobby out of the picture, out of range, probably in trouble or worse, unable to help, the twins in danger, the mystery shack about to be set aflame again probably and Ford unconscious, he spit out the blood in his mouth and heaved out a breath . . . and said the only thing that he could think of in this crisis that got everyone out of here safely and quickly. "Dear Castiel, I pray in the name of the father, the son and the Holy Ghost; touch your head, shoulders, knees and toes - strike that pose - hey, Macarena and get your feathery ass down here lickity split." Nothing at first. He struggled to stand, watching the thick smoke, the ceiling lights dance dimmer than ever before and Bloodstain getting closer with every step, taking his time like the asshole he was. "C'mon, Cas. I'm serious. We're at-"

Too late.

Intense pressure pressed down on Dean's chest, forcing him to the floor as he tried to sit up. "Stay down, Winchester. Why fight? You're not gonna withstand this storm," hissed the red-eyed demon, taunting, teeth clenched and jaw locked, palm outstretched, full of power and treachery. "You killed my adoptive father! You don't know what that's like. To be liked. To be accepted. To feel wanted. You and your Daddy issues! You'll never understand crap; I mean to make that very clear. Point is, you had no right! So now I'm going to kill you. After all, fair's fair. Alls well that ends well with, what it is you humans say? Ah yes, blood and war."

Dean couldn't help it. "I'm pretty sure it's love and war, Ra."

"Not anymore." A dark sneer. "Also, don't call me that."

And then, their saviour.

There was a flash of blinding, bright white light. Thunderous noises. Cracking. The ceiling caved in, a figure crashing to the floor; dust erupted from the landing.

Bloodstain staggered away from Dean covering his eyes. He'd heard the prayer. But he hadn't -- didn't count on, because you couldn't, no one could -- factored in that this being would actually show. "No!" He shouted, furious but somehow terrified and angry at the same time; a mixture of emotions that really can only come from a demon face to face with... Well.

There, in a tan trench-coat with somewhat blank and yet quite fierce expression, stood what seemed to be a man, with expanding black wings that overshadowed the backdrop behind him, growing, growing, growing. Six feet of raw, undauntulating power that rippled and rose and screamed, screamed that he didn't care about his own death. It was a presence that radiated centuries of experience, a presence that roared -- if it must be done -- violent intent. And with that, the being began to speak. But not in a shout. Not in a normal tone. No, he whispered words that were still somehow loud and clear despite being barely recognisable to the human ear, ones that shook the entire building, the ground, their bones and sent chills through Dean's spine.

"I am the storm."

Razaiel growled low and deep. A stolen angel blade flashed from the edges of his sleeve, appearing like a nightmare, unbelievable, upsetting.

But it was in vain. The deed had been done. Dean watched in quiet, blissful awe as Castiel appeared behind the red-eyed demon bent on revenge and now hell bent, ironically, on survival. The angel vanished, then as if by magic, his invisible wings making a whoosh sound, he was back. His hand reached for Razaiel as he turned with the blade, meeting the forehead of the doomed evildoer. Once the contact was made, there was blinding light pouring from the mouth, the eyes, the nose, streaming, gushing until it was gone, utterly evaporated.

Castiel stepped away as the body fell, eyebrows narrowing just slightly.

"Assbutt," he said.

And Dean stared, mouth agape, the surprise of it all hitting him all at once. "You came," he said. Shock covered his voice and his facial features while the trench coat bearing angel stooped to retrieve the blade, listening.

Adjusting his tie, Cas passed Dean, calmly touching Dipper's head, then Ford's. Both of them felt revived, the pain instantly washing away, draining, draining, gone. "I always come when you call, Dean," he said simply, all seriousness. He touched Dean's forehead as well, and though Dean protested, he didn't have the strength to push him away.

Dipper felt himself slowly waking up, his concussion vanishing. So he stood, unsteadily at first, to see Ford, standing as well, watching Castiel in confusion. "When did you get here?" Ford commented. Castiel turned on his heel to reply, but he was interrupted with a ding and by Sam who pushed aside the elevator door, gaping at the portal as he burst through. He turned to Cas, seeing Grant's dead, burnt body and sighed in relief.

"Hello, Sam," Cas stated, as though they were in constant communication and saw each other daily. (They were not and did not). He looked past the Winchester and met eyes with a girl whose sweater was dirty, but still in one piece. He smiled at her kindly.

She pushed past Sam, bruised, but okay. "Who the heck is that?" She said, eyes bright and a thousand more questions ringing in the air. No one said anything, so Ford cleared his throat once, twice.

"Is Stan alright?" Ford found himself asking but didn't regret it, surprisingly.

"Resting with Wendy upstairs on the chair; we took care of that black eyed boy and a vamp." Sam said.

Dean stood, clapped Cas on the shoulder with a grin. "This is Cas."

Castiel shot the hunter a look, "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

A family divided, broken and upset stood in the centre of dying chaos, quiet for moments. Then they all rushed together, grinning, hugging,"We did it," cheered Dipper, with a fist pump. "Yes, well-" started Ford, but then he glanced at his nephews happy face and he stopped. "Yes." He said. "We did, didn't we?"

"Good job, Sammy." Dean pulled his brother into a hug.

"You too, Dean." He replied with a smile. He waved. "Hey, Cas." Sam eyed the hole in the roof, tipping his head, "Did- Did you fall through the ceiling?"

"Uh," Cas looked up, pretended not to notice and subsequently turned his head towards the twins. "It is not important."

"Dipper!" Mabel cried, immediately. 

"Mabel!" He shouted, and they crashed into a hug, squeezing as hard as they could.

Upstairs, Stan, who was soundly asleep, snored. Wendy was asleep on the floor, curled up next to a pillow. A voice spoke out of the blue: it was Stanford. He'd left the basement reunion and arrived in the living room soundlessly.

"You did right, brother . . ." He inhaled. Exhaled. "I'm sorry. I-"

Stan snorted, jerking awake with a startled twitch. "What?" Ford's face reset to neural. He stepped away.

"Nothing. I- you rest."

Pause. 

"Thanks."

Silence.

"Yeah. Of course."

And so, a family who fought and a family divided is now healing. Restoring. In pain, yes. Hurting, yes. Confused, yes. But they're mending. And they . . . well.

They have each other.

----
Later That Night

A figure sat on a curb.

Hours, days away from Gravity Falls, Oregon, sat a man, his blond hair tussled by the wind.

A plastic cup full of what must have been punch or Koolaid -- it was red, dark, and wet -- dropped to the cement, the last drops leaking into a nearby drain.

A light.

The man raised his eyes to look at it and strangely didn't look away or shield his face.

"You rang?" Said a certain shape, the light dying. Black and yellow like a bumble bee, the shape radiated destruction.

"No, I accidentally killed one of God's chosen to call you- Yes, of course I rang." The man casually tapped away the cup with his shoe, standing, the sharpness in his voice covered by the calm countenance he beamed from his position. "So? How'd it go?"

"Oh, the Winchesters are a handful, believe me-"

"But you got it done, I take it?"

"Did you not hear a word I said?" Bill snapped, dangerously close to a tipping point but he went on all the same. "I said they're a handful. It's the Winchesters!" The blond one smirked. "And the Pines, now. After that they'll no doubt do extensive research. They're growing, adapting. Especially Pinetree."

"It's shame you're not the same kind as us. They'll love that little twist."

"Yes, I think they will. Not that it matters, of course."

"Of course."

There was a coo from a dove; the man's eyes shifted but his body stayed motionless. Bill said nothing. There was nothing more to say.

"Well, I'm off! I'll assist however I can while I wait for your next call. Pleasure doing business, Luci."

Lucifer stared at Bill, a still, small smile at the corner of his mouth arriving as if right on schedule, which, it was.

"Please, Cipher. The pleasure is all mine."

_________________
A/N:

slide to the left. - bam - slide to the right - bam - two hops this time. *hop hop* two hops this time. *hop hop* Now, freeze!
everybody clap your hands
*deep inhale*
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

okay but honestly like if there ever was a mess on this goddamn planet I swear to god it's me CaUse my rough draft was not only messy n vague but like its LonG and it took me four lifetimes to complete sO yeah I have it together totally it's no sweat guys *sweats* but it's fine no mourners no funerals kids

But seriously we hit 4K like a while ago n I didn't scream but I gasped so loud um because ???????? What ???? I didn't know you guys liked this so much n like yeah it ain't a million K but whatever like fuck that 4K means so much to me thank you n I mean it you guys r too kind to me I'm probs gonna sob just out of happiness

Uhhh so this is the bit where I tell you that I have a season two comin !! Cause this was the season finale !!
N this is the bit where the SPN fans get a reign some
n we'll have mini episodes in between so hope you like those

n o w here's the bit where if ya really can appreciate these two shows n how this crossover kin basically write itself, can't wait 4 season two or REALLY LOVED CAS CAUSE HOT DAMN, then plz vote, comment and share !! you lovely humans helped me hit 4K and so it would be awesome if we could hit 5 soon idk just a goal we're already super close

Oh yeah n I bet some of u will be like dude wHERE the HeLL is your grammar well kids here's the deal it takes a lot of braining to make words go n when I'm done boy am I donE

{Song of the chapter (because of Cas obviously): Send Me An Angel by Real Life (amen)}

Have yourselves a good day, but above all, let's go and kill some evil jerks, shall we?
Styx