Night 52: M1-M10 Hallway
Goku made a strange noise of confusion when he heard this mysterious voice talking to him. It reminded him of last night when Marc had been talking to him from some unknown corner of the kitchen. He knew, however, that this wasn't Marc. The voices were different, but it was still strange. Standing up on his bed, the monkey boy began pacing the thin
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Reaching Dean's room, Sam rapped his knuckles against the door only once before pushing it open and stepping inside. He was starting to get used to actually having to go somewhere else just to talk to his brother.
Or, you know. Talking to his brother at all. He did miss the freaking phones, though. Goddamn it. The things you took for granted when you weren't stuck inside a mental asylum located on a completely different sector of the conventional world.
"So, uh. Something you wanted to tell me?" Sam made his way to the other end of the room, where the dresser was, and leaned back against it. Might as well cut to the chase.
Though he wasn't sure if he was trying to delay the thing with Ruby or not. A part of him just wanted to tell Dean already so he could move on and not...have it there. Hovering. While they discussed Ewoks or whatever the hell it was Dean had been using that as a euphemism for. Castiel? Maybe. What else would Dean have run into here that would've stood out?
...Oh. Oh. Not...?
Yeah, okay, that was a distinct possibility.
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'Course, there were plenty of sons of bitches he hadn't killed, but it wasn't often he screwed up killing one he was gunning to kill in the first place. That narrowed it down a lot more.
"Remember that Trickster? Mr. Anal Probe? He's still kicking and he's here," Dean found himself starting to pace. "I must've missed."
Which was bullshit, he'd felt it go in, except those couple of inches did make the difference and now he was starting to wonder if he'd even wounded it or if the demigod had been just playing up a cheesy death scene for laughs to jerk their chains. Considering who - what, this thing wasn't a who - they were dealing with, it was totally possible that the Trickster had dicked around with them before wandering off. Dean furiously tried to think of what their options were. Wasn't like there was a whole lot of them in the first place and glancing at the room, they were pretty short on the necessary supplies to go demigod hunting.
Which...didn't exactly work when they didn't even have the element of surprise.
"It knows we're here, Sam." That and decking the thing in the face probably hadn't helped, although Dean supposed his claim to fame was he'd punched it out and had lived to see the light of another day. That had to go in the unofficial record books, right? Deck a shinigami and a Trickster.
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He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Yeah. I know. I talked to him earlier." He shifted his weight, aware that this was so not going to go over well. "I think we should leave it, seriously. If he could cause any of his usual damage, he wouldn't be here in the first place."
Except taking him out would prevent him from saying anything to Dean, wouldn't it? Provided the Trickster had anything to say, something Sam couldn't be certain on. But the truth was, he was more worried about Castiel than the Trickster. Castiel was the wild card. Sam didn't know the Trickster, obviously, but the demigod was still a hell of a lot more predictable than some dude running around claiming to be an angel and from their future.
Plus, given their track record? Not to mention the tight enclosure. Way too many witnesses running around. You couldn't turn a goddamn corner without going shoulder to shoulder with a patient or two. What if it went wrong? What if the Trickster popped up the next day pointing fingers at them? They didn't need that right now. Sam might've been keeping to himself for the past few years now, but he'd never stopped underestimating the importance of making friends.
No. He was willing to leave it alone. They had bigger things on their plate, not least which was getting out of here. And...the deal. Both of which they might need the Trickster for. The devil you know, and all that. Aside from Peter, Sam couldn't say he trusted any of the patients more than the Trickster.
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He found his voice again, face darkening. "Dude, you even listening to yourself?" He gestured sharply at the wall, his voice rising, "What part of it's an evil sonuvabitch out there and we got a job to do don't you get, Sam?"
Seriously, what the hell? He expected Sam to have his back on this, especially since this wasn't just another spirit they might have to ignore. A Trickster wasn't some small-time gig. This thing had the ability to do exactly what they'd been talking about from abducting people to warping reality itself, whether it was the gay aliens or a freakin' huge crocodile to slum it up in the sewers. Shit, man, he was tired of having to let most of the evil things out there go 'cause there was always something bigger and badder and maybe it was him, but it was starting to feel like excuses. This wasn't the way Dad raised the two of 'em.
Dean turned away with his hands on his hips, steaming. He suddenly whipped around again, pissed off all over.
"...You ran into this thing first? Why didn't you tell me?" Dean grit his teeth. "Since when're we keeping secrets from each other about jobs?!"
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Which probably wasn't much better in terms of cryptic.
He huffed and crossed his arms, ignoring the issue of when he'd seen the Trickster because that wasn't really important right now. And yeah, he probably should've put more effort into locating Dean and pulling him aside to tell him, but this was also the exact reason why he'd held off on it. And Ruby. Christ, this was so much easier when he'd been working alone. He probably shouldn't be thinking of it in that way, but it was true, and he was too tired to deny it.
"It's not you he's interested in," he replied finally, a little quieter. "I think he's interested in me, which means he'll be going after you to get to me. So no, I'm not gonna let you poke the sleeping bear with a stick unless he starts something. Which he actually hasn't yet, unlike that damned vampire that chomped you on the neck."
He could see that mark. And he'd let Dean forget that he could because to be honest, it wasn't the first time Dean had been bit, and Dean had seemed okay with just pushing it to the side. But now seemed like a good time to bring it up again.
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"It's not like I got any of that vampire's blood in me, okay? I'm clean." Dean refused to let Sam change the subject. The bite wasn't even close to being on the same level as Jesus Christ, there's a friggen demigod loose. "I'm being straight-up with you and I'm telling you I don't like this mind-game bullcrap! We need to stake this thing before he gets bored."
He couldn't believe this. Sam was upset. Pissed, even, about what really went down at Cold Oak. Dean probably had it coming and sure, he could get that, Sam had a right to be ticked he hadn't even got the ten years deal (hell, he was pissed too, 'cause it was BS that red-eyed bitch had shafted him). But this was beyond Sam just being pissed - Dean couldn't exactly say when he'd noticed something was off, but this right here that Sam was suggesting? That wasn't something Sam would've brought up before Cold Oak, when things hadn't been so weird between them. Dean found himself frowning all over again at Sam, on the verge of glaring at his brother.
Something was different about Sam. The Sam he knew might've been bleeding heart, but he knew when they had to gank a monster and this was one of those times. The Trickster was just too dangerous to let go - not only was he amped up on demigod juice, but he was smart on top of that. Putting smart and bored in the same room was asking for trouble.
Sam knew better then this.
So when did he start thinking it was an awesome idea to get this buddy-buddy with a Trickster?
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Sam stopped, briefly wondering if he should just screw it and let it go. But Dean had run into the Trickster just once, and that had been barely a taste of what the demigod could do. Dean didn't know-
And he was caught between two polar opposites because he was pretty sure that the Trickster couldn't get up to his old tricks, not here. Which meant taking him down might not be that much of a risk at all, but then in which case, it seemed far more practical to put that to their advantage than to wipe him off the map. Dampened powers or not, he had to still be capable of a lot more than most. Or at least knew a lot more than most. Chances of it going wrong be damned; it would all go wrong, anyway, if he didn't do something about Dean's soul. Everything else was expendable.
And if the Trickster was still all-powerful by some chance, there was no way Sam was risking Dean like that. Either way, same conclusion.
"I'm not saying we should start exchanging numbers, I just-" Dean was pissed, and he got that; there was no way his brother could understand. That was the problem. Never mind. This wasn't gonna work out and he might've needed the Trickster, but he wasn't willing waste the next hour fighting Dean about it. He had better ways to spend his time. He'd deal with this some other way, later. After tonight.
"You know what, forget it, I already had a hell of a time last night. Just come up with something better than going straight at it with a stake this time."
He shouldered past his brother, feeling the need to escape the narrow space before he hit something. "So are we getting something done tonight or what? 'Cause apparently, there's something 'in store' for us."
Any desire to talk to Dean about Ruby had long fled. He was irritated and guilty and tired, and he knew himself well enough to recognize that this was never a good combination to be having any kind of talk with anyone, never mind Dean. As the last ten minutes had proven. With great success.
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He made a break for Stanford all those years ago and now he was backing off now just 'cause he "didn't feel like" talking this over. Man. He wasn't saying they needed a heart to heart or nothin', but c'mon. This was about a hunt, goddamit.
Dean reached down, shouldering his duffle bag and glaring at the back of Sam's head.
"Like you got any better ideas. There's not exactly a lot of ways to kill one of these things," Dean grunted, finally looking away to check the release for his knife sheath. "We need hunting supplies, bad. Either way, we need stakes and some real wood."
None of that fake office wood. They needed the real deal and he really, really hoped that didn't mean wandering outside the walls and hacking themselves off some branches. It was probably the best source of wood. They didn't know what exactly was lurking in the forest, what kind of territory was claimed. He got there was some bigass horse thing but what else? Heading outside was his second choice but he wanted some stakes and he wanted them as soon as possible. Sam could go screw himself, the hippie. Screw him and his Trickster hard-on.
Dean started to shove his way past Sam and suddenly whipped around again, almost slamming into his brother.
"You don't pull that secret crap with hunts on me, especially about something this big!" Dean hissed. Dad wasn't here and this wasn't just Sam copying Dad's style, either. It was something else and all Dean knew was his gut feeling was he didn't like it. "You got that? So cut it out starting now."
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But he was annoyed enough resist the instinct to take a step back. He couldn't help the slightly incredulous raise of his eyebrows, either. Of all the things Dean chose to accuse him of keeping secret, he picked this? It wasn't even near the mark.
"Dude, when I got to you this afternoon, Yuffie was there. I figured we should find out what she knew about your missing weeks while we could, so I put off telling you until tonight."
He backed off finally. It was mostly true. They weren't on the same page; the Trickster was some big thing to Dean, but it simply wasn't for Sam. Not when he had Dean going to hell in a handbasket at any time. At the very least, in less than a year. Everything else just didn't matter. And he wasn't even sure how to explain that to Dean, but he didn't think he could get away with avoiding it completely anymore. Otherwise, this? This was gonna be an argument they'd be having every damn day.
He grabbed his brother by the elbow. Dean hadn't let him walk away; he wasn't letting Dean walk away, either.
"Look, I can't bury myself in one hunt after another and pretend like you're not on the fast track downstairs. If I'm not allowed to break the deal, then I want out of here before your year is up and I'd like to get everyone else out of here, too. Every time I put something else ahead of that, I just-" He shrugged, a cross between apologetic and resigned. "I feel like I'm gonna look back ten months later and regret it."
Which was probably a selfish reason for playing with fire by gambling on the Trickster like that, but he'd tried it Dean's way before. Dean might not realize it, but he had. And it hadn't exactly worked out. So no, he wasn't about to apologize for doing something else this time.
A part of him didn't even want to stick around to hear Dean's response. This was the most honest Sam had been with his brother in a long time, and he had the unshakable feeling it would backfire. It always backfired. They were never great at seeing eye to eye, but it'd been worse ever since...now. This disconnect between them because of whoever had decided to rip Dean from his grave a year and a half behind Sam's life.
Or maybe it'd work out. There was time yet for a miracle or two. He'd be grateful if it at least got Dean to let it go.
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He expected Sam to fight back about this; going for the balls wasn't what he'd had in mind, except he knew perfectly well he shouldn't be that surprised. Just 'cause Sam was all fancy college educated didn't mean he hadn't grown up the same. Dean's gaze flickered for a moment. He didn't want Sam to regret these months left. He just wanted the kid to live and it'd seemed like a pretty simple thing to shoot for until he actually had to deal with Cold Oak's fallout. It wasn't exactly one of those things he'd thought about when he'd made that drive to the crossroads to deal. He hadn't been thinking a whole lot back then. But this was different. They had some time and he wasn't a stiff yet, so they'd just have to work with what they got.
"Sam," Dean had to wait a second until he was sure he got his voice level. Right now he didn't know if he wanted to give his brother a good shake or a good ass-kicking over this. "We'll get these folks out. I'm with you on that, all the way."
But he couldn't just let Sam run around turning every rock and shaking up every Trickster or what-the-hell-ever trying to weasel his ass out of the deal, either.
"I'm up for finding out how much time we got left but this whole trying to save my ass? It's gotta stop." Or I'll be there to make you stop went unspoken, except he suspected if he said that right now, he was getting decked in the face, no matter how right he was. Dean pulled his arm away from Sam's hand. "If you want to do the job, cool. But man, you got to stay focused."
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Oh, thank God. Saved by a deadly threat.
Though, yeah, this couldn't be good. He flicked his gaze up, as if he could somehow see what was going on through the ceiling. All he got was an eyeful of the pink devil's trap.
"What the hell was that?"
Spirit was his first thought, but that didn't make sense, not with what the doctor was saying. Or whatever he was. Sam normally filed the messages away for until they actually became relevant since there was nothing to do with them usually; it was all too cryptic, too weird. A waste of time. But this was different.
He shot a look at his brother. The light in their room was staying steady for the time being. Hesitant, he switched off his flashlight, then made for the door. He stopped to listen, trying to hear anything that might be shuffling outside the door before deciding it was safe enough. He took a cautious peek out into the hall. Those lights were sporadic, some off, some on, others flickering.
Okay, yeah. So far, what he saw wasn't easing his concerns. No cold spots which was a bonus, but this was deliberate and he didn't like what that meant. Random supernatural encounters were average, just one of those things he'd accepted as a part of his life. Sure, there were more of them here and they didn't always obey the hard and fast rules he'd had drilled into him, but still.
Something orchestrated, on the other hand...What was going on?
He retreated back into the room and shut the door. "Guess that answers what we're doing tonight."
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Still, they had a job to do and it wouldn’t get itself done by sitting here. Dean had looked up when the intercom sounded, head tilted slightly as he listened. It sounded like the Head Doctor had a hostage: judging by the sound of that breathing, he figured it was less of a hostage and more of the Doctor being a sick bastard. The lights went next, like movie clockwork, flickering in and out on them, buzzing and for a second he thought they were gonna explode. Judging by the shattering pops outside, he guessed they’d lucked out, even if his hand had strayed for the sawed-off that plain wasn’t there. Felt friggen naked with only a knife and no salt or iron. This whole thing with the Head Doctor acting like he had the monsters and spirits here whipped bothered Dean. Most of it was ‘cause not all of it was bluffing, not unless he had awesome timing.
Dean’s ears were still ringing as the lights came back on. Kinda came back on. “Think there’s another ugly sonuvabitch loose?” He swung past Sam to get a look himself, duffle bag over his shoulder and his hand resting on the hilt of his bowie knife.
Nothing immediately out in the halls. In a way, that was kind of the worst part, when you had that feeling in your gut something was out there, lurking in the shadows, only you couldn’t place your finger on exactly where it was and what it was doing.
He made a round of the hallway before coming back, ducking a swinging light, boots crunching on glass shards. “It’s clear,” he said. “Whatever’s out there, it’s probably out past the patient blocks.”
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