[Fic] Pestilence (PG-13) for mercuriewords
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Pestilence
Author: Countesscole
Recipient: mercuriewords
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A little language, a little violence.
Spoilers: Through 5x06. Takes place sometime after that.
Summary: Dean’s first reaction, when Sam tells him there’s some weird-ass stuff going on in New Hampshire, is to say, “Hell no, we aren’t going.”
Author notes: Mercuriewords asked for something on the gen-ish side with some plot and violence, and the prompts got mashed together in my mind to form this. I hope you like it!
Dean’s first reaction, when Sam tells him there’s some weird-ass stuff going on in New Hampshire, is to say, “Hell no, we aren’t going.”
That’s because the report his brother’s gotten comes from some rinky-dink amusement park in the north country, and he does not want to run into evil clowns, or possessed teddy bears, or crap like that. They’ve already taken on wax statues coming to life, and fairytales turning into seriously jacked up realities, and his Angel of the Friggin’ Lord getting morphed into an action figure. So, really, this hunt does not bode well for breaking the pattern.
But, of course, he ends up agreeing to it anyhow. Damn sense of duty won’t let him ignore supernatural activity out there, and Sam keeps giving him the sad eyes and saying, “There are missing kids, Dean,” until his resolve cracks.
Which is how he and his brother end up on Route 16 north, driving through one desolate country town after another, and hitting frost heaves that have Dean cringing and mumbling apologies to his Baby for miles. They pass a sign that announces their entry to the Mount Washington Valley, and his brother starts staring out the windows like he’s never seen anything like it before- and, all right, Dean has to admit it is something to look at, this snow-dusted mountain range above a New England fall.
His appreciation for the scenery ends as soon as Cas shows up in the backseat and announces, “A child has died.”
Dean shoots his brother an annoyed look. “Dude, you texted him our location?” And damn the road for distracting him while that was going on.
Sam just shrugs. “He said he was already in the area.”
“I have been here for some time,” the angel confirms.
“So this is some serious shit we’re heading into,” Dean says. “Thanks for the warning, Cas.”
“There is no need to warn you of what you can deduce on your own.”
Dean thinks he ought to have a reply to that, but he’s got nothing. Instead, he lets the silence stretch a while, then asks, a little reluctantly, “So… how’d the kid die?”
“Pestilence,” Cas answers.
“Like, Pestilence the horseman? That Pestilence?” Dean feels the urge to swear a blue streak coming on, and clamps down on it ‘cause it’s no way to get answers out of a habitually cryptic angel.
He sees Cas nod in the rearview mirror. “Your doctors believe it was… swine flu.”
“Could it have been?” Sam asks, all puppy-dog and hopeful- and Dean scowls at him for being an idiot.
“All right, Cas,” he says heavily, “how do we stop this one?”
“You two don’t. I will… deal with him.”
“You’ve got to let us help, though,” Sam reasons. “I mean, you came here, so you must want-”
“No.”
Dean knows his brother’s going to argue, so he speaks up first, “Cas, you want us to take care of whatever he’s set lose in the town, right? What’re we up against?”
“Pestilence has released his minions from the grave. The word you would use is-“
“Zombies,” Dean finishes for him. “Awesome.”
“In terms of their power, yes,” Cas agrees- and Dean’s sure that, at this point, the angel’s refusal to grasp slang and sarcasm is deliberate. “Pestilence raised them to carry a plague for which there is no cure. Not even the angels can-” He breaks off, shaking his head. “The child that has been found is only the first of many. Unchecked, it will kill them all.”
“We heard on the news that there are four other children missing,” Sam says. “Wandered off on some class field trip or something. Are you saying that they’re all dead?”
Dean already knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop him from flinching a little when Cas says, “Yes.”
“So why’s it going after the kids?” he asks, scanning the road for a motel. If shit’s already this bad, then they need to find a place, work out a plan, and mobilize. Fast.
“Because it’s cruel,” Sam says like it’s obvious, like Dean’s the idiot now.
And, okay, Dean gives his brother a quick nod ‘cause he ought to have thought that one through before he opened his mouth. He knows there’s nothing worse on ordinary folks than losing their kids.
“The police station’s on the other side of town,” Sam announces, glancing between a map and a newspaper they picked up at a gas station a while back. “And that park where it happened- Storyland- is in the next town up.”
“Right.” Dean spots a motel across from a couple fast food places and pulls in. “So, Cas, super-powered zombies… Can we kill them?”
“Yes.” But, of course, rather than being more helpful, the angel decides to vanish.
“Typical,” Dean mutters. “All right, Sammy, let’s get to work.”
*****
Dean knows, however much he might think otherwise, that the local police aren’t entirely incompetent. Yeah, they fall for the suits and the badges he and his brother pull- he’s Homeland Security, Sammy’s Health- and, yeah, their theories as to what’s happened are pretty damn stupid, but Dean expects that. He knows they’re trying to shape what they’re seeing into something that makes sense to them- something that they can believe.
“We’ve got search teams out looking for the other kids,” says the police chief- tall, skinny guy named Foley who’s probably never dealt with anything on this scale. “There were a lot of tracks right around the body, so we figure they saw the Stuart boy go down and ran. They’re eight and nine years old, after all, and it’s likely to have scared them.”
Dean looks around at the garishly painted rides and badly-costumed employees of Storyland, and wonders how none of that was scary. It’s no wonder the super zombies got a hold of these kids in a place like this. Probably blended right in- and damn Pestilence for being smart like that.
“You don’t really think there’s any, you know, threat?” Foley says, his gaze darting around nervously.
“If they were just a little spooked, I’d think they’d be back by now,” Dean answers, even though it’d be easier to lie to the guy, say everything’s going to be fine. “Three days out, they’re probably awfully cold and hungry.”
Foley shakes his head. “If they ran for the woods, there’s no telling how turned around they got.” In a lower voice, he adds, “But I know if we don’t find them soon… Well. Mountain rescue’s on it, along with our guys. They know what they’re doing.”
Dean doesn’t argue with that one. “And you’re sure the vict- the boy, Tommy Stuart?” He glances at the chief to make sure he’s got the name right. “You’re sure it was the flu? Not something else?”
Foley just shrugs. “Doctor’s sure. Damn bug’s been going around for weeks. That’s why the elementary school decided to bring the kids here at the park to begin with, you know- give a crew a chance to clean the building, let the children get some fresh air.”
“And nobody noticed the boy had any symptoms?” Dean asks, folding his arms. He’s trying to figure out how quickly this plague thing becomes fatal.
Foley gestures towards a blonde-haired woman who’s currently talking to Sam. “That’s the third grade teacher, Miss Taylor, over there with your buddy. She could tell you better.”
Dean claps the chief on the arm and goes to join his brother. He straightens his tie and does his best to match Sammy’s sympathetic expression- his brother totally got the eyes for that, the rat bastard- while the teacher explains a lot of what they already know. They do learn, though, that not all the elementary school’s kids went on the field trip to the park; six of them are sick… flu-like symptoms.
Dean exchanges glances with his brother and sends a hovering police officer scurrying to get addresses.
*****
Brady Watkins is nine years old; he’s got huge, fever-bright blue eyes that go oven wider at the sight of the badges Dean and Sam obligingly show him.
“Cool!” He exclaims, then coughs into a wad of tissues. “Mom, didja see? Didja?”
The kid’s mother, who allowed them in so Sammy could “gauge his symptoms” or some crap like that, smiles indulgently. “Yes, sweetie.” She puts a hand against his forehead, purses her lips, then steps back. “Well. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
As soon as they’re alone, Brady’s huge eyes fill with tears. “My Mom doesn’t know you’re here to arrest me, does she?”
“Huh?” Dean stares at the kid.
“Why would you think we’re going to arrest you?” Sam asks.
Brady sniffles. “’Cause it’s my fault Tommy’s dead. I-I got sick first, and-”
“Hey,” Sam cuts in. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dean knows he should say something comforting, too, but Sammy’s the one who knows all about guilt, not him. Besides, he’s still focused on what the kid said- that he got sick first. He shouldn’t still be alive, unless something’s up with him. He clears his throat to get his brother’s attention, and Sam gives him an answering look that says he gets it.
“I left some of my equipment in the car,” Sam tells him. “Would you mind getting it?”
“Yeah, be right back.” Dean hurries out of the room, thinking about salt, holy water, and guns- and how much of each they have in the Impala. And, damn, he does not want this to be another super-powered-maybe-evil kind of kid that they have to deal with, and-
“Oh!”
The startled exclamation draws his attention as he pushes through the front door, and he realizes that school teacher, Miss Taylor, is walking up the driveway with a plate of cookies in her hands.
He slows down and gives her his best smile. “Miss Taylor.” He lets his accent draw out her name, ‘cause he learned while he and Cas were in Maine a while back that folks up here are suckers for a bit of southern charm.
Sure enough she blushes and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s Karen, please. I didn’t realize I’d see you here.”
“Could say the same… Karen,” Dean answers, thinking up reasons to get her out of there. He’d love to keep her around, of course, but not if a bunch of shit’s about to go down.
She tucks a few strands of her behind her ear. “Oh well, Brady’s a student of mine. With everyone going on, I figured I’d come see how he’s doing.”
“Afraid my colleague’s with him now, checking him out,” Dean says, forming his idea as he speaks. “He can’t have anyone else around, contaminating the room- why I’m out here.” He shrugs helplessly.
“Oh, I see.” Karen looks annoyed, then unsure, for a moment. “Well… I’ll just… come back later then.”
“Or,” Dean says, “I can find you later, give you someone to… share your cookies with.”
Karen gives him an indulgent smile, but the look in her eyes tells him she’s not going to fall for a line- and, damn, that’s a shame. “Have a good night, officer.”
As he watches her walk away, an entirely different voice- way too close to his ear- says, “I do not see why spending time with her would be desirable.”
Dean turns and scowls at Cas. “Dude, you wouldn’t.” He takes a deliberate step away from the angel. “Did Sammy text you again? He- Shit.” He swears at himself for getting distracted ‘cause Sam’s alone in with that kid, and-
“I am here because I sensed an evil presence,” says Cas, “but it has gone.”
That turns Dean around. “Gone?” He repeats. “So… nothing in the house? You’re sure? ‘cause the kid here isn’t dying, you know.”
Cas frowns. “Why would it be a bad thing if this child lives?”
“Maybe because you told us this Pestilence thing was gonna kill them all?” Dean answers, barely resisting the urge to smack the angel upside the head. “And don’t look happy to be wrong ‘cause I don’t recall you having much of a soft spot for kids.”
That actually almost makes Cas look guilty. It lasts for a bare second before the angel says, “The plague spread by Pestilence’s minions will kill. But the child here is not afflicted with it.”
Dean feels some of the tension between his shoulders ease. “So, this really is just the flu? Guess it’d be too much to hope some of the others are, too, huh?”
“They are not.”
“Okay.” Dean sighs, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. “I’m going to get Sammy. Wait here, and-”
But Cas is already gone.
*****
By the next night, two more children have died and there are reports that a dozen more have fallen ill. The state’s sending all kinds of health officials in, they’re calling for federal aid, and Dean knows the covers he and Sammy are working won’t hold up, so it’s time to act.
They head into Storyland park at dusk to patrol. It’s not long before they’re hip-deep in zombie gore.
Dean grabs his brother and hauls him into some building as a swarm of them start clambering over the rides. “Jesus Christ! How many of these damn things are there?” They’re running out of ammo, and Dean’s arm muscles are screaming from the hand-to-hand he’s had to do.
He spins immediately at the sound of a guttural moan, and there they are- more minions of Pestilence, looking like they’ve stumbled through the costumes and lighting departments of the amusement park. “This,” Dean says, “is some jacked up shit.”
That’s all he has time to say before the freakishly festive zombies charge. They’re pretty pissed off- and Dean’s guessing it’s because they can’t spread their germs with two grown men. “’Bout time you picked on someone your own size!” He snarls before blowing one’s head off.
“Dean, get down!”
Cas’ voice, unexpected and sharply commanding, is enough to make him drop. He raises his head and sees the angel surge forward, brandishing a burning log and a sword- and where the hell did he get a sword? Dean decides it doesn’t matter, ‘cause he can damn well fight with it.
Deadly, he thinks, watching in an almost-daze. He usually uses a lot of less than favorable words to describe the angel, but there’s the ultimate truth: Castiel is deadly.
Doesn’t mean he’s going to stay down and let the angel save his ass, though. He shakes his head clear, springs back to his feet, and gets back into action. A zombie gets right up in his face and he gags at the stench of the thing before Sammy’s there to haul it off him.
“Get out of here,” Cas demands, throwing the burning log at the rows of costumes against the wall. They catch on fire immediately, intensely.
Dean runs for the doors. Sammy’s not as quick as he is, gets gashed in the arm. He’s pale and shaking from the blood loss when they make it out of the park. They watch- trying to catch their breath, Dean’s shirt wrapped tightly around his brother’s arm to stop the bleeding- as Cas continues his work and the whole place goes up in flames.
“Did you kill Pestilence, too?” Dean asks when the angel- dirtied with ash, but otherwise entirely composed- appears beside them.
“No,” Cas says flatly. “And six more have died.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dean demands. “We can take care of this shit here, go get your mark!”
“I-” Cas, who moments before was unleashing holy vengeance or whatever, now looks impossibly frustrated. “I cannot get close. Something is… masking his identity. He keeps slipping away.”
“You’ll get him,” Sam says with little confidence.
All Dean has to say is, “Shit, Cas.” Because this is very, very bad.
*****
By the time they figure it out, the death toll is up to seventeen. Nights of slash-and-burn zombie-killing hardly made a difference, except to get police chief Foley thinking he had arsonists on the loose.
Dean’s pissed as hell that they couldn’t see it sooner. Pissed that he let a pretty face fool him.
It’s just that Pestilence is supposed to be a man. Horseman.
Instead, it’s Karen Taylor. Karen Taylor, the school teacher- who, of course, had access to all of those kids- has Castiel pinned to the doors of a desecrated church. She’s got one slim hand wrapped around his throat, and- impossibly- he’s choking. Actually choking.
Dean doesn’t think before he jumps out of the Impala; he charges, ignoring his brother’s shouted warnings, going for Pestilence with his knife.
Her other hand shoots out, catches his wrist, and he screams because it feels like acid eating his flesh. It feels like dying. Pestilence throws him backwards, and he crashes to the ground, clutching his throbbing arm.
Cas looks at him pleadingly as he staggers back up- pleading for what?- and he doesn’t think he will ever forget the look of panic on the angel’s face, the way that Pestilence laughs at them both, or the way the doubt creeps in and tells him he cannot stop this.
He’s also not going to forget that it’s Sammy, not him, who finds a way.
*****
Two days later, the townspeople bury their dead.
Dean and Sam, both with bandaged arms and bruises aplenty, watch as black-clad men and women carry tiny casket after tiny casket to the cemetery. They’re still clinging to their swine flu and arsonists explanations because they have to, and Dean catches sight of Brady Watkins- the kid who actually did have the flu. He hopes the kid doesn’t still take the blame for all this on himself.
A priest begins speaking to the crowd: “When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’"
“Life,” Dean mutters bitterly. He looks back because he knows- just knows- Cas is behind him. The angel’s throat is still marred by ugly, purple bruises, but he’s all right. “You still believe that?”
“Yes,” Cas says simply.
Title: Pestilence
Author: Countesscole
Recipient: mercuriewords
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A little language, a little violence.
Spoilers: Through 5x06. Takes place sometime after that.
Summary: Dean’s first reaction, when Sam tells him there’s some weird-ass stuff going on in New Hampshire, is to say, “Hell no, we aren’t going.”
Author notes: Mercuriewords asked for something on the gen-ish side with some plot and violence, and the prompts got mashed together in my mind to form this. I hope you like it!
Dean’s first reaction, when Sam tells him there’s some weird-ass stuff going on in New Hampshire, is to say, “Hell no, we aren’t going.”
That’s because the report his brother’s gotten comes from some rinky-dink amusement park in the north country, and he does not want to run into evil clowns, or possessed teddy bears, or crap like that. They’ve already taken on wax statues coming to life, and fairytales turning into seriously jacked up realities, and his Angel of the Friggin’ Lord getting morphed into an action figure. So, really, this hunt does not bode well for breaking the pattern.
But, of course, he ends up agreeing to it anyhow. Damn sense of duty won’t let him ignore supernatural activity out there, and Sam keeps giving him the sad eyes and saying, “There are missing kids, Dean,” until his resolve cracks.
Which is how he and his brother end up on Route 16 north, driving through one desolate country town after another, and hitting frost heaves that have Dean cringing and mumbling apologies to his Baby for miles. They pass a sign that announces their entry to the Mount Washington Valley, and his brother starts staring out the windows like he’s never seen anything like it before- and, all right, Dean has to admit it is something to look at, this snow-dusted mountain range above a New England fall.
His appreciation for the scenery ends as soon as Cas shows up in the backseat and announces, “A child has died.”
Dean shoots his brother an annoyed look. “Dude, you texted him our location?” And damn the road for distracting him while that was going on.
Sam just shrugs. “He said he was already in the area.”
“I have been here for some time,” the angel confirms.
“So this is some serious shit we’re heading into,” Dean says. “Thanks for the warning, Cas.”
“There is no need to warn you of what you can deduce on your own.”
Dean thinks he ought to have a reply to that, but he’s got nothing. Instead, he lets the silence stretch a while, then asks, a little reluctantly, “So… how’d the kid die?”
“Pestilence,” Cas answers.
“Like, Pestilence the horseman? That Pestilence?” Dean feels the urge to swear a blue streak coming on, and clamps down on it ‘cause it’s no way to get answers out of a habitually cryptic angel.
He sees Cas nod in the rearview mirror. “Your doctors believe it was… swine flu.”
“Could it have been?” Sam asks, all puppy-dog and hopeful- and Dean scowls at him for being an idiot.
“All right, Cas,” he says heavily, “how do we stop this one?”
“You two don’t. I will… deal with him.”
“You’ve got to let us help, though,” Sam reasons. “I mean, you came here, so you must want-”
“No.”
Dean knows his brother’s going to argue, so he speaks up first, “Cas, you want us to take care of whatever he’s set lose in the town, right? What’re we up against?”
“Pestilence has released his minions from the grave. The word you would use is-“
“Zombies,” Dean finishes for him. “Awesome.”
“In terms of their power, yes,” Cas agrees- and Dean’s sure that, at this point, the angel’s refusal to grasp slang and sarcasm is deliberate. “Pestilence raised them to carry a plague for which there is no cure. Not even the angels can-” He breaks off, shaking his head. “The child that has been found is only the first of many. Unchecked, it will kill them all.”
“We heard on the news that there are four other children missing,” Sam says. “Wandered off on some class field trip or something. Are you saying that they’re all dead?”
Dean already knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop him from flinching a little when Cas says, “Yes.”
“So why’s it going after the kids?” he asks, scanning the road for a motel. If shit’s already this bad, then they need to find a place, work out a plan, and mobilize. Fast.
“Because it’s cruel,” Sam says like it’s obvious, like Dean’s the idiot now.
And, okay, Dean gives his brother a quick nod ‘cause he ought to have thought that one through before he opened his mouth. He knows there’s nothing worse on ordinary folks than losing their kids.
“The police station’s on the other side of town,” Sam announces, glancing between a map and a newspaper they picked up at a gas station a while back. “And that park where it happened- Storyland- is in the next town up.”
“Right.” Dean spots a motel across from a couple fast food places and pulls in. “So, Cas, super-powered zombies… Can we kill them?”
“Yes.” But, of course, rather than being more helpful, the angel decides to vanish.
“Typical,” Dean mutters. “All right, Sammy, let’s get to work.”
*****
Dean knows, however much he might think otherwise, that the local police aren’t entirely incompetent. Yeah, they fall for the suits and the badges he and his brother pull- he’s Homeland Security, Sammy’s Health- and, yeah, their theories as to what’s happened are pretty damn stupid, but Dean expects that. He knows they’re trying to shape what they’re seeing into something that makes sense to them- something that they can believe.
“We’ve got search teams out looking for the other kids,” says the police chief- tall, skinny guy named Foley who’s probably never dealt with anything on this scale. “There were a lot of tracks right around the body, so we figure they saw the Stuart boy go down and ran. They’re eight and nine years old, after all, and it’s likely to have scared them.”
Dean looks around at the garishly painted rides and badly-costumed employees of Storyland, and wonders how none of that was scary. It’s no wonder the super zombies got a hold of these kids in a place like this. Probably blended right in- and damn Pestilence for being smart like that.
“You don’t really think there’s any, you know, threat?” Foley says, his gaze darting around nervously.
“If they were just a little spooked, I’d think they’d be back by now,” Dean answers, even though it’d be easier to lie to the guy, say everything’s going to be fine. “Three days out, they’re probably awfully cold and hungry.”
Foley shakes his head. “If they ran for the woods, there’s no telling how turned around they got.” In a lower voice, he adds, “But I know if we don’t find them soon… Well. Mountain rescue’s on it, along with our guys. They know what they’re doing.”
Dean doesn’t argue with that one. “And you’re sure the vict- the boy, Tommy Stuart?” He glances at the chief to make sure he’s got the name right. “You’re sure it was the flu? Not something else?”
Foley just shrugs. “Doctor’s sure. Damn bug’s been going around for weeks. That’s why the elementary school decided to bring the kids here at the park to begin with, you know- give a crew a chance to clean the building, let the children get some fresh air.”
“And nobody noticed the boy had any symptoms?” Dean asks, folding his arms. He’s trying to figure out how quickly this plague thing becomes fatal.
Foley gestures towards a blonde-haired woman who’s currently talking to Sam. “That’s the third grade teacher, Miss Taylor, over there with your buddy. She could tell you better.”
Dean claps the chief on the arm and goes to join his brother. He straightens his tie and does his best to match Sammy’s sympathetic expression- his brother totally got the eyes for that, the rat bastard- while the teacher explains a lot of what they already know. They do learn, though, that not all the elementary school’s kids went on the field trip to the park; six of them are sick… flu-like symptoms.
Dean exchanges glances with his brother and sends a hovering police officer scurrying to get addresses.
*****
Brady Watkins is nine years old; he’s got huge, fever-bright blue eyes that go oven wider at the sight of the badges Dean and Sam obligingly show him.
“Cool!” He exclaims, then coughs into a wad of tissues. “Mom, didja see? Didja?”
The kid’s mother, who allowed them in so Sammy could “gauge his symptoms” or some crap like that, smiles indulgently. “Yes, sweetie.” She puts a hand against his forehead, purses her lips, then steps back. “Well. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
As soon as they’re alone, Brady’s huge eyes fill with tears. “My Mom doesn’t know you’re here to arrest me, does she?”
“Huh?” Dean stares at the kid.
“Why would you think we’re going to arrest you?” Sam asks.
Brady sniffles. “’Cause it’s my fault Tommy’s dead. I-I got sick first, and-”
“Hey,” Sam cuts in. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dean knows he should say something comforting, too, but Sammy’s the one who knows all about guilt, not him. Besides, he’s still focused on what the kid said- that he got sick first. He shouldn’t still be alive, unless something’s up with him. He clears his throat to get his brother’s attention, and Sam gives him an answering look that says he gets it.
“I left some of my equipment in the car,” Sam tells him. “Would you mind getting it?”
“Yeah, be right back.” Dean hurries out of the room, thinking about salt, holy water, and guns- and how much of each they have in the Impala. And, damn, he does not want this to be another super-powered-maybe-evil kind of kid that they have to deal with, and-
“Oh!”
The startled exclamation draws his attention as he pushes through the front door, and he realizes that school teacher, Miss Taylor, is walking up the driveway with a plate of cookies in her hands.
He slows down and gives her his best smile. “Miss Taylor.” He lets his accent draw out her name, ‘cause he learned while he and Cas were in Maine a while back that folks up here are suckers for a bit of southern charm.
Sure enough she blushes and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s Karen, please. I didn’t realize I’d see you here.”
“Could say the same… Karen,” Dean answers, thinking up reasons to get her out of there. He’d love to keep her around, of course, but not if a bunch of shit’s about to go down.
She tucks a few strands of her behind her ear. “Oh well, Brady’s a student of mine. With everyone going on, I figured I’d come see how he’s doing.”
“Afraid my colleague’s with him now, checking him out,” Dean says, forming his idea as he speaks. “He can’t have anyone else around, contaminating the room- why I’m out here.” He shrugs helplessly.
“Oh, I see.” Karen looks annoyed, then unsure, for a moment. “Well… I’ll just… come back later then.”
“Or,” Dean says, “I can find you later, give you someone to… share your cookies with.”
Karen gives him an indulgent smile, but the look in her eyes tells him she’s not going to fall for a line- and, damn, that’s a shame. “Have a good night, officer.”
As he watches her walk away, an entirely different voice- way too close to his ear- says, “I do not see why spending time with her would be desirable.”
Dean turns and scowls at Cas. “Dude, you wouldn’t.” He takes a deliberate step away from the angel. “Did Sammy text you again? He- Shit.” He swears at himself for getting distracted ‘cause Sam’s alone in with that kid, and-
“I am here because I sensed an evil presence,” says Cas, “but it has gone.”
That turns Dean around. “Gone?” He repeats. “So… nothing in the house? You’re sure? ‘cause the kid here isn’t dying, you know.”
Cas frowns. “Why would it be a bad thing if this child lives?”
“Maybe because you told us this Pestilence thing was gonna kill them all?” Dean answers, barely resisting the urge to smack the angel upside the head. “And don’t look happy to be wrong ‘cause I don’t recall you having much of a soft spot for kids.”
That actually almost makes Cas look guilty. It lasts for a bare second before the angel says, “The plague spread by Pestilence’s minions will kill. But the child here is not afflicted with it.”
Dean feels some of the tension between his shoulders ease. “So, this really is just the flu? Guess it’d be too much to hope some of the others are, too, huh?”
“They are not.”
“Okay.” Dean sighs, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. “I’m going to get Sammy. Wait here, and-”
But Cas is already gone.
*****
By the next night, two more children have died and there are reports that a dozen more have fallen ill. The state’s sending all kinds of health officials in, they’re calling for federal aid, and Dean knows the covers he and Sammy are working won’t hold up, so it’s time to act.
They head into Storyland park at dusk to patrol. It’s not long before they’re hip-deep in zombie gore.
Dean grabs his brother and hauls him into some building as a swarm of them start clambering over the rides. “Jesus Christ! How many of these damn things are there?” They’re running out of ammo, and Dean’s arm muscles are screaming from the hand-to-hand he’s had to do.
He spins immediately at the sound of a guttural moan, and there they are- more minions of Pestilence, looking like they’ve stumbled through the costumes and lighting departments of the amusement park. “This,” Dean says, “is some jacked up shit.”
That’s all he has time to say before the freakishly festive zombies charge. They’re pretty pissed off- and Dean’s guessing it’s because they can’t spread their germs with two grown men. “’Bout time you picked on someone your own size!” He snarls before blowing one’s head off.
“Dean, get down!”
Cas’ voice, unexpected and sharply commanding, is enough to make him drop. He raises his head and sees the angel surge forward, brandishing a burning log and a sword- and where the hell did he get a sword? Dean decides it doesn’t matter, ‘cause he can damn well fight with it.
Deadly, he thinks, watching in an almost-daze. He usually uses a lot of less than favorable words to describe the angel, but there’s the ultimate truth: Castiel is deadly.
Doesn’t mean he’s going to stay down and let the angel save his ass, though. He shakes his head clear, springs back to his feet, and gets back into action. A zombie gets right up in his face and he gags at the stench of the thing before Sammy’s there to haul it off him.
“Get out of here,” Cas demands, throwing the burning log at the rows of costumes against the wall. They catch on fire immediately, intensely.
Dean runs for the doors. Sammy’s not as quick as he is, gets gashed in the arm. He’s pale and shaking from the blood loss when they make it out of the park. They watch- trying to catch their breath, Dean’s shirt wrapped tightly around his brother’s arm to stop the bleeding- as Cas continues his work and the whole place goes up in flames.
“Did you kill Pestilence, too?” Dean asks when the angel- dirtied with ash, but otherwise entirely composed- appears beside them.
“No,” Cas says flatly. “And six more have died.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dean demands. “We can take care of this shit here, go get your mark!”
“I-” Cas, who moments before was unleashing holy vengeance or whatever, now looks impossibly frustrated. “I cannot get close. Something is… masking his identity. He keeps slipping away.”
“You’ll get him,” Sam says with little confidence.
All Dean has to say is, “Shit, Cas.” Because this is very, very bad.
*****
By the time they figure it out, the death toll is up to seventeen. Nights of slash-and-burn zombie-killing hardly made a difference, except to get police chief Foley thinking he had arsonists on the loose.
Dean’s pissed as hell that they couldn’t see it sooner. Pissed that he let a pretty face fool him.
It’s just that Pestilence is supposed to be a man. Horseman.
Instead, it’s Karen Taylor. Karen Taylor, the school teacher- who, of course, had access to all of those kids- has Castiel pinned to the doors of a desecrated church. She’s got one slim hand wrapped around his throat, and- impossibly- he’s choking. Actually choking.
Dean doesn’t think before he jumps out of the Impala; he charges, ignoring his brother’s shouted warnings, going for Pestilence with his knife.
Her other hand shoots out, catches his wrist, and he screams because it feels like acid eating his flesh. It feels like dying. Pestilence throws him backwards, and he crashes to the ground, clutching his throbbing arm.
Cas looks at him pleadingly as he staggers back up- pleading for what?- and he doesn’t think he will ever forget the look of panic on the angel’s face, the way that Pestilence laughs at them both, or the way the doubt creeps in and tells him he cannot stop this.
He’s also not going to forget that it’s Sammy, not him, who finds a way.
*****
Two days later, the townspeople bury their dead.
Dean and Sam, both with bandaged arms and bruises aplenty, watch as black-clad men and women carry tiny casket after tiny casket to the cemetery. They’re still clinging to their swine flu and arsonists explanations because they have to, and Dean catches sight of Brady Watkins- the kid who actually did have the flu. He hopes the kid doesn’t still take the blame for all this on himself.
A priest begins speaking to the crowd: “When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’"
“Life,” Dean mutters bitterly. He looks back because he knows- just knows- Cas is behind him. The angel’s throat is still marred by ugly, purple bruises, but he’s all right. “You still believe that?”
“Yes,” Cas says simply.