Mileage: Road To Redemption 1/2
A small town in Central Iowa.
The motel room was well-salted and well-warded. Both brothers were sound asleep.
Suddenly, the larger one sat up, gasping. In one fluid movement, he snapped on the light between the beds and grabbed the notebook and pen lying on the table.
The other one raised his head, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "....Dean?"
Dean made an 'I'm okay' gesture, head bent over the notebook.
Sam sat up, yawning. He watched Dean for a moment, then he stood up. "Painkillers?"
Shaking his head, Dean's hand mimed turning a dial down.
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Fine, but as soon as you're done, that dial goes away and you take it, got me?"
A single thumb jutted skyward, then the pen was set onto his leg as Dean's right hand was used to sign. Bitch.
"Jerk," Sam shot back good-naturedly as he got up and started making coffee. "At least we got a full night's sleep -- it's 7.30."
A breathy huff telegraphed Dean's opinion of that, and Sam grinned as he sat back onto his own bed and watched his brother's pen flit over the paper, pouring the vision out into words.
Sam tilted his head, watching as Dean absent-mindedly shoved dark bangs out of his eyes before resuming. "Looks like I need to cut your hair again."
Dean used both hands this time. Fast fast grow. Why?
"I don't know. It's always grown that way. Hey, remember Dad used to call me 'Rapunzel' because of that?"
The brothers shared an amused smile, then Dean resumed writing and Sam went to pour their coffee.
The silence and the signing no longer bothered Sam. That was the one thing that Dean's unique psyche brought to the mix now that he was the one with the visions.
When it had been Sam, telekinesis and crippling pain had been the price of the visions. Now, the telekinesis was gone, destroyed with the demon blood's purging. And Dean had a much higher pain threshold than Sam -- especially if he controlled it with that damned mental dial.
But Dean had not spoken for nearly two years after their mother had been killed. Two other times in Sam's memory - and one time that he had no idea about -- Dean's reaction to intense stress had been to retreat into muteness and the comforting beauty of using his fingers to speak.
And now, that was his reaction to a vision. Sam wasn't worried, because he knew that once the torrent of words ceased to flow onto the paper, words would again replace gestures.
Sam brought the two coffees over, and Dean smiled and signed his thanks as he took a sip and sat it on the table.
When Sam returned from the bathroom, Dean croaked, "Use all the hot water?"
"Showered before bed. Got it all out?"
"Yeah." He stood, running a hand through his hair as he dug through his duffel. Finding a pair of boxers, he wove his way into the bathroom.
Sam chuckled and laid out a pair of soft jeans and a grey t-shirt. Beside that, he laid out a large green hoodie. After a vision, he knew from experience, comfort was important. And soft fabrics comforted Dean -- that hadn't changed even though he was now in another body.
Once that was done, Sam picked up the pad of paper and began to read.
Pretty blonde girl. 20-25? Smile to melt your heart from a thousand paces. Too bad she rarely uses it. Named for a gemstone -- red -- Ruby? Black eyes, so she's a demon. But a GOOD demon? (Sammy, I DON'T GET THIS!) Didn't possess the girl, took her after a natural death. Has a weapon that can kill demons. It's for us. She's definitely on our side.
Another helper. Man. My height -- well, your height, now. Curly black hair. Eyes so blue, makes your breath catch. Rumpled suit, stupid trenchcoat -- dresses just like Columbo! Two men in one body. Both on our side. One man died -- but what killed him never happened (??) so he's conscious and can't be pushed away. Jim N. The other isn't human or demon. Powerful -- wings? (Angel? Working with us AND a demon? SAMMY, THIS VISION MAKES NO DAMN SENSE!!) Weird name -- Castle?
And somehow, DAD is mixed up in all this. Thought it was a nightmare, but I can't talk so I know it's a vision!
"Huh," Sam said as he looked up to see a towel-turbaned Dean stepping into the jeans. "Lotta detail this time."
"Amazing what you can recall when your brain's not turnin' itself inside out with pain." Dean sat down on the bed and used the towel on his hair. "Which is the reason I use the pain dial as soon as I realise I can't talk." Sam opened his mouth, and Dean interrupted, "And yes, I took the pain pills."
"Good." Sam stood up. "You hungry?"
"I could eat." Dean stretched over and snagged the Impala keys from the table, pitching them to Sam and grinning as he caught them one-handed. "Surprise me."
Sam grinned and left the room, leaving his jacket behind in concession to the warm early September morning.
Dean pulled on his t-shirt and plopped down onto Sam's bed, letting the sock in his hand dangle between his knees as he re-read what he'd written.
Running his other hand through his damp hair, he shook his head and absently scratched the mole on his left cheek beside his nose as he muttered, "It still makes no damn sense!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Samuel Jefferson had a secret. Most people did, but he held a huge one.
For the last week, the elderly funeral director had shared his body with a demonness named Ruby. She behaved herself -- for the most part. There had been moments, but only two or three, where she'd spoken with his mouth.
He had never realised how sarcastic his voice could sound.
When the body of Debbie Winslow came into the funeral home, he noticed the details. Female, age 25, date of death September 5, cause of death complications from cystic fibrosis. But when he unwrapped the body to prepare it, he felt both himself and Ruby draw in a startled breath.
"Is that her?" he asked.
"That's her," he heard his voice shape Ruby's words.
"I can't enbalm her, then," he said. "And she will deteriorate before the funeral."
"Closed casket service?" Ruby suggested.
"Actually," a new voice spoke up, "that isn't a bad idea." Castiel stepped from the shadows and held out his hand. "Let me use your phone."
He dialed smoothly, his body language shifting as he did so. His limbs were looser, his hip cocked slightly as he shifted his weight to one foot. His face relaxed, breaking into a sad smile as he raised the phone to his ear. "Mrs. Winslow?" he said, his voice alive with emotion and managing to sound both warm and sad at the same time. "This is Doctor James Newman from Mercy General in Kansas City. I'm truly sorry for your loss. ... Yes, well, it is our hope that we can help other adults like your Debbie. She had expressed a wish to donate her body upon death...."
Ruby and Jefferson were no longer certain which of them was in control. All they were aware of was their jaw was hanging wide open as they watched this suddenly strangely human angel lie through his teeth.
"....but this will mean she cannot be embalmed and must be...." He broke off, then broke into a dazzling smile. "Ma'am, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. ... of course, of course! We wouldn't dream of that! ... Yes, fifteen minutes is fine. Thank you, again. And, Ma'am? Please accept my sincerest condolences."
He hung up the phone and flipped it almost cockily to Jefferson. "The parents will be here in fifteen minutes to say a final goodbye. Then the body is ours. They want a memorial service and a closed casket to bury symbolically."
Jefferson nodded, then Ruby gasped, "Who the hell taught an angel how to lie?"
The weirdly human eyes softened and the smile turned sad again. "A very, very good friend."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dean was half-dozing, curled into the soft jeans and softer hoodie, his socked feet tucked under the covers, when Sam returned. "You look comfortable."
"Mm," Dean replied, opening his eyes and smiling with just a flash of dimples. "I am. What smells so good?"
Sam held up a carrier with two steaming cups and a large fast food take-out bag.
Dean sat up. "Sandwiches? Gimme."
"With bacon, even. And extra hush browns." Sam pulled out a styrofoam tray and handed the bag to Dean. Dean found the sandwich that had ham lurking in it and passed it over to Sam in exchange for one of his pancakes.
Once rumbling stomachs had been quieted, Dean took care of their debris and the beds while Sam surfed the web for awhile.
"Any leads?" he asked after a few moments.
"Nope. Nothing mysterious. Nothing supernatural. Everything's eerily quiet."
"Like the calm before the storm," Dean mused. "Hey, Sam? Look up Samuel Colt."
"What? Why?"
"Cause Old Yellow Eyes was all het up for me -- you---" He threw up his hands.
"For you. That's your body now," Sam smiled.
Dean returned it. "For me to shag ass and take the Colt to Wyoming. I wanna know what's there that had him all excited."
"Good idea." Sam turned back to the computer. Three minutes later, his emerald eyes had gone even wider and he leaned back in his chair, visibly stunned.
"What is it?" Dean asked, coming over.
Sam met his eyes. "You're not gonna believe this one."
"Sam, I'm living inside your body now. It doesn't get more unbelievable than that!"
Sam just pointed at the screen.
Dean read, and his jaw dropped.
"Told you."
"Shut up."
On to the conclusion