The (Other) Nephilim

Chapter Thirty-Three

It started with Jack. My cousin. And the only real, albeit shitty, friend I'd had since I was thrown into all this. Chuck snapped his fingers, and Jack was howling and falling to his knees in pain. His eyes and mouth were drowned out by a stark-white burning light. Just like the light I've seen Castiel smite demons and monsters with. For once, Chuck managed a look of almost-sympathy.

"Jack," Castiel uttered, not believing his eyes. I was in the same boat. "Jack!" he repeated, kneeling down next to our dying friend.

My vision tunneled and all I could focus on was the sound of blood roaring in my ears and the glow emitting from Jack's eyes and mouth. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen this way, if at all! Chuck was supposed to restore his soul, make him better. Get my cousin back to his normal self, whom I'd never even gotten the chance to meet! And now he was being smote by God Himself.

"Stop it."

Dean's voice snapped me out of my stupor. I looked away from Jack in time to see Dean repeat the phrase and lunge towards Chuck. Chuck, who simply flicked his wrist, sent Dean flying back into a headstone, snapping it in two. 

"Dean!" I acted on instinct, sprinting to the oldest Winchester and pulling him off the ground. "Dean, you okay?" He shrugged me off and, in a sick moment of realization, I remembered Jack, who was still groaning in pain. Cas was trying to heal him, and Sam was glancing around in bewilderment. Or so I thought.

Sam found what he was looking for. His eyes locked on the "Equalizer", and he snatched it off the ground, pulling himself up and levelling it at my grandfather, who had been walking away. "Hey Chuck," Sam snapped. Chuck turned around just in time to see the younger Winchester fire the gun, hitting the both of them square in the shoulder.

Chuck glared at his coat, where what looked to be a bullet entry hole was engraved in the fabric, but no blood was found. He rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance. 

"Fine! That's the way you want it?" Finally, a shred of real emotion was creeping into his voice. Just enough anger to really make you squirm. I stood stone-still. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cas not moving either, and Sam was clutching his shoulder with a fearful look in his eye. Chuck shook his hands, as if clearing the air. "Story's over. Welcome to The End."

--- 

What happened next all sort of blurs together, but I'll do my best to recall. For one thing, Chuck was gone. Disappeared into thin air. As was the Sun. And the stars. The Moon, too. Every source of light you could think of, gone. It wasn't as if it just suddenly became nighttime, there was no lights whatsoever. Yet none of us had any trouble seeing. The graveyard was as clear as day, just without the day part. 

Dean pulled himself up off the ground with a grunt, and made his way to Sam, checking, "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, picking himself up as well. "Yeah, I'm good." It was a lie, but I didn't really pay attention to it. 

All that mattered to me was the body of my cousin laying at my feet, with burnt-out eyes and Castiel kneeling solemnly at its side. I fell to my knees as well, and heard Dean mumble in confusion, "Wait, I thought Chuck said that the gun was the only thing that could..." he trailed off, nodding to Jack's corpse. 

Cas let out a shaky breath. It was clear he was trying to keep tears out of his eyes, but no one noted them. "He's a writer. Writers lie." 

It was only then that I realized I was sitting on the silhouette of Jack's wings, burned into the ground. 

With no warning, no buildup, nothing, my brain seared. It felt like my head had split open, like an iron rod was being driven through my skull. And no sooner had it started, than I had blacked out, hoping only death could follow it. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a crypt.