Humble Pie [18/20]
“Put your hands on your head! Hands on your head! Now!”
The shouts sound like they’re coming from the end of a tunnel, muffled, like he’s hearing them from underwater. His head whirls and he closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing deeply. Hands grab him roughly from behind and he’s dragged to his feet, and he knows he should move, obey or fight or do something, but his limbs feel incredibly heavy and he hasn’t got the strength to move them. He’s weak as a kitten, trapped inside his own head. He’s drowning, and there’s a pain in his chest like it’s been ripped open, his ribs bared for all to see, claw marks scored down his very soul.
And he can’t drag his eyes away from Castiel’s body, where, thrumming weakly beneath his skin, his blood pulses in an effort to maintain his life. Dean didn’t have the strength to stop it.
He doesn’t realize anyone’s talking until he hears his name.
“Well, if it isn’t one half of the Brothers Winchester. Where’s Samuel, Dean?”
The voice belongs to a woman Dean doesn’t recognize but the badge on her uniform identifies her as the sheriff in these parts. So he does what he does best: he turns off the emotion and turns on the charisma.
“Sammy says hi, sorry he couldn’t drop by,” he says, amazingly cocky considering the number of guns currently pointing in his direction.
Sheriff Mills turns to Henricksen with a raised eyebrow. ‘I thought you said these guys were clever?’
“I just said they’d be stupid to try something today,” Henricksen says lightly, but Dean can tell it’s aimed at him. Hell, he doesn’t have to be told this was a stupid idea. He’s known that from the start. But he thrives on stupid ideas.
Like this, for example.
“Hey, it’s not like we had any choice. If we’d waited any longer, Cas would’ve died. And considering Divinity Inc. kidnapped and enslaved him illegally, that would’ve been a mighty shame.”
The entire room goes silent.
Oh, well. It’s keep going or shut the fuck up at this point, and he’s already pretty screwed even if he stops talking, so he might as well continue. Putting all his cards on the table is pretty much the only move he can make now, because he sure as hell isn’t leaving Castiel behind. Not here.
“Yeah, you heard me. And if you’d kindly stop trying to arrest us, we’ll show you the proof we’ve got, too.”
Sheriff Mills stares at him. “What are you ... ?”
Dean looks around in desperation. “Henricksen? Help me out here, buddy?”
“You? You’re working with them?” Jody is incredulous.
Make or break. If Henricksen pulls out now, they’re all fucked.
Henricksen nods, glancing at Dean as he says: “They have proof, Sheriff,” and saves Dean’s ass. Again.
“Proof of what?”
“Divinity are enslaving people. They do it all the time,” Dean explains, and he’s hurrying because every second they delay here is another second Castiel could be dying, and although he’d been ready to kill him just a few minutes ago, the thought of Castiel dying on his watch is still ... not good. Really not good. “But right now I haven’t got time to explain all of this to you because Castiel is hurt - bad - so we need to get him to a doctor. Now I don’t care about whatever arrest warrant you’ve got there, Sheriff, because this comes down to someone living or dying, and I’d say that’s pretty damn important. Maybe even more important than arresting my sweet ass.”
The Sheriff exchanges another look with Henricksen. “Is he for real?”
“I think so.”
“What, so you actually think I’m just going to not arrest you because you’ve come up with some conspiracy theory? Well, you can think again. I’ve got a job to do.”
Which is exactly when the alarms go off.
Dean doesn’t hang around to see if a second chance is going to bump into him anytime soon, so he uses the momentary distraction of the cops to his advantage, toppling the policeman closest to him with a kick to the legs before grabbing his gun and aiming it at Sheriff Mills.
“Okay, everybody, let’s take it down a coupla notches or I might have to shoot the good Sheriff here. Please don’t make me do that ’cause it would just ruin my day.”
“Whoa, Dean, just-” begins Henricksen, but Dean cuts him off.
“I’m not listening, okay, because I’m not leaving this building without Cas. He’ll probably die anyway considering how much blood he’s lost but I don’t want that on my conscience, and believe me, neither do you. You’re all good people - better than this, anyway - so why don’t we all just put our guns down and go our separate ways? No one has to get hurt.” He glances at Castiel. “Well. More than they already are, I mean.”
Sheriff Mills looks indecisive for a moment before nodding at the other cops. “Do as he says.”
Dean flashes her a smile. “Thanks. I’m much obliged.”
“Hey, Dean, you probably want to hear this …” Jo says, stepping towards him and frowning, as though she’s listening intently. Which, Dean realizes, she probably is - to whatever Sam or Charlie is saying through her earpiece.
“What is it?”
“Charlie’s gotten us an escape. She’s opened all the holding cells with slaves in them. From the sound of things, it’s a riot out there. We should be able to get away pretty much undetected, if we’re careful.” Then, more quietly, “What do you want to do about Castiel?”
“We take him with us.” His tone of voice leaves no room for argument, and Jo nods once, sharply. “Henricksen?” Dean continues. “You with us? ’Cause we could do with a hand getting Cas out of here. He’s pretty badly hurt.”
Jody takes in the state of the room with a glance. “All this blood his?”
Dean blinks in surprise. “Uh- yeah.”
“He needs to see a doctor.”
Dean resists the urge to say ‘no shit, Sherlock’, and instead settles for grunting in agreement.
“According to Sam, it’s mayhem out there,” Jo butts in. “We could pretty much stroll out of the main gate and no one would notice.”
“Any slightly less risky routes?” Dean asks as he tries to get Castiel into his arms without causing permanent damage to Castiel’s back.
“Uh …” Jo pauses for a minute, listening, before nodding and continuing. “There’s a sort of back entrance, a delivery point. It’s further to go but Sam can direct us along workmen’s corridors that should be safer, considering all eyes are out front.”
“Great. In that case, if no one has any objections,” he looks at Sheriff Mills, “we’ll be off. If you police guys stay here and try to mind your own business until we’re off the premises, that would be great. If not, Castiel will die. Simple as that.”
He turns back to the others. “Let’s go.”
They leave the room in formation, Jo leading the way with Sam giving instructions through her earpiece, Gabriel following, carrying Castiel as best he can, and Dean covering them from behind. They move quickly and quietly, on edge, ears pricked for the slightest sound; but, as Sam said they would be, the corridors are all deserted.
Fifteen minutes later, and the door Jo opens leads out into the light.
Everything is in chaos; a bomb might as well have just hit. At every point in history, people have been afraid of something. For a while, it was nuclear war. Then it was terrorism, chemical weapons, global warming ...
Today, people live in fear that the slaves will get out of control. Even if they don’t admit it to themselves. And in this moment, those fears have been realized.
The screams hit Dean’s ears, high and terrified, as people run for their vehicles. There’s gunfire off to the left; a woman in a blue silk dress trips and cries out with pain as her hands hit the tarmac; men in suits and dark glasses produce firearms from beneath their jackets and proceed to herd the rich and famous away from the danger.
And then, from the left appear others, almost feral in their appearance, dressed all in grey, scattering in every direction, chasing after those who run, attacking those who don’t, and Dean recognizes the utter desperation in their eyes, even though it takes him a moment to remember why. Castiel had that look when they first met. It feels like so long ago now.
“What do we do now?” Jo yells at him over the shouting, and Dean honestly has no idea. He doesn’t fancy trying to battle his way back to the van through this lot, especially as both sides could turn on them at any moment. He looks around the parking lot, calculating the quickest and least risk-ridden route.
“We run for it. The van’s right there. We can make it, okay? We can make it.” He almost sounded convincing until he started repeating himself. But, let’s face it, this is hardly the most difficult thing they’ve faced in even the last half hour.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
They run. Through gunfire and screaming and smoke and people fleeing for their lives, they run. Past crying celebrities and journalists having a field day and security guards with large firearms; they run. And Dean looks to the left where Jo’s swearing steadily under her breath, and he looks to the right where Gabriel is stony-faced and determined, even though he’s obviously struggling under Castiel’s weight.
They run to the van, and Sam’s waiting for them to bundle them all in and drive off at warp speed.
Except.
Jo gets in first and then Dean and Sam help Gabriel get Castiel into the van, and then Dean casts one more sweeping glance around the parking lot, just to check there’s no one else they’ve left behind, when he sees him-
running like the coward he is, fumbling with the safety on his gun, looking around frantically for help-
Zachariah Adler.
In books, people often describe a character’s vision as ‘going red’. In reality, this doesn’t happen. Have you ever started seeing stuff through strawberry-tinted lenses? When you get really really angry, does everything turn a pleasant reddish hue? No. This is just one of those weird sayings that writers use when they’re not imaginative enough to come up with something else to say and so just fall back on the age old ‘what everyone else does’ ploy.
So, no. Dean’s vision doesn’t go red. He doesn’t start puffing smoke out of his ears either, in case you were wondering. But his jaw does clench down tight, and his eyes do narrow, and before he even knows what he’s doing he’s got his gun out, and then he snaps to Sam “wait here”.
And then he runs off after the guy who may just be the reason for all his troubles.
Dramatic, isn’t it?
“I strongly suggest you don’t move if you enjoy having a head.”
Dean’s followed Zachariah back inside the Divinity building, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by a blonde man with a British accent. Man, he’s never gotten along with the British ones.
A cursory glance taking in his surroundings confirms what he suspected: the British guy and his mates are (or were, or something) slaves. More surprisingly, they’ve also got Zachariah held at gunpoint.
He holds his hands up, palms open, to show that he’s unarmed. “Hey, I’m on your side, dude. I want this fucker dead as much as you do.”
“I can help you!” Zachariah cries. “Please, don’t let them kill me and I’ll help you.”
He laughs bitterly. “You’re insane. You really think I’d help you, after what you did to Cas?”
“Cas? Castiel?” The British slave lowers his gun, looking at Dean with some new expression in his eyes.
“Uh ... Yeah. I’m his friend.” Or something. “Who’re you?”
“Balthazar. Is he okay? Castiel?”
“I don’t know. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
Balthazar nods stiffly. “All the more reason to get on with this, then. I trust you’re not going to stop us?”
Dean shakes his head. “How do you know Cas?”
“We don’t have much use for friends in here, but Castiel and I, we watch each other’s backs. I haven’t seen him in a while.” He pauses, looks Dean up and down. “If you really are his friend, you’d better get out of here sharpish. Things are going to get nasty pretty soon.”
Dean glances at Zachariah. “Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”
He’s turning to leave before Zachariah calls after him.
“Wait!” he shouts. “Please wait! They’ll kill me, you know they will, don’t-”
“You told me your conscience was clear, Mr Adler,” Dean says. “I guess if you’re right, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. You’ll get exactly what you deserve.” He heads for the door. “See you in Hell.”
“I’m going after him,” Sam says for the fifth time.
“Just wait. Your brother knows what he’s doing, boy,” Bobby replies, managing to keep the worry out of his own voice admirably.
“He’s taking ages. Anything could have happened, he could be-”
“Drive!” Dean yells, jumping in the back of the van.
Bobby doesn’t need telling twice.
After Dean explains that Zachariah probably won’t be bothering them anytime soon - or ever again, in fact - no one asks him any more questions. They talk amongst themselves, high on the euphoria that comes after a job well done though almost not done at all, but Dean doesn’t join in. He sits quietly in the midst of all the gaiety, light flashing on his face with every passing streetlamp, watching Gabriel clutch his brother to him, almost as if he’s afraid someone might take him away again if he lets go. He watches Castiel breathing in and out, in and out, slow and steady and alive, and knows that he’s safe now. It almost doesn’t matter that they also got proof that will take Divinity down in court, or that all the other slaves escaped. All that pales into insignificance beside the fact that Castiel is alive, Castiel is safe, Castiel is free.
At some point during the journey, in the blank space between two breaths, the hypnotic effect of watching someone else sleep takes over, and Dean falls into nothingness with a smile on his face.
Tonight the nightmares don’t come.
The shouts sound like they’re coming from the end of a tunnel, muffled, like he’s hearing them from underwater. His head whirls and he closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing deeply. Hands grab him roughly from behind and he’s dragged to his feet, and he knows he should move, obey or fight or do something, but his limbs feel incredibly heavy and he hasn’t got the strength to move them. He’s weak as a kitten, trapped inside his own head. He’s drowning, and there’s a pain in his chest like it’s been ripped open, his ribs bared for all to see, claw marks scored down his very soul.
And he can’t drag his eyes away from Castiel’s body, where, thrumming weakly beneath his skin, his blood pulses in an effort to maintain his life. Dean didn’t have the strength to stop it.
He doesn’t realize anyone’s talking until he hears his name.
“Well, if it isn’t one half of the Brothers Winchester. Where’s Samuel, Dean?”
The voice belongs to a woman Dean doesn’t recognize but the badge on her uniform identifies her as the sheriff in these parts. So he does what he does best: he turns off the emotion and turns on the charisma.
“Sammy says hi, sorry he couldn’t drop by,” he says, amazingly cocky considering the number of guns currently pointing in his direction.
Sheriff Mills turns to Henricksen with a raised eyebrow. ‘I thought you said these guys were clever?’
“I just said they’d be stupid to try something today,” Henricksen says lightly, but Dean can tell it’s aimed at him. Hell, he doesn’t have to be told this was a stupid idea. He’s known that from the start. But he thrives on stupid ideas.
Like this, for example.
“Hey, it’s not like we had any choice. If we’d waited any longer, Cas would’ve died. And considering Divinity Inc. kidnapped and enslaved him illegally, that would’ve been a mighty shame.”
The entire room goes silent.
Oh, well. It’s keep going or shut the fuck up at this point, and he’s already pretty screwed even if he stops talking, so he might as well continue. Putting all his cards on the table is pretty much the only move he can make now, because he sure as hell isn’t leaving Castiel behind. Not here.
“Yeah, you heard me. And if you’d kindly stop trying to arrest us, we’ll show you the proof we’ve got, too.”
Sheriff Mills stares at him. “What are you ... ?”
Dean looks around in desperation. “Henricksen? Help me out here, buddy?”
“You? You’re working with them?” Jody is incredulous.
Make or break. If Henricksen pulls out now, they’re all fucked.
Henricksen nods, glancing at Dean as he says: “They have proof, Sheriff,” and saves Dean’s ass. Again.
“Proof of what?”
“Divinity are enslaving people. They do it all the time,” Dean explains, and he’s hurrying because every second they delay here is another second Castiel could be dying, and although he’d been ready to kill him just a few minutes ago, the thought of Castiel dying on his watch is still ... not good. Really not good. “But right now I haven’t got time to explain all of this to you because Castiel is hurt - bad - so we need to get him to a doctor. Now I don’t care about whatever arrest warrant you’ve got there, Sheriff, because this comes down to someone living or dying, and I’d say that’s pretty damn important. Maybe even more important than arresting my sweet ass.”
The Sheriff exchanges another look with Henricksen. “Is he for real?”
“I think so.”
“What, so you actually think I’m just going to not arrest you because you’ve come up with some conspiracy theory? Well, you can think again. I’ve got a job to do.”
Which is exactly when the alarms go off.
Dean doesn’t hang around to see if a second chance is going to bump into him anytime soon, so he uses the momentary distraction of the cops to his advantage, toppling the policeman closest to him with a kick to the legs before grabbing his gun and aiming it at Sheriff Mills.
“Okay, everybody, let’s take it down a coupla notches or I might have to shoot the good Sheriff here. Please don’t make me do that ’cause it would just ruin my day.”
“Whoa, Dean, just-” begins Henricksen, but Dean cuts him off.
“I’m not listening, okay, because I’m not leaving this building without Cas. He’ll probably die anyway considering how much blood he’s lost but I don’t want that on my conscience, and believe me, neither do you. You’re all good people - better than this, anyway - so why don’t we all just put our guns down and go our separate ways? No one has to get hurt.” He glances at Castiel. “Well. More than they already are, I mean.”
Sheriff Mills looks indecisive for a moment before nodding at the other cops. “Do as he says.”
Dean flashes her a smile. “Thanks. I’m much obliged.”
“Hey, Dean, you probably want to hear this …” Jo says, stepping towards him and frowning, as though she’s listening intently. Which, Dean realizes, she probably is - to whatever Sam or Charlie is saying through her earpiece.
“What is it?”
“Charlie’s gotten us an escape. She’s opened all the holding cells with slaves in them. From the sound of things, it’s a riot out there. We should be able to get away pretty much undetected, if we’re careful.” Then, more quietly, “What do you want to do about Castiel?”
“We take him with us.” His tone of voice leaves no room for argument, and Jo nods once, sharply. “Henricksen?” Dean continues. “You with us? ’Cause we could do with a hand getting Cas out of here. He’s pretty badly hurt.”
Jody takes in the state of the room with a glance. “All this blood his?”
Dean blinks in surprise. “Uh- yeah.”
“He needs to see a doctor.”
Dean resists the urge to say ‘no shit, Sherlock’, and instead settles for grunting in agreement.
“According to Sam, it’s mayhem out there,” Jo butts in. “We could pretty much stroll out of the main gate and no one would notice.”
“Any slightly less risky routes?” Dean asks as he tries to get Castiel into his arms without causing permanent damage to Castiel’s back.
“Uh …” Jo pauses for a minute, listening, before nodding and continuing. “There’s a sort of back entrance, a delivery point. It’s further to go but Sam can direct us along workmen’s corridors that should be safer, considering all eyes are out front.”
“Great. In that case, if no one has any objections,” he looks at Sheriff Mills, “we’ll be off. If you police guys stay here and try to mind your own business until we’re off the premises, that would be great. If not, Castiel will die. Simple as that.”
He turns back to the others. “Let’s go.”
They leave the room in formation, Jo leading the way with Sam giving instructions through her earpiece, Gabriel following, carrying Castiel as best he can, and Dean covering them from behind. They move quickly and quietly, on edge, ears pricked for the slightest sound; but, as Sam said they would be, the corridors are all deserted.
Fifteen minutes later, and the door Jo opens leads out into the light.
Everything is in chaos; a bomb might as well have just hit. At every point in history, people have been afraid of something. For a while, it was nuclear war. Then it was terrorism, chemical weapons, global warming ...
Today, people live in fear that the slaves will get out of control. Even if they don’t admit it to themselves. And in this moment, those fears have been realized.
The screams hit Dean’s ears, high and terrified, as people run for their vehicles. There’s gunfire off to the left; a woman in a blue silk dress trips and cries out with pain as her hands hit the tarmac; men in suits and dark glasses produce firearms from beneath their jackets and proceed to herd the rich and famous away from the danger.
And then, from the left appear others, almost feral in their appearance, dressed all in grey, scattering in every direction, chasing after those who run, attacking those who don’t, and Dean recognizes the utter desperation in their eyes, even though it takes him a moment to remember why. Castiel had that look when they first met. It feels like so long ago now.
“What do we do now?” Jo yells at him over the shouting, and Dean honestly has no idea. He doesn’t fancy trying to battle his way back to the van through this lot, especially as both sides could turn on them at any moment. He looks around the parking lot, calculating the quickest and least risk-ridden route.
“We run for it. The van’s right there. We can make it, okay? We can make it.” He almost sounded convincing until he started repeating himself. But, let’s face it, this is hardly the most difficult thing they’ve faced in even the last half hour.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
They run. Through gunfire and screaming and smoke and people fleeing for their lives, they run. Past crying celebrities and journalists having a field day and security guards with large firearms; they run. And Dean looks to the left where Jo’s swearing steadily under her breath, and he looks to the right where Gabriel is stony-faced and determined, even though he’s obviously struggling under Castiel’s weight.
They run to the van, and Sam’s waiting for them to bundle them all in and drive off at warp speed.
Except.
Jo gets in first and then Dean and Sam help Gabriel get Castiel into the van, and then Dean casts one more sweeping glance around the parking lot, just to check there’s no one else they’ve left behind, when he sees him-
running like the coward he is, fumbling with the safety on his gun, looking around frantically for help-
Zachariah Adler.
In books, people often describe a character’s vision as ‘going red’. In reality, this doesn’t happen. Have you ever started seeing stuff through strawberry-tinted lenses? When you get really really angry, does everything turn a pleasant reddish hue? No. This is just one of those weird sayings that writers use when they’re not imaginative enough to come up with something else to say and so just fall back on the age old ‘what everyone else does’ ploy.
So, no. Dean’s vision doesn’t go red. He doesn’t start puffing smoke out of his ears either, in case you were wondering. But his jaw does clench down tight, and his eyes do narrow, and before he even knows what he’s doing he’s got his gun out, and then he snaps to Sam “wait here”.
And then he runs off after the guy who may just be the reason for all his troubles.
Dramatic, isn’t it?
“I strongly suggest you don’t move if you enjoy having a head.”
Dean’s followed Zachariah back inside the Divinity building, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by a blonde man with a British accent. Man, he’s never gotten along with the British ones.
A cursory glance taking in his surroundings confirms what he suspected: the British guy and his mates are (or were, or something) slaves. More surprisingly, they’ve also got Zachariah held at gunpoint.
He holds his hands up, palms open, to show that he’s unarmed. “Hey, I’m on your side, dude. I want this fucker dead as much as you do.”
“I can help you!” Zachariah cries. “Please, don’t let them kill me and I’ll help you.”
He laughs bitterly. “You’re insane. You really think I’d help you, after what you did to Cas?”
“Cas? Castiel?” The British slave lowers his gun, looking at Dean with some new expression in his eyes.
“Uh ... Yeah. I’m his friend.” Or something. “Who’re you?”
“Balthazar. Is he okay? Castiel?”
“I don’t know. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
Balthazar nods stiffly. “All the more reason to get on with this, then. I trust you’re not going to stop us?”
Dean shakes his head. “How do you know Cas?”
“We don’t have much use for friends in here, but Castiel and I, we watch each other’s backs. I haven’t seen him in a while.” He pauses, looks Dean up and down. “If you really are his friend, you’d better get out of here sharpish. Things are going to get nasty pretty soon.”
Dean glances at Zachariah. “Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”
He’s turning to leave before Zachariah calls after him.
“Wait!” he shouts. “Please wait! They’ll kill me, you know they will, don’t-”
“You told me your conscience was clear, Mr Adler,” Dean says. “I guess if you’re right, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. You’ll get exactly what you deserve.” He heads for the door. “See you in Hell.”
“I’m going after him,” Sam says for the fifth time.
“Just wait. Your brother knows what he’s doing, boy,” Bobby replies, managing to keep the worry out of his own voice admirably.
“He’s taking ages. Anything could have happened, he could be-”
“Drive!” Dean yells, jumping in the back of the van.
Bobby doesn’t need telling twice.
After Dean explains that Zachariah probably won’t be bothering them anytime soon - or ever again, in fact - no one asks him any more questions. They talk amongst themselves, high on the euphoria that comes after a job well done though almost not done at all, but Dean doesn’t join in. He sits quietly in the midst of all the gaiety, light flashing on his face with every passing streetlamp, watching Gabriel clutch his brother to him, almost as if he’s afraid someone might take him away again if he lets go. He watches Castiel breathing in and out, in and out, slow and steady and alive, and knows that he’s safe now. It almost doesn’t matter that they also got proof that will take Divinity down in court, or that all the other slaves escaped. All that pales into insignificance beside the fact that Castiel is alive, Castiel is safe, Castiel is free.
At some point during the journey, in the blank space between two breaths, the hypnotic effect of watching someone else sleep takes over, and Dean falls into nothingness with a smile on his face.
Tonight the nightmares don’t come.