Impala's Run, Chapter Eight

Oct 03, 2013 16:16




Ellen pulled Styx slowly up to one of three open dock-ports and took a deep breath. There was a time when she'd known all the Firmament guards working this joint, but they’d been gone a long stretch, and if she got a newbie ... well, then this wasn't gonna work all that smoothly.

Luckily, fate was on their side today.

"Gabriel, you handsome devil, you still stuck doing visitor-clearance?" Ellen said, making sure she got the pitch to her words just right.

The Firm agent cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her. "Clearance is important. We're the final checkpoint between Orion's jockstrap and Stardust City. Can't be too careful these days."

"Got that right," Ellen responded, handing him her ID-card.

He glanced at it and winked at her when he handed it back. "Ladies’ Night at the Blue Suede Lounge. Should be a good crowd."

"Thanks for the tip." Ellen smiled. She pushed the parking lock down and turned off the Charon's ignition. Now for the fun part.

◙◙◙

Jo had been quiet on their walk through Stardust's main strip. She loved this place, Ellen knew she did; she could see it in the way her eyes lit up as bright as the neon signs. But tonight, her enthusiasm was dampened by a layer of wariness, and rightfully so. They had to do this spot on, or the whole thing would blow up in their faces. There was too much at stake to mess up-not just the greatest bounty of their careers, but their whole future.

The Blue Suede looked just like she remembered, a slew of kitschy Elvises painted on different dark velvets in gilt frames lining the stairs leading down to the lounge. Jo followed, close on her heels, and they made their way to a small round booth in the back.
Fergus Crowley was already waiting for them, munching happily on a plate of curly fries he was dousing liberally with malt vinegar. The heathen.

"Ladies!" He stood, and gestured to the seats next to him. "Twin visions of loveliness you are. Are you sure you aren't sisters?"

Ellen scoffed and slid into the seat next to him, giving him a look that dialed his smirk down a notch or three.

"Help yourselves," he said, pointing towards his plate.

Jo reached over and grabbed three fries, keeping her eyes pinned on him as she chewed.

"So!” He rubbed salt and grease off his palms. “You have something for me?"

"Maybe," Ellen said. "Might be we have two somethings. But there's some details you and I need to discuss first."

"Is that a fact?" Crowley feigned surprise. Or maybe he wasn’t feigning but one would be wise to assume he was always primed for dealing. "Are we going to need drinks to discuss these details?"

"Most definitely." Ellen lifted her hand, signaling a passing waiter. "Jo honey, why don't you go get that manicure you were talking about?"

Jo stood without a word, grabbed another handful of fries, and turned to leave.

Crowley watched her with an expression that made Ellen's fingers slowly curl into a fist. But as much as she wanted to reach under the table and yank him by his plums, now was not the time.

"Beer for me," Ellen told the waiter who appeared seconds later. “Whatever’s on draft. A lager if you got it.”

"Whiskey, straight," Crowley crooned. The waiter nodded and left.

He looked at Ellen, staring at her in silence for a long minute. It may have been designed to unnerve her, but Ellen was far too long in the tooth for such tactics.

The waiter came back and placed their drinks down, then hovered over the table with a pen and pad in hand. Ellen shook her head and sent the waiter off with a frown.

Finally, Crowley sighed. "What details did you want to discuss, my cactus blossom?"

"The Singer brothers aren't human," she said flatly.

Crowley cleared his throat. "What makes you say that?"

"They're Nephilim. Pretty damn strong ones too."

"And you and your daughter caught them both. Impressive."

"Yeah it is, but that's not my point."

“Oh?” He worked up a lilt of mild curiosity.

"750 sounds really low for two men of their caliber." Ellen took a long sip of beer, her gaze trained on Crowley.

"What are you saying?"

Ellen thumped her glass on the pressed-wood surface of the table. "I'm saying you're trying to rip us off."

"I never!"

"And I don't appreciate that one bit. So ..." She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. If she'd calculated correctly, she only had about two minutes left. "Either you pay us the fair price, or we go to a different bidder."

"Ms. Harvelle!" Crowley's mouth twisted in a sneer. "The bond between a target-giver and his hunters is sacred. The fact that you'd even consider going elsewhere wounds me to the very core."

"Well, the fact that you're ripping me off wounds me."

"I’m paying you a very fair amount. Those two are far more trouble than they're worth. Nobody wants to touch them, that's why the asking price is ... more muted than you might expect."

"Is that so?" Ellen shook her head. "I don't know why I thought you'd be upfront with me about this. You've always been a snake."

"Pardon?" Crowley's brow furrowed. "I'm the one giving you leads. Working with charity cases like yours rather than larger, better funded hunter troops. The fact that you'd-"

"This charity case is about to go elsewhere unless you pay up," Ellen said, standing.

"Wait, wait!" Crowley grabbed her wrist; his palm was damp. "Just, sit down and finish your drink, alright? We'll talk. Maybe we can arrange a different rate."

Ellen slowly sat back down. "Maybe."

"I promised you 750, so that's all I've got on me now-"

Ellen stood up again.

Crowley tugged her wrist insistently, the fingers of his other hand spread wide. "But..."

With an irritated sigh, Ellen eased back to her seat.

"I can have funds transferred from elsewhere. I'll give you 750 now. You give me the boys, and I'll get you another 750. Fair?"

Considering, Ellen pursed her lips. She heard a murmur from behind her, near the front of the lounge. Perfect. "Not sure that works, Fergus."

"What more do you want from me?" he asked, voice rising.

"Just state your name for these fine gentlemen here," Jo said smugly, appearing over Ellen’s shoulder.

Ellen glanced up at her daughter and they exchanged a nice smirk. Jo was flanked by Firm agents on either side: Gabriel, the one who had let their ship dock earlier, and a black-haired man that peered down at Crowley like a bird eyeing a worm.

"Thank you, ladies," Gabriel said expansively. "We'll take it from here." He gave Ellen a long, appreciative look, capped by a quick nod. Crowley had been on the Firm’s most-wanted list for years now, Ellen had long since known; they simply had a mutually agreeable-and profitable-relationship … up until now. Tides turn, as they do, and with this transaction, Ellen had assured safe passage for her and Jo in just about any quadrant, not to mention a bounty big enough to keep them well-fed and fueled for a year, maybe two, if they were frugal.

"No luck getting a manicure, sweetie?" Ellen asked Jo as she kept her eyes on Crowley. His face was growing redder by the second.

"Nah, couldn't find a joint that wasn't trying to rip me off."

"You two think you're going to get away with this?" Crowley growled, tossing his shoulders as the Angels cuffed his wrists with manacles that glowed faintly in the dark of the lounge. "I have friends, powerful ones, that'll be looking for me. And when they find out what you did to me-"

"Save it for someone who gives two shits," Ellen said, waving a hand. Jo coughed out a laugh.

"You'll regret this, Harvelle," he spat. The black-haired man gave a studiously annoyed glower and pressed two fingers to Crowley’s forehead; the words died in his throat with a gurgle.

The Angels yanked him out of the booth.

"Thank you," Ellen told Gabriel as he threw her a smile.

"Pleasure." He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out two lollipops, tossing them down on the table in front of Jo and Ellen.

They watched the Firm agents lead Crowley out of the lounge, the crowds parting and then reknitting like a living, fluid thing.

"So, we're getting paid in candy now, Mom?" Jo asked.

"Mmhm. And 2.5 million credits, already safe and sound in our account," Ellen said as she glanced down at her wrist computer, confirming the transfer. "Gabriel's a man of his word."

"Good lollipop," Jo said, eyebrows raised.

◙◙◙

It was cold. Bone-aching cold. That was the first thing Dean realized as his brain came slowly back online. The second was that it was dark except for a sliver of pale light wherever he was, and the third was that he owed Sam a serious beat down for convincing him to trust the Harvelles. They'd said they were going to hide them someplace really, really safe while they wrapped up business in Stardust. Hide them, not deep-freeze them. This was distinctly ice-cube territory. His joints were stiff and once he pried his eyelids open, he saw faint, chilled breath ghosting around him. He shoved at the dark and it gave way. Dean staggered forward and fell down a half-step, colliding with a familiar body, who was looking at him sheepishly through loose, dark hair. And shivering.

"They did a g-good job hiding us." Sam pointed a wobbly finger over Dean's shoulder, prompting him to look.

The pod he’d stumbled from sat open and was not, as Dean had initially guessed, an escape capsule but a cryo-pod. A full-on deep freeze unit meant for human transport.

"What the hell kind of ship is this? They've got cryo-pods? I d-d-didn't sign up to be a popsicle!"

"K-keep your voice down, Dean!" Sam hissed. "Looks like we're in the clear, but you never know. I'll feel better once we b-break orbit. Styx is bug-free but you know what people say about the air in Stardust."

Dean nodded; kid was right. He moved over to the small porthole window, wincing at the way his knees creaked as they thawed. The Styx was climbing steadily, readying to break through the atmosphere. They sky outside shifted from pink to purple to a deep indigo as they climbed, and Dean released a breath he hadn't known he’d been holding.

"Firmament ship," Sam said, pointing at something out the window. His voice was still low, almost reverent, and when Dean looked toward where he was pointing, he understood why. The Firmament ship drifted against a backdrop of stars, beautiful and intimidating all at once. It shimmered with radiance, shifting patterns of energy twirling around it that looked almost like wings-thousands of them. "What do you think they are, really?" Sam asked.

"Dad said a lot of people think they really are angels."

"And what does he think?"

"That they're full of themselves."

Sam snorted in agreement.

“Good, you’re up,” Jo said from just outside the doorway and far too cheerfully, in Dean’s estimation. "You two should come up to the bridge.”

Dean frowned at her.

"Hey, sorry about the deep freeze, but ..." She shrugged and took a few steps, "only way to make sure you were 100% off the radar, you know?"

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean's. What Jo said wasn't technically true. The Firmament could've found them easily if they'd wanted to, but for some reason they let them slide. Interesting, that.

Dean nudged Sam on the shoulder and walked towards the door. Jo smiled at him wanly and followed them, down the hall and to the bridge.

"Either of you need a sweater?" Ellen asked, her face focused straight ahead on the main display. The grid had three different potential destinations pulled up, none of them highlighted for travel yet.

"Nah, well be fine," Sam said as he walked closer to the display. He’d already stopped shivering. "Where are we headed?"

"Where'd you last hear from John?" Ellen asked.

Dean blinked, almost surprised by the echo of an ache in his chest. He didn’t acknowledge it often-hell, at all-but he missed their father no less now than he did three years ago. He hated all the vagaries and the not-knowings. He’d rather be in the thick of combat, bleeding from every orifice, as long as he knew where Dad was, but Dean didn’t get the final say in that matter. "No idea. He hasn't given us his coordinates in almost a year."

"But," Sam interjected, "last time he left us a message, there was a pretty distinct ambient distortion in the background."

"Oh yeah?" Ellen asked. "What kind?"

"The kind you get when you pass through a positronically-ionized asteroid belt."

"Like the one surrounding Persephone? That's deep into Leviathan territory."

Dean walked up next to Ellen's command chair and looked down at her. His heart might’ve been beating just a little faster.

She turned towards him with a grim expression that softened just a touch when she met his eyes. "We can head in that direction. Stop by Titania and see if anyone knows anything. Sound good?"

Dean nodded.

"Thank you," Sam said. "Both of you. I’ll bet there was a hefty price on our heads.”

"Yup," Jo said, ghosting a smile at him sidelong. "Could've gotten a whole lot of new parts for Styx."

Ellen gestured towards the left windshield with her chin. "Luckily, we turned in somebody else who paid pretty damn well, too."

As he followed her gaze, Dean's jaw almost dropped. He jogged across the bridge and pressed his face up against the glass. "Sam, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Sam shoved Dean to make room at the window and laughed in disbelief. "Holy … is that our ship?"

The Impala was flying next to them, gleaming like an oil slick. Her nacelles blinked a happy pattern, which translated roughly to Get your butts over here.

Dean grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. "When can we dock?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes off their ship.

“Soon as you get your suits on," Ellen said. Dean could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

"Aw, Mrs. Harvelle-"

“Ellen. Call me Ellen.”

“Ellen. You’re awesome. We owe you one."

"Yeah, you do," Jo agreed. "Suits are in the airlock. The ones in lockers six and nine should fit you two. Maybe."

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and they headed to the airlock, back to their beloved Baby.

And on to find their dad.



◙◙◙

impala's run, spn genbigbang

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