"Well, how about we just go and kill the Devil?" Henry asked, his voice dripping with mocking sarcasm.
Even as he said it, he knew how stupid the idea was. No matter what gear he'd pulled from the system, unless he was suddenly packing Archangel-level power, Lucifer could vaporize him with a casual snap of his fingers. Chasing the Devil was suicide.
Dean's head snapped up, his green eyes flashing with desperate hope. "You know how to kill the Devil?"
Henry stared at him for a long, painful second. "Fuck no, Dean. I'm being sarcastic."
Dean's face fell, the spark dying instantly.
"Do you guys think the Devil is just some overgrown demon in a cheap suit?" Henry rubbed his temples.
"He's a fucking Archangel. Nothing we have can kill him. Even if you hadn't lost the Colt in that church, it wouldn't scratch him. Five things in all of creation that gun can't kill, and Lucifer's on that list."
Sam paced, running both hands through his hair, breathing shallow. "So what do we do? I started the apocalypse, Henry. I killed Lilith. We have to do something."
"What about the angels?" Dean asked, looking between them. "Yeah, they're dicks, but they hate Lucifer just as much as we do, right? Maybe they can help us put him back in the box."
Henry turned to look at Dean with a flat, deadpan stare. It was a monumentally naive assumption — the angels didn't want to stop this. Heaven's upper management had orchestrated the entire thing so Michael could have his apocalyptic cage match.
"Sure, Dean," Henry said dryly, arms crossed. "You can try calling Castiel."
Dean didn't hesitate. He stepped away from the diner, closed his eyes, and tilted his head up toward the cold, starless Ohio sky.
"Cas? Hey, Cas, it's Dean. We need you right now. It's a code red. Get your feathered ass down here."
The three of them stood in the freezing parking lot, waiting. A cold wind rattled the flickering neon diner sign. A semi roared past on the distant interstate, kicking up dust.
Dean opened his eyes, looking around the empty lot. Castiel didn't appear.
They were on their own.
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Dean lowered his head, scowling. "Son of a bitch. Where the hell is he?"
The neon signs exploded in a shower of white-hot sparks.
The air pressure dropped. But it wasn't a trench-coated Castiel who materialized under the shattered streetlights — it was an older, balding man in a tailored suit, smug corporate smile in place, flanked by four expressionless men in sharp suits.
"Well," the man said smoothly, stepping over the broken glass. "Castiel is currently not available. I'm afraid he died."
"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked.
"I am Castiel's superior," the suited man replied, tone dripping with fake customer-service politeness. "Zachariah. A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Dean."
Henry stayed still, watching the angelic bureaucrat with narrowed eyes.
"Why did Castiel die?" Dean demanded.
Zachariah sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets like he was discussing a minor workplace violation. "He crossed one of Heaven's strictest rules. So, naturally, he was blown into bits."
He kept his smile in place, leaving out the real story.
Castiel had figured out the endgame — that Lilith was the final lock on Lucifer's cage — and tried to reach Dean and Sam to warn them before they pulled the trigger, hoping to stop the Apocalypse.
But Heaven didn't want it stopped. The brass wanted the seals broken so their prophesied holy war could finally begin. Because Castiel had tried to save humanity, his own brothers executed him.
"Blown to bits?" Sam repeated, stepping out from behind his brother, guilt curdling into disgust. "For what? What did he do?"
"He rebelled, Sam," Zachariah chuckled, dry and humorless. "Chose the wrong side. And now, thanks to you boys doing exactly what you were supposed to do, we can finally move on to the main event."
Henry stepped forward, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets, looking entirely unimpressed by the celestial heavyweights around them.
"Yeah, I'm afraid I don't agree to this," he said, voice cutting through the cold air. "You can fuck off. All of you."
Zachariah's smile vanished. He turned his head slowly, cold eyes locking onto Henry with disgust. The four angels flanking him tensed, stepping forward.
"You," Zachariah sneered. "The abomination. I'm surprised you're still alive. Heaven's garrison looked for you for quite some time. Let me make this clear — if you interfere with our design, we will not hesitate to kill you."
Henry didn't flinch. He tilted his head, holding the angel's stare.
"We can cooperate," he said, tone dangerously calm. "If Heaven actually has a real plan to kill Lucifer without harming any humans, without destroying the Earth in the process. Put him down cleanly, and I won't get in your way."
Zachariah scoffed, adjusting his tie like Henry's terms were a childish joke. "Stopping an Archangel of Lucifer's magnitude is a hard job, boy. You have to look at the big picture. In a conflict this size, some collateral damage is inevitable."
"Collateral damage," Henry repeated flatly. "Like millions of humans."
Zachariah didn't blink. He gave a small, casual nod, indifferent to the death toll. "A necessary sacrifice in war."
Henry glanced at Dean and Sam, both practically vibrating with disgust, then looked back at Zachariah.
"Then you can fuck off," Henry said, deadpan.
*****
🔥 For Advanced Chapters Join My Patreon 🔥
👉 patreon.com/DeathNote4455
🚀 Get early access to 24 Advanced chapters.