SPN FIC: The Gift (Part 1 of 7)
TITLE: The Gift: PART 1
AUTHOR: jackfan2
CATEGORY: Gen
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, Castiel
WORDS: 5,562
GENRE: Humor/Hurt/Comfort
RATING: T, or PG13 for swearing
TIMELINE: Season 4
BETAED: roqueclasique, mad_server and the birthday girl herself, adrenalineshots
This is a birthday fic. My good friend and cohort adrenalineshots, aka, Natty, picked the following prompts; Powers!Dean, a horse and Sam to the rescue.
SUMMARY: Dean is whisked away by the angels for an urgent rescue mission,leaving Sam clamoring to find him. Between a dubious gift and a bat-shit horse, angelic blessings and hell's curses can sometimes be frighteningly similar, and all disastrous for Dean.
-~*~-
THE GIFT: Part 1
-~*~-
“No. Fucking. Way!”
Dean’s frustrated voice echoed in the Minnesota forest, reverberating off the surrounding walls of sheer rock, thick foliage and evergreens. Birds screeched, wings flapped and the anxious scurrying land creatures, heard but unseen, completed the mass retreat of the wooded area.
One animal, however, stood unaffected: the four legged menace that Castiel called Shadow Dancer, or some pansy shit like that. Saddled and ready, the horse stood quiet and calm. Watching.
Just days before the Winchesters had arrived at the small town of Crested River Falls at Bobby’s request. A friend of a friend, of a friend, had gone missing some months back and others since and before.
From what Bobby had been able to gather, over the last couple of months several campers and seasoned hikers had either disappeared or been found severely injured. Those 'lucky' enough to have lived through their ordeal were but a shell of their former selves, shock and fear having left them mad.
Survivors were actually a rare find, in fact. Most times recovered remains came in the form of the missing person’s sun-bleached bones or mangled body, ravaged by time, elements and the area’s natural scavengers.
Still early in their research, the boys strongly suspected the predator to be a wendigo but needed more information. Either way, it looked to be an accurate theory and it was - to their immense relief - a creature they were most adept at eradicating.
It was almost a relief. Compared to the shit they’d been dealt over the last several years, a skinny, knock-kneed, gap-toothed, long-legged cannibalistic freak would actually be a welcome change. A piece of cake.
Now, however, things had gotten… complicated; Castiel.
According to heavenly gossip, there was a family in need of help, some poor bastards that had decided to camp in the wrong place, at the wrong fucking time and, unlucky bastards that they were, had ended up being dragged off by the wendigo to the most remote place that any retarded dick could come up with.
Which meant that the only way to get to them was on horseback - or so Castiel had insisted.
Which meant riding on the back of a black thing that Castiel had pulled out of God knows where. Oh, and because when Castiel had snatched him from the County Records office without warning, and without the decency to allow Dean time to pocket even so much as a toothpick, he'd be going in unarmed.
Ok, so there was Castiel's promised gift that he’d assured him would work. But really, Dean had little faith in the things of either Hell or Heaven these days.
At the present, however, Dean was more concerned about the black beast standing before him. Warily, he eyed the animal with disdain and distrust.
Shadow Dancer? Huh... Dean scoffed mentally. There were other, more appropriate names he could think of; like, Hell Spawn, Hell Raiser, Demon Spawn, Son of Satan - ok, so they were mostly variations on the same theme but all with the same point. Dean hated horses. 'Specially opinionated ones.
The fact that it just stood there, chewing lazily on some forest foliage, completely unimpressed with the hunter, earned it yet another strike, so far as Dean was concerned. Black eyes stared beneath long lashes and nothing in Dean’s world that had black eyes was ever good. Its eyes stared holes into the hunter, like it was measuring him up.
Nope, Dean shook his head and crossed his arms. There was no way he was riding that. Determined to get his point across to the angel, he turned, jaw set, hands clenched into fists, and leveled Castiel with an icy glare, willing the angel to bend to get his drift.
Castiel nodded toward the horse, his face filled with something akin to adoration and awe. "Shadow Dancer is ready to go," he gestured.
Dean rolled his eyes. Angels just didn't do subtle, it seemed.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Dean barked, taking the direct approach.
The angel only canted his head, eyes scrunched. “Why do you insist on saying that?” He blinked a moment, “I do not… kid.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean muttered sarcastically. “Fine,” he said louder, wanting to be heard, “'cause neither do I.” Arms crossed to show he’d stand his ground. “There is no way I'm riding that...that-” he leveled a finger at the horse, “thing.”
“Horse,” Castiel corrected. He missed completely the irate hunter’s face. “Believe me, this is not something I wish to put on you.”
“Then don’t!” Dean shot back, but history told him it wouldn’t be that easy. “Why don’t you just,” he gave a quick flap of his arms, “swoop in with some of your angel buddies and save the day? Why send me?”
“We have other battles and I am needed there." Castiel looked away, as if listening to a distant voice. "As it is, I have delayed too long. My brothers and sisters call.”
“Riiiight,” Dean nodded, his voice deceptively calm. His ire notched up and his voice grew steadily louder, “‘cause one small family isn’t worth the angels’ precious time.”
Castiel flinched. Dean instantly regretted the tone but not the sentiment.
None of this made sense to him. When they'd arrived at the small town, Sam had gone to the library to research ‘cause their computer’d been on the fritz (something about a virus - so computers got sick days? That seemed completely unfair), while Dean had taken the county records office.
One minute Dean’d been poring over the books, gathering information, studying his map, then Castiel had flapped in for a brief but heated argument and then one touched-by-an-angel moment later, here he was. The middle of some shit-forsaken forest and - dammit, when did it start getting colder out here?
“And you know, what’s with this family anyway?” Dean looked curiously at Castiel. “What makes them so special, or not special, that the angels would want them saved?”
“Is it not enough that they are in need? That their very lives hang in the balance?”
Dean couldn’t argue that one. “Ok then, just go get Sam and he and I -”
“As I said before,” Castiel interrupted - it wasn’t the first time Dean had lamented his brother’s absence and the angel was getting testy on the subject - “since Sam was not present at my arrival, given how little time there is, I conveyed only you.” Arms wide and sounding far too sarcastic for an angelic being, he added, “and here we stand when we should be moving.”
Dean didn’t think he could get any angrier but that ‘we’ got him by the short and curlies. It wasn’t that he didn’t get the point, he did; he was just tired of being pushed around, maneuvered and jimmied into place like a live piece on some gigantic, apocalyptic chess board.
“We?” Dean repeated icily. “Seriously? ‘Cause last time I checked, I was doing this solo. Not only without backup, but without a fucking weapon.”
“You will have use of the Gift.”
“Right, right,” Dean nodded. Curiosity flipped a gear in his brain and at the mention of Gift he stared suspiciously at his hands. “Ya know, before I go charging to the rescue with my ass and my bare teeth hanging out, give me the skinny on this so called Gift.”
“The…” brow furrowed, Castiel asked, “…skinny?”
“You know.” Dean rolled a hand. “The low down. The particulars. The 411.”
Castiel shook his head in total bafflement.
“Cas,” Dean sighed, “you guys have got to get with the program. If you’re gonna walk - er… fly, among us - you gotta learn the lingo.”
“What…” the angel’s face grew even more confused, “program do you-”
“Forget it!” Dean closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers. A headache, the after effects of the flu he’d just gotten over, had been building since late yesterday and growing worse since Castiel had arrived. “Just - tell me how long this… Gift is gonna last?”
“Not long, Dean; you must accomplish your goal quickly. As soon as the family is safe, and the creature-”
“Wendigo”
“-is dispensed.”
“Killed.”
Not only did angels not kid, but they obviously got a bit perturbed at being repeatedly corrected or cut off. Dean could swear he saw the angel roll his eyes heavenward, calling on some divine source of patience.
After a breath, Castiel continued, “- the Gift will have run its course.”
Dean rolled the information around a bit. “Don’t suppose you could, you know, make this Gift-thingy last a bit longer?” he suggested hopefully. “Well, just ‘til we stop Lilith an’ all?”
“I am sorry,” Castiel said, truly looked the part. “It is not mine to control in that way.”
“Yeah, I guess I figured as much.” Dean turned then stopped suddenly, and looked back at the angel. “You know, you never did tell me just how you came about this gift. I mean, you’re not breaking some kind of angel code or something?”
Castiel canted his head to the side, his eyes studying and curious. “You…” a certainty quickly filled his gaze and Dean found it hard not to squirm. “You actually care that I might get in trouble.”
Face closed, the quick read of emotion gone, Dean covered, “Hey, it’s my ass on the line here. I don’t want to be up against it and have this gift yanked out from under me all of a sudden, just ‘cause you got reckless.”
Castiel’s face softened and one side of his mouth quirked slightly into a knowing smile. “I called in one of the very few favors I still have at my disposal. Do not worry. The gift will not leave you before its time.”
“Good,” Dean nodded, tossing a reluctant eye at Demon Spawn as it returned the favor, “’cause, you know, Wendigos do eat people and I’ve already been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt.”
Resigned to this fate, Dean turned to leave but stopped short.
The once calm horse was now tossing his head wildly, hooves pawing at the ground, black eyes rolling about their sockets. A mighty snort puffed out of flared nostrils, the chilled air giving it the appearance of smoke from hellfire.
In that moment, Dean quickly added horses to the list of ‘Things Dean Hates’, second only to camping, but somewhere between Ruby, Alastair, all demons, most angels and well, ok, it was a longer list than he realized.
Still, that list grew to include horses, especially the crazed horse he was expected to ride who eyed him with contempt and looked to want nothing more than to rip him apart. Limb from-
“Time is of the essence Dean,” Castiel encouraged.
Dean jumped, wondering just how long he’d been standing there.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean flapped a hand over his shoulder, looked balefully at the horse and murmured, “My essence is about to get its ass kicked. Literally.”
The hunter got no more than a step closer when Demon Spawn shied away and whinnied what Dean was sure to be a mutually shared aversion to him riding.
The angel’s voice prodded again. “Dean.”
That did it. Spinning at Cas, arms wide, Dean practically shouted, “Really?” He waved angrily at the anxious animal. “Exactly how am I supposed to make time if I can’t get a foot into the…” he flapped a hand, “the… loop thingy?”
“Stirrup,” Castiel corrected.
Dean’s mouth slammed shut. Eyes narrowed suspiciously at the angel, he said, “Ok, I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
The angel’s only response was a steady gaze at the horse, almost like there was some unheard conversation. “Whatever,” Dean sighed, figuring he was on his own.
Surprisingly enough, he got a foot into the stirrup and swung a leg over. In direct response, the horse danced violently sideways, forcing Dean to clutch at its mane for dear life.
“Shit!” Dean went wide-eyed as Son of Satan continued to dance beneath him.
No help at all, Castiel spoke urgently: “Mason’s Gorge is not far, maybe two hours if you hurry.”
“I…” He grabbed one of the leather, strappy things that attached at Hell Spawn’s mouth and pulled. Hard.
Horses, Dean soon realized, did not like their mouths jerked on, hard, or otherwise, or at least Hell Spawn certainly didn't. This was made painfully clear to him when the animal began to spin and jump, in one continuous unending motion. Spin, jump, turn, spin, jump, turn.
Foam issued terrifyingly from Hell Spawn’s mouth as it snorted and flung its head. As the flecks of froth flew, Dean thought frantically that it would be just his luck to get the only rabid horse on this shitty, fucked up day.
Flailing, Dean held on for dear life. “I still don - ,” he grappled for control, “don’t understand why I gotta ride this - over-sized dog.”
“Trust me Dean,” Castiel said, staring intently at the animal. “This is the best way for you to reach the mine.”
Dizzy and disoriented, Dean didn't immediately grasp the reason for the horse’s sudden decreased activity. Once the constant spins, hops, and head tosses slowed, all he saw was a chance to regain much needed control.
So, with his limited knowledge of horses, he seized his chance. Gathering the leather straps, he tugged the other direction with a strong, heavy handed yank. Hell Spawn snorted and his tail swished angrily at the over-correction. Gaining speed once again, he moved to spin the other direction. As ordered.
Dean never heard Castiel's frustrated sigh.
“Oh you-” Dean gritted his teeth, trying to reply. “You I got no problem with - ” Dean pulled again and Demon Spawn answered with a head toss. "Well, aside from the whole, ‘think of it as the Impala with legs’ thing,” he mimicked. Demon Spawn started spinning faster. “Seriously, Cas... I’d rather w... walk.”
“And be too late to save the lives of those in peril?”
Dean was at the end of his patience with the horse. Deciding on a firmer hand with the animal he yelled, "Dammit!" and began sawing on the reins, relentlessly. "STOPPIT!"
If the horse had been annoyed before, it was posi-fucking-lutely livid now, as was evident in the sudden crow-hopping, head-turning, teeth-baring, rear legs flinging gestures it exhibited.
“Cas!” Dean grappled frantically for the hard leather knobby thing that jutted up from the saddle. With every sudden shift forward, his balls shrieked in pain. “Guilt trip later. Stop. Horse. Now!”
In his panic, Dean heard a faint flutter of wings then Castiel was in front of the horse, his eyes fixed on its tossing head. The angel raised one hand, palm out and the animal stilled - immediately. The angel then pressed his palm to the small patch of white fur on its forehead, held it there then dropped his hand.
The animal became all at once still, pliant and reserved. “He won’t trouble you any longer,” Castiel said as he helped gather the reins and adjusted them back in Dean’s grip. Eyes brimming with excitement, he said, “Ride, Dean. Find that family.”
What with the sudden extrication, Castiel’s urgent mission and the appearance of the bat-shit horse, with his ass now sliding achingly in the saddle Dean realized he hadn’t had the chance to ask the one question he’d been itching to ask. The one question that had been on the tip of his tongue before Bat-Shit Horse showed up.
“So, wait, why not just beam me up to the mine? Why a ho -”
Dean never got the chance to finish his question. The animal shot off like a rocket and Dean could do no more than grab at the pommel and hold on for dear life.
As the angel shrunk in the distance, Dean got the distinct impression, as he recalled the look on Castiel’s face, that this had been just what the angel intended.
Sam paced in front of the library, growing angrier by the minute. Dean was late. Very late.
Flipping open the phone, he dialed Dean’s cell again. “This is Dean Winchester-” Voicemail. Sam snapped the thing shut with a vehement epithet, looked in the direction of the city offices and got even angrier.
Well aware of his brother’s effect on some women (though Dean would argue it was ALL women -- unless they happened to be gay, or into Sam, which was, in his book, the same thing), Sam had a pretty good idea as to what or, more accurately, who was indirectly responsible for his brothers’ tardiness.
They’d arrived at Crested River Falls too early to check into their hotel, so with stomachs grumbling they had made their way to the local diner for breakfast. Over short stacks, sausages and eggs, the course of their conversation had turned to research assignments for the day when Dean’s definition of ‘hot’ (which, by Sam’s definition was pretty much any pretty female who reciprocated Dean’s advances) had strode in.
Sam could swear he heard tendons and muscle snap when Dean did a strong double take. Their eyes locked as she moved to take a seat at the vacant table nearest them and Sam knew then that Dean’s hot-chick-checking-me-out radar had been tripped and streaming live.
Sam had sighed. Dean cleared his throat.
In obvious discomfort resulting from the effect her exaggerated swaying hips and upper body parts as she approached, Dean shifted and lowered his head and just like that they seemed to be back on track. The effort, Sam knew, was nothing short of herculean on his brother’s part.
The test was far from over, however. A scant three feet separated her table from theirs and Sam caught the clandestine glances and doe-eyed gazes throughout breakfast. Still, Dean had made a valiant effort to stay on task and Sam'd been obscenely proud of him for it.
Then, at Sam’s mention of the city records department, things went immediately down hill.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the girl had practically done a double flip backwards, which was quite impressive given her seated position. When she eagerly leaned over to introduce herself, her over-indulgent breasts doing all the talking, Sam knew resistance was futile.
Sam had wondered then if he could possibly pull a muscle in his eyes for rolling them so much.
“I happen to work there…” Cindy/Sara/Shelly had purred, eyes melting in their sockets. Her introduction gave away, quite obviously, the fact that she’d been listening to at least some of their conversation.
In a momentary shot of panic, Sam had mentally reviewed everything they'd been saying to this point, scanning for weird content. There was, however, nothing to worry about because from the extreme amount of sugar that she exuded in her talk, there was no way that she thought them to be insane, or murderers, or both.
Then her giggle had cut into the bustle of the morning rush crowd, slicing at Sam's nerves and when he looked at the two of them, he wondered if he'd need an insulin shot after prolonged exposure.
“Well then, this must be my lucky day,” Dean had supplied with an equal amount of syrup and eye twinkling.
Good god… Oh well, so much for staying on task, Sam had thought as he rolled his eyes. Again.
They’d giggled and talked so long, during which Sam had gotten so lost in his internal struggle between not throwing up, and leveling some understanding for his brother, you know, given his time spent in Hell and all, that Sam blinked in surprise when Dean stood and extended an elbow toward Sandy/Shelby/Sharon.
She giggled. Again. Then she stood and took his elbow, biting coyly at her lower lip. Oh sheesh.
Without taking his eyes off the girl, Dean spoke. “I’d be glad to give you a ride to work, if I may be so bold.”
When had that happened?
The girl giggled. Again. Insulin please.
Amazingly enough, just before they left, Dean had actually looked at Sam. “You know, the library’s not that far from here. I’ll just give (whatever the hell her name was, ‘cause by this time Sam was completely flabbergasted as to what was happening) a ride. Pick ya’ up ‘bout lunch time?” He gave Sam a manly pat on the shoulder. And winked.
Then they were leaving, exiting the diner, arm-in-arm, on a breeze of quiet murmurs and saccharin giggles.
It didn’t usually bother Sam when this sort of thing happened. Having spent his entire life with a guy like Dean who was attracted to girls in general, never mind those who just happened to work at the Records Hall, it was to be expected. After all, she was just his type; female and available. Ok, so she happened to be pretty too…
“Dammit,” Sam had muttered, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Determined and pissed, he’d stormed down the sidewalk toward the city offices, a litany of curses running through his mind about hound-dog brothers with overactive libidos who’d just returned from Hell- and that last part brought Sam’s thoughts skittering to a halt.
The reminder of where Dean had returned from, the memories that turned his dreams into nightmares, the haunted look in his eyes… yeah, Sam’s anger lost some of its edge. Just a tad.
The bell rang jauntily, announcing his entrance. Sam really hated happy bells when his mood was anything but. Just didn’t fit.
Before Sam could ask, Cindy/Sara/Shelly rounded the corner from a back office, eyes snapping, “YOU!”
Completely derailed San straightened, pointed at himself. “Me?”
“You tell that partner of yours thanks for leaving his mess here for me to clean up. And…” her voice lowered, more hurt than angry now, “and thanks for - nothing.”
Nothing? Sam blinked in surprise - god he had to start paying better attention. They didn’t…? “You mean you and my br- er... partner didn’t…?”
Head down, she shook it sadly.
“Oh, I - I’m sorry…” Sam stuttered out, at a momentary loss for words. When she turned beet-red, he hurried to specify, “um, for the mess.”
Stealing a quick glance at his phone, Sam’s frowned; no missed message, no missed call. The concern meter notched up a bit. Where the hell was Dean? “Listen, I’ll happily take care of the mess if you’ll just show me where…”
Nodding sullenly, she led the way to a back room and opened the door. This was as good a way as any to get a look at whatever it was Dean had been working on. Maybe something there explained his sudden need to leave. As it was, Sam stood in the doorway, surveying the wreckage that was his brother’s method to organized research.
Papers were scattered all over a table, books open and overturned everywhere, chairs tumbled to the side - ok, so the mess wasn’t totally un-Dean-like. Given the way he flew into research, there wasn’t much in the visual aftermath that gave Sam any indication of foul play.
Sam looked at Cindy/Sara/Sally. “Did he say anything before you left him in here?”
When she turned bright red and Sam braced for the sordid details… “Nothing I’d tell you.”
Oh thank god…“Of course,” Sam said with some relief at her lack of detail. Though, more perplexed and uneasy than ever at the turn of events, he turned back to survey the scattered mess.
“But I’m confused,” she continued, interrupting his quiet musing.
Busily perusing the pile of jumbled papers, Sam gave a distracted, “Oh?”
“I thought he liked girls.”
The randomness of that statement brought his full attention back to her. Eyeing her curiously he responded, “He does. A lot - a whole lot.”
“Okay,” she sulked back, brow furrowed in thought. Eyes averted, she gazed around the room, anywhere but at Sam. “If you say so.”
Sam studied her profile. The nervous way she didn’t meet his gaze, coupled with her penchant for eavesdropping, led him to believe there was something she wasn’t telling him. “What did you hear?” he prodded knowingly.
Stunned, she turned to stare at him, eyes wide. Sam pasted on his ‘don’t bullshit me’ face and the flood gates of truth opened up. “I just happened to be walking by the room and… I heard talking. There was another guy in here with him.”
“Shit,” Sam murmured, eyes wide. He spun back to the table and anxiously scanned the papers with a more inquisitive eye for the chaos around him.
“It was weird, you know, I… I could’ve sworn I heard wings flapping right before the other guy started talking.”
“What?” Sam swung back. If the information wasn’t jarring enough, the constant rubber necking was about to make him sick. “You heard wings?” She nodded. “Did you get a look at him? Was the guy wearing a trench coat?”
“I never saw him,” she said, shaking her head. “Just heard him say, something about there being no time and then ‘Dean, I need you now’ then more wings and,” she shrugged, “he - er... they were gone. And that doesn’t make sense ‘cause there’s only one way in or out of this room and I was right by the door-”
Ok. Sam needed to put a stop to this right now, rumors of mysteriously disappearing strangers and wings flapping, ‘cause next thing you knew there would be questions and cops and - it was the last thing they needed. “Sara-”
“Abby,” she corrected, mightily put out.
That’s good. Off balance was good… “Sorry. Um,” he flapped an arm around the room, “I’m sorry about all this. Dean probably didn’t mention what we do for a living…?”
“He said ya’ll were some kind of investigators.”
“Right.” Good, Dean had kept it vague, Sam thought with relief. Sam could do vague on top of vague. “I’m not really supposed to tell anyone this, but… Dean’s a ninja.”
Abby blinked, her mouth opened in awe. “You mean like… in the movies?”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. Could it be this easy? “Like in the movies.”
“So the wing flapping thing…?”
Sam shook his head. “Just a smoke screen. Probably knew you were out here the entire time.”
“Oh.” Eyes sparkling, she smiled in wonderment. “Cool.”
Sam now saw what Dean had seen in her - the smile, the sparkle in her eyes - and found himself exceedingly glad to see the dregs of missed opportunity leave her face. Even if that missed opportunity had been a possible hook up with his older brother.
“Yeah,” Sam said as he tried to look more official than he felt. “I’m sure this has something to do with the case we’re working on-”
“Oh,” she chimed in excitedly, “you mean the missing campers and hikers?” Dropping her voice she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “You think it’s… murder?”
Taken aback, Sam asked hesitantly, “He told you about our case?”
The girl bit at her lower lip, eyes contrite. “Not exactly…” Sam quirked one brow questioningly. “Ok so, I sorta, kinda read his notes.”
Son of a …Sam looked quickly at the stacks of pages on the table. “You-”
“I just saw one little note about it,” she rushed to supply, eyes a little fearful. “Just the one that was on one of his pages when I brought him in another stack of books. That’s all. Honest.”
“Good.” Sam looked at her, dead serious. “Because you could get in a lot of trouble for snooping into federal business you know.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing, ‘cause I don’t actually know much.”
Of that, Sam was very certain.
“So,” Abby tapped on Sam’s sleeve, “do you think it’s a murder?” Once again, the sparkle of curiosity lit up her face and Sam finally witnessed what Dean saw in her. An innocence that neither of them had anymore. An innocence they both envied.
Still, they didn’t need the rumor mill flying that there was a murder investigation going on in a small town where the local law would likely take exception to federal agents showing up and not announcing themselves right off. Better to squash that curiosity right now.
“Nah,” Sam shook his head. “We’re pretty sure it’s just… bears.” Her perplexed look prompted him to explain. “We don’t exactly investigate cases involving humans. We’re sort of like, feral animal investigators.”
“Oh…” she deflated a bit, but there seemed no end to her questions. “So… the other guy who was here?”
“Probably one of our associates.” God, this was taking forever. If there was anything in that scattered mess of papers that would tell him where Castiel had taken Dean, he needed start digging. Now! “Listen, Amanda-”
“Abby!”
“Sorry. Abby.” Pasting on a patient smile that he didn’t feel, Sam moved into her personal space and got the desired response; she backed away. Maneuvering her toward the exit, he continued, “Could I just get a moment here alone?” Then, he spun her ‘round and pressed an insistent hand to the small of her back, and pushed lightly.
Abby looked over her shoulder, mouth opening and closing, but Sam added, “I gotta get a look at what my partner was working on, and it’s, you know, private. Maybe it’ll give me a clue as to what he was on to.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.” At the door she rounded, clapped her hands to the frame, her intent to stay put evident. “If the man who came here was an associate, why didn’t he…they come tell you or call you or something?”
“Yeah.” Sam glanced back at the table, buying time to come up with something. Then he looked back at Abby. “That other associate? He’s a bit of a rogue agent.”
“There are,” her eyes muddied in confusion, “rogue agents in the field of - animal investigation?”
“It’s… complicated.” Sam abruptly clasped her around the waist making her squeak in surprise and her arms drop. Eager figure out just what hand happened to Dean his patience was gone. The door frame out of her grasp, he set her outside in the hall and stepped back. “And I’m really not at liberty to discuss it.”
Without another word, Sam shut the door in her face.
Dean was completely and totally and utterly miserable.
A steady rain came down in frozen sheets, coating his head, his clothes, his hands, his legs. Shivering almost non-stop, he pulled his leather coat closer and pushed on through the forest.
“F-f-fucking a-an-angels.” A litany of curses poured from between Dean’s chattering teeth as the two moved on through the frigid surroundings. “F- fu-cking check th-the w-weather f-f-forecast?”
The horse whinnied and shook his mane furiously. Dean’s already numb face was now coated with icy condensation. He slammed his eyes shut and ran a trembling hand down his face. “Fuck y-you too, h-h-horse.”
They’d been no more than a half hour into their ride when, upon arrival at this particularly lush area of forest, the freezing rain had started to fall. The ground had become slick and treacherous and the horse had had to slow to avoid slipping. Now, it picked carefully through the undergrowth.
Trembling hands managed to pull the cell from his pocket. It was no less than he’d expected, the same he’d seen since Castiel had dropped him in this fuck-forsaken forest over an hour ago; no service.
“D-d-da-damn cell ph-phone.” Dean snapped the useless thing closed, nearly dropping it in the process. Hands numb from cold, he only just managed to keep hold of it before stuffing it back into his pocket.
Dean dropped his head back and shouted, hoarsely, “Is it t-t-too much t-t-to ask for a l-little w-warmth?!” When heaven had nothing to say, he leveled his gaze in front of him again, struggling to clear his sore throat. “’S all I n-n-need's another f-f-fucking c-c-cold.”
Dean’s nose tickled and he lifted his hand just in time to level an almighty sneeze. Surprised, the horse slipped down a narrow ravine while startled birds flapped for cover. Once the horse righted itself and Dean’s ears popped, he heard the residual echo of his exploding sinuses bounce off the tall rocky surrounding.
“Gross,” Dean muttered, staring at the handful of snot. Rolling his eyes, he looked around for someplace to… deposit the result of explosive sinuses. Low on options, he grimaced and wiped the goopy substance on his pants.
“’Think of it as the Impala with legs’,” Dean mimicked in his best Castiel-like-voice. The more the angel's words played in his mind, the more freezing rain fell, the more stiffened and numb his fingers became, the more his ass complained over the hard surface of the saddle, the more he thought about Sam not being there...
Head back, top of his lungs he shouted, “WELL AT LEAST MY CAR HAS A FUCKING HEATER AND A ROOF!”
Dean winced and slammed his eyes shut. Damn that had hurt. Turned out yelling with a sore throat and a headache wasn’t such a good idea.
Sullen and even more miserable, he hitched up the sides of his wet jacket and sank deep into the saddle, the horse’s rocking gait somewhat soothing.
Having completely ignored his second outburst, the horse merely trotted out of the ravine and continued on their trek.
-~*~-
PART 2
-~*~-
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ H~a~p~p~y~ * ~B~i~r~t~h~d~a~y~ * ~N~a~t~t~y ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ok. I indulged and in-so-doing it got a little… cracky. I totally amused myself, and hopefully others. I mean, if Dean’s gonna be in a fic with a horse, how can you NOT see that as an opportunity to have some fun…?
Poor Dean. Him and Satan’s Spawn are just not going to work and play well together, I fear.
AUTHOR: jackfan2
CATEGORY: Gen
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, Castiel
WORDS: 5,562
GENRE: Humor/Hurt/Comfort
RATING: T, or PG13 for swearing
TIMELINE: Season 4
BETAED: roqueclasique, mad_server and the birthday girl herself, adrenalineshots
This is a birthday fic. My good friend and cohort adrenalineshots, aka, Natty, picked the following prompts; Powers!Dean, a horse and Sam to the rescue.
SUMMARY: Dean is whisked away by the angels for an urgent rescue mission,leaving Sam clamoring to find him. Between a dubious gift and a bat-shit horse, angelic blessings and hell's curses can sometimes be frighteningly similar, and all disastrous for Dean.
-~*~-
THE GIFT: Part 1
-~*~-
“No. Fucking. Way!”
Dean’s frustrated voice echoed in the Minnesota forest, reverberating off the surrounding walls of sheer rock, thick foliage and evergreens. Birds screeched, wings flapped and the anxious scurrying land creatures, heard but unseen, completed the mass retreat of the wooded area.
One animal, however, stood unaffected: the four legged menace that Castiel called Shadow Dancer, or some pansy shit like that. Saddled and ready, the horse stood quiet and calm. Watching.
Just days before the Winchesters had arrived at the small town of Crested River Falls at Bobby’s request. A friend of a friend, of a friend, had gone missing some months back and others since and before.
From what Bobby had been able to gather, over the last couple of months several campers and seasoned hikers had either disappeared or been found severely injured. Those 'lucky' enough to have lived through their ordeal were but a shell of their former selves, shock and fear having left them mad.
Survivors were actually a rare find, in fact. Most times recovered remains came in the form of the missing person’s sun-bleached bones or mangled body, ravaged by time, elements and the area’s natural scavengers.
Still early in their research, the boys strongly suspected the predator to be a wendigo but needed more information. Either way, it looked to be an accurate theory and it was - to their immense relief - a creature they were most adept at eradicating.
It was almost a relief. Compared to the shit they’d been dealt over the last several years, a skinny, knock-kneed, gap-toothed, long-legged cannibalistic freak would actually be a welcome change. A piece of cake.
Now, however, things had gotten… complicated; Castiel.
According to heavenly gossip, there was a family in need of help, some poor bastards that had decided to camp in the wrong place, at the wrong fucking time and, unlucky bastards that they were, had ended up being dragged off by the wendigo to the most remote place that any retarded dick could come up with.
Which meant that the only way to get to them was on horseback - or so Castiel had insisted.
Which meant riding on the back of a black thing that Castiel had pulled out of God knows where. Oh, and because when Castiel had snatched him from the County Records office without warning, and without the decency to allow Dean time to pocket even so much as a toothpick, he'd be going in unarmed.
Ok, so there was Castiel's promised gift that he’d assured him would work. But really, Dean had little faith in the things of either Hell or Heaven these days.
At the present, however, Dean was more concerned about the black beast standing before him. Warily, he eyed the animal with disdain and distrust.
Shadow Dancer? Huh... Dean scoffed mentally. There were other, more appropriate names he could think of; like, Hell Spawn, Hell Raiser, Demon Spawn, Son of Satan - ok, so they were mostly variations on the same theme but all with the same point. Dean hated horses. 'Specially opinionated ones.
The fact that it just stood there, chewing lazily on some forest foliage, completely unimpressed with the hunter, earned it yet another strike, so far as Dean was concerned. Black eyes stared beneath long lashes and nothing in Dean’s world that had black eyes was ever good. Its eyes stared holes into the hunter, like it was measuring him up.
Nope, Dean shook his head and crossed his arms. There was no way he was riding that. Determined to get his point across to the angel, he turned, jaw set, hands clenched into fists, and leveled Castiel with an icy glare, willing the angel to bend to get his drift.
Castiel nodded toward the horse, his face filled with something akin to adoration and awe. "Shadow Dancer is ready to go," he gestured.
Dean rolled his eyes. Angels just didn't do subtle, it seemed.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Dean barked, taking the direct approach.
The angel only canted his head, eyes scrunched. “Why do you insist on saying that?” He blinked a moment, “I do not… kid.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean muttered sarcastically. “Fine,” he said louder, wanting to be heard, “'cause neither do I.” Arms crossed to show he’d stand his ground. “There is no way I'm riding that...that-” he leveled a finger at the horse, “thing.”
“Horse,” Castiel corrected. He missed completely the irate hunter’s face. “Believe me, this is not something I wish to put on you.”
“Then don’t!” Dean shot back, but history told him it wouldn’t be that easy. “Why don’t you just,” he gave a quick flap of his arms, “swoop in with some of your angel buddies and save the day? Why send me?”
“We have other battles and I am needed there." Castiel looked away, as if listening to a distant voice. "As it is, I have delayed too long. My brothers and sisters call.”
“Riiiight,” Dean nodded, his voice deceptively calm. His ire notched up and his voice grew steadily louder, “‘cause one small family isn’t worth the angels’ precious time.”
Castiel flinched. Dean instantly regretted the tone but not the sentiment.
None of this made sense to him. When they'd arrived at the small town, Sam had gone to the library to research ‘cause their computer’d been on the fritz (something about a virus - so computers got sick days? That seemed completely unfair), while Dean had taken the county records office.
One minute Dean’d been poring over the books, gathering information, studying his map, then Castiel had flapped in for a brief but heated argument and then one touched-by-an-angel moment later, here he was. The middle of some shit-forsaken forest and - dammit, when did it start getting colder out here?
“And you know, what’s with this family anyway?” Dean looked curiously at Castiel. “What makes them so special, or not special, that the angels would want them saved?”
“Is it not enough that they are in need? That their very lives hang in the balance?”
Dean couldn’t argue that one. “Ok then, just go get Sam and he and I -”
“As I said before,” Castiel interrupted - it wasn’t the first time Dean had lamented his brother’s absence and the angel was getting testy on the subject - “since Sam was not present at my arrival, given how little time there is, I conveyed only you.” Arms wide and sounding far too sarcastic for an angelic being, he added, “and here we stand when we should be moving.”
Dean didn’t think he could get any angrier but that ‘we’ got him by the short and curlies. It wasn’t that he didn’t get the point, he did; he was just tired of being pushed around, maneuvered and jimmied into place like a live piece on some gigantic, apocalyptic chess board.
“We?” Dean repeated icily. “Seriously? ‘Cause last time I checked, I was doing this solo. Not only without backup, but without a fucking weapon.”
“You will have use of the Gift.”
“Right, right,” Dean nodded. Curiosity flipped a gear in his brain and at the mention of Gift he stared suspiciously at his hands. “Ya know, before I go charging to the rescue with my ass and my bare teeth hanging out, give me the skinny on this so called Gift.”
“The…” brow furrowed, Castiel asked, “…skinny?”
“You know.” Dean rolled a hand. “The low down. The particulars. The 411.”
Castiel shook his head in total bafflement.
“Cas,” Dean sighed, “you guys have got to get with the program. If you’re gonna walk - er… fly, among us - you gotta learn the lingo.”
“What…” the angel’s face grew even more confused, “program do you-”
“Forget it!” Dean closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers. A headache, the after effects of the flu he’d just gotten over, had been building since late yesterday and growing worse since Castiel had arrived. “Just - tell me how long this… Gift is gonna last?”
“Not long, Dean; you must accomplish your goal quickly. As soon as the family is safe, and the creature-”
“Wendigo”
“-is dispensed.”
“Killed.”
Not only did angels not kid, but they obviously got a bit perturbed at being repeatedly corrected or cut off. Dean could swear he saw the angel roll his eyes heavenward, calling on some divine source of patience.
After a breath, Castiel continued, “- the Gift will have run its course.”
Dean rolled the information around a bit. “Don’t suppose you could, you know, make this Gift-thingy last a bit longer?” he suggested hopefully. “Well, just ‘til we stop Lilith an’ all?”
“I am sorry,” Castiel said, truly looked the part. “It is not mine to control in that way.”
“Yeah, I guess I figured as much.” Dean turned then stopped suddenly, and looked back at the angel. “You know, you never did tell me just how you came about this gift. I mean, you’re not breaking some kind of angel code or something?”
Castiel canted his head to the side, his eyes studying and curious. “You…” a certainty quickly filled his gaze and Dean found it hard not to squirm. “You actually care that I might get in trouble.”
Face closed, the quick read of emotion gone, Dean covered, “Hey, it’s my ass on the line here. I don’t want to be up against it and have this gift yanked out from under me all of a sudden, just ‘cause you got reckless.”
Castiel’s face softened and one side of his mouth quirked slightly into a knowing smile. “I called in one of the very few favors I still have at my disposal. Do not worry. The gift will not leave you before its time.”
“Good,” Dean nodded, tossing a reluctant eye at Demon Spawn as it returned the favor, “’cause, you know, Wendigos do eat people and I’ve already been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt.”
Resigned to this fate, Dean turned to leave but stopped short.
The once calm horse was now tossing his head wildly, hooves pawing at the ground, black eyes rolling about their sockets. A mighty snort puffed out of flared nostrils, the chilled air giving it the appearance of smoke from hellfire.
In that moment, Dean quickly added horses to the list of ‘Things Dean Hates’, second only to camping, but somewhere between Ruby, Alastair, all demons, most angels and well, ok, it was a longer list than he realized.
Still, that list grew to include horses, especially the crazed horse he was expected to ride who eyed him with contempt and looked to want nothing more than to rip him apart. Limb from-
“Time is of the essence Dean,” Castiel encouraged.
Dean jumped, wondering just how long he’d been standing there.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean flapped a hand over his shoulder, looked balefully at the horse and murmured, “My essence is about to get its ass kicked. Literally.”
The hunter got no more than a step closer when Demon Spawn shied away and whinnied what Dean was sure to be a mutually shared aversion to him riding.
The angel’s voice prodded again. “Dean.”
That did it. Spinning at Cas, arms wide, Dean practically shouted, “Really?” He waved angrily at the anxious animal. “Exactly how am I supposed to make time if I can’t get a foot into the…” he flapped a hand, “the… loop thingy?”
“Stirrup,” Castiel corrected.
Dean’s mouth slammed shut. Eyes narrowed suspiciously at the angel, he said, “Ok, I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
The angel’s only response was a steady gaze at the horse, almost like there was some unheard conversation. “Whatever,” Dean sighed, figuring he was on his own.
Surprisingly enough, he got a foot into the stirrup and swung a leg over. In direct response, the horse danced violently sideways, forcing Dean to clutch at its mane for dear life.
“Shit!” Dean went wide-eyed as Son of Satan continued to dance beneath him.
No help at all, Castiel spoke urgently: “Mason’s Gorge is not far, maybe two hours if you hurry.”
“I…” He grabbed one of the leather, strappy things that attached at Hell Spawn’s mouth and pulled. Hard.
Horses, Dean soon realized, did not like their mouths jerked on, hard, or otherwise, or at least Hell Spawn certainly didn't. This was made painfully clear to him when the animal began to spin and jump, in one continuous unending motion. Spin, jump, turn, spin, jump, turn.
Foam issued terrifyingly from Hell Spawn’s mouth as it snorted and flung its head. As the flecks of froth flew, Dean thought frantically that it would be just his luck to get the only rabid horse on this shitty, fucked up day.
Flailing, Dean held on for dear life. “I still don - ,” he grappled for control, “don’t understand why I gotta ride this - over-sized dog.”
“Trust me Dean,” Castiel said, staring intently at the animal. “This is the best way for you to reach the mine.”
Dizzy and disoriented, Dean didn't immediately grasp the reason for the horse’s sudden decreased activity. Once the constant spins, hops, and head tosses slowed, all he saw was a chance to regain much needed control.
So, with his limited knowledge of horses, he seized his chance. Gathering the leather straps, he tugged the other direction with a strong, heavy handed yank. Hell Spawn snorted and his tail swished angrily at the over-correction. Gaining speed once again, he moved to spin the other direction. As ordered.
Dean never heard Castiel's frustrated sigh.
“Oh you-” Dean gritted his teeth, trying to reply. “You I got no problem with - ” Dean pulled again and Demon Spawn answered with a head toss. "Well, aside from the whole, ‘think of it as the Impala with legs’ thing,” he mimicked. Demon Spawn started spinning faster. “Seriously, Cas... I’d rather w... walk.”
“And be too late to save the lives of those in peril?”
Dean was at the end of his patience with the horse. Deciding on a firmer hand with the animal he yelled, "Dammit!" and began sawing on the reins, relentlessly. "STOPPIT!"
If the horse had been annoyed before, it was posi-fucking-lutely livid now, as was evident in the sudden crow-hopping, head-turning, teeth-baring, rear legs flinging gestures it exhibited.
“Cas!” Dean grappled frantically for the hard leather knobby thing that jutted up from the saddle. With every sudden shift forward, his balls shrieked in pain. “Guilt trip later. Stop. Horse. Now!”
In his panic, Dean heard a faint flutter of wings then Castiel was in front of the horse, his eyes fixed on its tossing head. The angel raised one hand, palm out and the animal stilled - immediately. The angel then pressed his palm to the small patch of white fur on its forehead, held it there then dropped his hand.
The animal became all at once still, pliant and reserved. “He won’t trouble you any longer,” Castiel said as he helped gather the reins and adjusted them back in Dean’s grip. Eyes brimming with excitement, he said, “Ride, Dean. Find that family.”
What with the sudden extrication, Castiel’s urgent mission and the appearance of the bat-shit horse, with his ass now sliding achingly in the saddle Dean realized he hadn’t had the chance to ask the one question he’d been itching to ask. The one question that had been on the tip of his tongue before Bat-Shit Horse showed up.
“So, wait, why not just beam me up to the mine? Why a ho -”
Dean never got the chance to finish his question. The animal shot off like a rocket and Dean could do no more than grab at the pommel and hold on for dear life.
As the angel shrunk in the distance, Dean got the distinct impression, as he recalled the look on Castiel’s face, that this had been just what the angel intended.
Sam paced in front of the library, growing angrier by the minute. Dean was late. Very late.
Flipping open the phone, he dialed Dean’s cell again. “This is Dean Winchester-” Voicemail. Sam snapped the thing shut with a vehement epithet, looked in the direction of the city offices and got even angrier.
Well aware of his brother’s effect on some women (though Dean would argue it was ALL women -- unless they happened to be gay, or into Sam, which was, in his book, the same thing), Sam had a pretty good idea as to what or, more accurately, who was indirectly responsible for his brothers’ tardiness.
They’d arrived at Crested River Falls too early to check into their hotel, so with stomachs grumbling they had made their way to the local diner for breakfast. Over short stacks, sausages and eggs, the course of their conversation had turned to research assignments for the day when Dean’s definition of ‘hot’ (which, by Sam’s definition was pretty much any pretty female who reciprocated Dean’s advances) had strode in.
Sam could swear he heard tendons and muscle snap when Dean did a strong double take. Their eyes locked as she moved to take a seat at the vacant table nearest them and Sam knew then that Dean’s hot-chick-checking-me-out radar had been tripped and streaming live.
Sam had sighed. Dean cleared his throat.
In obvious discomfort resulting from the effect her exaggerated swaying hips and upper body parts as she approached, Dean shifted and lowered his head and just like that they seemed to be back on track. The effort, Sam knew, was nothing short of herculean on his brother’s part.
The test was far from over, however. A scant three feet separated her table from theirs and Sam caught the clandestine glances and doe-eyed gazes throughout breakfast. Still, Dean had made a valiant effort to stay on task and Sam'd been obscenely proud of him for it.
Then, at Sam’s mention of the city records department, things went immediately down hill.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the girl had practically done a double flip backwards, which was quite impressive given her seated position. When she eagerly leaned over to introduce herself, her over-indulgent breasts doing all the talking, Sam knew resistance was futile.
Sam had wondered then if he could possibly pull a muscle in his eyes for rolling them so much.
“I happen to work there…” Cindy/Sara/Shelly had purred, eyes melting in their sockets. Her introduction gave away, quite obviously, the fact that she’d been listening to at least some of their conversation.
In a momentary shot of panic, Sam had mentally reviewed everything they'd been saying to this point, scanning for weird content. There was, however, nothing to worry about because from the extreme amount of sugar that she exuded in her talk, there was no way that she thought them to be insane, or murderers, or both.
Then her giggle had cut into the bustle of the morning rush crowd, slicing at Sam's nerves and when he looked at the two of them, he wondered if he'd need an insulin shot after prolonged exposure.
“Well then, this must be my lucky day,” Dean had supplied with an equal amount of syrup and eye twinkling.
Good god… Oh well, so much for staying on task, Sam had thought as he rolled his eyes. Again.
They’d giggled and talked so long, during which Sam had gotten so lost in his internal struggle between not throwing up, and leveling some understanding for his brother, you know, given his time spent in Hell and all, that Sam blinked in surprise when Dean stood and extended an elbow toward Sandy/Shelby/Sharon.
She giggled. Again. Then she stood and took his elbow, biting coyly at her lower lip. Oh sheesh.
Without taking his eyes off the girl, Dean spoke. “I’d be glad to give you a ride to work, if I may be so bold.”
When had that happened?
The girl giggled. Again. Insulin please.
Amazingly enough, just before they left, Dean had actually looked at Sam. “You know, the library’s not that far from here. I’ll just give (whatever the hell her name was, ‘cause by this time Sam was completely flabbergasted as to what was happening) a ride. Pick ya’ up ‘bout lunch time?” He gave Sam a manly pat on the shoulder. And winked.
Then they were leaving, exiting the diner, arm-in-arm, on a breeze of quiet murmurs and saccharin giggles.
It didn’t usually bother Sam when this sort of thing happened. Having spent his entire life with a guy like Dean who was attracted to girls in general, never mind those who just happened to work at the Records Hall, it was to be expected. After all, she was just his type; female and available. Ok, so she happened to be pretty too…
“Dammit,” Sam had muttered, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Determined and pissed, he’d stormed down the sidewalk toward the city offices, a litany of curses running through his mind about hound-dog brothers with overactive libidos who’d just returned from Hell- and that last part brought Sam’s thoughts skittering to a halt.
The reminder of where Dean had returned from, the memories that turned his dreams into nightmares, the haunted look in his eyes… yeah, Sam’s anger lost some of its edge. Just a tad.
The bell rang jauntily, announcing his entrance. Sam really hated happy bells when his mood was anything but. Just didn’t fit.
Before Sam could ask, Cindy/Sara/Shelly rounded the corner from a back office, eyes snapping, “YOU!”
Completely derailed San straightened, pointed at himself. “Me?”
“You tell that partner of yours thanks for leaving his mess here for me to clean up. And…” her voice lowered, more hurt than angry now, “and thanks for - nothing.”
Nothing? Sam blinked in surprise - god he had to start paying better attention. They didn’t…? “You mean you and my br- er... partner didn’t…?”
Head down, she shook it sadly.
“Oh, I - I’m sorry…” Sam stuttered out, at a momentary loss for words. When she turned beet-red, he hurried to specify, “um, for the mess.”
Stealing a quick glance at his phone, Sam’s frowned; no missed message, no missed call. The concern meter notched up a bit. Where the hell was Dean? “Listen, I’ll happily take care of the mess if you’ll just show me where…”
Nodding sullenly, she led the way to a back room and opened the door. This was as good a way as any to get a look at whatever it was Dean had been working on. Maybe something there explained his sudden need to leave. As it was, Sam stood in the doorway, surveying the wreckage that was his brother’s method to organized research.
Papers were scattered all over a table, books open and overturned everywhere, chairs tumbled to the side - ok, so the mess wasn’t totally un-Dean-like. Given the way he flew into research, there wasn’t much in the visual aftermath that gave Sam any indication of foul play.
Sam looked at Cindy/Sara/Sally. “Did he say anything before you left him in here?”
When she turned bright red and Sam braced for the sordid details… “Nothing I’d tell you.”
Oh thank god…“Of course,” Sam said with some relief at her lack of detail. Though, more perplexed and uneasy than ever at the turn of events, he turned back to survey the scattered mess.
“But I’m confused,” she continued, interrupting his quiet musing.
Busily perusing the pile of jumbled papers, Sam gave a distracted, “Oh?”
“I thought he liked girls.”
The randomness of that statement brought his full attention back to her. Eyeing her curiously he responded, “He does. A lot - a whole lot.”
“Okay,” she sulked back, brow furrowed in thought. Eyes averted, she gazed around the room, anywhere but at Sam. “If you say so.”
Sam studied her profile. The nervous way she didn’t meet his gaze, coupled with her penchant for eavesdropping, led him to believe there was something she wasn’t telling him. “What did you hear?” he prodded knowingly.
Stunned, she turned to stare at him, eyes wide. Sam pasted on his ‘don’t bullshit me’ face and the flood gates of truth opened up. “I just happened to be walking by the room and… I heard talking. There was another guy in here with him.”
“Shit,” Sam murmured, eyes wide. He spun back to the table and anxiously scanned the papers with a more inquisitive eye for the chaos around him.
“It was weird, you know, I… I could’ve sworn I heard wings flapping right before the other guy started talking.”
“What?” Sam swung back. If the information wasn’t jarring enough, the constant rubber necking was about to make him sick. “You heard wings?” She nodded. “Did you get a look at him? Was the guy wearing a trench coat?”
“I never saw him,” she said, shaking her head. “Just heard him say, something about there being no time and then ‘Dean, I need you now’ then more wings and,” she shrugged, “he - er... they were gone. And that doesn’t make sense ‘cause there’s only one way in or out of this room and I was right by the door-”
Ok. Sam needed to put a stop to this right now, rumors of mysteriously disappearing strangers and wings flapping, ‘cause next thing you knew there would be questions and cops and - it was the last thing they needed. “Sara-”
“Abby,” she corrected, mightily put out.
That’s good. Off balance was good… “Sorry. Um,” he flapped an arm around the room, “I’m sorry about all this. Dean probably didn’t mention what we do for a living…?”
“He said ya’ll were some kind of investigators.”
“Right.” Good, Dean had kept it vague, Sam thought with relief. Sam could do vague on top of vague. “I’m not really supposed to tell anyone this, but… Dean’s a ninja.”
Abby blinked, her mouth opened in awe. “You mean like… in the movies?”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. Could it be this easy? “Like in the movies.”
“So the wing flapping thing…?”
Sam shook his head. “Just a smoke screen. Probably knew you were out here the entire time.”
“Oh.” Eyes sparkling, she smiled in wonderment. “Cool.”
Sam now saw what Dean had seen in her - the smile, the sparkle in her eyes - and found himself exceedingly glad to see the dregs of missed opportunity leave her face. Even if that missed opportunity had been a possible hook up with his older brother.
“Yeah,” Sam said as he tried to look more official than he felt. “I’m sure this has something to do with the case we’re working on-”
“Oh,” she chimed in excitedly, “you mean the missing campers and hikers?” Dropping her voice she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “You think it’s… murder?”
Taken aback, Sam asked hesitantly, “He told you about our case?”
The girl bit at her lower lip, eyes contrite. “Not exactly…” Sam quirked one brow questioningly. “Ok so, I sorta, kinda read his notes.”
Son of a …Sam looked quickly at the stacks of pages on the table. “You-”
“I just saw one little note about it,” she rushed to supply, eyes a little fearful. “Just the one that was on one of his pages when I brought him in another stack of books. That’s all. Honest.”
“Good.” Sam looked at her, dead serious. “Because you could get in a lot of trouble for snooping into federal business you know.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing, ‘cause I don’t actually know much.”
Of that, Sam was very certain.
“So,” Abby tapped on Sam’s sleeve, “do you think it’s a murder?” Once again, the sparkle of curiosity lit up her face and Sam finally witnessed what Dean saw in her. An innocence that neither of them had anymore. An innocence they both envied.
Still, they didn’t need the rumor mill flying that there was a murder investigation going on in a small town where the local law would likely take exception to federal agents showing up and not announcing themselves right off. Better to squash that curiosity right now.
“Nah,” Sam shook his head. “We’re pretty sure it’s just… bears.” Her perplexed look prompted him to explain. “We don’t exactly investigate cases involving humans. We’re sort of like, feral animal investigators.”
“Oh…” she deflated a bit, but there seemed no end to her questions. “So… the other guy who was here?”
“Probably one of our associates.” God, this was taking forever. If there was anything in that scattered mess of papers that would tell him where Castiel had taken Dean, he needed start digging. Now! “Listen, Amanda-”
“Abby!”
“Sorry. Abby.” Pasting on a patient smile that he didn’t feel, Sam moved into her personal space and got the desired response; she backed away. Maneuvering her toward the exit, he continued, “Could I just get a moment here alone?” Then, he spun her ‘round and pressed an insistent hand to the small of her back, and pushed lightly.
Abby looked over her shoulder, mouth opening and closing, but Sam added, “I gotta get a look at what my partner was working on, and it’s, you know, private. Maybe it’ll give me a clue as to what he was on to.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.” At the door she rounded, clapped her hands to the frame, her intent to stay put evident. “If the man who came here was an associate, why didn’t he…they come tell you or call you or something?”
“Yeah.” Sam glanced back at the table, buying time to come up with something. Then he looked back at Abby. “That other associate? He’s a bit of a rogue agent.”
“There are,” her eyes muddied in confusion, “rogue agents in the field of - animal investigation?”
“It’s… complicated.” Sam abruptly clasped her around the waist making her squeak in surprise and her arms drop. Eager figure out just what hand happened to Dean his patience was gone. The door frame out of her grasp, he set her outside in the hall and stepped back. “And I’m really not at liberty to discuss it.”
Without another word, Sam shut the door in her face.
Dean was completely and totally and utterly miserable.
A steady rain came down in frozen sheets, coating his head, his clothes, his hands, his legs. Shivering almost non-stop, he pulled his leather coat closer and pushed on through the forest.
“F-f-fucking a-an-angels.” A litany of curses poured from between Dean’s chattering teeth as the two moved on through the frigid surroundings. “F- fu-cking check th-the w-weather f-f-forecast?”
The horse whinnied and shook his mane furiously. Dean’s already numb face was now coated with icy condensation. He slammed his eyes shut and ran a trembling hand down his face. “Fuck y-you too, h-h-horse.”
They’d been no more than a half hour into their ride when, upon arrival at this particularly lush area of forest, the freezing rain had started to fall. The ground had become slick and treacherous and the horse had had to slow to avoid slipping. Now, it picked carefully through the undergrowth.
Trembling hands managed to pull the cell from his pocket. It was no less than he’d expected, the same he’d seen since Castiel had dropped him in this fuck-forsaken forest over an hour ago; no service.
“D-d-da-damn cell ph-phone.” Dean snapped the useless thing closed, nearly dropping it in the process. Hands numb from cold, he only just managed to keep hold of it before stuffing it back into his pocket.
Dean dropped his head back and shouted, hoarsely, “Is it t-t-too much t-t-to ask for a l-little w-warmth?!” When heaven had nothing to say, he leveled his gaze in front of him again, struggling to clear his sore throat. “’S all I n-n-need's another f-f-fucking c-c-cold.”
Dean’s nose tickled and he lifted his hand just in time to level an almighty sneeze. Surprised, the horse slipped down a narrow ravine while startled birds flapped for cover. Once the horse righted itself and Dean’s ears popped, he heard the residual echo of his exploding sinuses bounce off the tall rocky surrounding.
“Gross,” Dean muttered, staring at the handful of snot. Rolling his eyes, he looked around for someplace to… deposit the result of explosive sinuses. Low on options, he grimaced and wiped the goopy substance on his pants.
“’Think of it as the Impala with legs’,” Dean mimicked in his best Castiel-like-voice. The more the angel's words played in his mind, the more freezing rain fell, the more stiffened and numb his fingers became, the more his ass complained over the hard surface of the saddle, the more he thought about Sam not being there...
Head back, top of his lungs he shouted, “WELL AT LEAST MY CAR HAS A FUCKING HEATER AND A ROOF!”
Dean winced and slammed his eyes shut. Damn that had hurt. Turned out yelling with a sore throat and a headache wasn’t such a good idea.
Sullen and even more miserable, he hitched up the sides of his wet jacket and sank deep into the saddle, the horse’s rocking gait somewhat soothing.
Having completely ignored his second outburst, the horse merely trotted out of the ravine and continued on their trek.
-~*~-
PART 2
-~*~-
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ H~a~p~p~y~ * ~B~i~r~t~h~d~a~y~ * ~N~a~t~t~y ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ok. I indulged and in-so-doing it got a little… cracky. I totally amused myself, and hopefully others. I mean, if Dean’s gonna be in a fic with a horse, how can you NOT see that as an opportunity to have some fun…?
Poor Dean. Him and Satan’s Spawn are just not going to work and play well together, I fear.