
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1753609.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/
      Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Castiel_&_Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester/Jody
      Mills, Abaddon/Original_Female_Character, Krissy/Aiden
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Original_Child_Character(s), Sam_Winchester,
      Kevin_Tran, Jody_Mills, Abaddon, Crowley, Original_Angel_Character(s),
      Charlie_Bradbury, Death_-_Character, Krissy_Chambers, Aiden_
      (Supernatural), Josephine_Barnes, Original_Female_Character(s), Ash_
      (Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      AU_season_9, Domestic, Case_Fic, Kid_Fic, Dark, Angst, Fluff, Alternate
      Timeline, Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Danger, Possession, Gore, Body_Horror,
      Domestic_Fluff, Personality_Shift, Road_Trips, multiple_POVs,
      Hallucinations, Extended_Winchester_Family, PTSD, Alcoholism, divine
      intervention, family_bonds, Psychic_Abilities, Character_Growth, lots_of
      pop_culture_references, Horror_Elements, Psychological_Horror, Drug_Use,
      Reverse_Trope(s), Multiple_Triggers_Warning, Slow_Burn, Alternate
      Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Long_WIP
  Series:
      Part 1 of Fire's_Promise
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-07 Updated: 2015-10-09 Chapters: 6/? Words: 33719
****** Fire's Promise: Heat ******
by Mnemos9
Summary
     Metatron's plan dies with him, leaving Cas the prime suspect for his
     and Naomi's murders. On the run, he discovers how to cloak himself
     from Heaven's new 'democracy'. Working a ritual that leaves him
     practically human, Cas takes to the road and keeps his distance from
     the Winchesters. Meanwhile, demons start dying off en masse and no
     one knows who's responsible. Sam gets a taste of the life he wants
     and tries to approach his brother about it. Of course, Abaddon is
     freed, Crowley is weirding everyone out with his personality shift,
     and Cas' self-imposed exile is hitting Dean hard. Then Cas asks for
     Dean's help. Hellbent on dragging him home, Dean arrives in Idaho to
     find that he's supporting himself and two children-one psychic-off
     his pittance. He agrees to find a home for the kids if everyone comes
     back with him to Kansas. The daily grind becomes weekly, then
     monthly. Sam moves out, Kevin gets a job and Crowley goes globe-
     trotting. All the while, Cas and Dean find themselves accidentally
     raising a family; their feelings becoming harder to bury. But peace
     is often fleeting and even Abaddon struggles with confidence when an
     apocalyptic rumor is born. One in which Cas' role is vital. Sometimes
     Destiny can only be delayed.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas goes into hiding, makes a new friend, and anxiously awaits ice
     cream. Dean has a rough time and makes an enemy of the public coffee
     machine. Sam is lounging about in a coma and unnecessarily worrying
     everyone.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The instant that Castiel arrives in Heaven he knows that something has gone
horribly wrong. Two ashen prints of wings overlap each other on the floor of
Naomi’s office. The former director of Heaven is slumped over Metatron's
lifeless vessel, her blood discoloring the scribe's pants a deep maroon. He
scans the room; it appears he is alone with the two corpses. Curiosity wins
over caution and he crosses over to them, stooping to roll Naomi off his
deceased friend.
A blade protrudes from Metatron's chest and his face is frozen between horror
and surprise. Cas will mourn for him later. Glancing at Naomi, he notes that
the cause of death can be attributed to the infamous instrument of reform that
she used on any angel whose obedience she wasn't 100% satisfied with. It’s
buried in her eye socket, right up to the base due to the dead weight that
continued to drive it into her skull after she perished. The world is a better
place without her in it and few will grieve her passing on a personal level.
However, a vacuum is now imminent.
The sound of approaching wings forces him back to reality and Castiel draws his
weapon instinctively, spinning in a crouch to meet the threat. What he's
greeted by is a girl, no older than eleven, donning bright cherry Converse
(he’s pretty sure that’s what those particular shoes are called), moss-colored
cargo pants and a navy, adult-sized sweater that simply states Red Sox. Her
skin is dark russet in tone, features suggesting a mixed lineage with an
emphasis on the Jat bloodline of Northern India or rural Pakistan. Chewing
energetically on something unseen, she examines the scene with peaked interest.
"I'd heard you were capable of many great and terrible things, Castiel," she
speaks with a marked Hindi accent and he catches a glimpse of pale blue gum
between lustrous canines. "But even for you this—“
"I didn't kill anyone." Cas continues to study the newcomer chomping loudly on
her gum as she crosses her arms and widens her stance. For a moment they size
each other up. It isn't much of a contest.
"I believe you," Her focus drifts back to the corpses cooling inches from his
knees. "but I can think for myself." Eyes darker than her skin glint in the
harsh artificial lighting of the room when she tilts her chin up, surveying him
coolly. "Others will not be so eager to forgive you." There's something oddly
familiar about her, but he can't place it.
Squinting at the stranger, he scours his memory for any trace of her presence
unbound from its’ Earthly vessel-without success. "Who are you? I thought I
knew every angel in Heaven but I've never seen you before." She cups her small
face in an even smaller hand.
"Yeah, I don’t like it here very much.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste at
their surroundings. “Let's just say I'm a friend." Grinning slyly, she taps on
her jaw. "Of a friend of a friend." Cas stands, regarding her with pronounced
suspicion. "And I want to help." At what cost?
"Why?" The girl rolls her eyes and sighs in an exaggerated fashion as she
advances on him.
"You wanna stand here doubting each other until Naomi's thugs show up and
skewer us without hesitation?" she reconsiders it. "Actually they'd kill me
instantly, but I'm betting they'd be pretty eager to make your execution as
messy, drawn-out and public as possible." Glaring up at him, she extends a
hand. He gazes at it with apprehension. Her motivations are completely unknown
to him.
"Who knows," she goads on. "Maybe the spectacle will even be nasty enough to
draw the notice of the Winchesters. Bet they’d loveto see your guts draped like
Christmas decorations all over their car." He hears Dean's voice as his own
when he thinks Son of a bitch. She has him cornered.
Clenching his jaw, Cas frowns at her victorious smirk and accepts the hand
offered to him.
                                     >>> 
Figuring he'll lose it if he has to put up with one more second of that
incessant beeping, Dean finally leaves his brother's side. He blinks wearily in
the glaring fluorescence of the hospital hallway and thinks about going to get
more coffee. At least it'll be something to do. Some purpose other than being
the reason why the cute yet annoying nurses dread coming into Sam's room. He's
scared off a couple by now, but who cares?
The hunter's feet carry him towards the small room where humming machines
dispense grounds with a hint of coffee into a styrofoam cup. No charge, and a
good thing too-he wouldn't spend money on it even if he had any. Each step down
the sparsely populated hall brings up more of the crap he's doing his damn well
best not to think about.
The sickeningly patronizing, over-paid and worthless doctors who tell him that
his brother's life is basically in God's hands. The King of Hell who might get
the tape off and start shouting out from his trunk any minute; alerting any
nearby civvies, authorities, demons or (Dean's personal favorite) a combination
of all three. The Knight of Hell who killed their one decent grandfather and
thanks to their arrogance, is now figuratively stretching her legs; probably
slaughtering unsuspecting innocents wholesale. The angel who may or may not
come back after attempting to seal off Heaven, who hasn't responded to any of
Dean's prayers, calls, or texts about Sam desperately needing some divine
intervention to pull through. Or any at all, as a matter of fact.
"Fuck 'em." He mutters as he reaches his destination. Fuck' em all. One of the
girls Dean thinks he may have yelled at looks up from her phone, the lines of
fatigue etched into her face intensifying when she sees him.
Making his way to the dispenser, he selects ‘espresso’ and stares at it without
seeing the thing as it whirs into life. He can feel the nurse’s anxious gaze on
his back as she makes a hasty exit. Turning his back to the counter, he notices
half a cup of caffeinated crap that she abandoned on the stained and cracking
formica table.
Usually, he'd at least feel bad for losing his shit but under the current
circumstances, sociability is the least of his concerns. He's probably had less
than nine hours of sleep total in the past three days. Can't sleep. Not with
Sam like this. Of course if his brother were awake, he'd call Dean an idiot and
knock him out in the vicinity of a mattress. But Sammy isn't awake. He's dying
in a hospital with equipment that was probably top-of-the-line during the
Reagan administration.
"GODDAMMIT!" His fist slams into the counter-top, pain shooting out from the
point of impact. The shock of it feels goodafter forcibly numbing himself to
everything else. He crumples to his knees, cradling his head with shaking hands
as dry sobs wrack through his body and the weight of it all attempts to
relentlessly crush him into dust.
"Cas..." His voice cracks and he doesn't even mean to say it. The name has
become a prayer in and of itself. A comfort when there's nothing- not even hope
left.
"Cas," he tries again. "please just," Dean inhales, pressing on his closed lids
with the heels of his palms. "Please just be here. If you can't do anything for
Sam that's..." He sniffs, holding in the tears that he can't release now
because they won't stop and he's not having a full-blown breakdown. Especially
in public. "All that crap I said to you, just...just forget it. Please. I don't
know if your plan worked or not but if you can hear me," Dean lifts his head
with considerable effort and glances around the empty room.
"I need you here." He whispers to no one. “Where are you, man?”
                                     >>> 
"I need to be there!" Castiel tells her again and again she shakes her head. "I
might be able to help. Sam—“
"Will be in greater danger if you go to him now." He turns from her, crossing
the cluttered room to stand by the window while avoiding visibility from the
street below the hotel.
"There has to be something.” Actual children pass by, screaming with joyful
laughter as they chase after their parents down the dilapidated sidewalk. “I
have to do something, I can't just sit around here while Sam dies!" It's been
like this for days, stuck in Metatron's old study, trying to find a way to
shake Heaven off their backs.
More aptly, hisback, as he’s wanted for sedition as well as murder now. And
that doesn't even include the egregious sins of his past. So far he's come to
learn that the scribe he trusted had lied to him, and if his plan had succeeded
the entire host of Heaven would have been expelled from their home, perhaps
irreversibly. That, and the even stranger angel he's trusting now refuses to
divulge her true name. You can call me Nemo.It's appropriate.
"This place is warded so well that if an archangel was standing on the other
side of that door, they wouldn't know we were here unless we started shouting
and banging on things." Nemo indicates the wooden ingress whose every splinter
is imbued with arcane magic. "But the instant you leave this building they will
find you. And if you're in the vicinity of those two, what do you think will
happen to them?"
Cas fumes, turning to face her. "I know, Nemo, but they need help and the human
doctors are useless in this situation."
The two fugitives (one self-proclaimed) have been combing over what could quite
possibly be the most expansive library in existence for a way out from under
Heaven's radar. Nemo disappears from time to time to 'check her sources’. She
tells him that what’s left of the hierarchy holds him accountable for Naomi's
death. They've even made a martyr out of Metatron, who was planning to exile
all angels in the name of petty vengeance.  Some groups believe in Castiel’s
innocence, but the more vocal of them are being silenced one way or the other.
The whispers are that Naomi and Metatron killed each other off by simple
coincidence. It’s probably the reality of what occurred, but how does that
human proverb go? The truth is often stranger than fiction?
Nemo doesn't speak and her countenance is unreadable. He's not entirely sure
when facial expressions started to matter so much. It's maddening, watching her
stony face while the situation deteriorates more with each passing moment.
Dean yells at him in his head every couple of hours. It makes the poorly
progressing research that much more difficult. Sometimes Cas has to stop
altogether as he did earlier, because Dean Winchester doesn't beg and he
certainly doesn't say please. Today he's said it three times and Cas can't
stomach it anymore. This is almost worse than all the nights in Purgatory
combined. No, it definitely is worse because at least there, Dean wasn’t in
mortal peril and he, in turn could do something to aid in that effort.  Now,
his family is dying and he’s powerless to act. If that year was a nightmare,
these past few days have been damnation.
He's about to press the issue for the umpteenth time when Nemo turns on her
heel and sighs in exasperation "Wait here." She retrieves her sweater from the
back of a chair. "I'm serious. Do not leave this room, got it?" Castiel closes
the gap between them while giving her a critical look. He's become almost as
distrustful of angels as Dean.
"What are you going to do?" Maybe even more.
"First I'm gonna go buy myself some time," she slips one arm into the baggy
sleeve. "then I'm gonna try to save your friend," followed by the other one.
"and if there's time to spare, I'm gonna get us some ice cream." Nemo shrugs
the hood up over her head and pulls the drawstrings snug.
Cas scrutinizes her for any hint of betrayal whatsoever and finds none as she
stares back evenly. "They aren't very trusting of angels."  She rolls her eyes
at him; it seems to be one of her favorite mannerisms.
"Yeah, I kinda figured." Despite her questionable choice of a vessel, Nemo
speaks to him as if he were the child. "But they trust you." It's how Dean
speaks to him sometimes. "So give me something I can use to gain Dean
Winchester's trust." For some reason it feels more endearing than patronizing.
"Something only the two of you would know."
Though it feels like betrayal, he isn't about to waste one more second when
Sam's life hangs so precariously in the balance. He thinks it over and recalls
the most private moment he can, even if technically one other person was
present. But even if she could remember, that poor woman’s soul is bound to the
Pit. Cas doesn't look at Nemo as he utters a secret to her that he's never told
anyone before. Nodding once from the corner of his peripheral vision, she
strikes off with purpose towards the door, where she halts abruptly before
half-turning to him.
"Two questions. Which hospital are they at and do you want your cone dipped in
chocolate or just regular? If I was you, I’d go for the chocolate."
                                     >>> 
How long he’s there, practically catatonic on those filthy tiles is anyone's
guess. It's only when the clacking of approaching heels breaks the silence that
Dean even remembers where he is. Grunting, he hauls himself to his feet, takes
one look at the explosion of grounds all over the counter and leaves. He passes
a woman in a powerbitch suit, squawking about ‘extremely unacceptable profit
margins’ to whatever unlucky S.O.B. is on the other end.
Coffeeless, Dean ducks into the nearest restroom and splashes icy water over
unshaven cheeks. The paper towels have been replaced with brand newhand dryers,
so he dries himself with the inside of his unwashed shirt. He avoids the mirror
and the last face on Earth he wants to see. On the return journey, Dean passes
a vintage vending machine and againcurses the fact that he stopped carrying
around that dollar on a foot of tape years ago. Figures. He arrives outside
Sam's room, scrubs a hand over his face and mentally prepares himself for the
vigil he's about to resume.
When Dean opens the door, his seat is already occupied by a short-haired Indian
girl in a sports hoodie downing a frosted 16 oz. Pepsi. At first he thinks he
has the wrong room, but no-there's his gigantor brother lying comatose in a bed
with sheets that make sandpaper seem soft.
"Uh," She doesn't even blink, just chugs the dark amber liquid while staring
unnervingly at him. "You lost or something?" The kid keeps drinking as if she
hasn't in a week. "Cuz I don't think this is the room you're looking for." He
finishes lamely as she continues to guzzle the beverage. Jesus, half the bottle
is empty. She lowers it and screws the cap back on.
Twisting sideways, she kicks herself off the plastic chair and walks over,
holding the bottle out to him. "Want some?" She has an accent too.
"No-uh thanks but no." Shrugging, she lets the bottle fall to her side.
"Listen, kid, I'm not sure—“
"Castiel can't come so," she throws her arms out wide to either side. "Ta-
daaa!" His expression betrays his surprise as he digests this new information.
“What happened?” She shakes her head.
“Later, now isn't the time or place.” Course not.
“So I take it the plan fell through?” She nods this time.
“And a good thing too, but he needs to lay low for now. Don’t worry,” she adds
in when Dean curses. “He’ll be safe as long as he stays put.”
“Sure, cuz that always works out just fine,” he grumbles, squeezing his eyes
shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “So, you're an angel?" The girl
actually shushes him.
"Not so loud, dummy! You want the whole world to know?" He holds up a hand,
still reeling from the bomb that’s just fallen out of the sky and landed at his
feet.
"That's a kid, man." Anger is the first emotion to successfully settle back
into place. "The hell, you guys are wearing freaking kids around now?" The
girl-no, the angel glares up at him as she crosses her arms over a tiny chest.
"I can assure you, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement." Dean scoffs. That's
an angel alright.
"Yeah, seeing the kind of crap you guys get up to, I really doubt it." If
possible, her smoldering eyes narrow even more.
"I don't have to justify myself to you when I'm risking my life just by being
here." Christ, she even acts like a child.
"Well no one asked you to, did they?" Snorting, she peers over at the bed.
"Sooo, you haven't been praying to Castiel for days about Sam's life?" Dean
sidesteps her, planting himself firmly in-between his brother's unconscious
body and the bratty angel shooting daggers at him with her eyes.
"Where's Cas?" He rasps, words getting caught in the dryness of his throat.
Flinging her arms down, she shakes the soda up and comes to stand with her toes
barely an inch from his.
"I told you already," she pokes him hard in the chest. "he can't come! He's in
a lot of trouble and I'm doing everything I can to help him andyou, so the very
least you can do is not treat me like your enemy!" For a second he almost feels
bad, but that's just because he's not the kind of guy who gets his kicks out of
upsetting little girls.
Except this isn't a little girl; it's an ancient feathered jerk who's
manipulated some little girl into giving it control over her body.  And no one
just helps-there’s always a price. One that usually ends up landing all three
of them in a worse jam than the last one.
"Yeah, well forgive me for being rightfully suspicious about someone who shows
up at exactlythe right time-someone who tricks achild into housing them while
they fly all over getting into..” he can only guess, but can’t be anything
good. “Godonly knows what kind of shit! What do your services cost-more kids
for the douchebags Upstairs to toss into the fire?" He’s on his Very. Last.
Nerve.  And well beyond fed up with being cornered by Heaven and Hell when he
and his family are at their most desperate and vulnerable.
Shaking her head from side to side, the angel grinds her teeth. "You gonna let
me help him or not?" Dean scowls silently down at her.
Exhaling heavily, the angel cocks her head and takes a step backward. He thinks
she's about to take off when she quietly says "You thought he was Lucifer at
first," the pit of his stomach drops right the fuck out of his body. "In Hell."
Dean's throat constricts and he swallows harshly as she continues.
"You thought that Castiel was the brightest and most beautiful creature in
existence when he found you," the ground sways under him as he falls backward
onto the end of the bed, almost crushing Sam's feet beneath him. "You thought
that he was displeased with your work and had come to punish you for a
lackluster job."
"Stop." He whispers and she does.
The grungy tiles blur as he forces those damn tears back into his skull for the
millionth time. Silence blankets the room, punctuated only by those fucking
machines keeping Sam's body alive. He tries to pull that silence into himself
too, but all he can hear is screaming and he’s not even sure who that voice
belongs to. Maybe it’s a composite.
"Dean," he looks up at the shuffle of her footsteps. "he wouldn't have told me
something like that unless the circumstances were dire, and they very obviously
are." He can't make himself look into her face to see the pity and disgust he
knows he'll find there. It feels more like having his lungs ripped out of his
chest than having the sense verbally slapped back into him. "So will you please
let me help your brother?"
What’s he going to say at this point-‘no, let’s wait and see if Goddoes step on
down and serve up a good old-fashioned miracle’? After everything Sam’s been
through; after he was willing to sacrifice himself in order to board up Hell?
Just let his little brother slowly and painfully rot away in some third-rate
excuse for a hospital in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere? All alone?
It takes him a moment to remember how to nod. Funny how his body answers for
him. It reacts to the truth in her words before his mind can fully make sense
of it. The little angel claps a hand over his shoulder as she passes him on the
way to the front of the bed. The hunter stands shakily, watching her movements
with apprehension. Placing an absurdly small hand over Sam's enormous forehead,
she frowns.
"What?" Dean moves beside her, watching for any change in his condition. He
doesn't even twitch. Without taking her gaze off of Sam, she holds the Pepsi
out.
"Hold onto this for me." He does. "I need to talk to him." Dean begins to open
his mouth and gets cut off. "Be quiet and don't you dare steal any of my soda."
She glances up at him. "You had your chance and you said no."
Where did Cas even find her? In the ball pit of some Heavenly Plucky’s? Shit,
that’s a helluva image. Rolling up her sleeves, she extends both arms to cover
Sam's eyes with her palms.
"Wish me luck." The air in the room stills and the lights flicker.
"Hey, try not to bust those things." Dean points the half-emptied bottle at the
life-support. She turns to glare at him again. "And good luck."
Focusing back on Sam, the stranger closes her eyes and goes stiff as the dead.
The actual dead, not the kind they've spent most of their lives fighting. The
kind that Sam is dangerously close to becoming if this doesn't work.
“Hang on, Sammy,” he mouths, barely breathing at all. “help’s coming.”
Chapter End Notes
     *Fun Fact* Nemo's vessel is loosely based off Tanveer K. Atwal, the
     actress who played Sati in The Matrix Revolutions.
     You guys ready for a serious re-haul of Season Nine? It's a pretty
     good mix here all rolled into one bulging package! Not that kind, you
     pervs :3 Although that kind will certainly be present as well :3
     Updates will be kind of sporadic through June, as I am juggling this
     along with Destiel Con prep *runs around in circles, screaming as
     spontaneous combustion occurs* Myself, Dori & K_K_TiBal will be
     running the panel Smells Like Team Free Will Spirit: Setting the Tone
     in Fanfic. So if you're going to Destiel Con '14, come by and listen
     to us nerd out about Destiel fic!
     Shameless plug concluded! Comments of any kind are desired and
     encouraged, but keep the criticism constructive. Always on the look-
     out for betas, so drop me a line if you're interested in betaing this
     beast! Seriously, this thing is gonna be looooooong-we've got a whole
     damn season to span! Plus all the extras that I've written before
     finishing the actual main story ^_^;
     I love you to pieces if you made it this far! Strap in, dears-we've
     got a lot of road ahead of us.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam has a fireside chat with Death and Nemo crashes the party,
     uninvited. Maybe she should have brought some food?
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He’s been given a choice in the matter. It’s unexpected and the answer should
be obvious. It really should, but it’s not. One way or the other, he should
have a strong opinion, right? But he doesn’t. That isn’t normal- not that he
is, but the answer isn’t supposed to be this hard.
"Sam, you can voice these things aloud, you know." He glances up from the vague
patterns he’s been tracing into his jeans, meeting Death's gaze anxiously.
"Oh, sorry. This whole thing is…" he chuckles. “I don't even know where to
begin." He's rambling to an entity not exactly known for his patience. Who's
half-smirking at him for being as slow as he is.
"Don't be so short with yourself. You are what you are." Death leans back in
the chair, twining his bony fingers together beneath his chin and Sam's eyes go
straight to the bulky ring that contrasts his nearly translucent skin. "Which
is human. A remarkable human, certainly, but a human nonetheless."
"Um, thank you?" It's uncertain whether that’s meant as a compliment or not.
"It isn't." the smirk becomes a grin. "It's a simple fact." He tilts his head
to the side, regarding Sam thoughtfully. "You've played your role and then
some."
Sam scoffs bitterly. "Being Lucifer's vessel, you mean?" Death inclines his
head.
"And I thank you for sending him back to Time Out. That child needs a spanking
the likes of which this world has never seen." That’s an image he could do
without.
"Yeah well, thanks for going in there for my soul," he shifts, feeling itchy
under that fathomless gaze. "And for the Wall and everything." Death lowers his
hands into his lap.
"A pity Castiel had to go and smash it down like that." the entire fragmented
experience leaves a sour taste in Sam's mouth. "Not to boast, but it really was
one of my finer designs. I so rarely get to work on the living, but I do enjoy
the challenge when it presents itself." The light from the fireplace flickers,
drawing the horseman's attention. "But the even greater pity," he squints into
the flames. "would be the events that fool set into motion when he did so."
"Cas fixed it though," Death peers up from the hearth. "I mean he didn't fix
it, but he made up for it pretty well, I'd say." He's rambling again because an
answer-the answer-hasn't come to him yet.
"We're not here to discuss him though, are we?" Sam shifts again. "We're here
to discuss you."
"Sorry." He blurts out. “Again.” Death actually does smile at that.
"Well it's obvious where all the etiquette in your family was distributed." The
word 'family' has a weight to it that Sam's not sure it should have. Death
quirks an eyebrow at the flames as they dance wildly. Sam stares at them too.
What does that mean?
"That we have a visitor." Death indicates the door just as it swings open and a
girl Sam's never seen before enters.
"You know, this set looks an awful lot like the cabin from that one movie," she
shuts the door behind her and frowns at the surrounding decor. "Um," she snaps
her fingers and screws up her face in pained concentration. "that one with all
the green oatmeal, and rapey vines and everyone's screaming 'Dead by Dawn' over
and over, while that guy with the chainsaw hand slices everything up."
Sam's about to correct her when Death stands, smoothing his suit out. "What do
you want?" Oh, so she isn't just another hallucination. "No, she isn't." The
girl pouts at his tone.
"Rude." She places her hands on her hips. "It sounds as if you'd like me to
be."
"On the contrary, my dear. It's merely been so long that I was starting to
wonder if you were." Sam is starting to feel like an intruder inside his own
head.
"As if." She snorts before addressing Sam. "And don't.You're the reason why I'm
here." Now thoroughly confused, Sam gets to his feet as Death eyes the girl
with clear disapproval. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the newcomer since she’s
entered.
Sam clears his throat. "Sorry, do I know you?" Sparing Death a glance, she
grins slyly.
"Geez, he is polite," then back to Sam. "But no-I mean we kinda do, but not
formally or anything. I'll introduce myself when you wake up because you're not
going to remember any of this, so I’ll save it till then." Whenhe wakes up…
"And what are you going by these days, anyhow?" Death glowers at her and again
Sam has the strongest inclination to flee. The horseman finally turns from her.
"I wouldn't, Sam. You'll just get stuck somewhere in-between and no one wants
that."
"He's right," a hint of teeth glints through the girl’s grin. "I know it's
awkward but this won't take much longer." She crosses her arms, focusing on
Death. "And it's Nemo now, to answer your question." He grimaces.
"How terribly clever."
"I thought so."
"I'll ask you again, what do you want?" Nemo nods at Sam and Death actually
groans. "What are you plotting this time?" She sticks her tongue out at him.
"You child." There's an edge to his voice that cuts through the surreal
atmosphere, and despite her casual choice of clothing, she curtsies expertly.
Just when this whole thing couldn’t get any weirder. Death huffs and averts his
concentration from the two of them, opting to examine his spotless cuticles
instead. It's a pretty baffling exchange so far.
"Let's just hope she doesn't start throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get her
way." He twists the ring around his finger. Leaving her spot near the entrance,
Nemo strides over to Sam.
"I won't have to because I’m getting what I want." Having no say over the
direction of his life is one thing, but now he doesn’t get that in death
either? Right, of course not.
"Uh-" Sam cuts in, beginning to raise his hand before lowering it awkwardly.
Not in school anymore, man.
"But you could be." Death sighs resignedly at her statement and lowers himself
into the chair once more, rapping his nails neatly on the arm; all the while
glaring icily at Nemo. "I mean if you wanted to."
"Hah," Sam scratches behind his ear. "Please don't take this the wrong way,
Nemo," she bows her head, projecting an air of unfaltering confidence. "But why
are you here, specifically? I'm pretty sure I'm about to die."
"Not if she gets a say." Death murmurs and the girl turns her head to wink at
the horseman.
"And I do-so have a seat, Sam." He does. "I'm guessing he's already asked," she
pulls up another chair, seemingly out of the ether. "But let me rephrase the
question: Do you want tolive?" It really shouldn't be this hard. Nemo bends
forward to pat his knee delicately. "Forget should and shouldn't. What is it
that you want?" Death clears his throat and Sam's attention flickers to him.
"Ignore Mr. Grim.” He visibly stiffens when Nemo waves a hand dismissively at
him. “He's just grouchy because he doesn't like his authority being
threatened."
"You're hardly threatening it, darling. You’re just making a foolish mistake."
That really doesn’t sound good. Nemo hmmms in consideration, but overall seems
unperturbed by the bleak statement.  
"And don't feel pressured to say 'I want to die' just because he's here and has
a flair for the dramatic." Death shakes his head slightly but says nothing and
Nemo continues to stare patiently at Sam. Alright then, excluding that
discouraging remark…What he wants...what hewants...
"I want..." it's hard to remember what he wants because all of that stopped
mattering a long time ago.
Sam’s tried to find it several times and for a while there he might have, but
it always comes back to what’s required of him. He’s become an expert at
burying his hopes, dreams, wants. So much that he can’t even remember where he
buried them or what they were beyond vague generalities.
"Let me guess,” she taps a spot on her own leg. “you don't really know what it
is that you do want, only what you don't want?" He swallows and nods. He's so
damn tired, and trying to make big decisions when you’re in a coma isn’t
exactly straightforward.
"Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea of that at least." Tired of the Daily Grind.
Of the same dingy motels, cheap drive-thrus and ungrateful rescues that make up
the gooddays. Tired of trying to make the world a better place, only screwing
it up more and never being allowed to forget it. He's tired of fighting
monsters, the apocalypse, and destiny with nothing to show for it except
morefailure. But out of all that crap, he’s mostly tired of fighting Dean; of
trying to meet some standard he knows isn’t healthy for either of them. A
standard he doesn’t even want most of the time but strives for anyway because
it’s all he knows. It’s all he knows how to do right.  “I’m tired of being
tired.”
An unnatural silence settles over the room. Even the fire is muted as it
continues to burn. Nemo scratches her chin thoughtfully and Death appears
bored, as if he knows the end to this chapter and is just waiting for the rest
of the characters to figure it out.
Realistically, what awaits him in life? He doesknow the answer to that. More of
the same. And yeah, he feels like a total dick at the thought of leaving Dean
to go at it alone, but would it be so bad? Hell, maybe with Sam gone, his
brother can actually go pick up the whole apple pie life again or at least
something similar. Not with Lisa and Ben obviously, but Dean could find someone
else. He could at least try to have that family he unconvincingly swears up and
down he doesn’t want. If Sam awakens, they’ll pick up right where they left
off. It’s the only thing he knows for certain and he doesn’t want that.
“I don’t know the future, Sam.” Nemo intones quietly after a time. “None of us
do-not even he does.” She tilts her head towards Death. “So I can’t promise
that if you live it’ll be totally different than it is now.” Yeah, that’s what
he thought. “But I can guarantee that if you choose to end it here and now that
you’ll never find out.” She straightens up, and for the first time since she’s
entered Sam gets a sense of her true age. “Also, you doget a say in whether you
live or die and if you choose life, you’ll get a say in that too.”
Sam shakes his head, grinning bitterly. “I never do.” Nemo glares at him.
“Then speak up.” Her voice reflects the frustration he feels and somehow her
eyes reflect the fire behind her. “And don’t say ’it isn’t that simple’,
because it is.” He closes his mouth, searching for another argument. “Isn’t
that what you and your family do? Fight the tyranny of destiny in the name of
free will?” He laughs, noticing the way that Death appears to be slightly more
interested in the conversation now.
“For normal people, sure. For us, it’s like we’re…”he chews his lip, trying to
find a fitting analogy. Those terrible books come to mind. “It’s like we’re
characters following a script and whoever’s writing it is a sadistic asshole
who just,” he closes his eyes, but it doesn’t stop him from seeing the
constructed room of his mind or the two beings within it awaiting his decision.
“Just won’t let us stop.”
“I think most of us feel that way.” Nemo deflates a little, and her eyes gloss
over with unspoken recollection. “I’m tired too.” She chuckles drily. “I’m
older than your entire species, so believe me when I say I get it.” Well, if
that doesn’t make him feel like a whiny brat. But Nemo just gives him a kind
look free of judgment. It’s almost unheard of in someone who knows of his
crimes. “I envy your youth.” Hearing that come out of a child’s mouth is weird,
even if she is ancient. “And yes, you are young-whether you believe it or not.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, it’s not as if he can argue in present
company. Death bends his head appreciatively.
“I just know that if I go with him,” Sam indicates Death “Then at least I’m
ensuring it will change. Yeah, I won’t be able to feel fresh air on my face, or
listen to the Chili Peppers anymore, or get a dog or a girlfriend-so what? It
also means I canstop, and that’s what I want.” Death seems as if he’s about to
say something but Nemo holds up her hand without actually having to see him.
“You want to stop living the life that you think is your only option.”
“Yeah.”
“Key word being think.” Death tugs on his cuff to check his watch.
“Again, I don’t mean any disrespect, but you said it yourself-there’s no
guarantee.” Nemo frowns as Sam continues. “With him, there is.”
Death rejoins the conversation. “The boy has clearly made his choice, so I
suggest—“
“The problem is Dean, isn’t it?” She speaks loudly over him and he stops mid-
sentence. “I mean he’s the main reason you think you can’t live your own life,
right?” Even in a coma, the chill that spreads through Sam’s gut is
unmistakable. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t have to. “That’s what
I thought.”
Nemo slants her head. “Well, the answer’s obvious then.” The cold spikes into
panic. “Oh relax, I don’t mean anything sinister by it. He’s a real jerk, but
he’s cool.”
“Do tell then, we’re all dyingof curiosity.” Nemo twists in her chair to face
Death.
“Seriously?” He quirks an eyebrow at her and shrugs. With an expression of
exasperated disbelief, she turns back to Sam, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, it’s
plain to me that the two of you, while impressively dynamic and loyal, suffer
from an unhealthy amount of co-dependency.” Sam huffs matter-of-factly. The way
people talk about them, it always sounds as if they’re lovers-which, ew. Death
grimaces while Nemo fights a smile and doesn’t quite manage to squelch it.
Seriously, EW.
“That’s one way of putting it, I guess.” Moving on.
“It’s because he uses you as a replacement for the family unit he craves and
you’re still trying to learn how use those overgrown wings that keep tripping
you up.”  Sam blinks.
“That’s actually pretty accurate.” Well, they are inside his head after all.
“Ah-hah! Now we’re getting somewhere.” She claps her hands together while Death
checks his watch again.
“I don’t mean to actually be rude, but I do have other appointments to keep and
this one is running a bit long.” Nemo jumps to her feet.
“Sam, you do realize that that’s most of the problem, right? I mean, would you
mind the other stuff so badly if you at least had control over your spare
time?” He tries to cut Dean out of the equation, but with him it’s all or
nothing. Maybe a few years ago, before the Apocalypse, that would have worked.
But now…?
“I don’t think it makes much of a difference.”
She groans loudly and stomps her foot with each word. “YES. IT. DOES!” Death
smirks.
“What did I tell you?” She ignores him.
“Ok, tell you what, can we at least reschedule this meeting?” She turns to
Death. “A year-that’s pretty long for a human, right?” Death shrugs again and
she turns back to Sam.
“Can you do that for me, Sam? One year to see if you can float without a life
vest? Is that too much to ask-one year to start living your life for you?”
Clear desperation distorts her features into a plea and he has to ask
“Why do you care so much?” Death steps forward.
“Because it’s her job.”
“Because someone has to!” Nemo all but yells, and Sam isn’t sure whether he
imagines the unshed tears glistening in her eyes or not.
It’s such a bizarre reaction that more than anything else, Sam just wants to
figure out whya being as discernibly important as she is seems to want him
alive so badly. It can’t be for any good reason. Her tears threaten to spill
over at that last thought. Awesome.
He’s the last to stand. This is probably a really stupid idea. “Ok,” Sam sets
his jaw as Nemo’s tiny lips uplift a little. “One year.” He lifts his gaze to
Death. “Err-is that alright?” Nemo spins so fast she’s almost a blur and the
stare she gives Death is so challenging that Sam almost expects her to start
snarling.
Death considers them both and dips his head in defeat. “A year it is then.”
Nemo pumps her fist in the air.
“YES!”
“But do try not to make it premature, Sam. I’m already running late enough as
it is and you Winchesters have managed to throw my schedule off so much that
I’d be laughingstock among my peers, ifI had any.” Sam recalls the other
horsemen; even if any were left, they wouldn’t really be on Death’s level.
“Yeah, try not to. And sorry, about that it’s really not intentional.” Sam
looks down at Nemo. “You said I won’t remember any of this though, so how—“ she
grabs hold of his wrist with both hands
“You don’t need to.” and starts to haul him towards the door.
“Oh, and uh,” Death smirks. “Nemo?”
“Huh?” She continues to pull Sam towards the exit.
“Whatever it is you’re planning,” they both turn to look at him. “Actually plan
it out this time.” She winks, clicks her tongue, and fires off an imaginary
shot at him with her index finger.
“Trust me, Death, I’ve got this.”
And then the horseman and the cabin are gone, leaving Sam choking and gasping
for air as he yanks weakly and unsuccessfully at the plastic tubing in his
nostrils that goes all the way down into his stomach. A hospital-that’s where
he is, so that means…
“Sam, Sammy, slow down it’s ok! You’re gonna be fine-he’s gonna be fine,
right?” Dean is there, and so is some kid who’s trying to wrestle a bottle of
soda from his brother’s vicegrip.
“Of course he is,” she yanks it free and gazes tragically at the foamy contents
as if someone just died. “Aw man, wha’d you do? It’s nothing but fizz now!”
“Relax, kid I’ll buy you a new one.” She tosses it behind her, where it rolls
somewhere off beyond Sam’s vision and bounces off the wall.
“You’d better, after all that.” Sam tries to speak and ends up hacking with the
intrusion stuffed down his trachea.
“Hold on, Sammy.” Dean punches a button on one of the machines surrounding the
hospital bed repeatedly before sprinting to the door. “Hey, can I get a nurse
or doctor or someone in here?!” When Sam turns back to the girl is gone.
“Dean?” he rasps.
“Yeah?” Holding the door open, Dean glances at him in concern.
“Who was that girl?” He shakes his head before going back to scanning for
assistance.
“A friend, or at least not an enemy of Cas’. Hey Doc, get your over-paid ass in
here and unhook my very conscious brother from this shit STAT!”
Chapter End Notes
     *Fun Fact* In case anyone missed it, the movies Nemo mixes up into
     one are the original Evil Dead s 1 & 2.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Abaddon catches a midnight feature and gains a fan with her explosive
     entrance. Sam and Dean escape from the most under-funded hospital in
     the country and get off to a charming start with the new boss
     Upstairs.
Chapter Notes
     !!!Fair Warning!!!: This chapter has a decent amount of disturbing
     material-including mentions of underage torture and descriptive gore-
     in Abaddon's POV.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It takes her an obscenely long time to find a willing dissident who’s dumb
enough to trust with the task and smart enough to actually carry it out. Every
demon she once called ally has been bought off, just like the rest of them. She
watches and listens when she isn’t guarding the Body. Too weakened to scour the
globe, she stays in the First World and she waits. For too damn long, she
waits. Finally she catches a whiff of sulfur mixed in with something pure that
bleeds across a cornfield in Iowa. Curiously, she stops to watch a girl in
filthy rags hobble towards the promise of freedom under the darkness of the New
Moon. The beaten and broken adolescent smells delirious and dehydrated. What’s
left of her mind knows that the end is near. And yet a tiny, desperate hope
flickers on the edge of her parched tongue.
“Artemis, Hel, Isis, Gaia…” the girl huffs the names of goddesses that no
longer have the power to hear her.
She stumbles on twisted feet that haven’t healed properly after months of being
smashed in with blunt objects. Apparently those gods are now popular tokens in
this country of what they once reigned over in their own times and regions.
 Perhaps the girl is a pagan who once had models of them on her nightstand,
back when liberty came as effortlessly as breathing.
Panting and wheezing, the girl glances up every few steps at the blackened and
overcast sky. The rumbling of a smaller vehicle built for off-road travel
slowly fills the night. ATV, She thinks it’s called. It squeals loudly (the
driver having left the parking brake on) but not louder than its’ three male
passengers who holler drunkenly at the girl to ‘Run-Run for her life’. The
girl’s already going as fast as she can, which is even slower now because her
reserves are burning out quickly.
“Luna, Ma’at, Ishtar, Ka—li—“ She coughs, falling to her mangled knees and
barely managing to hoist herself up.
The girl isn’t even invoking her deities properly. Then again, remembering
their names at all must take every ounce of willpower she has left; every bit
not directed at shambling on blindly. The men will catch up to her soon and
even if they don’t, her heart is less than a minute away from shuddering out
its’ final desperate beat.
“Cummon, sweetheart ! Double-time, let’s mooooove it!” One of them hanging off
the side whoops and chucks a bottle off into the distance where it shatters
into pieces, impaling a vole that will die in gradual anguish. The corn ends
where the path of the headlights hasn’t touched yet.
“Freya,” the girl gulps. “Hecate, Minerv—“ Then she tumbles down an embankment
and splits her head open on a rock at the bottom. She’s killed instantly; one
of her gods must have been listening after all.
Her pursuers pull up soon after, asking each other where she could’ve gone.
They sound anxious, until their lights roll over the lip of the hill. “Yo
Travis, go check it out!” Travis, the one who threw the bottle, jumps off the
vehicle and almost crumples into a heap. Righting himself, he jogs over to the
shallow precipice and takes a wobbly look down into it before calling out
“Heeeeey we got a problem!” The other two gripe as they slide off the ATV,
darting in front of the beams that cut through the darkness. One of them is
obese and wheezes sickeningly as he waddles after his friends.
All three peer down at the motionless body. They smell like a buffet of cheap
alcohol, methamphetamine, and sexually transmitted disease.  The shirtless
driver-who’s as lanky as the other is corpulent-eases his way down the slope.
Skidding to the bottom, he kneels down to flip her over and curses when he
notices the gash. Holding a discolored hand out over the girl’s cracked lips,
he squints into her unseeing eyes and waits for a breath that never comes.
“Bad luck, boys! The friggin’ rock got her first!” The driver jumps to his
feet, swaying a little.
“For real?!” The fat one pounds a meaty fist on his bloated thigh. “You
serious, Mark? That’s fuckin’ lame!!”
“Shuddup, Brian!” They stand in silence until Mark rips his cap off and throws
it into the dirt nearby. “Shhhh-iiit!” He leans back, cradling his skull with
bony hands. “Well, Plan A’s fucked! Any suggestions?”
“I’ve got one, boys.” The two at the top spin around.
“Who the fu—“
The top part of Travis’ head is torn from his jaws with a spray of blood as it
sails off into the night. She got the feeling from that one that he had a big
mouth to start with.  Yelling, Brian tries to make a run for it but is slightly
impeded when his torso is ripped diagonally in-half. Impressive, considering
his ample bulk. He’s still alive when the upper half rolls down the hill and
knocks into Mark’s legs, causing him to stumble backwards.
The last man standing howls; alcohol fueling his terror, rage and stupidity
simultaneously. He yanks a stained magnum out of his pants, attempting to hold
it steady at the obscured assailant. The man-the demon, donned in a
trulyterrifyingmechanic’s uniform is silhouetted by the headlights. It’s all
terribly cinematic.
“What was it you were braying out there?” Mark steps back, nearly tripping over
the girl’s body.
“Y-you’ll pay for that! They were my kin, you son of a whore!!” He fires off
three rounds into the lesser demon’s chest before the other makes a flicking
gesture and the weapon flies off far beyond Mark’s reach.
“I think it was ‘Run sweetheart-run fer yer life!’ ” He mocks a stereotypical
Alabamian accent (these yokels aren’t even fromAlabama) before leaping down
into the ditch to land in front of the doomed fool. “Well,” he whispers,
stepping right up into the terrified man’s face. “Run, Forest,” his eyes
blacken. “RUUUUUN!”
It’s fun to watch, but she’s wasted enough time on the show already. The man
doesn’t have a chance to flee before she rushes to fill his putrid body. It
feels like trying to cram herself into an infant’s onesie and it reeks, but
this won’t take long.
“Huh.” The demon stands his ground, cocking his head as she shoves the rest of
herself into Mark. “You look like a sausage ready to burst in that loser. Who
are you? I don’t think we’ve met.”
“My name is Abaddon,” His eyes widen as they revert to brown. “And I have a
request to make of you.” He takes a faltering step back.
“TheAbaddon? I’d heard, but I thought they were just rumors.” She shakes her
head once and he bows slightly. It’ll need improvement but it’s a start. “S-
shit, sorry! I’m just…wow, uh, what’s the request?” He doesn’t blindly agree
without hearing her out first. Not as stupid as he appears at first glance.
Grinning, Abaddon feels Mark’s lips curl over several rotting teeth. Fucking
repulsive. “I need you to restore mybody. I’m sorry, your name was…?” He nods a
bit sycophantically but she can’t blame him for his anxiety.
“It’s Jason. Yeah sure, Aba-err, my lady.” Correcting hastily, he begins to
sweat. It’s almost cute. Abaddon beams at him and a piece of that girl’s thigh
becomes dislodged from between Mark’s molars. Tastes young, but the meat’s sour
from abuse. Swallowing it down, she glances over the kiddy murderer’s body with
visible disgust.
“Jason, you’ll follow me, but first,” Mark has athlete’s foot, chlamydia, and
another disease she's never even encountered that will require further
research. “I have a bit of clean upto do.”
Burrowing herself deep into the wretched body, she weaves in-between fibrous
tissues latticing over dense muscle and tendons. Abaddon nestles into the
countless microscopic pores that dot across organs, veins and bone. “You might-
” she grunts, ignoring Mark’s screams as she settles in and begins to expand.
“-want to step back.” She chokes down one of his agonized cries as she pushes
at the confines of his marrow.
He does, watching in fascination as her transitory meatsuit twitches and jerks.
Jason’s gaze roves over veins as they begin to bulge, then rupture as patches
of blood bloom under the skin. The lesser demon scrambles out of the trench. He
stares in horrified awe as Mark’s darkening flesh starts to bubble and fissure,
vital fluids spraying onto the corpses and dusty Earth below.
She exercises a hint of restraint, blocking off multiple embolisms that want to
travel to the brain and end it prematurely. Muffled cracks are audible as bones
all over his body splinter from the pressure building inside them. Abaddon
smiles internally-she can’t with Mark’s mouth. Not with rotten teeth shattering
while the few healthy ones are either crushed between rapidly swelling gums or
ejected altogether. The lips are no good either; they fuse as his facial
tissues melt. It feels so good to be able to stretch; his body is so
pathetically small.
His consciousness has dissolved into an even lower form of animal under the
excruciating pain. Now its’ only capable of squealing pitifully at the
sensations racking it apart. One of his intact ribs pierces through the right
lung before a long-suffering shriek can escape, but she ensures that a tortured
whimper does. Its’ unable to leave his mouth and it can barely be made out over
all the crunching and snapping. Jason hears it though and he’s fighting an urge
he shouldn’t have to be sick. This one will need a lot of conditioning if he
intends to join her. It’s a bit taxing to draw it out like this but first
impressions are very important. And judging by the lesser demon’s unnerved
visage just before Mark’s corneas burst, the display is very well-received.
                                     >>> 
“Woah there, Tiger. Take it easy.”
“Dean, I can walk just fine.” Sam grunts, taking two steps. His legs give out
and he has to clutch onto the rims of the wheelchair to keep from crashing into
the cement.  Dean laughs with his entire body, letting everything he’s bottled
up for close to a week come out with it.
“Yeah, they’re gonna have to put lead weights in your shoes just to make it
fair to the other runners!” He lets Sam maneuver himself back into the thing,
even if sweat breaks out across his caveman brow from the effort. 
“Shut up.” His brother grumbles, spinning his wheels furiously in the opposite
direction. He doesn’t get very far.
“Hey, Flash- brake’s on!”  Dean makes a show of strolling leisurely after him.
Sam catches it when he turns instinctively at the sound of his voice. “Good
thing it’s still Fall or you’d be screwed with the ice out here.” Sam slows,
huffing as he shakes his head.
“Tell me about it.” he mutters as he releases the brake and glowers down at the
chair. “Everything about this place is a death trap!” Sam shoots over his
shoulder, giving the hospital a departing shudder. “You know, if she hadn’t
shown up when she did, I probably wouldbe dead.”
“You can thank Fun Size when she shows up for that Coke.” Dean withdraws the
phone from his pocket and sends a quick text to Kevin asking if they’ve got any
cans at the Bunker.
“Yeah, what was up with that? Since when do angels drink soda?” Half-turning
his head, Sam quirks an eyebrow as Dean stows his cell.
“Cas had that thing for burgers. Pretty sure he chows down on a couple a year.”
He definitely does because each time, Dean has to tell him notto look and sound
like he’s approaching orgasm while eating. “I dunno, guess some of ‘em are just
like that.”
A flush creeps up under his collar. The hunter is remembering the last time he
let Cas have a bite of his double bacon cheeseburger. He frowns at the worn
leather back of the chair, as if the recurring awkwardness is Sam’s doing.
“Still no word from him?” Dean pushes back the anxiety that the question stirs
up.
“Nah. My guess is she’s gonna be our go-between till things cool off Upstairs.”
Cas is a big boy-in the sense that he can look after himself. Not in any
other…hey, look at that-Garbage! They pass a stretch of wilted flowerbeds
strewn with an impressive accumulation of drive-thru trash.
“Yeah, probably smarter that way.” Sam views the dew-spotted display glinting
in the afternoon sunlight with disdain. “Remind me to make a list of
acceptablehospitals for you next time.” His tone snags a little on the ‘next
time’, but Dean decides to ignore it.
“I’ve already got a list.” When they reach the parking structure, Dean squints
up at it, blocking out the pale yellow orb sitting on top with his forearm.
Which floor did he park on? This garage has corresponding colors but he can’t
remember that either.
“Yeah-of diners, strip joints, bars and junk.” Sam stops to follow his
brother’s gaze. “Not of anything useful. You seriously can’t remember which
level?” Dean had originally skidded to a halt outside the drop-off and hadn’t
returned to park his Baby until one of the nurses had threatened him with
towing it.
“After hauling your 300-pound ass into the ER, I’m surprised they didn’t hafta
hook me up to the oxygen. It was a miracle I was conscious enough to drive at
all after that.” Hmmmmm he’d gone up at least twice so… “It’s gotta be three or
higher. You wanna wait for curbside or scoot on up?”
“I’m not staying here a second longer than I have to.” Sam starts wheeling
himself toward the elevator and Dean follows. He frowns at the vandalized doors
as they struggle open.
It’s cramped in here-stinks of stale urine and vomit. The casing for the first
floor button has fallen off  and the whole thing creaks like it’s about to
plummet straight through to China. On the plus side, the light fixtures don’t
even flicker and Dean can’t make out any dead bugs inside of them. Of course,
that could be because each strip is bright enough to floodlight a coal mine.
“Seriously,” Sam hisses and wrinkles his nose when the elevator jitters out of
hibernation. “I am making that list the first chance I get. I’ve seen hospices
with better funding than this.”
The little metal box rocks on up to the 2nd floor. Dean checks his phone-which
doesn’t even vibrate when a text comes through. The scuffed screen shows one
unread message.
“You mean that one in Grand Rapids?” Dean tries not to focus on the way the
momentum stutters like a boxer well past his glory days.
Kevin’s reply reads: No just a 1/3 of OJ and really crappy beer. Want me to get
some?He responds: Nvmnd then. Get some on the way backbefore stuffing it back
into his pocket. It’s in his head-the way it feels like the elevator drops a
little when they pass Level Two.
“I forgot about that one. That was the one with the, uh,” Sam screws up his
face in concentration, snapping his fingers. “No, that was the one that ordered
out for Thai once a month, right?” Despite the smell, saliva instantly floods
Dean’s mouth at the memory of those orange-marinated beef skewers steeped in
red curry and dunked in rice.
“Oooooh God yes, what was that place called? Bangkok Lotus or something like
that?” Sam smirks up at him.
“Didn’t you jot it down in your list?” Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles,
the doors open after a three-second endeavor that Dean grinds his teeth
through. He wheels Sam out of there as fast as he possibly can.
“Ugh, I need a shower after that.”  He stops and scrutinizes the layout for
Baby. There’s barely anyone in that hospital-how are there so many cars in
here?
“You need a shower anyway. I was in a coma. What was your excuse?” Not down
this row.
“Keep talkin’ and if she’s not on this floor, you can take the Chamber of
Horrors to the next one alone. I’m celebrating my fully-functioning legs by
running up the stairs.” Or this one.
“I am notgetting back in there. You can carry me again if you have that much
energy.” Last row left- pleaselet it be this one.
“I don’t think my back could…” The air shifts when they round the corner,
accompanied by that unmistakable sound of wing beats.  There’s the Impala. And
standing in front of the trunk are three suits. Two guys-one as unimpressive as
the other is huge-and a brunette woman in a bun, with an expression like she’s
just stepped in dog crap. “Well look at that, we’ve got ourselves an
entourage!” Are they here for Crowley? The warding in the trunk is good, but
not enough to shield the King of Hell from Holy perception.
The man in front-scratch that-the silver-haired titanat the head of the pack is
the first to speak. “We were starting to fear that you might’ve gotten lost.”
Seriously, even if Sam were standing this guy would probably still be taller.
He’s built like a freaking Norse God and his voice is so deep that the hunter
can imagine horses rearing when he talks.
“Nope, just admiring the scenery. This is one of the finest garages we’ve ever
been in.” Dean’s suspicions are cycloning round his head so rapidly he can
barely focus on one thought at a time.
Did these guys touch down from the clouds just now, or did they overhear the
brothers discussing Cas and Sam’s mysterious savior?  For once, Dean’s glad
that he’s in the dark about his friend’s whereabouts -just in case they decide
to literally pry open his brain.
The woman smirks. How did these jerks even findthem here?  “I’d believe it.”
She states and King Viking half-turns in her direction.
“Well that’s a rather crass assumption to make, Ruth.” She stiffens.
The dude doeslook like he’d be at home on some ancient battlefield, swinging a
hammer half his size into a dragon’s roaring maw. He could probably manage it
easy enough. Despite the hair, the guy doesn’t lookold. Early 50’s maybe.
“Apologize.” He says quietly and Ruth manages an apology that makes it sound as
if she’s severely constipated.
Odin, or whatever turns back to them, smiling, and it is absolutely the
creepiestthing that Dean’s seen in a long time. Maybe they were listening in on
his prayers to Cas, tracking them to the source. Brilliant, Winchester; you’re
a goddamn genius.
“Now then, I believe introductions are in order.” He gestures toward the man on
his left, who actually looks pretty familiar now that he’s been singled out.
“This is Inias,” To his right. “Ruth.” He opens both arms to either side. “And
I am Zadkiel.” Sam sits up straighter in his chair. Maybe What’s-Her-Name
ratted them out; ratted Cas out.
“I’m Dean, this is Sam.” He gets out before his brother can react to whatever
it is that caught his interest. Some angel lore probably.  If they know where
Cas is, do they just want Crowley? He’s spinning in circles here.
“Zadkiel? Most sources agree it was you who stopped Abraham from sacrificing
Isaac.” Aaand there he goes. Leave it to Sam to start geeking out before they
even know what these dicks want-which can’t possibly be anything good.
Bowing his head in confirmation, Zadkiel brings his arms in front of him. He
clasps one bear-sized hand over the other. “Yes, I’d heard you were a scholar,
Sam. A rare trait in a hunter. I trust it’s served you well.” Then it hits Dean
why Inias looks so familiar.
“Hey wait, you were there with that one bitch,” Inias tilts his head a fraction
of an inch, jaw twitching imperceptibly. “You took Kevin back to his house,
where leviathans got the drop on him and his mom. Last I heard they’d wiped out
your entire garrison.”
“You’re referring to Hester.” Inias tilts his chin up, a hint of indignity
layering his voice. “Yes, I had to report the details of her death after your
demon friend murdered her. So I left the Prophet with two of our most
accomplished sentries,” he inclines his head. “Who were then slaughtered by
leviathan.” Ruth’s eyes dart between her partner and the human. That one could
stand to learn a thing or two about subtlety.
“Dark times.” Zadkiel intones, not appearing the least bit surprised at the
exchange unfolding before him. “We’re working to make them brighter.” Sam
stiffens and Dean tightens his grip on the rubber-coated handles of the chair.
“However, there’s a considerable amount of work to be done in the wake of
Naomi’s death.” So down goes the wicked witch, huh? Good riddance.
“She’s dead?” Sam leans forward slightly and Zadkiel lowers his gaze to him
specifically.
“Murdered.”
“When? By who?” Dean uses the wrong word on purpose just to see if it will
ruffle any of their feathers. Somehow, Ruth’s expression sours even more. He
half expects her to start clucking.
“The same night you boys aborted the Demon Trials.” The New Boss (he’s gotta
be) answers without the slightest indication of concern either way.  “We’re
still working on the whom,” Here we go. “Which is where you two come in.”
“We aren’t exactly in the knowwhen it comes to the politics going on Upstairs.”
Dean tries to say it as flatly as possible, but some bitterness probably found
its’ way in there. He’s never been good at playing nice, especially with
authority. Zad lets loose that shit-eating grin again. Looks just plain wrong,
like his face wasn’t meant to do it.
“You are more than any other humans have ever been. I understand that in the
past that relationship has been rather untoward,” Understatement of the
century. “And we’d like to see that change. For the better, naturally.”
Doubtful, but he keeps his mouth shut and Sam waits like he usually does
because he’s great with respecting the Badge-or Haloin this case.
“This is why we’d like to offer our assurances that our administration seeks to
learn from the mistakes of the past; in order to build a more open, balanced
present and future for both Heaven and Earth.” Dean wonders if the guy styles
his hair with the grease that comes out of his mouth.
“That is an outstandingshift in procedure, I gotta say.” He tries to make his
grin look genuine but Dean’s pretty sure that he’s too sleep-deprived to make
it convincing. They don’t even need angel ESP to see right through it.
“We’ve labored over it extensively. Naomi’s organization relied on fear,
secrecy and blatant misinformation to function-ifyou could call that
functioning.” Zad straightens his deep red tie unnecessarily.  “And it shames
me greatly that not one single angel, myself included, took the proper
initiative to challenge her tyranny.” his brows furrow and his eyes cloud over.
“That a disaster had to occur before we took action.” There’s something about
the way he says it that sounds personal to Dean.  The angel clears his throat
and the somber moment along with it.
“That being said, we can’t begin to truly set our reforms into motion until
we’ve established receptive and impartial communication within our citizenry.”
He shifts his massive weight from one foot to the other and the hunter knows
that play time’s over. Good. Heaven’s idea of foreplay always gets real old,
real fast.
“Which is where we come in, right?”  Zadkiel’s icy blue stare centers on Dean
and he swears the temperature plummets a couple degrees. There isn’t even a
flicker of the warmth there that always shines in Cas’ similarly shaded eyes.
“Precisely.” His tone is unchanged but those irises glint with cold light that
no human eyes could ever accomplish. “In all the commotion, I seem to have lost
track of Castiel,” done with the ‘we’s’ too. “and it’s common knowledge that he
prefers to spend his time with you.”
The Chief of the God Squad stares him down, as if it will break him. Shoulda
done his homework. Dean waits for the silent demand to be spoken and is
rewarded for his patience.
“Do you know of his location? Or that of the Angel Tablet?” Not realizing how
still the air had become until the words are finally spoken, Dean shrugs.
“No clue. Last time I saw him and the tablet, Naomi was still calling the
shots.” The angel’s face could be carved from granite, but that weird gleam
behind his eyes flashes when he moves his gaze to Sam.
“I heard the injuries you sustained due to the Trials were extensive.” His
brother meets the inhuman stare unflinchingly. Atta boy.
“Yeah.” He motions to himself in the wheelchair. “Still recovering and probably
will be for a while.”
“Undoubtedly.” The angel proceeds. “But you were in far worse condition
according to the prayers of Cindy Trujillo.” Cindy…Cindy…oh, the girl with the
tight ass that Dean scared out of the break room.  Zadkiel starts reciting as
if he’s reading from a church bulletin.
“‘Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos Santificado sea tu Nombre, I know it’s
been a while, but it’s just been a really rough week for me and for all of us
here. There’s this young guy in a coma and we’re doing everything we can but I
don’t think it’s enough. I feel so bad. His brother’s here too-keeps yelling at
everyone to just get out, among other things. But I mention him too because I
get the feeling like they’re all each other really has, you know?  You can tell
from the guy’s face that if his brother doesn’t pull through, he’ll just…be
lost. Somehow, I know they’re really good people, so please help Sam and Dean
Winchester through this time of difficulty. They really need your help, por
favor, Padre. Amen.’”
Dean feels like he’s gonna be sick. At least the littlest angel didn’t sell
them out. Sam doesn’t react but if they make it out of this, the old argument
about co-dependency is gonna stew in his head until he can’t hold it in
anymore. And the drive back to Kansas is a long one. Fan-friggin’-tastic.
“That sounds pretty grave to me,” the douche continues. One mess at a time.
“and yet, less than an hourlater Cindy was ecstatically praising Our Father-
thanking him for Sam’s unprecedented recovery.” Inias and Ruth are transfixed
on their boss, obviously convinced that he’s got them. “I’ve checked
extensively and we have no record of our people being in the vicinity at the
time.” By ‘our people’ Dean assumes he means the registered dickangels. “So I
find myself wondering, who can we thank for this small miracle?”
“Maybe Goddecided it wasn’t his time yet.” The blasphemous words tumble from
Dean’s mouth before he has a chance to think them through.
Even the insects crawling in the walls tense as Zadkiel fixes him with a
murderous glare. For a second, the hunter wonders if this is it. If his big
mouth has permanently sealed his and Sam’s fates.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Sam speaks up. “We were just as shocked as you
must have been.” Dean’s not sure if Heaven’s latest key player is even
listening. He’s completely motionless in that way that only angels get, and
he’s looking at Dean as if skinning him alive would be a decent start to their
first date. “But my brother’s right. We’re totally out of the loop on this
one.”
The staring contest drags on for several heartbeats before Zadkiel finally
replies “Well, should you happen to fall back in it and learn how this
astounding revival occurred, we’d appreciate a Call.” Dean lets a veryslow
breath out through his nose.  “If one of our own is the cause, their actions
have to accounted for.” Breaking eye contact with him at last, the angel
focuses on Sam. “Not that we aren’t gratified for your improved condition,
understand. We just need to keep track of our populace to ensure that prior
lapses of accountability aren’t duplicated.”
Dean spares a look at the other angels. Inias returns his gaze coolly while
Ruth appears as if she’d like nothing more than to smite him on the spot. It’s
a pretty long line at this point and she’d better bring something good to read.
“Oh, and do exercise some restraint with whatever negotiations you’re planning
to conduct with Mr. Crowley.” Zad glances at the trunk of the Impala as if he
only just remembered who was in there. “It would be preferable if he were to
remain, well,” he smirks very slightly. “I’m not certain that alive is the
correct adjective, but certainly animate.”
“You guys don’t want him?” Surprise bleeds into Dean’s tone. Zadkiel doesn’t
look at him when he answers
“No. Not yet anyway. We have larger priorities than the ‘King’ of Hell to
attend to at the moment.” The mockery in his inflection is evident and the
statement sends a chill through the hunter’s chest. The hell does that mean?
“We’ll be in touch.” Inclining his head, Zadkiel abruptly departs with a
flapping of wings. The stifling atmosphere in the garage and Inias leave with
him but Ruth doesn’t move. Silently, she just stares at Dean with an expression
of loathing so intense that he can feel the heat from it.
“Don’t be shy, honey.” He’s had his fill of angels for the week. “You got
something to say to me, just come on out and say it.” Ruth crosses her arms
while continuing to give him the stink eye.
“I served with Castiel since before the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah. He was
always a little different, but overall he was a fine soldier and a good
friend.” Not this shit again. “I cheered for the aversion of the Apocalypse and
I wept when I learned of his demise at the hands of Lucifer.” She hisses the
name. “When we learned of his mysterious resurrection, many in Heaven were
anxious-even fearful of Castiel. But I was jubilant at his return.” She smiles
bitterly. “Pre-emptively it seems, because the angel who returned was not the
one I mourned for.” He’s reallynot in the mood for this shit again.
“Yeah, I get it-‘when he laid a hand on me he was lost’-are we done here?”
“No!” Shaking her head, the angel visibly seethes with anger. “It wasn’t in
Hell-it wasn’t when he defied Zachariah or even when he tried to become God in
order to protect the two of you!” Practically vibrating with fury, she shoots
Sam a filthy look and Dean flexes his cramping grip on the handles.
“It was after all that; after he’d committed systematic genocide of his own
kind and unleashed the leviathan onto this plane. It was when he was gifted a
chance to redeem himself.” The old nausea resurges. “Thatwas when he truly
became lost. He had the choice of returning to Heaven, but he chose to return
to you! To redeem himself to your family, not his!”
The air around her crackles with tangible scorn. Dean’s so busy beating back
the sickness that threatens to overwhelm him, that he can’t even form a half-
decent comeback.
“He took your madness,” she spits at Sam, whose unjustly guilty face Dean can
imagine plain as day. “and for what? An easy way out? Of cleaning up the mess
heleft us in?” A disgusted bark of laughter rips itself free from inside her
chest.  “Or was he honestly just trying to win back your approval for some
deranged reason? I still haven’t been able to figure out why!” He finally finds
his voice again.
“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because unlike the rest of you assholes, he actually
has a conscience and wanted to fix something that he broke?” Dean practically
yells back.
“Like Heaven?” Ruth snarls, nostrils flaring as she visibly forces unspoken
words back down her throat. “It was an unfortunate incident,” Ruth grates out.
“but certain sacrifices are necessary in the line of duty. Casualties are
unavoidable-even brutes like you can understand that.”
Dean’s leg almost bumps Sam forward when he tries to take a step and remembers
the chair. “We’re his family too and you don’t throw familyunder the bus in
anysituation! No matter what the outcome is!” She regards him with appalled
disbelief.
“Then why did he do that to us, in favor of a squalling infant like you?” For
the second time in twenty-four hours, it feels like all the air has been sucked
from his lungs.
Sam shifts in place and Dean absently peers down into his brother’s lap to see
his long fingers twitching. The hunter knows the bitch isn’t done, and he
wonders if he has enough stamina left to survive the verbal blow she’s about to
deliver. No one speaks until the angel sighs heavily, deflating as she raises
her eyes to Dean. The fury in their depths crumbles to grief.
“Why couldn’t you just let him go? Your lives are a blinkto us, and yet Castiel
will suffer for millennia because of your selfishness-if he isn’t killed
outright.”
“No one’s forcedCas to do anything! He’s in control of his own choices.” The
world becomes muted as Sam strikes back with his defense. Dean just lets his
focus drift off to Ruth’s side as she shakes her head again.
“Angels are built to follow the Will of God. And when God abandoned us, we
followed each other.” He can feel accusatory eyes boring into him and wearily
raises his own to her melancholy expression. “Castiel was always quick to
become besotted with weaker creatures; especially if he felt they needed him.”
The angel gives Dean a visible once-over that spurs that nausea on. “I only
wish I would have reached out to him when I had the chance. Before he became so
misplaced that a human was able to convince him that their cause was one worth
following.” Dean funnels all of the darkness inside himself into the look he
gives Ruth, who returns it with equal contempt.
“What, you mean the cause of free will? The right notto have our lives and our
fates controlled by assholes like Lucifer, Raphael and Naomi? The same exact
people you justsaidyou were against?!” His brother places shaking hands on
either side of the armrests and Dean doesn’t try to stop him from standing.
“Make up your damn mind, whose side are you on?”
When she becomes blocked from his view by Sam’s towering stature, Dean takes
the opportunity to rub small, comforting circles into his heavy eyelids. They
don’t help in the least bit. There’s a silence in which he supposes the angel
and Sam stare each other down.
“I’m on the side of the Greater Good. Can you say the same thing?” He yanks the
chair out of the way and pushes Sam roughly aside just as the beating of wings
fills the air.
“LIKE HELL, YOU CUNT!” He yells at the empty space that Ruth just vacated. “Get
your self-righteous, gutless ass back here! I’m not through with you-you want
to talk about the Greater Goddamn Good, you self-absorbed bitch?! Some family
you fuckers are-throwing him to the wolves everygoddamnchance you get!”
“Dean…” Sam’s hand closes around his arm.
“WHAT?!”He attempts to turn Dean around, but the elder Winchester’s boots may
as well be magnetized to the concrete.
“She’s gone, man.” Some of Dean’s fury begins to burn off along with his
adrenaline.
“I can see that, genius!” The hunter snaps back as he spins, avoiding his
brother’s gaze as he brushes past to the wheelchair that bounced off the trunk
of an adjacent Sedan.
Dean kicks it back towards the Impala, where Sam stops it from colliding with
the car. Tramping his way back over, Dean stoops to undo the locks, collapsing
the contraption aggressively before wrenching the rear door open to cram it
inside.
“When was the last time you slept?” The softness in Sam’s tone makes Dean wanna
hurl as he slams the door shut. He doesn’t answer because he can’t remember.
“Maybe I should drive.”
“With your gimpy legs? You’ll get us both killed.” He risks a glance at Sam’s
face and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Too much concern and actual, honest to God
pity there. Dean makes for the driver’s side before Sam grabs his shoulder,
holding him in place.
“Dean, if you want to talk about getting us killed-you seriously look like
you’re gonna pass out.” Casting his strained eyes towards the trunk, Dean
clenches his jaw. The bastard inside is probably having a good, silent laugh at
them right now. “I can’t run but if I can stand, I can sure as hell operate the
pedals.” He blinks and it feels like he’s holding up cinder blocks with his
eyelids. “You need to sleep. Don’t make me knock you out, because I will.”
For a moment he’s so relieved just to hear Sammy voice what he himself had been
thinking (before Angel Girl showed up to save the day) that Dean manages to
crack half a grin.
“I’m dead serious. I’ve been sleeping for days-I’m good to go. And I’m not
dying because of your stubborn ass.” He looks into Sam’s earnest eyes.
“What, you mean again?” A peel of somewhat hysterical laughter escapes from
Dean as he lets himself be pushed in the direction of the passenger side. After
a moment of hesitation, Sam chuckles dryly.
“No, I mean actuallydying because of your stubborn anddelusional ass.” The door
is opened and Dean is nudged into the wrong seat.  This one’s adjusted for
Sam’s stilt-like legs.
The laughter dies out slowly as he waits for Sam to take the reins. Dean has to
scooch the seat waaay up just to feel like hes not falling backwards. Sam’ll
never get it, because he’s the youngerbrother. He’ll never understand that
every bad thing that ever happens to him is on Dean. That everytime Sam dies,
its’ Dean failing Dad, failing Mom, and failing the whole entirety of his
pathetic existence.
His brother slips in, readjusting the seat and mirrors. Tilting his head
towards the back, he quirks an eyebrow and Dean knows that he’s referring to
Crowley. “Does Kevin-“
“Nah, he’ll know when we get there. No point rocking the boat this far out at
Sea.” Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Sam tilts his head in
consideration. He shrugs before taking the keys offered to him and starting up
the ignition.
“He’s gonna be pretty pissed.” Dean glances behind them and imagines the cut-
away image of Crowley bound and gagged behind the dusky interior. Just having
him in here feels like a sin against his beloved car.
“Don’t I know it.” He mutters, scrubbing a hand over stubbled cheeks.
They sit in silence as the engine warms up, and Dean tries to focus on that
sound, instead of the scathing echo of Ruth’s words that run on a loop through
his head.  Almost as if on cue, Sam clears his throat quietly.
“You know that none of that shit is true, right?” He doesn’t answer straight
away. “What Ruth said?”
“Yeah.” Dean mumbles lamely, staring out of focus into the reflection of the
garage within the side mirror.
The only solace he can find at the moment is that at least they’ll leave this
miserable place in the dust. Blessedly, Sam doesn’t press the issue. He just
cranes around in the seat to reverse and intones
“Get some sleep, man. You look like shit.” Dean closes his eyes at last,
crossing his arms protectively over his chest as he sidles back into the
leather. His body feels heavy enough to be cut from stone.
“Still look better than you.” He smiles a little at the thought of Sam turning
to glare at him before straightening the car out.
“Keep telling yourself that, jerk.” The smile widens into a genuine one.
“Bitch, it’s true and you know it.” Sam huffs and Dean feels Baby purr as they
finally pull out of the aisle and inch down the ramps that lead back towards
civilization.
He falls into a sleep where he’s haunted by the damning words of every angel
who’s blamed him for Castiel’s fall. “I gave EVERYTHING for you, and this is
what you give to me?!” Every. Angel. About once an hour, Dean jerks awake as
they pass rest stops, towns, cities and state lines. In the space between
consciousness and sleep, he’s fortunate enough not to remember any of the cruel
accusations. The exhausted man simply shifts his position and lets the sound of
the miles traveled carry him back towards his restless dreams.
Chapter End Notes
     *Fun Fact* Zadkiel is based off of Clancy Brown. In particular, his
     overall performance as Brother_Justin_Crowe/Alexei_Belyakov from
     Carnivàle. Not the character, understand; mostly his oration. While
     that clip in the last sentence lacks the fire of his S2 speeches, it
     gives you an accurate portrayal of what Zad sounds like. It's
     ridiculously difficult to find any decent clips of this show on
     youtube >:(
     This chapter was beta'd by the marvelous UnleashTheFic, who is
     incredibly speedy and constructive with feedback :)
     This chapter is dedicated to everyone who was involved with/in
     attendance for/wanted to be @ Destiel Con '14. Which means that it's
     also in dedication to our beautiful family in general. I can't put
     into words how much I love every single one of you. Our community is
     made up of the most supportive, brilliant, creative and truly
     wonderful people I have ever known. Without you guys, I wouldn't even
     have the strength to publish, let alone write.
     I'd rather have (all of) you-cursed or not.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Nemo helps Cas stave off cabin fever and refuses to take no for an
     answer. Krissy, Aiden & Josephine return to discuss the conspiracies
     surrounding disco and find trouble on the road.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The same enchantments that conceal the room from any angel outside also dampen
the abilities of the ones within it. Cas rubs circles into his tender eyelids
in hopes that it will alleviate the pressure building around his optic nerves.
It doesn’t seem to be very effective. Maybe if he massages more vigorously…
…How much time’s passed since the boys left the garage?  In here, his time
perception is unreliable. It moves like a human’s. There’s a rippling nausea in
his stomach and a persistent dryness in his mouth and throat.
The research has to wait because reading proves absurdly difficult for him at
present and Nemo’s hungry again. She’s particularly fond of sweet flavors, no
matter the time of day. And yet, he’s never asked her opinion on pie. He starts
to get lost in the blur of her chopsticks, leaning back into the hard edge of
the bookshelf. It juts into his shoulder blade, which at least draws focus from
his head momentarily.
“Are they still driving?” Cas grunts when he jabs a thumb in his eye. He lets
the hand fall away, straightening up to squint at his sister.
Nemo’s unhelpful shrug offers no answers. “Probably. I doubt they can go much
faster.” Nemo mumbles down into her dinner. “Unless their car can sprout wings
of its’ own.” She glances up thoughtfully from the box of take-out in her lap.
“Can it?”
“No, it has to remain earthbound to function properly.” His words catch at the
end as the persistent tempo inside his skull picks up. Kneading over the
pulsing vein at his temple muffles it a little, but is overall insufficient.
“The way you talk about that car you’d think it was a wonder of nature.” She
hops off the cluttered desk, landing with a quiet huff of surprise. Nemo’s
incredibly clumsy on her feet, which is no surprise considering her wingspan.
“Something liiiiike…the Aurora Borealis, Mt. Fuji or Bigfoot.” Strolling over
to him as she nibbles the last remnants of grain from the sticks, Nemo plants
them in the food and extends it to him. “You should eat.”
A sheen of grease from the open flap smears across his jacket when the box is
pushed into his chest. “I’m not hungry.” He studies the dramatic horizon
silhouetted in the twilight through the slatted blinds behind her.
Every night, the sky bleeds into the Earth like this and all he can do is
observe the phenomena through opaque, poorly-aged glass panes. Not alone, but
not with the Winchesters either. Is Sam still driving? Dean craned at an
awkward angle next to him? Apparently, the hunter had been neglecting his
slumber while Sam was hospitalized, but the last Nemo had checked, she’d said
that Dean wasfinally sleeping again.
His image of the brothers in their natural element brings warmth back to into
his aching grace. The Impala is a wonder of nature. A man-made vehicle that
lacks an organic soul, yet embodies an artificial one. A kind of anima nurtured
through the will of the family it’s supported throughout the decades of their
lives. He’s never witnessed a marvel quite like it and doubts he will again.
“Thatcar foiled Lucifer.” A grin blooms across his face. It’s even more
ludicrous than the fact that the family he chose over Heaven have existences so
fleeting that their lives are measured in decades.
“Oh, I knooow-that one killed me!” Excitement glitters in Nemo’s eyes as she
affects a very serious expression and lowers her voice. “The devil doesn’t
know, or care what kind of car the boys drive.” The immediate, huge smile
breaks the dramatic effect but the truth remains: We won.  
“I bet he knows now!” Her mirth halters when she tries to punch the air and
stops just short of showering them both in rice. Glaring at the box, she
presses it up into his ribs. “But seriously, your stomach’s anguished cries are
really distracting—“ she motions behind her at the gallon of sweetened green
tea on the desk. “And the caffeine should help with the headache. Unless it’s
from dehydration-then it’ll make it worse.” Tapping a short rhythm out on the
side of her jaw, she exclaims “Let’s find out!”
“That isn’t exactly reassuring.” And yet, the tea is closer than the faucet,
which feels like an unnecessary length to walk if there’s an alternative. His
lips barely part before the food is thrust up into his face.
“EAT,Cas! This is stupid-I can step outside to recharge, but you just don’t get
that break.” As if he will have forgotten.
“I’m still not sure it’s necessary.” But it does smell good.
“Trust me, it is. Maybe one day angels will be able to wear androids instead,
but until then–eat!”
“…Androids?” He repeats incredulously.
“So stow your issues with biological processes, and take the stupid rice.” It’s
difficult to stow the worsening disorientation as his grace is slowly being
leeched into the walls, but he is trying.
“Accept. It.” She demands through clenched teeth, shaking the container.
Tilting around the small expanse of rice, Cas frowns down at her abnormally
expressive features.
Not for the first time, he wants to ask just how long she’s lived on Earth.
Then the aroma catches hold of him again and the question dies at the back of
his throat-trivial compared to that smell.  Saliva floods his mouth, making a
sandbar of his tongue as his traitorous innards growl loudly. Defeat sizzles in
his belly as he quietly accepts the food.
“Thank you.” She nods and returns to her familiar perch. To Metatron it was a
sacred space of creation.
As it is now, they’ve been steadily ruining the formerly handsome desk. Tied
grocery bags overflowing with trash are stacked haphazardly against the side.
Scuffs, scrapes, child-size shoe prints and remnants of old food cloud over
more of the surface every day. There’s also the corner that Castiel has taken
to defacing with his blade when the claustrophobia starts to squeeze too
tightly.
If the Impala can have a spirit…
Then defiling the desk’s helps a little with the burning betrayal. Still
though, this could have turned out much worse.  The vacuum in Heaven has more
or less been filled and the winners of that race should prove to be sufficient
improvements over Naomi’s regime. Additionally, it sounded as if their first
interaction with the Winchesters had gone well. The fact that Zadkiel left
Crowley in their possession set off several red flags, but what is he expected
to do about any of that from here? Churning the rice absently with his
chopsticks, Cas remembers Dean offering the same dish to him several years ago.
“Cummon, they’ve really spruced it up in the past coupla’ thousand years.”
Oddly enough, he remembers the persuasive lift of Dean’s brow, the nudge in his
tone. He remembers the sleeves of his moss-colored thermal rolled up to the
elbows. But had he accepted? Castiel honestly doesn’t remember that
part.Joining Nemo on the desk, he dejectedly scoops the ancient staple into his
mouth. It’s delicious.
If he does moan, it isn’t voluntarily. Physical hunger burns ferocious and real
in his stomach. Indulging in it, he watches Nemo do the same as she withdraws
another box from the latest plastic yellow bag. She opens it to reveal an
entrée of chicken glazed in sweet orange sauce. Her appetite is almost
nauseating if he lingers on it.
There are so many limitations and requirements for survival in the human form.
From here, Cas can only catch a glimpse of the dusk before nightfall. Thinking
about the home he wants and the humans he wants to help hurts. So he tries to
stop.
“Save some for me.”  He realizes that he’s still eating and stops. She slides
the chicken across the soiled hard wood surface in one fluid movement. “Brain
food.” Nemo taps the side of her head twice as he leans in to examine the
latest option.
Sam prefers leaner meats like this to the beef and pork that Dean insists are
superior. Plucking up a piece of chicken, he deposits it in the rice and coats
it until sufficient.
Dean had once brandished the combination at him while sternly lecturing “See
Cas, sometimes flavors justgo really well together and if you’re eating ‘em
plain and separate, that is nothing short of criminal.”
That had been before Lucifer’s crypt. Before a single command from an
unimpressive adversary had nearly compelled him to pulverize Dean into the dust
underfoot.
Either Dean’s stopped praying or Castiel can’t hear him. For all the good it
does, he’s been disconnected from Heaven’s Radio since they fled from Naomi’s
office. The silence is so unnerving when he’s alone that it feels like a
tangible entity. It undulates in the corners where the vibrations of the Earth
begin to dim. Sometimes he won’t notice how needed Nemo’s presence is until Cas
is carving deep grooves into the desk. The long splintered segments fall to the
ground like the molting leaves outside and in the stillness, an endless loop
echoes “You shouldn’t have run.”
“And don’t eat so fast.” He slows his mastication gradually, unaware of doing
it incorrectly. She corrects Cas on human behavior, as Dean would.
It never fails to astound Castiel how much more evolved humanity is than his
own kind. The sheer accumulation of definitions and combinations with varying
subtleties that compose the cores of their brief existences can be at times,
overwhelming. So much of it is lost on him that he’d make a hopeless one for
certain.
Swallowing, Cas inclines his head to Nemo and quietly repeats “Thank you.”  He
spears more chicken, slightly surprised by just how well the tastes and
textures do complement each other.
“’S fine-that’s why I got boxes. As in plural.”
Cas shakes his head and lowers the food to his lap. “I meant for everything
you’ve done for them,” he works down a dry mouthful of food that fights him
every step of the way. “And for me.” Cas nearly chokes, quickly taking a
generous swig of Tea. She stares at him expressionlessly while he considers her
with a slant of the head. “I don’t sense any kind of harmful deception from
you. Of course that could be naiveté fueled by desperation, but given the
circumstances—“
“I’m your guys’ last pony.” Nemo stretches her arms and wings proudly, purpose
billowing effortlessly between dimensions to flare from her every molecule.
The air of youthful confidence her vessel projects makes for a sight nothing
less than inspiring. For a moment, Castiel is jealous. The last time he’d felt
that sure of his purpose he’d called himself God and taken life
indiscriminately; be it angel, man, woman. No infanticide like they had been
tasked with in Egypt long ago, but he’d killed children as young as sixteen.
“It would seem that way.” Anticipating the twitch in her arm, he extends the
jug. “But you have to admit that it’s a very strange reason to risk your life.”
One he still isn’t entirely sure he believes, but it’s the only answer he’s
received or is likely to. The first time Nemo had told him whyshe was helping
the three of them, he’d been positive she was ‘pulling his leg’.
Accepting the drink, Nemo shrugs and unscrews the cap. “As good a reason as
any.” It truly is astounding how quickly his sister can drain a container
intended for consumption by multiple people. “At least this time my name will
finally be in something worth reading.”
There are several key events in human history that she claims to have played a
role in without earning due credit. This, he can’t be positive of either.
Lowering the amber liquid from her mouth, she screws the top back on and places
it off to the side. Frowning at the stack of their accumulated and frankly
patheticresults, Nemo speaks towards the books.
“By the way, I’ve got an idea,” she grimaces at the volume on top. “buuuut
you’re not gonna like it.” The moleskin binding contains the collected journals
from a cloister of brothers who had excelled at intoxication during their spare
time at Saint-Sulpice in the 19th century.  
He sighs dejectedly “Probably not.” But the rather inarticulate records of
Jean-Baptiste Süskind’s opium-induced visions of Heaven have shed very little
light on his dilemma thus far. And still, it contains more logic than the
flashy paperback it rests atop entitled Liberating Yourself from False Angels:
How to Forgive Your Past and Fight for Your Future. So Cas waves her on to
continue.
“It involves involvingKevin Tran.”
More than once he’s wondered if he shouldn’t just turn himself in. Sam will
recover from the aggravated damage of the Trials with Nemo’s assistance. It
might be madness to trust her, but apparently Castiel has more faith than he
thought.
“You’re right, I don’t like it.”
She scoffs at him “You’ve got a network and we need an answer soon.” The
pressure behind his eyes hikes on cue.  Not as intensely as before, but still
unnatural and inconveniencing.
Cas sighs, bowing his head. “Our last interaction wasn’t pleasant and he’s
become a pivotal member of their extended family. I don’t want to involve him,”
Maybe Dean isn’t praying because he’s trying to send another kind of message.
If he wants Castiel to stay away…
“I don’t want to burden—“
“Stop!” Nemo raises a finger threateningly. “I swear, I have to makeyou people
want my help,” she huffs, shaking her head. “I’m used to all kinds of stubborn
receptions, but the three of you are something else.” Pulling her legs up, she
hugs her knees in close to her chest. 
“It’s—“
“It’s like this-you want to leave this room, our best bet is someone who will
actually be able to find the Angel tablet in this mess. Oh andbeing able to
read it might help too.” A particularly nasty throb has Cas bite his lip hard
enough to feel it split open.
“Even if the tablet is here, then what?” The moon hovers fat and yellow above
the mountain tops. The sight of it makes his wings stir restlessly.
“Remind me again how this cowardice helps anyone?” The disgust shapes his
features with such ease that he could have been born into them. “Nemo, you know
Zadkiel. Do you really expect him to just,” Cas gestures at nothing in
particular and recognizes it as a human expression of frustration and defeat.
“Give up? Say that Kevin does find a way to hide me from Heaven. How long can
the spell possibly last?”
“Long enough.” She states it with authority that makes him pause. But her
confidence won’t be enough to hold off the formidable General. His justice is
fair and absolute; there’s no grey with him. It’s why he’s always been so well-
respected amongst traditionalists in particular.
Cas catches her gaze, frowning while he shakes his head. “For what? Next time I
doubt they’ll be so gentle in their inquiry. Dean and Sam got off lucky once,
but those two have a habit of running through their fortune rather quickly.”
Nemo holds her arms out to both sides and glares at him disbelievingly. “You
don’t need to tell me, remember? Look, just let me go find them once they get
Home, ok? Pretty sure I can convince him to come back voluntarily and if not…”
she shrugs innocently.
“Under no circumsta–“ Nemo makes a crude imitation of a quacking duck with her
hand and continues loudly over him.
“Give me some credit-I’ve read the books. Hands off anything seven degrees
removed from aWinchester if you don’t want Castiel’s shiny blade up your butt.”
He doesn’t have an answer for that, so he simply nods and glances at the
window. The first flickering pinpricks of starlight have begun to emerge from
within the sea of bruised blue-purple sky.
He doesn’t want to die.
Castiel wants to watch these same stars climb their way across the sky until
even their ghosts have burnt out. For all the knowledge that he should die, Cas
wants to live. He would miss these stars and the light they shine upon an Earth
teeming with so much living, breathing beauty.
“Kevin’s already in this whether he likes it or not, Cas. He was chosen, by
God. You know that.” He does.
“I’m not his concern.” She reaches forward and smacks him across the face. Not
enough to hurt, but enough to make his jaw click unexpectedly.
“Don’t be an assbutt.” His focus snaps back to the determined set of her brow
and the glint of golden fire in her eyes. “Unless you can think of a better
solution, huh?” Crossing her arms, Nemo holds her chin up back and fixes him a
hard look.
If Castiel’s vessel were that of a canine, his tail would be drooping pitifully
between his legs by this point. Luckily, his body is that of a man and he has a
degree of control over that sort of primal instinct. This room probably holds
more written knowledge than any one continent on the entire planet. And so far
they’ve set aside thirty-four books with nothing more than speculative and
shoddy accounts of many things, but none directly concerning the concealment of
an angel from his brethren.
“We need to act faster.” Nemo intones quietly. “This room won’t protect you
forever and the rest of the world isn’t waiting for us.”
Crowley’s most likely still in the Impala’s trunk, and Zadkiel decides to leave
himthere. Abaddon is most certainly alive and her first target will be the pair
who have twice desecrated a body she seems to be incredibly fond of. And those
problems are only the most prominent ones.
The headache is increasing when Nemo repeats “Cas,-“
“Yeah.” He sighs, turning from her. “I can’t think of anything else.” Doubt and
anxiety chase his heart to a stuttering pace. But Dean, Sam andKevin might need
him. “When the Boys return, go speak to them and Kevin.”
Nemo nods, deflating a little in her posture. “Your boyfriend better have my
Soda when I get there.” She misses the withering glare he gives her, opting
instead to stand on her shoelace and purposefully pull her foot away,
unraveling the knot. “I get thirsty.” She stoops to retie it and sighs,
glancing up at her wings. “These old things just ain’t what they used to be.”
Nemo sighs with the voice of a child.
“I’m sure they’ll compensate you for the beverage,” Cas says carefully, trying
not to offend her by letting his confusion over her priorities show. “but if
Kevin doesn’t agree, don’t bring him.” The last thing he needs is something
like that clouding the air between them all. It may even be the final slight in
Dean’s eyes.
“I swear,” she groans. “but I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem. Even if
Kevin does say no, I get the feeling like I’m not going to be the one
convincing him.”
                                     >>> 
I saw my problems and I’ll see the light. We got a lovin’ thing, we gotta feed
it right.
Josephine glances up from the sink to catch the scowl of utter contempt that
Krissy’s regarding the ceiling speakers with.
There ain’t no danger we can go too far. We start believin’ now that we can be
who we are-Grease is the word.
“Is it a federal law that they play this song nationwide every fifteen
minutes?” Crossing her arms, the brunette draws herself up in a huff. Josephine
smirks at her reflection.
“They’ve played it twice since we got here.” It doesn’t escape her attention
that the other girl seems a little less wigged out in here than when they’re
with Aiden. Which is weird and worrisome, but they don’t have time to get into
it now.
“Yeah, since we got here but Jos, they play this song everywhere we go. On
every station, in every town. We hear it at least five times a week-are you
kidding me?” Shuffling off to the side, she looks down at her hands and starts
to pace slowly. “Aiden I get, he’s a space cadet. You’re the one with all those
crazy ninja senses.”
The hunter smiles sympathetically at the plea. Their occupation isn’t exactly
one that can be shrugged off by the front door at the end of the day. Hell,
some days the only doors they collapse behind are the ones in the sedan.
“Haven’t really been paying attention,” she shakes the last of the soapy water
from her hands before crossing to the towel dispenser. Naturally, it’s broken.
“Guess I got lost in the groove.” She turns to wink at Krissy as she bends to
dry her hands on (only slightly dusty) jeans.
“Don’t even.” Most people would piss themselves at the scorching look the
ferocious little pixie is attempting to combust her with.
“Haven’t you heard?” When Josephine straightens, she points at the ceiling and
cocks her head.
Grease is the word.
Mouthing along to the words, she bobs her chin, pointing to Krissy and tapping
her foot to the beat. “You know you love it!”
“Uggggh!!” The head of their little rag-tag family (ironically the youngest)
pushes out the door, pursued by the chorus of her sister’s (let’s be real here)
new favorite song.
Aiden looks up from the booth to Prissy’s priceless face (she’s sure) with
Josephine trailing behind, barely concealing her mirth with the back of her
hand.
“Wha’d I miss?” Silently, his girlfriend squeezes in on the opposite side,
plastering herself to the floor-to-ceiling window almost immediately.
Fog fans out from the point where Krissy’s forehead meets the glass. Her eyes
resume scanning the night beyond the parking lot restlessly. Josephine had
hoped they’d managed to convince her that nothing was (immediately) out there.
She exchanges a meaningful glance with Aiden; neither is eager to ask outright
what’s wrong after last time. The girl doesn’t hide under a shell when she’s on
edge; she lashes out like a cornered wolverine on crack.
Josephine scoots in, watching her closely. “Your girlfriend’s convinced there’s
a disco-related conspiracy following us around the country.”
“Well yeah.” Both girls turn to regard him in bewilderment.
“Come again?” The older of the two bends forward to pop open Aiden’s leftovers.
“Hey…” frowning down at the thievery, he swats her away from his rapidly
cooling fries once before giving in, allowing her to take a dozen. “My cousin
told me,” he frowns down at the cluster she swirls around in a puddle of
ketchup. “All the stations keep a regular rotation of disco going to keep old
people from freaking out.”
“Huh?” Showing off a mouthful of partially mashed food, Josephine practically
beams her disbelief at him.
Krissy releases a shaky huff of laughter. “You’re totally serious, aren’t you?”
She turns away from the window, leaning in to sip water noisily through a straw
from a cup of melting ice. Aiden flashes a quick, hopeful grin at Josephine.
“The guy had all these random conspiracy theories.” he counts off each one on
his fingers. “Uhhh…growth hormone/mind control in the milk, the US invaded Iraq
to get Saddam’s stargate,”
Stargate. Josephine mouthes to the other girl.
“U.F.O. sightings are really falling angels and alien abductions are done by
faeries.” He nods and meets the mocking familial stares evenly. “You know,
stuff like that.”
“You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” Reclining, Krissy sighs affectionately as she
returns to the window.
Scoffing, Josephine stuffs another small torch of fries into her mouth. “He’s
only so pretty cuz his brain doesn’t have anywhere else to spend all its’
energy.” She easily dodges the crumpled ball of used napkins that Aiden tosses
at her face. The brunette grins at the commotion behind her without turning
from the glass.
“I never saidI believed any of them!” Josephine flings her arms into the air.
You heard him,” nudging Krissy with her shoulder, she burrows into her side.
Her best friend stiffens almost imperceptibly before cautiously sidling into
the contact. “He just said–“
“I said the disco thing was right. I mean, that’s basic psychology. Nostalgia
is one of the most influential tools at a government’s disposal. Society’s
moving too fast for the older generations, so businesses and institutions keep
their music selection basic to soothe their nerves. When we’re at that point,
you’ll hear Deadmau5, Nikki Minaj, Panic at the Disco and Adele in everystore.
If they still have physical stores and it isn’t all digital–“
“Aiden,” Josephine holds her palms up. “One more word and I’m giving this steak
knife a new home in a place you really don’t want it.”
“That’s just…” scoffing, he scratches his nose and considers the possibility.
“That’s uncalled for. It’s not like subliminal messages are a new thing, Jos.
Krissy, back me up here.”
When she doesn’t reply, Aiden repeats her name. “Hmm?”
The still lot outside is disturbed only by a homeless guy scavenging from the
bins on the far side. From the way their friend’s studying him, she looks as if
she expects him to morph into a giant insect at any second.
Before her boyfriend can start up again, their waitress pops up out of nowhere.
Josephine knows that she doesn’t imagine it, because the other two start just
as suddenly when she appears at the side of their table.
“How is everything? Can I get anybody a refill, or maybe tempt you with some
desert?” She sounds kind of worn out to be honest, and there’s a gravelly drag
to the bass of her voice. The sound doesn’t help the tightening of Josephine’s
chest or the acceleration of her pulse. She’s been fighting the urge to ogle
the redhead all night and is failing miserably.
Did the waitress tell them her name earlier? Must have…Fuck–redheads and
Asians! It’s really hard to keep from melting around them and this babe may as
well be on fire. Her flaming locks fall in soft, molten waves down her back and
shoulders. The blazing Ruby lipstick draws attention to the full curve of her
mouth and her claw-like nails are splashed crimson.
The uniform is vintage-like something straight out of 1955. In sharp contrast,
it’s something of a reverse strawberry pattern with a robin’s egg blue base and
a stippling of tiny off-white dots. The color brings out a stripe of glinting
teal into the sea green of her irises. The fabric pinches in slightly under the
pressure of the apron ties cinched snug in all the right places. To be honest,
everything about her screams THIS IS A TRAP, but what harm is there in admiring
from afar?
She must have missed her companions’ replies, because the waitress is nodding
and then suddenly her gaze is pinned to the girl and her brain is liquefying.
“N-no.” She mumbles quietly, shaking her head. Her cheeks are burning. Can they
see? Is it obvious? It’s really hot-is her jacket on? She can’t remember but if
she tries to check, it’ll look like bowing in defeat.
The hunter chances a peek at the waitress’s nametag only to be foiled by the
mane of red obscuring it. For lack of a better name, she dubs her Red-which
isreally cliché, but it feels like she’s drowning in the color.
Red turns her attention to Krissy, who’s gone back to scouring the night for
any potential threat.
The older woman (maybe late 30’s, early 40’s?) crosses her arms and shifts her
bearing with a cant of her obscenely full hips. “You’ll forgive me for saying
this dear, but you really don’t look so hot.” Maternal vibes fill her voice,
which Krissy probably isn’t going to respond very well to.
Sparing Red a glance, Josephine’s best friend draws herself up straight and
goes back to her vigil.  “Long week.” she tells the window, icicles clinging to
every syllable.
The woman actually ‘tsks’, which draws Krissy’s attention away from the
darkness. “It’s awfully late for a school night to be out. What could possibly
have you all in this part of town at this time of night?”
They all look like they’ve been in a scuffle and have wired, hollowed gazes.
Their baby-faced leader’s bruises and cuts stand out the most; vivid damages
against her Lily-soft pale skin. There’s also her antsy, at times unresponsive
behavior…all together they are suspicious as fuck and they’ll stand out in the
minds of the patrons here. They’re never this sloppy, but Krissy’s never this
high-strung. Always this stubborn, though.
“We’re taking a year off,” Aiden interjects with the usual bullshit, fanning
his hands out in a sweeping motion. “Do the whole See America thing.”
“That so?” Tilting her head, the woman’s gaze rolls slowly up and over him.
“What would you say...” Petty disappointment squirms in Josephine’s gut that
she swiftly and violently stomps out. Who cares if she talks to him-she’s off.
Probably a serial killer who pulls the black widow act with people from this
diner. Or some creepy shit like that-it always is.
“…has been your favorite sight so far?” Krissy’s spine stiffens, her chest
stilling entirely as she freezes in place. Forget spacey, Aiden is proving
downright suicidal right now.
“Uhhhh…” her boyfriend’s focus drifts up towards the ceiling. “Yellowstone was
pretty cool. Huge place. Ever been?” It takes a lot of restraint not to kick
him under the table as he grins warmly up at the waitress like a moron.
She sighs fondly “Not for a long, long time.”
Aiden nods slowly. “Well you should definitely go back sometime. Kind of place
where all the bullshit gets left at the door–uh–gate, I guess.” It’s pretty
surprising that he can’t feel the caustic glare burning through his skin from
across the table. “It’s just you-the Earth, the Sky and the freakish, dinosaur-
sized moose they’ve got out there.”
“Hah!” Red’s lids flutter shut as a short burst of laughter escapes over the
hand she claps to her mouth. The light and airy sound compels Josephine’s
stomach to start up a routine of consecutive somersaults. When she stomps on
Aiden’s foot, it’s harder than she intends.
“Ow!” He hisses as she mouthes ‘idiot’.
“I’ll be back with your check.” The hunter half-expects her own eyes to burst
as she drowns in her own saliva and watches the beaming redhead make her exit.
The table lurches and Aiden yelps “The Hell, Kris?” She almost forgets that the
others are still here. “That was my shin!”
His girlfriend hisses “Wanna drop her your digits while you’re at it?”
He crawls awkwardly up onto the cushion. “What, you think I was flirting?” His
foot slips and she tries to kick his leg before he hastily draws it up.
Huffing, she grates out “No shit, Sherlock. You think you weren’t?!”
“He may be a dumbass, but he’s not stupid.” Her best friend glances sideways,
raising an eyebrow. Josephine nods and some of the fire in Krissy’s eyes dims.
“I swear, upon pain of perpetual disembowelment–“The girls turn as one to see
Aiden clasping his hands, as if in prayer. “–I have zero interest in flirting
with anyone other than you.” Still fuming, the smallest hunter shakes her head
and goes back to the window.
Aiden frowns while eyeing Krissy with dulled concern. He scrubs a hand over his
face, sighing in frustration before forcing a smile that’s as much for his
benefit as it is for their’s.
“’Sides, I’m not thatbig of a dick.” His grin is spread pretty thin but it
still spells danger. “I wouldn’t do that to Jos.”
She stands, drawing Krissy’s attention. “You heading to the parking lot?”
Josephine nods. “I’m coming.”
As they brush past, Aiden whispers to Josephine “Want me to drop her your
digits?”
She squints at him ominously and pulls a punch to his arm. “Don’t take too
long.”
“So you two are just gonna leave me here like a chump?” The pout he directs at
Krissy misses its’ mark entirely. She ruffles his hair in passing.
“That is the general idea.”
On the way towards the exit, their waitress blocks the path as she steps away
from the register. Krissy chokes on half a curse and pushes past Josephine
before Red can open her mouth. She reaches out and grasps the girl’s shoulder,
who drains of color and goes completely rigid.
“Lady, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but if you don’t stop touching me…” The
waitress smiles, lifting both palms in a universal gesture of peace.
“Sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you left.” She hooks a curl and drags
it off her shoulder enough for Josephine to finally read her nametag;
Abby.“Rite of Passage withstanding,” she continues “You’re overdoing it.”
“Getting over a cold.” Krissy mumbles towards the doors. Abby’s gaze travels to
Josephine and settles there. God, what if she’s a pyro-telekinetic? Seriously,
this woman might just be able to ignite her without batting an eye.
“There are all sorts of nasty things out there,” is she sizing them up? She’s
sizing them up. “Absolutely itching to get ahold of a couple of girls like
you.” What the hell?
“That some kind of threat?” Krissy pipes up, striding right past Josephine and
puffing herself up to push the woman back.
For a moment, Abby simply watches them like a cat eyeing a pair of canaries.
“It’s a warning.” She finally breathes. “I’d of appreciated one at your age. It
would have saved me a lot of grief.” With that, she departs in a miasma of
lavender perfume so concentrated, that it burns to inhale.
Without another word, the smaller girl pushes Josephine out into the chill
night. Outside, Krissy stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets and sends a
rock on the ground flying with a sharp kick to ping off the news stands.
“What a creepy bitch. Can’t believe you can find that attractive.” Raising a
slow and steady hand, Josephine feels confident that her point gets across and
lowers it with just as much practiced control.
Then she bites the bullet and finally lets the words that have been dancing on
her tongue for too long spill out between them.
“He’s worried about you. I am too.”
“Not doing this.” The brunette starts towards the car.
“Krissy.” She groans and hurries after. “Hey,” catching up with a skid on an
icy patch, Josephine goes to grab her shoulder and pulls back in lieu of what
just happened inside. “Man, you’ve gotta talk about what’s eating you.”
“No,” she takes a step back, posture like a wild thing on the brink of flight.
“I really don’t. So drop it.”
The chimes ring out across the frigid air as they look up to see Aiden exiting
with a bag of tomorrow’s breakfast.
“When you’re ready…” She trails off.
“Spare me the chick flick crap.” Krissy says quietly as the third member of
their group catches up. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
As they all pile into the Subaru, Aiden halts Krissy with a peck on the cheek
that she returns easily. Josephine rolls her eyes at them, smiling
affectionately on her way to the backseat. From inside the cab, she catches
them kissing in the rearview mirror.
“Brrrr.” It’s freezing cold in here.
Leaning forward, she taps the horn and almost instantly regrets it. Krissy
reels back from Aiden with an expression of panicked alarm so out of character,
it damn near breaks her heart in half to see it.
They split, with Aiden sidling behind the wheel and Krissy taking shotgun. As
he buckles in, the driver shoots her an icy glare.
‘Sorry’. She mouthes.
He doesn’t wait for the engine to warm up, ignoring her indignant cries from
the backseat. They get onto the freeway with little traffic and drive. They
pass through several miles of forested suburbs. Small gas stations in the
middle of nowhere. They pass sheep. Are those cows? It’s hard to make out with
the moon cloaked in so much cloud. More sheep. Followed by skeletal factories
abandoned long before any of them were born. Then forest again.
Eventually they round the corner on an enormous suspension bridge that looks as
if it dangles over the expanse of the river canyon in the distorted moonlight.
Her fatigue is broached by a sudden anxiety that isn’t helped by Krissy’s voice
breaking a silence they’ve all grown too accustomed to.
“Isn’t there another way around?”
“Nah.” Aiden mutters as they pass over the corrugated metal seams.
They get about a third of the way across when Krissy speaks again. “Turn back.”
“I can’t turn back, Kris-it’s a bridge.”
“Then reverse.” She urges, volume and pitch rising in urgency.
“What's up?” Josephine leans forward with an assuring touch to Krissy’s arm. It
has no effect.
“Reverse if you have you have to, Aiden, just get us off this goddamn bridge!”
She jolts towards the steering wheel and Josephine has to haul her back.
“Damn, girl! Okay!!” They come to a sudden halt. “Shit…Okay.” He stares at her
wide-eyed, shifting gears and readjusting to swing wide. Luckily, there’s
plenty of room to make the maneuver and no actual road divider to keep them
from heading back the way they came.
“What is it, hun?” Squeezing her friend’s arm, Josephine glances at Aiden’s
spooked, dashboard-lit features fixated on the road. 
“I don’t…” suddenly, she smacks the side of her head with her fist. Josephine
snatches her wrist. “I don’t know.” She sobs. “There’s something…I don’t know
what it is.”
“Babe, it’s alright. We’re going back, see? If anything’s out there, we’ll
outgun it.” Aiden croons softly, glancing over as Krissy begins to
hyperventilate. “Hey, hey. Ssssssh...”
“It’s going to be fine, Krissy, we’re getting off the bridge.” Chiming in,
Josephine releases her wrist and goes to rub her shoulder.
“We’re going too slow.” Sheer panic lines every syllable as it tumbles in a
heap from her trembling lips.
“He’s going at 85. We’ll be back on the other side soon.” Josephine’s never
been good at comforting people. Not like Mom; she always knew exactly what to
say and do to calm anyone down.
“You’re going too slow! It’s gonna catch us!!” Shrill, Krissy damn near splits
their eardrums before Aiden yelps in shock. There’s a ripple, a jerking
sensation somewhere so deep at the center of her gravity that even being aware
of it feels like it goes against her operating manual. Josephine feels time
begin to slow, scraping over her like stinging tree branches.
The expanse of the road before them is no longer empty. A figure, bright and
near blinding emerges out of the darkness just beyond the flare of their
headlights. The alien light bleeds a rich, deep scarlet as the car begins to
slow, despite how hard Aiden's stomping on the pedal. The stench of burning
rubber fills her nose; they're just lucky that no one got ejected.
Then her head is splitting open with a pressure unlike anything any human is
meant to experience and she’s screaming.
Screaming her throat bloody as the windshield cracks and disintegrates into a
shower of razor-cut stars. And out of the red light steps that fucking
waitress. Her eyes are as obsidian as her smile is ivory. Flaming hair billows
in the wind behind her as if caught in a spiraling updraft. The world appears
unchanged, and yet the air in Josephine's lungs feels blistering.
An arm extended regally before her, the woman grins wider still, and it’s then
that Josephine realizes with horror that she’s become deaf to everything but
the increasing volume of a voice inside her head like crackling static over a
radio broadcast.
It’s the woman’s true voice. The one that constricts her blood vessels and
manipulates her brainwaves into unnatural patterns. The one that etches itself
into the marrow of her bones and pushes on the underside of her skull hard
enough to crack it to splinters. It’s a voice so old that it perpetually
corrodes the throat of the human body it’s stolen.
It’s in an ancient tongue whose formation predates human civilization. The
words spoken are in a language Josephine will never be able to repeat, but
they’ll ring sharp and clear through her memory for the remainder of her days.
They’re forced through her synapses and directly into her consciousness, where
they sizzle into a deafening crescendo.
                                                                               
                                                 “I tOLd yoU
                                                                               
                                                                    cOuLD oNly
HOlD
                                                                               
                                bACk
                                                                               
                                                                       sO lONg
                                                                               
                                        yOoOoou’re MINE I’m inSIDE yoU foR
nOwFOREVER.”
They’re so heavy in her head that she forgets how to breathe and gives all of
her weight for the seatbelt to support as consciousness mercifully abandons
her.
Chapter End Notes
     *Fun Facts*
     –Just in case anyone missed it, the song in the diner is Grease is
     the Word by Frankie Valli from (a’doy) Grease.
     –The whole disco conspiracy thing is a strong nod toward A_Room_of
     One’s_One by NorthernSparrow. It comes highly recommended.
     –There actually is a conspiracy that the US' decision to occupy Iraq
     was a cover so we could steal Saddam Hussein's Stargate. Did you know
     that? I sure didn't :0

     As I type this, it is January 24th, so Happy Birthday, Dean <3 Nice
     how that timing worked out, eh?
     The Cas POV was beta’d by UnleashTheFic.
     And I’m officially putting a tag up there indicating long WIP. The
     gap between updates is so ridiculous that I’m ashamed, but my
     schedule is packed. In-between school and work, time is a precious
     commodity T^T but I've invested too much of myself in this story to
     ever abandon it; It’s 95% written in my head by this point.
     In closing, Much love to all of you who have the patience to keep up
     with this fic and the dreadful lag between chapters. The good news is
     that I'm cutting some things out of my schedule this year to make
     more time for it. See y'all in the next chapter <3
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam and Dean bring closure to a traumatized Gas-N-Sip employee and
     manage to thoroughly piss Kevin off before Nemo lands on their
     doorstep. Josephine and the Junior Hunter's Club learn that in the
     Spn universe, you never trust your waitress.
Chapter Notes
     If you read Chapter Four before 05/23/15, you do not need to read
     this one as I've gone back and split the original content in half to
     deposit in a new chapter.
     Sorry for the confusion! I promise an actual update is on the
     Horizon-I just need to have the next chapter beta'd :D
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When they get to Lebanon, Dean is still snoring quietly from the passenger
side. This isn’t his post-job sleep or his post-bender coma. It’s his Fuck-It-
All knock-out. Obviously Sam’s concerned, but the waves of nausea keep his
thoughts from lingering on his brother for too long. Back at the hospital, Dean
had told him that the mystery angel would return to keep healing Sam
periodically. The damage is that bad apparently, and on the ride back to Kansas
he’s all too aware of it.
For the umpteenth time, he has to convince himself that the dryness in his
mouth is only natural thirst, and not the precursor towards emptying his
stomach of the few contents he has managed to keep down. Namely, a small bag of
plain Ritz and two-thirds a bottle of water.
About a mile from the Bunker, his vision begins to blur as sweat suddenly
blossoms from every single pore in his skin. All the saliva in Sam’s mouth
evaporates for good and his guts start to feel like a waking nest of vipers.
His brother’s still sleeping thankfully, because the look of sick on his face
isn’t something else Dean needs to worry about right now.
Up the road from “Home”, the now familiar convenience store rolls into view and
Sam utters a noise of relief that fortunately doesn’t stir the other. Instinct
tells him to run for it the second he pulls into the parking lot, but something
even more ingrained makes him park very carefully. Dean doesn’t wake when Sam
closes the door firmly without slamming.
It really shouldn’t be this bright inside before noon and someone’s jacked the
volume on the entrance chime way up. Some Billy Joel song bleats at him in the
background, and even half-blind Sam can tell that he’s the only customer.
The kid who’s usually here weekday mornings looks up from his phone,
recognition turning quickly to concern. “Hey, Sam, are you—“
“Bathroom, Chris,” he murmurs pathetically. “Please.”
“Yeah, man.” Fumbling on the other side of the counter, Chris’ voice drops and
he nods to himself in confirmation when he finds the key. “Go right ahead.” He
passes Sam the splintery length of wood that it dangles from. Sam takes it and
receives a sharp bite in the palm from a tiny sliver.
Within the stretch of eternity he spends trembling pitifully while hugging the
porcelain bowl, Sam gradually notices that somewhere in-between the parking lot
and the bathroom, his jacket’s vanished. He must’ve tossed it in the back as he
got out. Ugh, even the word toss floating across his conscious is enough to
start the dry-heaving again. Nothing comes up, not even bile or water.  His
insides just roil for a lifetime before the upset ebbs slowly to vague
discomfort.
Taking a few moments to wash the truly astonishing amount of cold, slick sweat
from his face, neck and forearms, Sam studies himself in the mirror. His grey
t-shirt is drenched but he’s too spent to care. Undeniably ill yet still firmly
rooted in the Land of the Living. Then again, half the dead things they track
and kill professionally cling onto that world too. But that’s still a good
thing, right; that he’s alive? He lifts a hand from the sink basin to ruffle
his hair dry and has to stop when his vision blinks out entirely and his head
starts to spin.
“shiiiiiiiiiiii…….ttt…” as he slumps forward, Sam lifts a shaking arm to
cushion his clammy forehead before it can crash into the mirror.
Eyes closed, he labors for breath and waits for the ground to stop tilting
beneath his feet. Lamely, he thinks of Alice being hurled through the looking-
glass.  If Sam were to fall through a portal leading to another reality, he’s
pretty sure it wouldn’t be anywhere near as pleasant as Wonderland; acid trip
that it is aside.
Some time passes before he can push himself off the clouded surface-he doesn’t
know how long. The glass bends under his weight as Sam tries to blink his
vision back into focus.  Hallucinations are probably to be expected after
failing the Trials, but what if this is just his own personal brand of crazy?
Some of the feeling returns to his tingling extremities. The mirror’s just a
thin sheet of plexiglass a few steps up from a fun-house mirror.
“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream.” He exahles as a fragment from sophomore
year begins to play back across the decades.
He’d been so flustered as John had held up the battered library copy of Alice
in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass. Before Dad had opened his mouth, Sam
had started muttering something about it belonging to a girl in his English
class. He’d focused on a point to the side of his father’s head, refusing to
look at his shoes like he’d done so much as a kid.
Dad had been staring down at the book, eyes dull and distant. He’d smiled, slow
and faltering like a flickering illusion, and Sam had huffed a silent prayer of
thanks. “It’s a good book.” He’d muttered-then louder “She pretty?” John had
flipped the paperback over, caressing the folds and ridges of the well-worn
cover in a bizarrely tender motion.
“Yeah, but she’s also really smart. She’s in a couple of Honors classes.” They
so rarely shared personal details and suddenly he was gushing to. “She’s
studying classic lit and childhood development at the community college too.
Wants to teach middle school kids. ”
His father had nodded dazedly, as if it took some effort for Sam’s words to get
through to him at all. He’d still been smiling when he’d pressed the book into
Sam’s grasp. “She sounds nice.”
His tone had been that too flat one that’s too thin to conceal the disturbance
stirring beneath the surface. Dean had picked up the defense mechanisms of a
shattered man, and sometimes Sam caught himself doing it too. The loss of Mary
had been the final blow against a heart that had been cracking for many years
before he’d met her.
Every so often, certain things would trigger that weird reaction in Dad. A
songbird landing on the antenna of the Impala. A scouter advertising CHEAP
CHEAP CHEAP tickets to a sporting event. The smells that wafted from carts of
vendors selling homemade Mexican snacks. This was mostly how Sam had learned
who his mother once was; by watching his father’s reactions to these events.
A jewelry display in a store window had driven him to silent, angry tears once;
both boys reaching up to catch his hands and whisper childish reassurances of
their love. He’d knelt down in the middle of the bustling sidewalk to pull his
children in close, whispering
“Please…Oh God, give me the strength I need to keep them safe.”
Or the time a few years later when a cook book specializing in French baking
had been resting inconspicuously in a discount pile at some Nebraskan mall.
 John had left the store without a single word, leaving Sam and Dean to spend
hours asking around for him. Dean had used his fake ID to get into a bar they’d
been directed to. Sam had watched two shivering girls at the club next door
cloud the air with their cigarette smoke and huff jokes he couldn’t hear back
and forth. Their distant laughter had been blocked out as Dean had returned
with their father in tow, who looked guilty and wrecked in the pale glow of
buzzing red neon.
“M’sorry, boys,” his gaze had sought each of them and been unable to hold on.
“Looks like your Old Man’s a failure after all.” The clouds of his bitter
laughter hung heavily over them all. And Dean had softly replied
“No, Dad. You’re just human.” John had looked at his eldest son with terrified
wonder, clasping him briefly on the shoulder before repeating the gesture with
Sam.
“Think you can drive?” The look of amazement on Dean’s face at being bestowed
such an honor when Dad had flashed the keys on that freezingnight so long ago
is one that Sam’s never forgotten.
A wrapping on the bathroom door drags him from recollection as Dean calls
loudly “Hey Sammy, you fall in?”
“Don’t be an ass!” His voice echoes weirdly in the cramped and sealed space.
Sam straightens up, blinking the patches of blurred, fuzzy film in his vison
away.  Layers of tissue over the retinas detaching and dissolving in the fluid
of your tears? Despite every torture he’s endured, that thought still manages
to make him feel downright squeamish. Inhaling deep, Sam almost wishes he
hadn’t. It smells really bad in here.
He finds Dean browsing the beer, the latest issue of Busty Asian
Beauties tucked securely under his arm.            
“How’re you holding up?” The concern in his face is being carefully moderated,
like he doesn’t want Sam to think he actually cares. It’s downright stupid that
they’re in their thirties and Dean still thinks he can hide anything from him.
Sam nods. “Not 100% but I’ll live.” Dean turns back to the fridges and
continues to scan the limited selection.
“Yeah well,” he reaches in to extract a bottle with a red label featuring a
Chieftain in a tall feathered headdress. “You’re not out of the woods yet.” 
Sam doesn’t think they’ve bought the brand before. “Huh.” Dean murmurs to
himself, turning it over to examine the alcoholic content percentage. He tilts
his head sideways in contemplation while tapping the neck with his thumbnail.
Shrugging, Dean takes the pack.
A rasping itch at the back of his throat has Sam struggling not to hack up a
lung. “What about you?” Side-stepping him, Dean follows the aisle down and
stops to grab a liter of Pepsi.
“What about me?”
He tries not to sound winded and has no idea whether it works or not. “Dude,
you have been out-like the entire way back.” Dean glances at him and shrugs
before turning his attention back to the basket.
“...rounded up that’s,” his lips move with no sound issuing before Dean snaps
his fingers. “sixty-eight.” He blinks sleepily up at him, looking for all the
world like a seven-year-old. “I’ll be better after coffee.  Where is coffee,
Sam? ” They stop at the tall silver canisters full of the stuff, which is
scorching hot. The coffee here tastes good, provided you wait for it to cool
and it’s only $1.15. “Highway robbery,” Dean mumbles while pouring a cup.
“Watch, soon it’ll be one-ninety-nine and kids will think that’s dirt cheap.”
Sam smirks as he snaps the lid onto his cup. “Inflation’s a bitch, huh?” Dean
huffs in agreement and signals for him to follow to the front.
“You want anything else?” He shifts the six-pack aside, giving Sam a better
view of the basket’s contents. “Cummon; a Danish, a cereal bar?” Dean gestures
to the rack of revolving hotdogs. “Miscellaneous breakfast meat? Anything at
all?”
Being able to keep anything down sounds like wishful thinking. “Nah, I’m good.”
Dean starts to say something, but cuts himself off before turning and abruptly
striding towards the front. He’s really being a dick about the whole picture of
health thing.
“You sure?” He calls without turning.
“Positive.”
When they get to the front Sam hands the key back with an uttered gratitude as
Dean sets the basket down on the counter, pulling out his wallet to leaf
through for the appropriate change. Glancing up when he withdraws the bills,
Dean frowns at the empty glass display where the pie usually is.
“Hey man, you seriously all out of pie?” Chris surveys the purchase quickly and
appraises his brother anxiously.
“Please,” he holds up both arms, palms facing flat out to Dean. “I-I’m not in
charge of the shipments. There’s some drama between the owner and the usual
supplier or something like that.” Chris swallows and Dean half-turns to shoot
Sam a mystified look. “All local deliveries have been suspended-I-I don’t know
for how long, but right now all the store has is name brand stuff.”
Turning his full attention to the young cashier, Dean waves him on. “It’s ok.
I’m bummed but I’m not gonna start wailin’ on you over it.” He sounds just as
lost as Sam feels. “What made you think I was?”
Deflating a little as he exhales, Chris smoothes a hand through his hair before
he starts to ring them up. “Sorry-can’t be too careful. Some dude did last
week, and he bought the same stuff you did.”
 “You don’t say…”Dean fidgets on the spot and Sam’s got a pretty grim idea that
he knows where this is going.
Chris looks up from the back cover of Busty Asian Beauties after scanning it.
“Like, the exact same stuff.”
Sam speaks up from behind Dean, who stiffens at the question “Chris, did
this dude happen to be in a tan trench coat?” the guy pales. “Squints a lot and
talks like Batman?” He unconsciously warps the magazine. If Dean notices, he
doesn’t react because he’s hanging so strongly onto every thread of the
conversation now.
“Uh, yeah, actually.” Laughing dryly, Chris’ gaze traveling between the
brothers wearily. “He a friend of your’s or something?”
Dean does that thing where he shifts his whole body to the right and starts
emphasizing his words with definitive hand gestures. “He’s been going through
some rough times. Family kicked him out, there’s this big, mess of drama
between them and the pricks are being downright murderous about it.”  
Chris makes an ‘o’ with is mouth and crosses his arms, bobbing his head along
slowly. “That sucks, really, it does.” he shrugs. “but um…if he’s gonna come
back, could ya tell him to leave my throat alone this time?” Bowing his head,
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m just saying-It’s not my fault we’re
out. I like pie just as much as the next guy, but dude nearly strangled me to
death. Just saying.”
Sam swallows with some difficulty, grabbing a bottle of water to add to the
pile. “Yeah, um, sorry bout that, but what happened, exactly?” Chris tells them
and Sam apologizes on Cas’ behalf too. The kid watches them leave wearily.
Outside, Dean immediately launches into a counter-evasive maneuver. “You know
for someone so dead-set on not getting comfortable, you sure do know a lot of
people around here on a first-name basis.” He becomes intensely fascinated with
the rim of his cup’s lid, tracing it and studying in earnest to map out the
contours as if the information is vital to their continued survival.
“It doesn’t hurt to talk to other people, Dean. In fact most people would agree
that spontaneous socialization is a healthy way to live.”
Dean’s already brushing past him on his way to the driver’s side. “Probably,”
he slides in and immediately begins readjusting the seat and mirrors. “but most
people are idiots.”
Sam climbs in and moves the passenger seat back to its’ customary position.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“What subject?” Dean indicates the back seat, arching his brow on emphasis.
“I’m mean that you might want be more thoughtful of C—“Sam stops at the violent
slicing motion that Dean cuts through the air repeatedly. It doesn’t really
matter if Crowley overhears this, but the fear in his brother’s eyes keeps him
from continuing.
“Later you can gloat all you want, but right now we’ve got a lot of excess
baggage to unload.” He’s right-now isn’t the time or place for this
conversation. “So can it wait?” Mercifully, Sam raises his palms in surrender.
Dean mouthes ‘thank you’ without looking him in the eye as he starts up the
ignition.
Sooner or later, this feud Dean has against Cas is going to backfire worse than
it already has.
Peeking over the seats, Sam is relieved to find his jacket lying discarded on
the floor. It’s a good jacket, and he hates leaving behind decent clothing on
accident. It’s happened more times than he’d care to admit over the years.
As they pull into the Bunker, Sam debates sending Kevin a pre-emptive apology,
but waits too long and looses his shot when Dean finally flashes
Motorhead’s Ace of Spades along with a bitter grimace.
“You sure you don’t have any of that girly synth-pop lying around? Any Indigo
Girls, Celine Dion?” Dean frowns down at his beloved cassette that still
crackles out its’ faithful line-up of Dad Rock. “Any Cher? Lemmy’s waaay too
good for the King of Pricks.”
“Sorry, Dean,” he throws over his shoulder as he climbs out of the cab. “Unless
you want to strap my phone to him, looks like your selection is all we’ve got.
But uh…” Sam turns and tries not to smile at the childish disappointment on his
older brother’s face. “Driver picks music, right?”
Slamming the door as he gets out, Dean shoots Sam a scowel that would mean
instant death for anyone else. Fighting the impulse to gloat over his victory
like a teenager, Sam sobers himself on the way to the trunk.  This part isn’t a
victory; it’s correcting a failure. His failure.
Slants of pale grey light flicker through rain-soaked branches while chilled
morning fog envelops the woods in a fragile silence. When they expose Crowley
to the bleached light of day once more, his only reaction is to blink in
disdain and greet them with a small tilt of his chin. Dean takes one good look
at Sam and nods for him to go in front.  They can’t hide Sam’s condition from
demonic senses, so why bother?
“Rise and shine, Young Highlander.” Sam beams and Dean snorts, elbowing Crowley
in the back.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” The demon
groans and rolls his eyes.
Sam extracts the second set of restraints they picked up on the way back. He’d
insisted on them and had spent most of the day inscribing the metal with sigils
for imprisonment and weakening. The dimensions had to be reworked as well, so
that they’d ride above the ones Crowley was already wearing.
Holding them out for Crowley to see, he smiles. “Today is just not your day, is
it?” Sam steps wide of him and passes the cuffs to Dean, who snaps them firmly
into place.
“No it is not.” He answers for the King of Hell and pats him hard on the back
twice. Crowley grunts and shrugs Dean off.
The failure to shut the Gates-that’s on him. But they’ve been lucky enough to
walk away with the mother of all consolation prizes; it’s an opportunity he’s
going to ensure does not go to waste.
Sam gets the music together and Crowley makes a combination motion/noise that
are unmistakable as anything other than “seriously?!” Handing his brother the
player, Sam secures a set of clunky headphones over Crowley’s head with duct-
tape. Dean mutters something about it “ain’t bein’ right” as he rigs the
ancient tape player to his back. Sam gets three black plastic trash bags over
the demon’s head and Dean cinches them tight, tying each off with mechanical
efficiency.
Crowley’s already overheard plenty at the garage, but that doesn’t mean that he
has to know what’s going on at their home base. Like the fact that it is
literally their home base. Should that piece of information leak out, they’re
well-prepped for flight, but even Sam isn’t too keen on that outcome.
The noise blares out when the tape starts up. Crowley groans loudly and grinds
the earphones against his shoulder in a vain attempt to nudge them off.
Unfortunately for him, they’ve been expertly fastened.
Sam can’t help but grin. “Looks like he considers it torture just like the rest
of us.”
If looks could flay someone alive.. “Sam, I swear to…” Dean’s focus drifts
skyward before dropping back to Sam. “Cas, or something, that if you rip on my
music—“
“FUCK NO!” Both of them swivel towards a frantic-looking Kevin, who rushes up
the stairs two at a time, tripping on the last one to bowl into Sam.
“Awesome.” He sighs, securing a firm hold around Kevin to keep him from dashing
at Crowley.
“That had better not be who I think it is!!” he yells hoarsely, attempting to
squirm free. “Not here! What is he doing here?!”
“Just get him inside!” Sam shouts over the grunting protests of the struggling
prophet.
“Don’t—no!” Holding him back takes a surprising amount of effort. “Don’t
you dare!”
Dean pushes Crowley in front of him, spurring him forward while carefully
avoiding the ball of fury Sam’s struggling to hold back. “Sorry, Kev!” He yells
back over Kevin’s very audible distress.
“DEAN!!! YOU SON OF A BITCH, DON’T YOU FUC-king dare!!” His voice breaks and he
slackens a little against Sam’s chest.
For several heartbeats, neither speaks. The only sounds are those of the
prophet’s laboring breath and the squawking of birds resuming the conversations
they were having before the disruption.
Sam tries to keep very still as he mentally crosses out faulty condolences. No
words he can offer will bring Linda back, return Kevin to the life he’d worked
so diligently for, or release Crowley from their charge. Gotta say something.
Cummon man, even a lame apology is better than nothing.
“Kevin—“  he tries, but the sound of his name sends Kevin lurching out of his
arms. He spins to face Sam and it’s the first good look at the kid he’s had in
over a week. Honestly, he’s not sure which of the two standing there appears
worse off.
“Why,” Panting, Kevin glares daggers at him. “in the very literal Hell did you
bring that piece of shit here?”He’s always been a pretty slim kid, but now the
collar of his clearly unwashed long-sleeve hangs loosely off one shoulder. The
shadows under his glazed eyes are darker, the lines more pronounced. He looks
worn well beyond his years.
Opening his arms out to either side, Sam tries to keep his tone soft yet
unyielding. “What else were we supposed to do with him, Kevin?” Just leave him
there?” Kevin shakes his head, nostrils flaring as his chest heaves. “Send him
home?”
The livid prophet flashes a glint of canine in his sardonic bark of laughter.
“Huh, let’s think about that one.” He crosses his arms and scratches roughly at
his chin, leaving flushed trails where his nails scrape over. “You’ve got the
King of Hell at your mercy, now what do you do with him?” Brows furrowed, he
worries his chapped bottom lip until it begins to bleed before shrugging
exaggeratedly. “Oh, I don’t know, Sam.” Kevin surges forward, jabbing a finger
into his ribcage. “HOW ‘BOUT YOU KILL THE EVIL FUCK?! Isn’t that what you guys
do best??”
Ignoring the internal twinge he’s practically intimate with, Sam swallows back
an outburst. The pressure is building in his temples, the last of his saliva is
drying up again, his apparently inexhaustible supply of sweat is breaking, and
he really has to piss. Oh. My. God does he have to piss all of a sudden. So he
breathes deep, tells his body to deal with it, and manages to fish up some of
the non-speech he’d rehearsed on the road.
“Look, I know it’s a crappy situation—“
“A crappy situation? You bring that…” Kevin gestures at the entrance that Dean
didn’t bother to close behind him. At a loss for the appropriate insult, he
swallows and starts over. “No, this isn’t a crappy situation, Sam, it’s not
even a spit in the face-I can’t…” his eyes start to glisten and Kevin snaps his
head down towards the cold cement beneath his bare feet. “I honestly can’t find
the words to express what this is.”
“I know, trust me, I don’t want him here anymore than you do.”
“Then explain why he’s inside.” Folding his arms tightly into his chest, Kevin
scoffs and begins to trace a seemingly random pattern against the landing with
his big toe.
Biting back a retort, Sam takes another deep breath, thankful that Kevin’s
attention is diverted from his crumbling self-discipline. “Dude,” a
particularly vicious throb sends pain forking out through his entire skull.
“you seriously think that me-or Dean-want him shacking up in the basement? We
screwed up, alright? I screwed up,” He takes yet another deep breath, because
his lungs are deflating too fast and all this talking isn’t helping. “and I’m
sorry. I really, really am,” Kevin’s staring at him with an unreadable
expression. “But that’s why we can’t let him go-or kill him.”
“So your plan is to…” another throb that cuts the volume of his voice in half.
“What? Ransom or interrogate him?” Frowning, Kevin cocks his head. “I’m pretty
sure he gets off on torture.”
“Somethi—“ Sam’s words falter in the desert of his mouth as a fit of coughing
ambushes him. He pushes through it impatiently, pounding on his breast in an
effort to speed it along. Kevin uncrosses his arms, frown intensifying.
Eventually, Sam clears his throat enough to rasp
“Something like that.” Hacking up mucus, he hawks it off to the side. “Eugh.
Usual rules don’t apply to Crowley. We’re going to have to think outside the
box on this one.” Kevin shakes his head and dodges eye contact.
“This is fucking stupid. You seriously think you guys can keep Crowley—“
“You weren’t there in that church.” His head is seriously starting to feel like
the inside of Lars Ulrich’s drumkit. “You didn’t see it, man. He was...”
Vulnerable. Cracking. Disintegrating in his grip like ashes. And if he could
have just finished it. “Practically human.”
“Oh,” Kevin’s eyes and mouth go wide. “Oh, I’m sorry-I didn’t realize you were
going to neuter him first! Yeah, cuz when you’re finished snipping and sewing,
you can go get him a leash,” he honest-to-God giggles, hand coming up to cover
his mouth. “Yeah, and a matching set of dog tags. I’m not taking him out
though,” he shakes his head again. “Nah, you’re the one with a thing for pets,
so you can take him when you go jogging.”
He loves the kid like a little brother, but he doesn’t have time for this. “We
can argue this all damn day, that does—“ the hacking returns so violently that
it shakes his entire frame.
It hurts, as if his being is trying to purge itself of something it can’t.
Something it wasn’t allowed to, all because Dean can’t be alone. Even if it
meant that Sam’s soul would finally be free of this…taint. He’d been so close;
so goddamn close to redemption. Now that light is gone and all that’s left is
him-alone, in a body being torn apart by his own failure.
“Hey-you’re not like, gonna die out here on the steps, right?” Buried deep
under his suffering, Sam picks up a note of genuine concern in Kevin’s voice
that catches him off-guard. He waves, coughing up what may be actual pieces of
lung. It wouldn’t be all that shocking.
Kevin bites his lip, the red hot anger fading from his tone and posture.
“Yeeee-ah,” he turns and pushes the Bunker door in. “No, I’m gonna—“ Dust gets
in their eyes when the wind picks up, dying down as quickly as it came.
“No need! Sorry! I’m here!” Sam’s aware of a tiny hand pressing into the small
of his back, and then suddenly, everything’s fine. Simultaneous waves of
warming and cooling comfort fan out from the touch, spreading throughout his
entire body.
The angel from the hospital grunts, leans against Sam while she catches her
breath. Before he can thank her, Kevin yelps and clamps a hand over his heart.
“The hell is that?!” She groans and pushes herself off of Sam.
“Really…” she gasps. “freakin’ thirsty.”
“Kevin, this is…uh…”
She holds up a hand, glancing between the two of them. “I’m only doing the
intro one more time,” she straightens up, breathing more evenly, yet still
obviously phased from the healing. “so get Dean first.” He’d said that she’d
never given a name. The angel catches his eye and waves down the steps. “You
still need to go pee,” does he blush? He might. “so go do that while Kevin
fishes Dean out of the basement.”
That has them both spluttering while Kevin stares dumbfounded at the angel. “I,
uh,” he stops and grins acidly.  “I’m sorry how did you know-oh—“ he smacks the
heel of his palm into his forehead. “Nevermind. Stupid question, I should be
used to this kind of thing by now.“
“It is and you should.” the angel shoots him a disappointed look. “Aren’t you
supposed to be the smart one?” Kevin’s jaw clamps down hard, his brows slanting
into rigid channels of irritation. He opens his mouth but Sam cuts him off.
“She’s right-about the bathroom thing, not…”Kevin gazes at Sam with renewed
ire. “Look, she saved my life, alright?” The “girl” beams proudly, planting her
hands on her hips, with her legs spread wide in a heroic pose. “Just…please, go
get Dean and we’ll all meet in the Library in five, ok?”
Kevin eyes Sam and his savior wearily, muttering something that sounds
like fucking Winchesters before turning and descending back inside.
“He swears a lot more than where I’m at.” The angel frowns at the space Kevin
just vacated.
“Where you’re at?” He gets waved off.
“Go go go,” she claps. “So we can get this thing going already!!” The weirdo
actually tries to push him down the stairs before he gets her to back off and
let him take them one at a time.
                                     >>> 
When she comes to, the first thing Josephine notices is how wet her back is.
Moaning, she curls up into her side and buries her face into the crook of her
elbow. Mom’s ice water showers are the worst thing to wake up to. The alarm
never went off and she needs at least two hours to wake up–it’s not her fault.
According to Grandma, Dad was the same way.
“nnngh…” Mom’s pounding on the wall, calling her name. It’s all muffled, but it
scrapes up the inside of her head all wrong. “Nnnngh!!” No light shining
through her eyelids, so it must still be dark out. Maybe she can stay home
today if she says that she really feels like shit.
“…sephine.” It’s getting louder; harder to block out. She moans again, tries to
fling her pillow but something’s stopping her arms from being able to move
independently of each other.
“juz let me…” Josephine chokes on the rawness in her throat and coughs. Tasting
something horribly familiar seeping up from the back of her throat, she rolls
onto her belly and spits.
She opens her eyes to see blood dribbling from her lips. The room is bright
enough that she can watch as the liquid splashes across the dust-clotted
baseboards.
“Oh dear, that doesn’t look too good, does it?” The voice freezes her in place,
every function knocked offline by the dread filling up her lungs.
Footfalls advance slow and deliberate, stirring dust motes in their owner's
wake. The women’s biker boots step into her field of vision and the only
thought going through her head is
Please don't let this be the last thing I ever see.
That…thing kneels down in front of her and reaches beneath Josephine’s chin to
lift her head gently up.
She's snake-like in this position; arms bound, torso pressed into the hard
floor. Her neck aches from the disagreeable angle as the bitch meets her eyes.
They’re green for now. The creature-Abaddon-frowns.
“You shouldn’t have any internal bleeding…” She presses down on either side of
the girl’s lower jaw. “Open wide, cummon. Like this,” she opens her mouth and
sticks her tongue out. “Ahhhh-just like that; see? Good girl.”
Reluctantly, Josephine does as she’s told and is rewarded by a pain inside her
mouth that catches her off-guard. Abaddon smiles at the noise she makes; her
vision doesn't seem to be hindered by the dim light in the slightest.
Eventually, she pats the girl's jawline in signal to close. “You bit off the
inside of your cheek. Just a small patch, though.” Her tone is bright as she
finally lets go of Josephine’s face.
It takes effort to keep her forehead from dropping to the ground. This is a
thousand times worse than any hangover. Similarly though, the memories from the
night before are starting to trickle back in blurry fragments.
Abby kneels beside her this time, grabbing and lifting her easily into a
sitting position. She whimpers pathetically, cringing from the pain in her back
alone. Her muscles are knotted, tailbone feels bruised. And then there’s the
mouthful of flesh missing from her upper shoulder. The one that Krissy took
when the woman had read it off the back of a Dare card.
“Oh, hush now. It isn't so bad.” she tilts Josephine’s head back again, this
time putting a glass of water to her lips.
What choice does she have? The drying blood in her mouth and throat are
starting to become unbearable. It takes everything she has not to cry out as
the water washes through the hollow of exposed flesh inside her mouth. The
gap feels huge as bloody water flushes through it and gets washed down her
throat.
“The pain your family experienced when that half-breed vampire tore them
apart?” Once swallowed, she spits out saliva tinged with red, raising her gaze
steadily to the demon’s. “Now that must’ve hurt.” Abaddon's grin is wide, eyes
dreamy and unfocused-lost in that moment of blood-curdling discovery that she
stole from Josephine.
“Where are they?” Rasping, she levels a glare of pure malice at the thing in
front of her. Shaking with exertion and rage, she grudgingly accepts another
mouthful of searing water.
“Your friends? Waiting for you to wake up, of course.” She reaches out to
ruffle the girl’s hair, who reels back against the bare wall. Those claws rake
over her scalp, threatening to break the skin. “Cummon.” Taking hold of her
captive, Abaddon hauls the hunter to her feet and keeps her from crumbling when
the girl’s legs wobble. She leads her out of the room and down a narrow hall
way. “So quiet. Most people have a preference, but I'm an equal-opportunity
lover.”
“Of what?” she manages, panting as she’s forced to lean on the demon for
support. Every cell in her body is screaming in repulsion and her empty stomach
churns from the proximity.
“The ones who plead for their lives, their friends and family. The ones who try
to makes deals and the ones who curse at you right up until the light leaves
their eyes.” Reaching the staircase, the demon goes first, drawing Josephine
along. “Then there are the ones like you who barely say a word. You keep
it aaaaaall inside and I just," she actually giggles with glee. "I
just love knowing that I’m the only one who can pry it all out of you.” She
shoots a leer over her shoulder as they descend the creaking steps.
Josephine remains silent, opting on watching her own progress and trying to put
as much distance as she can between them while having to rely on her captor.
They make it to the ground floor of a long-absent suburban home. Immediately,
the hunter catches a passing glimpse of two other demons chatting to each other
in the kitchen, but it's in that weird, Infernal language that she doesn't
understand.
“Before we do this,” they stop halfway through the emptied dining room, Abaddon
turning and lowering her voice to something just barely audible over the
hammering of Josephine’s heart. “I want you to know that I really enjoyed our
time together.”
Steeling her voice, Josephine asks “Before we do what?”
Pouting, the bitch smacks the side of her injured cheek, sending pain throbbing
out from it. “You’re ice cold, you know that?” She pushes Josephine in front of
her, resting a single hand delicately on the girl's hip, which she shakes off
instinctively. “Or maybe you’re just cranky to go home.” Sighing, she nudges
her into to the living room.
“Jos…”Aiden raises his head with some difficulty, squinting at her through the
black eye she gave him last night. She didn't mean to; none of
them wanted this.
Arms wrapped around her knees, Krissy looks up from the corner. She catches
Josephine's eye before hurriedly ducking her chin in and withdrawing further
into herself.
“Let’s all go into the kitchen,” Abaddon steps past Josephine, trailing a
light, chilling touch over her lower back as she gestures for the others to
stand. “so we can call Papa Winchester to come pick you up.”
Chapter End Notes
     I honestly can’t believe there hasn't been a Highlander reference on
     the show in regards to Crowley yet. It’s so perfect; have I missed
     it?
     The Sam POV was beta'd by UnleashTheFic.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     Nemo finally gets her soda and the boys learn that their fanbase will
     go to bat for them when times are tough. Kevin's grumpy about being
     housemates with Crowley, but gets a little distracted when he finds
     out that he's semi-famous. Krissy and the Gang help Abaddon
     rediscover her love for directing.
Chapter Notes
     !!!Fair Warning!!!: This chapter features torture and violence
     involving underage individuals! If you have a problem with that,
     PLEASE disengage your present course and turn around NOW!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Less than five minutes into Dean’s friendly chat with Crowley, Kevin comes
shooting down the stairs and starts calling out for him. There had been a
chance that the demon hadn’t heard his voice outside with the Motӧrheadtape
playing at full volume. See, neither Dean nor Crowley had brought Kevin up. Now
there’s no question as to the prophet’s whereabouts.
Shit, kid. You just had to blow that one for us right off the bat, huh?
Crowley grins scarlet, spitting blood at the hunter’s feet. “Why don’t you come
play with us, Kev?” He drawls, never taking his eyes off Dean. “Not that you’d
know, but believe me when I say that your boy Dean just can’t quite dole it out
like he used to!” Dean socks the prick in the ear.
The brief burn in his knuckles as he cracks them feels so good as he watches
Crowley try to get his bearings. It was a damn good punch.
“Be right there!” Dean shouts before grabbing hold of Crowley’s tie, yanking it
downward as he follows through with the motion.
Overcalculating, his knees slam into the concrete harder than intended–and yeah
that hurts, but the retching sound torn from Crowley is friggin’ priceless.
“You say one more word to him and I’ll take your tongue out.” Cocking his head
to the side, he debates if he’d drain the blood from that treacherous mouth or
just let “the King” drown choking on it.
“Oh dear,” Crowley’s sigh comes out more like a huff. “That is a problem.
However will I spill my guts to you?” The truly phenomenal reek of sulfur
coming off this asshole is making Dean’s eyes water.
“Think you just answered your own question,” he winks and dodges when Crowley
aims a bloody ‘wad at his face. “Myself, I’m not above some good ol’ fashioned
haruspicy.”
“Lookit that,” the demon leers. “Squirrel knows a four-syllable word other
than‘in-ad-e-quate’.”
Dean gives the tie a hard tug and leans in close. “Point is that you can squeal
just fine without using any words.” His tone drops to a low promise of acts
even Hell’s most infamous masochist might cringe at. “We clear?”
Crowley knows full well that it was Alastair who taught Dean Winchester how to
take his sweet time peeling metaphorical fruit.
“Cr–rystal, darling.” Good to know that he has some difficulty gagging out
words from this angle. Dean snaps back to standing and can only hope that the
creak in his joints is too muffled for Crowley to hear in his debilitated
state. “You’re just going to leave me stewing in my own juices then, eh?”
Crowley chuckles as Dean makes his exit.
“That’s the plan.”
Kevin’s leaning against one of the shelves immediately outside the cell,
seething and looking really goddamn ill as Dean secures the not-so-secret
entrance to dungeon. He turns and jerks his chin to indicate the stairs behind
Kevin before the kid can start giving away state secrets. Once at the top, the
prophet swiftly crosses to the opposite wall while Dean latches the door.
“Well now Crowley knows you’re here too.” Speaking to the solid surface, Dean
pushes absently to test its’ yield. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, cuz I’m sure that somewhere along the way, he didn’t pick that up
already.” Before he can consciously think about it, Dean’s praying to Cas for
patience. He cuts himself off (someone’s probably listening), turning to face
Kevin.
“So wha’d you need anyway?” His heart grinds to a sudden halt. “Is it Sam?”
Dean’s universe compresses into the microsecond that Kevin’s dulled gaze
suspends them in.
“Sam’s fine,” he breathes again as Kevin casts his head down to his chapped
cuticles. “Some angel kid landed on the doorstep, healed him up, and told me to
come get you.” He starts picking at the dry skin, stripping it away and
flicking it off to the side.
Dean‘s tempted to physically make him stop. “Indian girl, yea high” he drops
his hand down to a guesstimate. “Red Sox hoodie, bright cherry Converse and
annoying as all hell?”
“Thaaaaat’s the one.” Nodding towards the floor, Kevin continues to peel away
at himself.
Taking in the state of him, Dean realizes that this is only the eye of the
storm. Kevin must’ve used up all of his energy yelling at Sam, but that spring
will refill pretty fast. Seriously, how well would Dean be able to sleep if he
knew that Azazel was in one piece under the same roof? The thought physically
makes him nauseous.
“Kevin, abo–”
“Save it.” He steps around Dean. “They’re in the Library.” Then he’s fast
walking, leaving Dean to stride after him. They make their way through the
Bunker in tense silence. None of the apologies he can think of are good enough,
anyway.
Most of the time, Dean’s disgustingly quick on the draw with deep condolences
whipped up out of nothing. Except that those are usually for strangers he’ll
never see again. And if Dean does meet any of the victims, it’s usually when
the death he brings them is as much a mercy killing as it is a public service.
Linda had just been doing her job as a parent. He prays to That Asshole–to
God–that her soul made it to Heaven. She had been a tough hen to crack, and
sometimes she’d reminded him of his own mom. It’s too easy to keep imaging
himself in Kevin’s place and it’s a place no one should ever have to be. Dean
hates himself for putting the kid there, but what other choice does he have?
“Look who finally decided to show up!” The child-angel shouts at him from her
seat atop one of the tables.
“Well it was either this or an extended dinner date with the douchebag
downstairs.” Sam (looking a helluva lot better than he did outside) peers up as
they join him and What’s-Her-Wings.
“Yeah and he’s not exactly a cheap date, either.” She says with a smirk before
yawning and stretching her arms overhead.
Dean’s used to the clueless look that Cas gets when he tries to explain this
kind of stuff. The comically slow mo realization followed by the glowing pride
when he finally gets half way and still manages to miss the point entirely.
It kinda creeps him out when angels can joke back this effortlessly.
He huffs, pushing his unease down before anyone can see it. Kevin stills with
his hand on the back of the chair opposite Sam, who’s regarding the Miracle
Worker with the same look of astonishment all three of them must be giving her
right now.
“What?” Midstretch, she pauses and Dean thinks he actually catches a hint of
anxiety in her tone. “Crowley’s a diva–end of story.” She frowns, arms dropping
to her sides.
Sam clears his throat and shoots her an apologetic grin. “I just don’t think
any of us are really used to angels with a sense of humor.”  Kevin murmurs in
agreement, sinking into the chair and leaning it back on two legs.
“Yeah,” Dean presses on, crossing his arms while trying to give her a hard
stare. “and how’d you know about Crowley, anyway?” The look she returns says
she’s as intimidated by him as a comet would be of an ant.
Bring it on, Sister. By now he’s well used to being the loudest and angriest
ant in the room.
“I’d be a pretty lousy envoy if I didn’t.” She reaches behind her and pulls the
liter of Pepsi they bought earlier–seemingly out of thin air.
“He still have his phone on him?” It goes straight to voicemail every single
time.
She nods. “Cas is just very paranoid about them tapping it and tracing the call
back to you.”
Sitting cross-legged, the angel gives him one of those real fucking
uncomfortably knowing looks that Sam and Charlie shoot him from time to time.
Dean breaks eye contact and ends up meeting one of Sam’s too-damn-concerned-
for-his-own-good gazes.
“Huh,” He grumbles to the hard wood under his boots. “The NSA forming a branch
up there or somethin’?” Kevin snorts and Dean looks up in time to see him cover
a smirk with the back of his hand.
“Possible, but I doubt it.” The girl who’s not a girl sighs as she slumps
forward, dropping her arms into her lap. “I told him it would be a lot more
convenient for everyone, but he said that since I have to keep healing Sam
anyway, that‘we might as well be smart about it’.” She lowers her voice into a
gravelly, freakishly accurate impersonation of Cas. That’s another one of those
phrases that the geek is so damn proudto have mastered.
“I know, good likeness, huh?”
Dean realizes that he’s smiling to himself and quickly hardens his features
before either Sam or Kevin can notice. Thankfully, neither of them does. In
fact, Sam’s attention is laser-focused on Cas’ messenger.  He always sits like
he’s got a pole up his ass whenever there’s another angel aside from Castiel
around.
“Spot on.” Sam agrees.
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.” Reaching for the cola, she beams at his brother
while cracking the cap open. Now that Dean really looks at it, the bottle is
impossibly frosted considering they’ve been back for less than an hour.
“Healing him doesn’t take that much out of you?” Dean gestures to the bottle
that she raises to her mouth using both hands.
 “Cooling this off doesn’t,” she shakes her head and scoffs. “but his soul was
burnt pretty badly, and icing that is a little bit trickier.”
“What?!” Dean’s exclamation drowns out Sam’s own bizarrelycasual ‘what’. He
shoots his brother a hard look that’s returned evenly.
“Not like it was before–it wasn’t flayed,” she lowers the neck of the bottle,
smoke blowing out from the lip when her breath passes over it. “It was…” she
chews her lip thoughtfully. “More like someone you’d find in a burn ward.”
“Wow.” Kevin pipes up, letting his chair finally clatter back onto four legs.
Girl Wonder takes the opportunity to take a ridiculously large swig of the
soda.
“Wow.” Sam repeats in that worrisomely detached way he’s been doing since he
woke up from the coma.
“Shit, well thanks for that, then…uh–” Dean snaps, feeling irritated with
himself for not finding out sooner. “The hell do we call you anyway? Angela?”
Sam groans, drawing a hand over his face and utters “Jesus, Dean.”
Even Kevin chuckles a little. Good. Maybe later he might actually be
approachable for a real apology.
“Well?”
She finishes her gulp of icy soda with an ‘ah’ of satisfaction. “Nemo.”
Dean hasn’t read much of the Bible, but he’s pretty damn sure that’s not one of
the names in it. “Thanks for getting brand name by the way.” Nemo nods at him.
“Was worried you’d get the kind that just says Kola, with a ‘K’.” She shudders.
“That stuff tastes like crap.” Then she freakin’ giggles like a kid who’s just
said the word crap for the first time.
“Dude, and I thought Cas was weird.” Dean mumbles, shaking his head as he
finally pulls a chair over to the others. He flips it around and plops down,
hugging the back. “Nemo, huh? As in Finding, Captain, or Little?”
“As in no one.” Kevin says quietly, earning him a thoughtful nod from Sam.
“It’s Latin.” Nemo claps and half-bows in his direction.
“Well that’s encouraging.” Dean mutters as their formerly nameless guest offers
her soda to Kevin, who studies it like he would a hovering pot of soup. He
accepts it hesitantly and Dean sees the timid AP student again who reminds him
of Sam back in high school. “Is that like a codename for a spook or something?
Like Angelic Blackwater?”
“Academi.” Sam clears his throat again.
Dean glances over. “Gesundheit.”
“No, it’s–” Sam coughs and swallows. “They changed their name to Academi a few
years ago.” Pushing out from the table, he stands.
“Well now it just sounds like an online college or one of those tutoring
services for kids with learning disabilities.” Dean shrugs at the stares he
receives from all three of them right as Sam starts to cough again.
“Hey,” His brother aims down at Nemo. “Where–” he pounds on his chest. “Where
are the rest of the groceries?” She tilts her head in the direction of the
kitchen. “Thanks.” His words are tight as he makes a hasty retreat back down
the hall.
Dean turns around to find the angel staring at him. Goddamn, the way they just
stare at you like that… “So you said his soul is burnt?”
“More like inflamed now, thanks to…” The weirdo jabs both of her thumbs towards
her chest.
“Don’t think I don’t appreciate that–” Dean’s weak chuckle of relief cracks his
voice but at least the other two don’t say anything about it.
More hacking coughs echo down the corridor and subside just as quickly. Whether
or not Sam stopped or just smothered his mouth, Dean has no way of knowing.
“–but I need to know how badthe damagereally is.”
“Yeah.” Kevin adds in. When Dean looks at him, his attention is rooted firmly
to his own lap.
Nemo pats the bottle, smoothing over the crinkles in the peeling label. “Like I
said, he’s doing a lot better now. Though it would help if he took it easy for
a while.” She squints at him skeptically. “Think you can swing that?”
Dean nods enthusiastically. “Chicken soup, Gatorade, Die Hardmarathon and three
hot showers a day. Plus optional viewings of The Princess Bride–got it.”
“He’ll heal a lot faster if he can avoid the messes you usually wind up in.”
Mulling that over, he watches Nemo guzzle down more cola. Kevin’s fixated on
the fibers of his sweats as if they contain the secrets of the universe. It
gets bizarrely quiet except for the sound of the angel gulping that shit down.
Then Sam’s unmistakable clomping fills the air and his brain switches back into
alpha mode. “Again, from the bottom of my lil’ red, white, ‘n blue heart–thank
you.”
Chin pointed at his knees, Kevin salutes and lets his arm fall heavy to swing
like a pendulum at the side of his chair.
Sam returns with half a bottle of water; Bitch Face #17 forming as he rounds on
Dean. “You really gonna start–”
It’s Nemo who silences him with a frenzied flapping motion of her arms.
“Shuuush!!! I’ve been dying to actually hearone of these in person!”
Dean scowls at her.  “One of what? The hell are you talking about?” If today
doesn’t kill him…
The corner of her mouth twitches up as she shakes her head, peering out from
under sly lashes at him. “Go on, say it! It’s part of my answer.”
Dean feels the irritation tug at his expression, but he shoves it aside. The
chaos they’ve been wading through might actually subside long enough for them
to get some real answers.
“I need to know what your endgame is.” No point pussy-footing around it.
Kevin observes them with carefully detached interest while Sam pinches the
bridge of his nose, eyes shut and head bowed. “Dean…”
“It’s alright.” Nemo hasn’t blinked once. Freakin’ angels, man. “Guess you have
to earn the actual, wrathful speeches.” She grumbles, appearing ridiculously
disappointed.
Dean really doesn’t like the direction this is going in, but he keeps his mouth
shut.
“Hhhmmmmmm…” she bites her lip, dipping her chin. Suddenly, she’s
indistinguishable from any other kid attempting to stave off shyness. “Promise
you won’t laugh?”
He blinks and resists the urge to plant his palm over his face. “Sure.”
Sam murmurs in agreement as genuine curiosity ripples across Kevin’s face. They
all study her and Dean thinks that if her complexion didn’t guard against it so
well, the angel would actually be beet red in the face from embarrassment.
“I want to help cuz…” Nemo inhales. “Cuz I’m a really big fan of the books.”
she rushes, smiling sheepishly.
Both brothers groan immediately as most of her bizarre comments click into
place.
“You can’t be serious.” “You gotta be friggin’ kiddin’ me.” Their exasperations
overlap.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” She pouts.
Dean points at his steely expression. “Does it look like I’m laughing?”
Kevin frowns at all of them in confusion. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?”
God, he hoped this day would never come, but really should have known better.
“Supernatural?” Nemo raises an eyebrow at him while Sam and Dean exchange
forlorn grimaces. Kevin shakes his head, evidently lost. Theirfan’s eyes widen
as an enormous grin breaks out over her face. “You have no idea what I’m
talking about, do you?”
“Can we keep it that way, please?” Moaning, Sam slumps forward to bury his head
in the X of his arms across the table.
Dean tries “Yeah, let’s not–”
“Ohhhhh, no!” Nemo huffs out a downright maniacal chuckle, this diabolical
gleam in her eye that makes his guts squirm. “That wouldn’t be very fair.
Especially considering that he’s in them.”
“Huh?” Kevin’s growing bewilderment only seems to encourage her; that fanatical
atmosphere beginning to practically crackle through the enclosed space.
“Can I tell him? PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE CAN I?!” Nemo’s actually bouncing,
eyes darting back and forth between the brothers with a fervency that’s just
plain unsettling in an ancient celestial being.
“Knock yourself out.” Conceding, Dean uncrosses his arms from around the chair
while Sam nods grimly, straightening up and bracing his hands on his knees.
Nearly exploding with glee, Nemo turns her full attention to Kevin. “Ok, so
like seven years before you met these guys, these books started…”
Catching Sam’s eye, Dean jerks his head in a direction awayfrom this inevitable
disaster and the two stand. Sam is all too relieved to escape the gushing over
those fucking terrible books–which apparently are still being published if
Kevin’s in them now.
“You believe this shit?” Running a hand through his hair, Dean scoffs and tries
his best to block out the fragments of their lives that Nemo’s spilling out
like a busted pipe.
“If Crowley found them, guess it was only a matter of time before one of the
angels did too.” Unconsciously, Sam flicks his tongue out over seriously
painful-looking chapped lips.
“Yeah but who’d actually want to read…” Dean glances back at the sound of
John’s name to witness an extremely animated demonstration.
“…holds him off just long enough for Dean to get a shot off–BAM!” Nemo mimes
firing what can only be an imitation of the Colt. “Right into his heart I’m not
even kidding!” She smacks her chest while Kevin listens with his mouth slightly
open.
“Why do we always get the weird ones?”
“Well if our lives were some kind of series–”
“Don’t.” Dean holds up a hand before his brain melts. “You start up with that
Truman Showcrap and I might just have to commit myself. Again.” He rubs at his
eyes stubbornly and turns towards the war room. “Cummon,” he motions for Sam to
follow. “Unless you want to see our greatest hits reenacted by Little Miss
Sunshine over there.”
They glance back to see Nemo dramatically clutching at her heart while swaying
upright on her knees and staring horrified into her open palm. She chokes,
injecting a short explanation to Kevin that sounds like ‘hearts in the
cupcakes’ and Dean turns away, shaking his head to Sam.
“Think it’s a smart idea to leave them alone?”
It isn’t. It really isn’t, but there’s this weird feeling behind his rib cage
like a cave in. Loathe as he is to admit it, Dean’s starting to warm up to her
and just hopes to hell that it won’t come back to bite him in the ass like it
usually does.
He sighs; a practically drunken weariness tugging the air from his lugs. “Dude,
if I have to hear about those books one more time...” Shrugging, he sets a
casual pace away from a questionable decision; relieved to note that Sam has no
problem keeping up.
“Dean, I don’t think it’s even eleven a.m. yet.”
“And you’re already bitching.” Huffing, Dean increases his stride. “I don’t
think that’s all too wise for your health, Sammy.”
The way to the kitchen is veiled in silence neither of them has the will to
disturb.
Unlike Nemo’s precious soda, the beer he bought earlier in the morning is still
room temperature. Grunting disappointedly, Dean pushes it aside on the upper
rack of the fridge. There’s a can from the last time he went grocery shopping.
Feels like yet another lifetime ago. There have been far too many of those over
the past decade.
“Want one?” Leaning out, he offers the can to Sam, who declines it like Dean
figured he probably would.
“Don’t think my physician would approve.” His brother motions to the direction
they just came from as Dean takes the beer for himself. Popping the tab, Dean
sidles over to the chrome island tabletop and props up against it.
There’d been a time when they’d bought six-packs and languished for hours on
the side of the road; congratulating themselves on glorified exterminations
gone right. Taking a deep draft, he welcomes the familiar chill while examining
Sam’s worn features. Dean honestly doesn’t remember the last time they had the
luxury to drink in celebration.
Somewhere along the line, the job description changed. The Family Business
became The Family Burden.
Things like dragging the Devil back to Hell while he bucked against the inside
of your skull. Things like having your soul flayed, separated, and then glued
back together by friggin’ Death himself. Things like transforming into a
conduit for a massive amount of Holy energy–like having all of it backfire
critically because your pathetic excuse for an older brother just couldn’t stop
failing. Things like that are what booze is good for now and sometimes Dean
feels like he’s drinking Sam’s share for him.
They’re all dead men walking at this point.Someone may as well drink for them.
Sam–alive and mostly kickin’–leans back to settle his weight into the ancient
fridge they keep talking about replacing. Dragging himself out of places he
doesn’t want to be this early in the morning, Dean roots himself in a present,
where he can still make a difference.
“Honestly though, how’re you holding up?”
“Better than anyone should be after something like that.”
Drinking deep, Dean squeezes the can gently for luck before setting it down.
“Sam, back at the church…you don’t still think…?”
“Maybe,” Sam sighs, letting his gaze drop faster than Dean’s spirits. “I don’t
know. It comes and goes.” He’s been foolishly hoping that the angelic healing
would scrape Sam’s guilt away too, like tearing the burnt edges off toast.
“You know that whole ‘demonic taint’ thing is crap, right? That you’re one of
the good guys?” Jaw twitching, Sam’s features darken as he stares at the rack
of kitchenware behind Dean. “You’ve paid your debt over and over and you can
stop.” Opting for silence, Sam casts his focus down to the floor.
Times like this, it’s exactly like when they were kids. So it’s tiring, but
also weirdly comforting in a disturbing way.
“You know that if anyone and I mean anyone deserves to miraculously bounce back
from an aborted suicidal Holy mission that it’s you. Right?”
Sam scuffs the toe of his boot into the tiles. “Dean, can we just leave it
alone for now?” Something inside his chest cracks from the strain in Sam’s
voice. 
That weight was supposed to be his.
He crosses the short distance to stand toe-to-toe with his baby brother. “Look,
all I know is we got lucky this time. Real damn lucky.” Didn’t he used to cut
this kind of crap short when others spewed it? No chick flicks, my ass.
“I mean,” He waves at Sam’s chest. “You were ready to die and I just, I can’t–”
Suddenly claustrophobic, Dean takes a step back.
Something like sentiment begins to blossom across Sam’s face, which Dean
successfully snuffs out with a solid jab to the arm.
“Ow!” Annoyance washes it all away as Dean reclaims his lost ground.
“Don’t you ever throw your life away, Sam.” He punches the other arm for
emphasis. “Maybe that is selfish, but I honestly don’t care.” Avoiding his
eyes, the older hunter turns on his heel and takes his beer with him.
No matter how small, it feels like a victory. So he counts it as one.
When Dean returns to the Library, he wraps sharply on the wall; interrupting
another animated production of the Winchester Gospel(Christ, that’s what Cas
had actually called it).
“So what’s the plan?” He hollers as Sam catches up. Kevin hides a cheeky grin
with the back of his hand. The avid excitement on Nemo’s face splutters out
prematurely as she catches sight of Dean’s grim expression.
She blinks as if coming back to herself and declares “The plan is Kevin.”
“What?!” All three men echo in unison.
“Relax.” She sighs impatiently. “You wanted the rundown, right?”
Down to business. Dean nods, clenching his free fist while squeezing his icy
beer can. Everytime he asks for the truth he ends up regretting it.
“Metatron was gonna take Cas’ grace for a spell that would have locked everyone
out of Heaven and thrown away the key.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dean breathes. Sam makes a noise of disgust behind him as
Kevin listens intently.
“It looks like he and Naomi might have killed each other, but no one knows for
sure. Everyone suspects Cas and there’s sort of a manhunt out for him now.”
“Kinda figured from the Holy Inquisition.” Hearing it aloud turns the flame up
on the anger bubbling in his gut.
“I was watching you.” The angel admits. “You’re lucky Zadkiel got called away
when he did.”
“Do you know what for?” Sam passes by and that unrelenting calm in his tone
scrapes Dean’s nerves on the way.
“Who cares?” He mutters under his breath, following like a kicked puppy.
“Something about Abaddon, I didn’t really catch much since I’m uh…” she
scratches her head, gaze drifting up briefly in contemplation. “ ‘Jacked in’to
one of the Host’s sub-frequencies.”
“Is that why they didn’t want Crowley? Priorities?”
Nemo nods at Sam.
“And they didn’t notice you?” Dean frowns as he saddles his chair.
“My consciousness was spread too thin for them to sense me. I was listening in
through an ant colony in the foundation.”
“Ugh.” Kevin speaks for all humans present.
“I didn’t know you guys could do that.” Sam sits up a little straighter in his
seat. “So you can inhabit multiple vessels if they’re linked by a hive mind?”
“You can fill Sam in on the Dracula trick later. What specificallyare these
guys after Cas for?” As if he really has to ask.
“Sedition.”  Nemo answers.
A lead weight displaces all of Dean’s anger, sloshing it over the sides to
leave only fear and despair. The fuck are they supposed to do about that; sneak
Cas off-world? Outta the solar system? Scatter his consciousnessaround a couple
of beehives?
Get it together, man. Strategize.
“So are you guys holed up in some kind of safe house?” He sighs, running an
unsteady hand through his hair as she nods again. “Where?”
“I’m pretty positive that no one’s listening–thanks to the wards–but I’d rather
not say it aloud.” Waving her on, Dean kneads his brow with a now pathetically
shaking hand. “We have research materials but no leads, and,” She quickly
averts his souring gaze. “The place is warded very heavily. So just by being in
there, Cas’ grace is kind of being leached away.”
“Kind of?” Did he growl just now or was it just–nope, apparently not. The
others are all staring at him as if he’s some kind of crotchety, old droopy-
eyed basset hound. “You said leaching, isn’t grace like–”
“The blessing of God converted into physical essence. In very simpleterms, it’s
our life force.”
“Awesome.” He exhales. “That’s just...” Dean avoids looking at any of them.
“Great, so how does Kevin play into all of this?”
At the sound of his name, Kevin fidgets a little in his chair and Dean glances
up to see the kid miss the sympathetic expression Sam shoots his way.
“I’m pretty sure the Angel Tablet is there somewhere, but for whatever reason,
neither of us can find it. I need Kevin to get it and see if it has a way to
mask Castiel from other angels. In Heaven and on Earth. Despite what he seems
to think–” well that’s very reassuring. “–the best solution is to do this until
we can prove his innocence. Plus, he’s getting really crabby and hogging all my
tea.”
Despite himself, Dean smiles. Tea. Of course Cas would go for tea.
He looks at Kevin again, who’s not really looking at anything. He’s just
sitting there, with an eerie kind of blankness shrouding his features. Dean
snaps his fingers in succession and says Kevin’s name aloud. The one and only
current Prophet of the Lord raises his head, meeting Dean’s eyes wearily.
“What do you think?”
Kevin shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Does it matter?”
“It does.” Resisting the urge to yell is hard; he’s so fucking tired. He wants
to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.
“I think,” the kid huffs “that you point, and I ask ‘where’s the ledge?’ ”
“Kevin…” Sam pipes up, clearing his throat.
“What?” His chuckle’s a hollow one as he scrubs a hand over his young, worn
face. “The fuck am I supposed to do? It’s my destiny and anyways,” he makes air
quotes and turns to Dean. “he’s your–”
“Family.” It comes out automatically. “He’s family.” Dean emphasizes in a voice
that somehow manages to be excessively gruff and embarrassingly tender at the
same time.
A weird, itchy silence bounces between the four of them until Sam pipes up. “It
would get you out of the same zip code as Crowley.”
Kevin levels him with a somber stare before moving onto Dean as he shrugs again
and replies “Guess I may as well help the family I’ve got left then.”
Dean has to restrain himself from leaping across the table to tackle Kevin in a
hug of gratitude. It’s a real goddamn mess of a situation and God knows he
feels like utter crap about Linda, but he also feels a little lighter knowing
at least one thing might go right.
A tinny, muffled rendition of Maiden’s Fear of the Dark blares out of his
vibrating pocket. That’s the generic tone set for all numbers not saved under
his contacts. The room stills, but by the time he wrestles it out of the snug
fold of denim at his hip, the ringing has stopped. A flashing graphic spawns
across the screen indicating new voicemail.
“One sec.” He tells the rest of them, before dialing in the pin.
“You have (one) voice message.You have (three) saved voice messages. First
voice message…”
“Morning, Sunshine.”
Dean’s heart comes to a shuddering halt. Abaddon lets the sound of her voice
sink in as Sam and Kevin converse quietly across the table. Frowning, Nemo
glances up. Just as Dean fears the silence on the line might drive him mad, the
knight laughs softly and breathes
“I really hope your plan includes video messaging.”
“Dean, wha–” he cuts Sam off, listening intently over the roar of his own blood
pounding in his ears.
“Hope to see you soon. The kids are getting restless.” With that cryptic
remark, the message ends.
“Fuck.” He squeezes the phone, feeling the cheap plastic creak under his grasp.
“The Hell Bitch herself is gonna send me a video.”
“Fuck.” Sam repeats simply.
Kevin glances between them, while Nemo watches everything happening. She’s
utterly silent for once.
“You mean…?”
Dean grimaces. “The One and Only.”
“Abaddon.” Sam finishes.
“Oh.” Kevin pulls himself up, staring at Dean’s phone with wide, uncertain
eyes.
“Yeah, oh.” Dean checks to find no notifications and his inbox void of any new
messages. “She said ‘hope to see you soon, the kids are getting restless’.”
Sam tilts his head, scowling slightly. “Kids? The hell is she...” something
sobering ripples across his face. “Oh.”
“Wanna share with the class?”
This one’s gonna be rough. If he makes it through today, they’re taking the
rest of the year off. Most of which, he’s perfectly content to sleep through.
His phone vibrates again, sealing Sam’s lips before he can answer. Dean’s thumb
hovers over the screen.
“Scooch in, guys.” He does his best to keep the unforgiving exhaustion out of
his voice, but knows damn well how pitiful the effort truly is. His brother,
the prophet, and the littlest angel crowd in around his chair, peering down at
his phone’s scuffed up screen.
“Let’s get this train wreck a-rollin’.” Dean pushes play.
The scene opens on three seated outlines in backless stools. Slits of dark
sapphire dawn can be made out through the gaps in the slatted boards nailed
over the windows. A flashlight clicks on, swinging in an arc to reveal glimpses
of a rundown kitchen before landing on those seated.
The contents of his stomach freeze solid when Dean realizes who they are.
“So as you can see, they’re pretty worn out.” Abaddon is evidently the one
recording.
She steps up to the boy–Aaron? Aiden? Adam?–and entangles her ruby talons in
his darkly matted curls. Tilting the boy’s head back, she illuminates a pretty
nasty shiner while he squints unflinchingly up at her with his good eye. The
light slants a certain way and Dean catches the spark of unspeakable rage
smoldering softly within his gaze.
“But you can’t just let them sleep the whole day away,” letting his chin drop,
she moves on to the girl–Josephine–he remembers because she reminds him of Jo
Harvelle in more ways than a similar name.
Her split bottom lip is caked with flaking blood while her face and throat are
marked by scratches and bites. Not the fun kind either; these are savage.
“Their internal clocks will fall out of sync.” Abaddon takes hold of the girl’s
jaw, who refuses to look at the camera, and–gross–tenderly strokes her cheek.
Josephine jerks back, swollen lip curling in revulsion as the camera passes
her. “After all, adolescents require instruction.”
“They crave discipline, even if they don’t recognize the desire for what it
actually is.” Something inside Dean shatters like liquid nitrogen when Krissy
comes into view, blinking dazedly up at the demon. “Trust me, boys–they’ll
thank you for it later.”
Krissy’s a little less beat up than the other two, though rake-like bruising
consistent with compulsive scratching disappears into her hairline and under
her shirt collar. Fury rises up the back of Dean’s throat like acidic bile as
the kid lets her gaze drop to the floor. Abaddon chuckles quietly, stepping
back to bring the whole group into frame.
“So I figured we’d pass the time with a game.” The kids barely react to this.
They simply look resigned. “I know they’re a bit old for it but…” she stalks
along the edge of the circle, slowly advancing on Krissy. “You never really
outgrow the classics.”
The girl looks up at her, mechanically shaking her head. Abaddon extends the
camera, revolving it around to show herself perched over Krissy like some
overgrown vulture. The demon spotlights her as the girl mumbles something
unintelligible.
“You’d be so proud of her, Dean.” Abaddon sighs almost reverently as she levels
the light. “She tries so hard to live up to your example.”
“ ‘m sorry.” Krissy mumbles, twin tears cutting glistening trails through the
smudges over her cheeks.
Abaddon digs her scarlet nails into Krissy’s shoulder. “That much is implied,
dear. Don’t be trite.” All the faux sweetness is gone from her voice.
Instantly, the hunter goes rigid and her lips part with a slight gasp as tears
continue to stream down her face. At first Dean thinks he might be imagining
the crimson flare in her irises.
“You guys seeing that?” Sam whispers, and Dean glances up to see him and Kevin
frowning down at the phone. Nemo catches his eye, dipping her head to the
recording.
It’s no longer possible to mistake the gleaming red filling her irises for a
trick of the light. As he watches, the tears really start to flow and the light
intensifies to the point that it fans out from under her eyelashes like
sunbeams. Her mouth gapes and her breath starts to come in heavy panting huffs.
Abaddon grins and waves to the camera before stepping off to the side. She pans
to the other two, who are eying their companion wearily as she slowly rises.
Krissy lurches towards the guy and Dean realizes with a swell of pride and fear
that she’s resisting the demonic influence.
“Babe–” the guy who’s gotta be her boyfriend tries before she cuts him off. 
“Duck.” She says flatly, the white of her eyes completely outshone with red.
She lifts an arm as if it weighs two tons, swaying almost drunkenly to clutch
at his thick curls.
Did she just say…
The other girl off-camera makes absolutely no noise whatsoever.
“Duck.”  Krissy repeats the words and gesture with her other friend, who
stiffens at the touch, as if bracing herself.
“Is that…” Kevin pales when Dean looks up at him. “Are they playing…?” he
points at the phone. Dean nods grimly. “Shit.”
His jaw clenches as he forces himself to keep watching.
Krissy repeats the cycle of ducks once more, tagging her friends in succession.
Her boyfriend tells her “It’s ok. Whatever you do, it’ll be ok–I promise.”
Josephine never makes so much as a peep.
By the time Krissy tags the boy a third time, she’s drenched in sweat and
sucking in air as if she’s starved for it.  She goes rigid–eyes widening as her
clenched knuckles shine white in his hair. Hauling him to his feet with
surprising force, she grabs the scruff of his shirt and pokes him hard in the
sternum.
“Goose.”
“Don’t try to fight it.” He gulps, keeping eye contact even as his voice
cracks. “I’ll be fine.”
Abaddon quickly moves to get both teenagers’ profiles in frame. Krissy jerks,
letting out a pained whimper.
“It’s fine, Kris.” The boy murmurs even as the breath in his chest visibly
hitches. “Just do it.”
“Precious.” Abaddon sniffs loudly off-camera and simpers. “Absolutely
precious.” Aiden (it suddenly hits Dean–that ishis name) ignores her. The demon
pulls a sleek dicing knife into the shot. “You heard him.” Lifting Krissy’s
clenched fist, Abaddon uncurls the teenager’s rigid fingers one by one and
places the knife in her grip.
Krissy makes a noise that starts as a mewl and ends in a snarl. She growls as
her hand snaps shut around the handle; clutching it so tightly that Dean can
actually hear her knuckles creak.
“Listen to your sweetheart.” Purring, Abaddon zooms in on Aiden’s stony
features. “He’ll forgive you.”
Choking on a furious sob, Krissy trembles violently.
“Babe, jus–”
She shrieks–a burst of primal pain that blares over the phone speakers and
curdles Dean’s blood. Leaping at him, Krissy knocks Aiden onto his back and
straddles him as he gasps from being winded so suddenly. Ripping his t-shirt
apart, Krissy exposes his nearly hairless chest.
Aiden tries and fails to bite back his screams as she starts to slice into the
sensitive skin of his abdomen. Dean realizes with dawning horror that the
lacerations aren’t random. That Krissy’s cutting numbers into his flesh. Her
smile is one of pure, transcendent bliss as she slashes; hysterical laugher
punching out of her lungs.
As Krissy finishes, she instantly keels over sideways, falling off of Aiden and
nearly smashing her head into the floor beside him. He cries out as he catches
her awkwardly and rolls her off of him. Heaving, he grits his teeth and glares
up at the camera with seething hatred before glancing down at his bleeding
gashes.
They’re coordinates.
Abaddon whips the camera back up to her own face and clears her throat, forcing
the smile from her lips with clear difficulty. “Bring Crowley. No angels. Just
the two of you boys. I’ll babysit your brats forexactly eight more hours,” she
enunciates each word like a stab to the gut. “And not a single second more. Do
I make myself clear?”
The video ends.
In the deafening silence, Dean can only stare slack-jawed at the replay button
dead-center of the screen as the true horror of the situation threatens to
engulf him.
Chapter End Notes
     *Fun Facts*
     -When Dean asks 'as in Finding, Captain, or Little' he's referring to
     Finding Nemo, Captain Nemo from 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea and
     Little Nemo.
     -The episodes that Nemo's acting out for Kevin are All Hell Breaks
     Loose Pt. 2 (2x22) and Shut Up, Dr. Phil (7x05).
     This chapter had not one, not two, but THREE glorious betas:
     irrelephanthumour, MarmeLady_Orange and UnleashTheFic!
     Why? Well ya see, Chapter Six was actually completed in June, but (as
     per usual) a whole bunch of things happened that put my life on hold
     and made me ridiculously insecure about this entire chapter. So I
     spent a few months re-writing like hell and pleading with my darling
     betas to help me fix it.
     Now the real fun can finally begin plot-wise! In the meantime, if
     anyone wants to chat about the S11 premier (or just any old thing),
     hit me up on my_tumblr. We can stay up alllllll night braiding Sam's
     hair and apologizing to him for plucking him out of his own universe.
     And lastly, I dedicate this chapter to every single amazing
     individual involved in any way with Destiel Con '15. This year has
     been nothing short of living hell for me, and that single weekend
     with all of you rejuvenated me in ways I wasn't even aware of
     needing.
     To our community in general-you are my favorite kind of people.
     Coming together over our love for love is kind of a surreal
     experience, but one I wouldn't trade for the world :3 *sniff* I just
     love...love! Who wants a naked hug from the sobbing author? For the
     cost of one, lowly Snickerdoodle-I will keep my pants on.
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