The sound of wings grew louder, though nothing appeared in the physical realm. The Coalition creatures tensed, their ancient forms shifting uneasily.
"The vessels must be contained!" the Kitsune's voice carried power older than human speech. "Complete the ritual!"
Then sulfur filled the air. Yellow eyes gleamed from nowhere and everywhere. Grace-light, tainted and wrong, filled the street.
"Now this is interesting," Azazel's voice purred as he materialized. "A coalition of lesser beings, thinking they can change destiny."
"You!" Dad's gun swung toward the yellow-eyed demon, rage and recognition warring on his face. "You killed Mary!"
Azazel smiled, completely unconcerned by the weapon. "John Winchester. Still holding that grudge? It was just business, you understand. Your wife was... collateral damage."
"I'll kill you!" Dad's finger tightened on the trigger.
Another flutter of wings heralded a different arrival - a man in a business suit, his true form casting shadows of multiple wings. The temperature dropped further as divine power filled the space.
"As entertaining as this reunion is," Zachariah said, straightening his corporate tie, "we have a situation to handle."
The Coalition creatures shifted uneasily, caught between demonic and angelic power. The kumiho child-form spoke first:
"This doesn't concern Heaven or Hell. The vessels must be contained. The prophecies-"
"The prophecies," Zachariah cut in, "are not yours to interpret, little fox. You're meddling in affairs far beyond your understanding."
"Understanding?" the Kitsune elder laughed bitterly. "We've watched humanity since its first breath. We've seen what's coming."
"You've seen what we want you to see," Azazel remarked, circling the group. His yellow eyes fixed on me briefly, something like curiosity in their sulfurous depths.
Dean's sword hummed louder, responding to Zachariah's grace even as my darkness stirred at Azazel's proximity. The demon noticed, his smile widening.
"The vessels are developing nicely," he commented to Zachariah. "Ahead of schedule, even."
"Mind your place, demon," the angel snapped. "You're a tool, nothing more. Don't forget who truly orchestrates these events."
"Of course, of course." Azazel's tone dripped sarcasm. "Heaven's grand plan. Tell me, does God actually approve, or is this another of your... independent projects?"
Zachariah's grace flared dangerously. "Careful."
"Enough!" Bobby's voice cut through their tension. "Someone better start explaining what's going on!"
"Bobby Singer," Azazel turned his yellow gaze to the veteran hunter. "Always trying to piece things together. But some puzzles aren't meant for human minds."
"The hell they aren't!" Bobby started to speak an exorcism, but Zachariah silenced him with a gesture.
"These matters are beyond mortal concern," the angel stated flatly. "The Coalition has overstepped. They must be dealt with."
The Vedmak witch stepped forward, her runes glowing. "We act to prevent catastrophe. The vessels cannot be allowed to-"
She never finished. Azazel moved like lightning, yellow eyes blazing. The Vedmak burst into flames that consumed both vessel and spirit, her ancient magic useless against Hell's power.
"Anyone else want to discuss prevention?" the demon asked pleasantly.
"Stop this!" Dean raised his sword, its blessed light flaring against the darkness. "Whatever you are-"
"Oh, put that down before you hurt yourself," Zachariah sighed. "Michael's vessel or not, you're not ready to wield true power yet."
"Michael's what?" Dean's confusion was clear, but the sword responded to the angel's voice, its light dimming slightly.
The kumiho tried to flee, shifting between forms, but Azazel's power caught her mid-transformation. Her ancient essence shredded with a scream that echoed across centuries.
"You see," Azazel addressed the remaining Coalition members, "this is what happens when lesser beings try to change destiny. Messy. Unfortunate. Necessary."
"Destiny?" Dad's gun hadn't wavered from Azazel. "What have you done to my boys?"
"Done?" The demon laughed. "John, I simply helped them become what they were always meant to be. Ask your friend with the wings."
Zachariah's corporate smile turned cold. "The demon overstates his role. As usual."
"Do I?" Azazel's yellow eyes gleamed. "Remind me, who marked the vessel? Who prepared the way? While you angels sat in your clouds, watching?"
"Temporary measures," Zachariah dismissed. "Tools to be discarded when no longer needed. Like you."
The shadow walkers tried to use their distraction, merging with street shadows to escape. Zachariah's grace exploded outward, holy and terrible. Their ancient forms dissolved like mist in sunlight.
"Heaven's might," Azazel mocked. "So impressive. So... predictable."
"Better than Hell's crude manipulations," Zachariah countered. "How many children did you bleed on, demon? How many families did you destroy to find the right one?"
"Enough!" I couldn't stay silent anymore, the darkness inside me responding to their power plays. "What do you want?"
Both beings turned to me, their attention sharp and calculating.
"Interesting," Azazel purred. "The boy is more understanding than even I expected."
"A temporary anomaly," Zachariah stated, but uncertainty flickered in his grace.
The remaining Coalition creatures - the völva sisters, the Peri, the obeah man - launched a desperate joint attack. Ancient magics merged into a single strike.
Azazel and Zachariah moved in perfect, terrible synchronization. Demonic power and divine grace combined, obliterating centuries of existence in seconds.
"Well," Azazel smiled at the destruction, "that was invigorating."
"Indeed." Zachariah straightened his already-perfect tie. "Now for the witnesses."
"You're not touching my boys!" Dad fired his gun, the bullets passing harmlessly through both beings.
"John, John," Azazel shook his head. "Still fighting battles you can't win. Some things are written too deep to change."
"The vessels will play their roles," Zachariah added. "When the time comes. But for now..."
His fingers began to glow with grace.
"Sweet dreams, Winchesters."
"Wait!" I stepped forward, the darkness inside me churning. "You keep saying vessels. Vessels for what?"
"Curious little prince," Azazel's yellow eyes gleamed with something like pride. "Always asking the right questions at the wrong time. Just like your true self."
"The boy's mind is sharper than expected," Zachariah observed coldly. "Perhaps too sharp."
"Of course it is," Azazel retorted, his tone almost reverential. "Did you expect any less from the one meant to house the Morningstar? My lord's vessel was never meant to be simple or dull."
"Watch your tongue, demon," Zachariah warned. "Your... devotion to your fallen master doesn't change the timeline."
Dean moved to stand between me and them, his sword still humming with sacred energy. "You stay away from my brother."
"Protective as always," Azazel remarked. "Just like Michael with-"
"One more word, demon," Zachariah threatened, "and our arrangement ends."
The tension between them crackled with supernatural power. Heaven and Hell's representatives, barely containing their mutual hatred.
"Do it," Azazel finally said, stepping back with mock courtesy. "Work your angelic magic. Make them forget."
Zachariah approached Dean first, grace glowing at his fingertips.
"No-" Dean started to raise his sword, but the angel was faster. Grace touched his forehead, and my brother's eyes rolled back, the blessed weapon clattering to the ground.
"Dean!" Dad's shout ended as Zachariah reached him next, rewriting memories with celestial precision.
Bobby managed half an exorcism before grace-light took his consciousness, replacing truth with fiction.
Then Zachariah turned to me.
The darkness inside me gathered, instinctively raising defenses built from foreknowledge and that ever-present void. That hollow space meant for another's grace pulsed with recognition and rejection.
"This one's different," Zachariah murmured, almost to himself. "The darkness around his soul..."
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Azazel's pride was evident. "My finest work."
"Your corruption, you mean." Zachariah's fingers glowed brighter. "No matter. Even demon-tainted souls can't resist Heaven's power."
His grace touched my temple. And my body slumped to the ground.
"It's done," Zachariah announced. "They'll wake up at the motel, remembering a simple ghost hunt."
"Such a waste of such an interesting coalition," Azazel sighed theatrically. "
"They were insects," Zachariah dismissed. "The real players know their roles."
"Speaking of roles..." Azazel's gaze lingered on my unconscious form. "The younger Winchester. He's not quite what was prophesied."
"Stay on script, demon," Zachariah warned. "Heaven's plans will proceed as written. The vessels will fulfill their destiny."
"Of course, of course." Azazel raised his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of interfering with the grand design. Though I do wonder..."
"Wonder what?"
"If perhaps we've underestimated this one." Azazel nodded toward me. "There's something... different about him. Something more."
"Your obsession with the boy is noted," Zachariah said coldly. "And irrelevant. When the time comes, he'll play his part."
With a gesture, they transported our unconscious forms to the local motel. New memories settled into place - a standard haunting, a simple salt and burn.
But as they vanished - Azazel in sulfur, Zachariah in wing-beats - they missed the shadows curling protectively around my mind.
Missed how the darkness preserved what should have been erased. Hiding the awakeness of my soul, beyond even what Seraph and Prince could sense.
Because some things can't be overwritten.
Some memories refuse to die.
Some destinies can be rewritten.
When I woke hours later, I remembered everything - the Coalition's desperate gambit, Heaven and Hell's intervention, the casual way they rewrote reality.
Dean stirred in the next bed, his altered memories telling him we'd just finished a routine hunt. Dad and Bobby would remember the same.
But I knew the truth. And I knew something else:
If Heaven and Hell would work together to maintain their script, then the future I remembered was more fixed than I'd feared.
Unless someone with the right knowledge chose to change it.
I closed my eyes, letting the darkness hide my awareness. Let them think their plan worked. Let them believe all witnesses were silenced.
Some secrets are better kept in shadow.
And some vessels aren't as easily controlled as they think.