Fic: Bounty (SPN/Castle)
Chapter 10
Witchcraft was real! Castle accidently let out a slight whoop of excitement when the blue flames shot up from the bowl and the witches were suddenly tied up. He almost couldn’t believe his eyes, but if there was anything he’d learnt over the past few days, it was that if something looked impossible, it probably wasn’t. He was getting more optimistic about this plan all the time. And, okay, the witches were a little disappointing in appearance, but you couldn’t have everything. He looked over at Beckett to see if she shared his excitement. She looked back at him, faintly disapproving, but suppressing a smile, they same way she looked at him when he got excited over particularly interesting crime scenes. He contained himself and went back to standing quietly against the wall.
Sam was talking earnestly to the witches; his hands open in front of him to show he had no weapons. His eyes were big and his voice soft, his face serious but not angry. He was suddenly much less intimidating and more likeable than Castle had ever seen him. He wondered if it was a conscious act, or just Sam’s basic self finally peeking through the hunter-exterior. Either way, it seemed to be working. The witches were struggling less and even seemed to be listening.
“Why did you become witches?” Sam asked the three women. “To be at one with nature? To get back at someone who hurt you? Because you felt like you were getting nowhere in life and you just needed a little something to help you along? I get it, I do. But the thing about using magic to help you do things you shouldn’t be able to do is that it doesn’t matter why you’re using it. You come to rely on it more and more, and it gets darker and darker. Before you realise it, you’re doing things that would have horrified you a year ago.”
Castle was becoming more aware of the gaping gaps in the explanations the Winchesters had given them. It wasn’t that he blamed them for leaving stuff out, exactly. He was pretty sure that the Winchesters had thought that they were saving him and his friends pain by only giving them the bare essentials, but it would be nice to know everything. Sam sounded like he was speaking from experience, and it made Castle think that maybe there was a good reason they couldn’t bring in other hunters to fight the demons.
The witches’ expressions were hard to read behind the gags that prevented them from speaking words of power, but the one on the left was beginning to look a little shamefaced. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on a spot in the middle of the concrete floor, and her frizzy hair fell across her face as she hung her head slightly, refusing to look at anyone.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Sam continued. Behind him, Dean checked the clip of his gun and slid it back into place with a clip. He was leaning casually against the wall, but still managed to look like he was willing to shoot them. The contrast was effective. Very good-cop/bad-cop. Castle wondered if they’d staged it like that deliberately, with Sam unarmed and innocent eyes presenting logical arguments and mercy, and Dean visible behind him providing a silent threat. Castle made a note to keep it in mind for his next book. “Do you really want to kill Dean? Is joining Lucifer something you could live with?”
The witch on the left was looking more and more unsure. She glanced nervously across to her leader. The witch with the glasses was resolving herself. She straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair so the grey waves were out of her face, and looked Sam directly in the eye. She nodded.
“In that case,” said Dean, pushing himself away from the wall, “We’re going to blow up your magic shop.”
“Dean! Not helping.” Sam glared at his brother briefly before turning pleading eyes back on the witches. “We’re not blowing anything up.”
Castle stamped down the unexpected jolt of disappointment that ran through him and thought hard. His optimism about the plan was fading by the minute. They needed something that would really convince the witches that it would be better for them to help out the Winchesters. Convincing people that fantasy was reality, or at least possible, was his job. Nobody would read fiction if they couldn’t suspend their disbelief and accept the impossible as truth. That was all he needed to do now: make three women imagine the consequences of a decision. If they could vividly imagine what would happen and see that it wouldn’t end well for anyone, maybe they would accept Sam’s proposition. He could do this.
Of course, when he was writing a book, the consequence of not convincing the audience was not as dramatic. Less like hell-on-earth, more like declining sales. But anyway, it couldn’t hurt to give it a try. He caught Beckett’s eye. She frowned and shook her head slightly. He took that as sign to go for it.
“Look,” Sam was saying, as his brother paced impatiently behind him, “Do you really think Lucifer will reward you? He’s the devil.”
Castle stepped away from the wall and went to stand beside Sam. He chose to pretend he couldn’t hear Beckett groaning quietly. He winked at her before addressing the witches. “When Lucifer inherits the earth he turns it into hell,” he began, imagining himself at home, tapping away at laptop keys as he began his newest book. “New York burns, but it’s cold, colder than you can imagine. All the food is gone, and the people turn on each other as they try to stave off the hunger that stabs at them…” He drifted away into the zone he sometimes fell into when he was writing, when the words came easily and conjured up pictures that ran like a film in his head. They other people in the room faded into the background as his imagination ran wild.
“Okay, okay, stop!” Someone interrupted, breaking his flow. He blinked, and the images of post-apocalyptic New York disappeared, replaced by the whitewashed basement. The three witches still sat before him, but now they were all staring at him, looking slightly shell-shocked, and they one on the left was no longer gagged. It was she who had spoken. “We don’t want that. We’ll help. Just stop describing it!”
“Finally,” Dean said, but before he could say more his phone let out a burst of Smoke on the Water, and he reached into his pocket to answer it, motioning for his brother to continue.
Castle left Sam to it and went to join Beckett in the corner where she was packing salt rounds. “Did you see that?” He asked. “It’s totally worked. I just convinced them not to help Satan take over the world! I can see the headlines now: ‘Handsome, bestselling author saves New York’…”
“Well it may have worked this time, Castle, but don’t get any ideas about trying it on any of our cases. Someone might shoot you just to stop you talking.”
“Oh come on, what murderer would fail to see the error of his ways in the face of such brilliant and evocative writing?” Castle grinned roguishly at her.
“Who said it would be the murderer?” Beckett flashed him a cheeky smile and let her eyes linger on his. Castle’s pulse jumped. Maybe now would be a good time to tell her how he felt?
“Yeah, you can hang up now, Cas,” Castle heard Dean say from behind him. “Yeah, no, okay, I’ll try. Bye.”
Castle turned to look at Dean as the hunter snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. “You guys ready?” Dean asked. “Cas says there’s a group of demons on their way. He couldn’t hold them off any longer. This is your last chance to leave.”
“We’re ready,” Castle and Beckett said in unison. Castle took Beckett’s hand. Not because he was worried or anything. Just as a gesture of solidarity.
“Good. Now remember, we’re not Dean and Sam Winchester. We need to convince the demons that the bounty on me is a trick by the angels to gather the demons together and distract them from something else. Powerful angels can make others see what they want them to, so we have to convince them that we are angels pretending to be us. Do you get it?”
“Kind of?” said Castle.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Beckett questioned.
Dean grinned falsely. “Nope, but it’s the best hope we’ve got. Those sigils should be dry by now,” he handed Castle a bucket of whitewash and a brush. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, just cover them up.” He clapped Castle on the back and walked back over to where his brother was talking to the witches.
Castle and Beckett slapped whitewash on the walls, messily covering up the red symbols. Some of the sigils weren’t quite dry and the paint smudged as they brushed over it, but there was no time to worry about that now.
A faint thumping sounded upstairs, followed by the blast of a shotgun. The first demons had found Ryan and Esposito. Castle told himself they were fine, that they could take care of themselves, but all the same, he held his breath until he heard a second shot and then muffled shouts from both men. They were fine. He sloshed whitewash over the last sigil and got out of the way. This was one time he was happy to figuratively stay in the car, armed with holy water and salt. He backed into the corner, bucket of holy water at the ready. Beckett stood beside him with an open can of salt, ready to rush up the stairs and pour a salt line across the doorway after the first demons came in.
The first demon entered the room, and Castle couldn’t quite control the shudder that went through him. The delicate features of the man who had tortured Dean seemed more sinister now he knew what lurked behind them. Castle could see him more clearly now that he wasn’t looking through a haze of panic and concussion (although the panic was creeping back up on him), and the man’s bones seemed sharp rather than breakable, his pale skin stretched tightly across them.
“Oh Dean,” said Joe, “A welcoming committee? You shouldn’t have.” He smiled, and the harsh light from the bare bulb made twisted shadows on his face, hiding his eyes in black holes. He walked down the steps, followed by three more demons, two of them large men and one in the body of an extremely attractive woman.
Upstairs, there was more thumping and a series of shotgun blasts.
Castle took slow, deep breaths, glad of Beckett’s hand on his arm. He looked across at Dean.
Dean seemed frozen, an expression of absolute terror on his face, but then he shook himself off, shaping his face into a smile. “Glad you could join us, Joe. Come on in.”
“Coming back from the dead,” the demon commented, approaching Dean. He carefully stepped around the devil’s trap. “That’s a neat trick. Aren’t you a special boy?”
The last of the demons stepped off the stairs, and Castle covered Beckett’s back as she dashed up the stairs to make the salt line. Deep Purple blasted out of Dean’s pocket again, but he ignored it. There must be more demons on the way.
“I can see how you would think that,” Dean said, a smarmy smile on his face, “But the thing is… I’m not Dean.”
Joe snorted. “Nice try, Winchester.”
In the corner, partially hidden from view by Sam’s body and the now empty bench, the witches worked.
“It is not wise to laugh at angels, boy.” Sam spoke up. That was the code phrase. Castle got ready to toss his bucket of holy water if it went wrong.
“Oh, you want proof?” Dean asked, drawing attention back to himself before the demons could register the presence of people behind Sam. He snapped his fingers. Joe exploded. A fountain of red splatter coated the walls, hiding the sudden flash of flame in the corner of the room.
Castle shuddered, wiping his face on his sleeve, and threw up a little in his mouth. Even Beckett, who had a stomach of iron was gagging and looked green.
“Well, that’s going to lower the price of the house,” he whispered.
The three remaining demons looked terrified, on the verge of turning and running. “Michael?” The woman whispered tremulously.
“No, but I can see how you might think that,” Dean did a credible job of looking smug rather than revolted. “Try again. I’ll give you a clue: I believe in just desserts.” He raised his fingers to snap them again.
“G-Gabriel?” The largest man stuttered. “But you refused to take part…”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Dean sing-songed. He waved his hand and Beckett stepped forward with a bucket of holy water, soaking the demons until they smoked like they were on fire. Sam dashed forward and jammed his knife into the ribs of the nearest demon. A strange red light leaked momentarily from the wound before the demon fell, lifeless, to the ground.
The third demon had recovered from the holy water and was charging straight at Dean, a look of pure venom on her face. Beckett shot her in the back with the salt gun. She flinched and spun around in annoyance. Castle threw himself, tackling Beckett out of the way as Dean snapped his fingers again and the witches sent the bench hurtling across the room, pinning the demon against the wall. A wind blew up disturbing the salt line, and when Castle next looked up, the fourth demon was gone, running away to warn his comrades that the angel Gabriel was in town.
Castle pressed play on his IPod and an exorcism came through the speakers. Black smoke vomited from the pinned woman, streaming through the floor and disappearing. Sam laid two fingers on her neck to check her pulse and shook his head. She was dead.
` Dean broke the silence. “I can’t believe they fell for that.”
“They won’t believe it for long if we have to prove it to anyone else,” Sam said.
Upstairs, something thudded hard against a wall. “Ryan and Esposito!” Beckett exclaimed, leading the charge up the stairs.
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Witchcraft was real! Castle accidently let out a slight whoop of excitement when the blue flames shot up from the bowl and the witches were suddenly tied up. He almost couldn’t believe his eyes, but if there was anything he’d learnt over the past few days, it was that if something looked impossible, it probably wasn’t. He was getting more optimistic about this plan all the time. And, okay, the witches were a little disappointing in appearance, but you couldn’t have everything. He looked over at Beckett to see if she shared his excitement. She looked back at him, faintly disapproving, but suppressing a smile, they same way she looked at him when he got excited over particularly interesting crime scenes. He contained himself and went back to standing quietly against the wall.
Sam was talking earnestly to the witches; his hands open in front of him to show he had no weapons. His eyes were big and his voice soft, his face serious but not angry. He was suddenly much less intimidating and more likeable than Castle had ever seen him. He wondered if it was a conscious act, or just Sam’s basic self finally peeking through the hunter-exterior. Either way, it seemed to be working. The witches were struggling less and even seemed to be listening.
“Why did you become witches?” Sam asked the three women. “To be at one with nature? To get back at someone who hurt you? Because you felt like you were getting nowhere in life and you just needed a little something to help you along? I get it, I do. But the thing about using magic to help you do things you shouldn’t be able to do is that it doesn’t matter why you’re using it. You come to rely on it more and more, and it gets darker and darker. Before you realise it, you’re doing things that would have horrified you a year ago.”
Castle was becoming more aware of the gaping gaps in the explanations the Winchesters had given them. It wasn’t that he blamed them for leaving stuff out, exactly. He was pretty sure that the Winchesters had thought that they were saving him and his friends pain by only giving them the bare essentials, but it would be nice to know everything. Sam sounded like he was speaking from experience, and it made Castle think that maybe there was a good reason they couldn’t bring in other hunters to fight the demons.
The witches’ expressions were hard to read behind the gags that prevented them from speaking words of power, but the one on the left was beginning to look a little shamefaced. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on a spot in the middle of the concrete floor, and her frizzy hair fell across her face as she hung her head slightly, refusing to look at anyone.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Sam continued. Behind him, Dean checked the clip of his gun and slid it back into place with a clip. He was leaning casually against the wall, but still managed to look like he was willing to shoot them. The contrast was effective. Very good-cop/bad-cop. Castle wondered if they’d staged it like that deliberately, with Sam unarmed and innocent eyes presenting logical arguments and mercy, and Dean visible behind him providing a silent threat. Castle made a note to keep it in mind for his next book. “Do you really want to kill Dean? Is joining Lucifer something you could live with?”
The witch on the left was looking more and more unsure. She glanced nervously across to her leader. The witch with the glasses was resolving herself. She straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair so the grey waves were out of her face, and looked Sam directly in the eye. She nodded.
“In that case,” said Dean, pushing himself away from the wall, “We’re going to blow up your magic shop.”
“Dean! Not helping.” Sam glared at his brother briefly before turning pleading eyes back on the witches. “We’re not blowing anything up.”
Castle stamped down the unexpected jolt of disappointment that ran through him and thought hard. His optimism about the plan was fading by the minute. They needed something that would really convince the witches that it would be better for them to help out the Winchesters. Convincing people that fantasy was reality, or at least possible, was his job. Nobody would read fiction if they couldn’t suspend their disbelief and accept the impossible as truth. That was all he needed to do now: make three women imagine the consequences of a decision. If they could vividly imagine what would happen and see that it wouldn’t end well for anyone, maybe they would accept Sam’s proposition. He could do this.
Of course, when he was writing a book, the consequence of not convincing the audience was not as dramatic. Less like hell-on-earth, more like declining sales. But anyway, it couldn’t hurt to give it a try. He caught Beckett’s eye. She frowned and shook her head slightly. He took that as sign to go for it.
“Look,” Sam was saying, as his brother paced impatiently behind him, “Do you really think Lucifer will reward you? He’s the devil.”
Castle stepped away from the wall and went to stand beside Sam. He chose to pretend he couldn’t hear Beckett groaning quietly. He winked at her before addressing the witches. “When Lucifer inherits the earth he turns it into hell,” he began, imagining himself at home, tapping away at laptop keys as he began his newest book. “New York burns, but it’s cold, colder than you can imagine. All the food is gone, and the people turn on each other as they try to stave off the hunger that stabs at them…” He drifted away into the zone he sometimes fell into when he was writing, when the words came easily and conjured up pictures that ran like a film in his head. They other people in the room faded into the background as his imagination ran wild.
“Okay, okay, stop!” Someone interrupted, breaking his flow. He blinked, and the images of post-apocalyptic New York disappeared, replaced by the whitewashed basement. The three witches still sat before him, but now they were all staring at him, looking slightly shell-shocked, and they one on the left was no longer gagged. It was she who had spoken. “We don’t want that. We’ll help. Just stop describing it!”
“Finally,” Dean said, but before he could say more his phone let out a burst of Smoke on the Water, and he reached into his pocket to answer it, motioning for his brother to continue.
Castle left Sam to it and went to join Beckett in the corner where she was packing salt rounds. “Did you see that?” He asked. “It’s totally worked. I just convinced them not to help Satan take over the world! I can see the headlines now: ‘Handsome, bestselling author saves New York’…”
“Well it may have worked this time, Castle, but don’t get any ideas about trying it on any of our cases. Someone might shoot you just to stop you talking.”
“Oh come on, what murderer would fail to see the error of his ways in the face of such brilliant and evocative writing?” Castle grinned roguishly at her.
“Who said it would be the murderer?” Beckett flashed him a cheeky smile and let her eyes linger on his. Castle’s pulse jumped. Maybe now would be a good time to tell her how he felt?
“Yeah, you can hang up now, Cas,” Castle heard Dean say from behind him. “Yeah, no, okay, I’ll try. Bye.”
Castle turned to look at Dean as the hunter snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. “You guys ready?” Dean asked. “Cas says there’s a group of demons on their way. He couldn’t hold them off any longer. This is your last chance to leave.”
“We’re ready,” Castle and Beckett said in unison. Castle took Beckett’s hand. Not because he was worried or anything. Just as a gesture of solidarity.
“Good. Now remember, we’re not Dean and Sam Winchester. We need to convince the demons that the bounty on me is a trick by the angels to gather the demons together and distract them from something else. Powerful angels can make others see what they want them to, so we have to convince them that we are angels pretending to be us. Do you get it?”
“Kind of?” said Castle.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Beckett questioned.
Dean grinned falsely. “Nope, but it’s the best hope we’ve got. Those sigils should be dry by now,” he handed Castle a bucket of whitewash and a brush. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, just cover them up.” He clapped Castle on the back and walked back over to where his brother was talking to the witches.
Castle and Beckett slapped whitewash on the walls, messily covering up the red symbols. Some of the sigils weren’t quite dry and the paint smudged as they brushed over it, but there was no time to worry about that now.
A faint thumping sounded upstairs, followed by the blast of a shotgun. The first demons had found Ryan and Esposito. Castle told himself they were fine, that they could take care of themselves, but all the same, he held his breath until he heard a second shot and then muffled shouts from both men. They were fine. He sloshed whitewash over the last sigil and got out of the way. This was one time he was happy to figuratively stay in the car, armed with holy water and salt. He backed into the corner, bucket of holy water at the ready. Beckett stood beside him with an open can of salt, ready to rush up the stairs and pour a salt line across the doorway after the first demons came in.
The first demon entered the room, and Castle couldn’t quite control the shudder that went through him. The delicate features of the man who had tortured Dean seemed more sinister now he knew what lurked behind them. Castle could see him more clearly now that he wasn’t looking through a haze of panic and concussion (although the panic was creeping back up on him), and the man’s bones seemed sharp rather than breakable, his pale skin stretched tightly across them.
“Oh Dean,” said Joe, “A welcoming committee? You shouldn’t have.” He smiled, and the harsh light from the bare bulb made twisted shadows on his face, hiding his eyes in black holes. He walked down the steps, followed by three more demons, two of them large men and one in the body of an extremely attractive woman.
Upstairs, there was more thumping and a series of shotgun blasts.
Castle took slow, deep breaths, glad of Beckett’s hand on his arm. He looked across at Dean.
Dean seemed frozen, an expression of absolute terror on his face, but then he shook himself off, shaping his face into a smile. “Glad you could join us, Joe. Come on in.”
“Coming back from the dead,” the demon commented, approaching Dean. He carefully stepped around the devil’s trap. “That’s a neat trick. Aren’t you a special boy?”
The last of the demons stepped off the stairs, and Castle covered Beckett’s back as she dashed up the stairs to make the salt line. Deep Purple blasted out of Dean’s pocket again, but he ignored it. There must be more demons on the way.
“I can see how you would think that,” Dean said, a smarmy smile on his face, “But the thing is… I’m not Dean.”
Joe snorted. “Nice try, Winchester.”
In the corner, partially hidden from view by Sam’s body and the now empty bench, the witches worked.
“It is not wise to laugh at angels, boy.” Sam spoke up. That was the code phrase. Castle got ready to toss his bucket of holy water if it went wrong.
“Oh, you want proof?” Dean asked, drawing attention back to himself before the demons could register the presence of people behind Sam. He snapped his fingers. Joe exploded. A fountain of red splatter coated the walls, hiding the sudden flash of flame in the corner of the room.
Castle shuddered, wiping his face on his sleeve, and threw up a little in his mouth. Even Beckett, who had a stomach of iron was gagging and looked green.
“Well, that’s going to lower the price of the house,” he whispered.
The three remaining demons looked terrified, on the verge of turning and running. “Michael?” The woman whispered tremulously.
“No, but I can see how you might think that,” Dean did a credible job of looking smug rather than revolted. “Try again. I’ll give you a clue: I believe in just desserts.” He raised his fingers to snap them again.
“G-Gabriel?” The largest man stuttered. “But you refused to take part…”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Dean sing-songed. He waved his hand and Beckett stepped forward with a bucket of holy water, soaking the demons until they smoked like they were on fire. Sam dashed forward and jammed his knife into the ribs of the nearest demon. A strange red light leaked momentarily from the wound before the demon fell, lifeless, to the ground.
The third demon had recovered from the holy water and was charging straight at Dean, a look of pure venom on her face. Beckett shot her in the back with the salt gun. She flinched and spun around in annoyance. Castle threw himself, tackling Beckett out of the way as Dean snapped his fingers again and the witches sent the bench hurtling across the room, pinning the demon against the wall. A wind blew up disturbing the salt line, and when Castle next looked up, the fourth demon was gone, running away to warn his comrades that the angel Gabriel was in town.
Castle pressed play on his IPod and an exorcism came through the speakers. Black smoke vomited from the pinned woman, streaming through the floor and disappearing. Sam laid two fingers on her neck to check her pulse and shook his head. She was dead.
` Dean broke the silence. “I can’t believe they fell for that.”
“They won’t believe it for long if we have to prove it to anyone else,” Sam said.
Upstairs, something thudded hard against a wall. “Ryan and Esposito!” Beckett exclaimed, leading the charge up the stairs.
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