Fic: The Second-Best Rank (Supernatural, 5x04!verse, 3/?)
No more leads on the Colt surfaced. The only way to gather them involved leaving camp, which Dean was reluctant to do without any idea where to start looking. They didn’t need a supply run, so they had no practical reason to leave the safety of the rune-covered walls, either. So, Camp Chitaqua settled into Life In-Between Missions. Everyone had roles to fill, from baby-sitting duty to repairs to inventory to target practice and gun upkeep to car repair and gardening and so forth. For Dean’s part, there was camp maintenance to oversee.
“What’s with the mass order for nails?” he asked Barbara on Day Three of Week Two.
Barbara was the camp’s hair stylist, tattoo artist and odds-and-ends repairwoman. It was maybe an odd combination, but they had all kinds at the camp. Colorful abstract tattoos marked her arms, faded reminders of better days. Their limited stores of ink were reserved for anti-possession sigils only; Dean had no doubt Barbara would be covered head to toe in designs otherwise.
“It’s just for a few days,” she said, “then they can get back to bullets. If you want me to replace those rotten boards in ten whole cabins, I need more nails than I’ve got. I don’t want to wait until the next supply run, either, because I want to get the repairs done before the rainy season.”
There were arguments to be had with Risa, who never seemed happy unless she was arguing with someone, usually him. On Day One of Week Three, Dean found himself missing the quips he traded with Castiel and deliberately went to the Infirmary, where he and Risa had a nice forty-five minute row. It started due to her need for fresh sheets when all she had to wash with was boiled lake water, but the argument degenerated into the so-called regrettable state of his manhood. Arguments with Risa usually ended around there. Damn, but he thought that woman was hot when she was angry.
Around noon on Day Six of Week Four, Dean left the practice range and headed across the dirt road to the cabins. Not far to the right was the gated entrance to the camp. The lake was just in sight down the road to the left. Dean spared both directions a glance, scanning for any trouble, but his mind was on lunch and picnic tables still out of sight. His stomach was growling.
A drop of water fell on Dean’s forehead. He looked up at clouds that were turning gray. They were due for a storm, looked like.
He looked down and stepped out of the way as four kids raced by, running nonstop toward the lake.
A fifth kid followed after, wielding a stick over his head. Dean thought he was seven years old. “Die, fiends!” he cried. “For I am Castiel and I will smite your asses!”
He dashed by, not paying Dean any mind. Dean stared after him.
Valerie gave Dean an apologetic smile and jogged after them, calling out to ‘Castiel’ to watch the road, where muddy tire tracks had hardened into ridges that angels could trip on.
Vince walked up to Dean, smiling. “It’s another round of Demons vs. Castiel.” His shoulders were dotted with little wet drops. The drizzle continued to fall. “It’s like a complicated mix of tag and mock battles. Don’t ask me.”
Dean shook his head. Over the past month, rumors about Cas had grown exponentially. Morale had risen around camp, as if having an angel in their ranks was going to help them somehow. The fact that Vince was smiling was proof; the sight was so rare, but Dean had caught his lieutenant in a good mood more than once that week.
None of the campers had been around in the old days. If Dean was a bastard, he would have told them not to get their hopes up. Saying such a thing would have branded him as a hypocrite; he couldn’t help but feel a little hope himself, though he didn’t expect Cas to work the miracles the other campers seemed to expect. Dean just thought they needed all the help they could get, and there were things a Cas-with-powers could do that a human Cas couldn’t.
“There’s a seminar scheduled today on all the runes,” said Vince. “For the newbies. Cas was supposed to teach it.”
“Right. He was.” Everyone had a role at the camp, and though most people knew the runes thanks to Cas, no one knew them as well as the teacher. Dean sighed. “I’ll do it.” He could cover the runes that didn’t need a spoken component. He always botched up the pronunciations.
A door in the first row of cabins slammed open. Jahanyar dashed down the steps of the “office,” a room where the radio-not that it picked up anything-and the spare walkie talkies were stored.
“Winchester!” he called. “Patrick’s spotted something to the Southeast.”
“What did he see?” Dean called back.
Suddenly, drizzle turned into downpour, drowning Jahanyar’s reply. The cacophony slapped against the dusty road, flinging mud and raindrops everywhere. With a curse, Dean jogged with Vince and Jahanyar to the shelter of the office. They were soaked before they made it inside.
Dean wiped water from his eyes. “What did Patrick see again?”
“Demons,” said Jahanyar, and Dean froze. “They say they saw demons.”
Part Four
“What’s with the mass order for nails?” he asked Barbara on Day Three of Week Two.
Barbara was the camp’s hair stylist, tattoo artist and odds-and-ends repairwoman. It was maybe an odd combination, but they had all kinds at the camp. Colorful abstract tattoos marked her arms, faded reminders of better days. Their limited stores of ink were reserved for anti-possession sigils only; Dean had no doubt Barbara would be covered head to toe in designs otherwise.
“It’s just for a few days,” she said, “then they can get back to bullets. If you want me to replace those rotten boards in ten whole cabins, I need more nails than I’ve got. I don’t want to wait until the next supply run, either, because I want to get the repairs done before the rainy season.”
There were arguments to be had with Risa, who never seemed happy unless she was arguing with someone, usually him. On Day One of Week Three, Dean found himself missing the quips he traded with Castiel and deliberately went to the Infirmary, where he and Risa had a nice forty-five minute row. It started due to her need for fresh sheets when all she had to wash with was boiled lake water, but the argument degenerated into the so-called regrettable state of his manhood. Arguments with Risa usually ended around there. Damn, but he thought that woman was hot when she was angry.
Around noon on Day Six of Week Four, Dean left the practice range and headed across the dirt road to the cabins. Not far to the right was the gated entrance to the camp. The lake was just in sight down the road to the left. Dean spared both directions a glance, scanning for any trouble, but his mind was on lunch and picnic tables still out of sight. His stomach was growling.
A drop of water fell on Dean’s forehead. He looked up at clouds that were turning gray. They were due for a storm, looked like.
He looked down and stepped out of the way as four kids raced by, running nonstop toward the lake.
A fifth kid followed after, wielding a stick over his head. Dean thought he was seven years old. “Die, fiends!” he cried. “For I am Castiel and I will smite your asses!”
He dashed by, not paying Dean any mind. Dean stared after him.
Valerie gave Dean an apologetic smile and jogged after them, calling out to ‘Castiel’ to watch the road, where muddy tire tracks had hardened into ridges that angels could trip on.
Vince walked up to Dean, smiling. “It’s another round of Demons vs. Castiel.” His shoulders were dotted with little wet drops. The drizzle continued to fall. “It’s like a complicated mix of tag and mock battles. Don’t ask me.”
Dean shook his head. Over the past month, rumors about Cas had grown exponentially. Morale had risen around camp, as if having an angel in their ranks was going to help them somehow. The fact that Vince was smiling was proof; the sight was so rare, but Dean had caught his lieutenant in a good mood more than once that week.
None of the campers had been around in the old days. If Dean was a bastard, he would have told them not to get their hopes up. Saying such a thing would have branded him as a hypocrite; he couldn’t help but feel a little hope himself, though he didn’t expect Cas to work the miracles the other campers seemed to expect. Dean just thought they needed all the help they could get, and there were things a Cas-with-powers could do that a human Cas couldn’t.
“There’s a seminar scheduled today on all the runes,” said Vince. “For the newbies. Cas was supposed to teach it.”
“Right. He was.” Everyone had a role at the camp, and though most people knew the runes thanks to Cas, no one knew them as well as the teacher. Dean sighed. “I’ll do it.” He could cover the runes that didn’t need a spoken component. He always botched up the pronunciations.
A door in the first row of cabins slammed open. Jahanyar dashed down the steps of the “office,” a room where the radio-not that it picked up anything-and the spare walkie talkies were stored.
“Winchester!” he called. “Patrick’s spotted something to the Southeast.”
“What did he see?” Dean called back.
Suddenly, drizzle turned into downpour, drowning Jahanyar’s reply. The cacophony slapped against the dusty road, flinging mud and raindrops everywhere. With a curse, Dean jogged with Vince and Jahanyar to the shelter of the office. They were soaked before they made it inside.
Dean wiped water from his eyes. “What did Patrick see again?”
“Demons,” said Jahanyar, and Dean froze. “They say they saw demons.”
Part Four