In Good Hands Chapter 3
AUTHOR: scullspeare
RATING: PG-13, for some swearing
PAIRINGS: None
GENRE: Gen
DISCLAIMER: Nope. Don't own Supernatural - just playing in Kripke and Co.'s sandbox when they're not using it.
Link back to Chapter 2 Here.
CHAPTER 3
Dean surveyed the cabin. Everything was in place. He nodded at his brother.
Sam knelt down beside the salt circle and, with a piece of chalk, drew in the last two symbols. His voice steady, he began reciting the summoning ritual from memory.
Dean's gaze jumped from the door to the fireplace, phantom pains in his hands quickly reminding him of how wrong their last attempt to banish Barnes had gone. But they'd covered their bases this time. He was sure they had. This had to work.
As he spoke the last words of the incantation, Sam stood up slowly, moving back from the edge of the circle to stand beside Dean. Each brother glanced around the cabin, waiting for Barnes to appear.
The spirit didn't disappoint them.
The door flew open and wind blasted through the cabin, snow swirling in its wake. As before, the flames in the fireplace flared, hungrily licking the room. But, this time, both brothers stood well away from the fire, beyond the reach of the angry flames.
The wind roared over the salt circle, the candles burning within it flickering but staying lit, protected inside the glass hurricane lamps the brothers had glued to the floor.
Dean winced at the sting of salt against his face as the blast of air moved over the circle, before turning toward Sam. His brother had his arm raised in front of his eyes to shield them from the salt barrage but as he glanced across at Dean, he nodded.
Dean smiled. The circle was intact - thanks to the wide band of glue the brothers had painted on the floor before laying down the salt. The spirit-fuelled gust had picked up loose crystals but, as the wind died down and Barnes materialized, the salt circle remained unbroken, the spirit trapped inside.
Barnes was livid, eyes flashing as his gaze jumped from Sam to Dean and back. He snarled audibly as he raised his shotgun, pointing it at the younger Winchester. Dean matched Barnes' expression, furious over the implied threat, and instinctively stepped in front of his brother. Both Winchesters jumped as Barnes pulled the trigger and the gun fired.
The spectral bullet from the spirit's weapon seemed to move in slow motion, traveling directly toward Dean - but as it hit the edge of the circle, less than two feet from the elder Winchester's head, it dissipated into nothing.
Dean's steely glare morphed into a cold smile, but Barnes was incensed. He charged at Dean but, like his bullet, the salt circle stopped him cold.
The spirit stood nose-to-nose with Dean, leaning in as close as the circle allowed. "You think this will stop me," he spat.
Dean didn't flinch. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He stepped back, eyes never breaking contact with Barnes, and began reciting the banishing spell. His voice was even, controlled.
Barnes' glare turned on Sam. "You think it's right that a man's life ends when he tossed at the side of the road - left there, forgotten, like a piece of trash?"
Sam stepped beside his brother as Dean continued the spell. "You could have reached out - asked for help. There are people, people like us, who would have heard you, who could have helped."
"Help?" Barnes snarled. "Where was that help when I was still breathing? When I was dying?" His smile was cold. "I heard the cars. No one stopped, no one helped. So I swore they would pay - know what I felt, know it was me who took their lives." His eyes flashed maliciously. "I will not be forgotten."
He glared again at Dean. "Give it your best shot, boy. But you'd be amazed what I can do now." He stepped back, eyes sliding closed.
The door suddenly slammed against the wall as another icy blast ripped through the cabin, barreling into the brothers. Each staggered backwards, Sam reaching out to steady Dean as he continued reciting the ritual.
The wind picked up speed, racing around the salt circle, howling louder and growing in intensity with each pass. Barnes stood, untouched, in the centre of the vortex.
Dean was struggling to get out the words, the wind and cold stealing his breath. Knowing his stubborn brother wouldn't turn his back on Barnes, Sam moved to Dean's left, using himself as a human windbreak and sheltering Dean from the onslaught. Dean patted Sam's chest in silent thanks as he pushed on with the spell.
Ducking his head to protect his face from the barrage of ice and dirt picked up by the wind, wincing at the sting, Sam glanced down and his eyes widened in shock. The wind whipping around the circle was scouring away the salt, the layers becoming thinner with each pass. Soon it would wear through to the wood floor beneath, breaking the circle and allowing Barnes to escape.
Sam grabbed Dean's arm to draw his attention, then motioned with his head to the rapidly thinning circle.
Dean nodded brusquely; he'd seen it too. His words, almost inaudible beneath the howl of the wind, tumbled out even faster, even as he bent down and picked up a length of metal chain from the floor.
He finished the incantation just as a gap appeared in the circle. Barnes's cold smile widened triumphantly as the breach became a full break.
Squinting against the wind, Sam raised his shotgun and pulled the trigger - just as the spirit reached out and pulled the gun from his grasp. The shot went wide, the gun skittering across the floor. In the same motion, Barnes waved his hand toward Sam, a blast of energy cutting through the wind, yanking him off his feet and tossing him across the cabin. He hit the far wall hard and crumpled to the floor.
Barnes turned immediately to Dean, sneering as he raised his shotgun. But before the gun was even level, Dean had wrapped the chain he held around his hand - and pulled.
The chain stretched from Dean to the fireplace, where it was attached to an iron tripod Sam had constructed over the grate. Suspended from the tripod was a covered pot containing the herbs and oils needed to complete the banishing ritual. When Dean pulled the chain, the tripod collapsed, jarring loose the lid and dumping the pot and its contents into the fire.
Barnes roared, any powers he possessed gone the instant the mixture blended with fire. The flames turned blue, exploding out into the room. The howling winds, still racing around the circle, suddenly turned on Barnes, swirling around him, faster and faster, until, like the salt on the floor, they scrubbed the spirit from existence.
As he vanished with one final scream of rage, there was a bright flash of light, followed by a concussive blast that blew out the windows, lifted Dean off his feet and sent him skidding across the worn, plank floor.
Suddenly, the cabin was silent.
Sprawled on his back, coughing at the dust kicked up by the explosion, Dean pushed himself shakily onto his elbows, immediately seeking out Sam. His brother lay in a crumpled heap against the wall. "Sammy?"
Sam groaned, pushing himself up but falling back against the wall. Coughing, he nodded slowly. "I'm good."
"Liar." Dean lurched to his feet, staggering over to his brother.
"Had a good teacher." Sam bit back another groan as he worked the kinks out of his back. "Just gimme a minute." He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked up at Dean, worry quickly overtaking his own discomfort. "You?"
Dean offered an exaggerated grin: "Awesome - except for the splinters in my ass from that slide across the floor." He rubbed his backside as he scanned the now trashed cabin.
The salt circle was almost scrubbed clean, the broken glass from the hurricane lamps scattered throughout the room. The candles were overturned and extinguished, thin trails of smoke spiraling upwards.
In the fireplace, the once roaring fire was out, the embers fading quickly from red to gray beneath the iron grate. Soot stained the hearth underneath the collapsed tripod that had held the banishing mixture. The pot itself had been blown across the room by the final supernatural explosion.
The windows were gone, jagged glass hanging from the cracked frames and littering the sills, and the cabin door hung at an unnatural angle after the spirit-fueled wind had ripped it from its hinges.
Dean shook his head at the destruction. "We knew he wasn't gonna go quietly but damn ..."
Sam nodded as he surveyed the damage. "That controlling the wind thing? That's a new one on me."
"I know." Dean reached down to help up his brother. "Ever get the feeling we cut class the day they handed out the playbook on fighting these bastards?"
Sam snorted as hetook Dean's proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet. "There's a playbook?"
Dean watched Sam carefully as he stretched his back and rolled his neck from side to side. "Still good?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Nothing a hot shower won't fix."
Dean glanced out the window. "Well, that won't be for a while. We've got a long walk back to the motel. That going to be a problem?"
Sam shook his head. "Nah. You?"
"I'm good." He glanced down at his feet. "Just glad I'm wearing my boots and not those lame-ass loafers." He grinned. "And it'll feel good to take them off by myself too, and not have to ask my kid brother to do it for me."
Sam began to gather up any salvageable supplies. "You know it was never a problem."
Dean watched Sam and smiled, that rare, unguarded smile that only Sam was privy to. "Yeah - and thanks for that. For…everything."
Sam looked up, returned the smile, and kept working.
The clean-up didn't take long. There was little they could do about the physical damage to the cabin but, within minutes, they had removed any identifiable traces of their presence.
Dean gave the room a final once-over. Satisfied, he pulled on his leather coat, slung the duffel over his shoulder and followed his brother down the path that led to the service road. Sam reached the final bend in the path first and stopped.
Dean frowned. "Shake a leg, Sammy. I wanna call Bobby ASAP so he can pick up the car. How long do you think it'll take to get from South Dakota to Vermont with a flatbed?"
Sam stood, hands in his pockets, squinting against the bright sunlight as he looked back at his brother. "Don't think we'll need one."
Dean quirked an eyebrow. "What?"
Sam grinned, motioning with his head around the corner.
Puzzled, Dean rounded the bend - his face lighting up as he did. Parked on the service road was the Impala. An undamaged Impala, her black paint gleaming in the clear mountain sunlight.
"Hot damn." Dean dropped the duffel, moving quickly to his car. "Oh, baby - you are a sight for sore eyes." He ran his hand reverentially over her hood as he walked around to the driver's side. He looked at Sam incredulously. "Look at her. There's not a speck of dirt, never mind a dent."
He pulled open the door, grinning at the familiar groan of the hinges. "You think Bertie did this?"
Sam picked up the duffel Dean had dropped, opened the back door and tossed it on the back seat. "Who else?"
Dean settled happily into the driver's seat, hands sliding lovingly around the wheel.
Sam walked around the car, opened the passenger door and glanced over at his brother, biting back a smile. "You want me to take a walk? Give you two a moment?"
Dean grinned. "Don't spoil it, Sammy. You're okay, I'm okay, my baby's rockin' and this world has one less bastard spirit screwing over the good guys." He turned the key that was sitting in the ignition and sighed contentedly as the engine turned over on the first try, the familiar throaty rumble replacing the silence. "This is a good day."
Sam grinned as he folded himself into the passenger seat and closed the door. "No argument here."
Dean slid the car in gear, eased his foot down on the gas pedal and pulled away from the cabin. As the Chevy picked up speed, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Berthe stood in the middle of the road, her hood down, the wind gently playing with her long blond hair. She smiled and nodded, just as gust of wind lifted her cloak, causing it to billow outwards.
Dean's eyes widened and he slammed on the brakes, whipping his head around to look out the rear window.
Sam's arm shot out, grabbing the dashboard to brace himself against the sudden stop, then followed his brother's gaze. "What?" There was nothing behind them. "What is it?"
"It was Bertie." Dean gestured with his head to the road behind them. "She was standing right there."
Sam shook his head. "I didn't see her."
Dean's eyebrow quirked. "Oh I saw her. All of her. The wind blew open her cape and, um…"
"Oh." Sam grinned, turning to face the front. "Guess I forgot to mention she's sky clad huh?"
Dean glared at his brother. "If that means naked then, yeah, Sammy, you left out that little detail."
Sam's grin widened. "Oops."
Dean glanced again behind them. "Seriously? A naked goddess saved our asses?"
Sam shrugged. "Nudity's pretty common in pagan lore, Dean - communing with the world as you came into, that sort of thing. Most of the stories about Berthe suggest that, when she's earthbound, she wears her cape and nothing else."
Dean shot his brother a look. "It's not fair, Sammy." He pressed the accelerator, shaking his head as the Chevy picked up speed. "All the ugly-ass demons and puke-inducing creatures we go up against on a daily basis, we finally run into a hot babe - a naked, hot babe, who's good with cars, no less - and I'm too freakin' out of it to notice. It's just not fair."
xxxXXXxxx
Dean pushed open the door and walked into the motel room, rubbing his stomach contentedly. "That… was a damn fine steak."
Sam smiled as he followed his brother in, closing the door behind them. "I should be used to it by now but I still don't know how you do it."
"What?" Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam as he placed the paper bag he carried on the desk and shrugged out of his leather jacket.
Sam shook his head as he pulled off his coat and threw it onto a chair "Polish off the biggest steak in the house, a potato the size of Idaho, half a basket of bread rolls and a salad - and still find room for pie."
Dean grinned as he pulled a bottle of Crown Royal from the paper bag and unscrewed the cap. "I was hungry."
"Three pieces of pie."
"Really hungry."
Dean turned over two glasses that sat on the desk and poured a healthy shot of whiskey into each. "What can I say: kicking a spirit's ass always gives me an appetite."
He carried the glasses across the room, handing one to Sam and raising his own. "To one less son of bitch spirit kicking the crap out of innocent people, to naked goddesses coming to our rescue - may it happen again when I'm conscious enough to fully appreciate it - and to my pain-in-the-ass little brother and his kick-ass Christmas presents. Cheers."
Sam, now sitting on the edge of his bed, leaned forward and clinked his glass with Dean's. "To good health." He smiled as he glanced at Dean's healthy hands, and at the silver band now back on his brother's right ring finger. "To things back as they should be."
Dean caught the glance, looked down at his ring and rolled his eyes. "Nice move, by the way - giving me this back at the restaurant."
Sam swung his legs up on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, eyes widening innocently. "What? We were celebrating. Seemed like the right time."
Dean eyebrows arched. "Right - and it wasn't the least bit awkward that the couple at the table next to us thought you were proposing."
Sam grinned. "It was real nice of them to send over champagne." His grin widened. "And they were just thrilled that you said yes."
"Yeah, you playing along? Real funny," Dean huffed, as he sat down on the edge of his bed and grabbed the remote. He turned on the TV and started flipping through channels.
Sam just smiled at his brother's grousing, as he grabbed his new copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from the bedside table and opened it to Chapter One. Moments like these, when a job had gone well, and left both of them in one piece, were increasingly rare; moments when they could let down their guard and just enjoy each others' company, even more so.
"Hey look, Jaws is on."
Sam glanced at the TV, then over at his brother. "You've only seen it like a million times. Think I'll read my book."
Dean shot Sam a look. "Remind me again, how many times have you read that?"
Sam grinned. "Touché."
Dean's eyebrow quirked. "Touché? Really? See, that's why you need more Jaws, less Mockingbird - you'd never catch Robert Shaw saying Touché."
Sam rolled his eyes and dropped the book on the bed beside him. "Fine, let's watch the movie."
Dean smiled happily, kicked off his boots, pulled his legs up on the bed and settled back against the headboard.
Sam glanced over at Dean. "I think I've found us a new hunt. There's a-"
"Not tonight, Sammy." Dean stared into his glass. "There's always gonna be a new hunt, always gonna be some evil son of bitch lying around the corner." He looked up at Sam. "Today was a good day, and life's pretty stingy with those when your last name's Winchester. Let's just enjoy it."
He settled back, taking another sip of his whiskey and savoring the pleasant burn. "The world can kick our asses tomorrow."
Finis
A/N: For anyone curious, Berthe, or Percht, exists in pagan lore as Sam described her. And, yes, she supposedly travels around 'sky clad.' That was too good not to use. I took some creative license - for instance, I'm not sure how good the real Berthe is with a car but, hey, the Impala deserved a happy ending, too. Lines you recognized in Sam's nightmare sequence came from Devil's Trap and In My Time of Dying, and were written by Kripke & Co.. Hope you enjoyed the story. Till next time, cheers.
RATING: PG-13, for some swearing
PAIRINGS: None
GENRE: Gen
DISCLAIMER: Nope. Don't own Supernatural - just playing in Kripke and Co.'s sandbox when they're not using it.
Link back to Chapter 2 Here.
CHAPTER 3
Dean surveyed the cabin. Everything was in place. He nodded at his brother.
Sam knelt down beside the salt circle and, with a piece of chalk, drew in the last two symbols. His voice steady, he began reciting the summoning ritual from memory.
Dean's gaze jumped from the door to the fireplace, phantom pains in his hands quickly reminding him of how wrong their last attempt to banish Barnes had gone. But they'd covered their bases this time. He was sure they had. This had to work.
As he spoke the last words of the incantation, Sam stood up slowly, moving back from the edge of the circle to stand beside Dean. Each brother glanced around the cabin, waiting for Barnes to appear.
The spirit didn't disappoint them.
The door flew open and wind blasted through the cabin, snow swirling in its wake. As before, the flames in the fireplace flared, hungrily licking the room. But, this time, both brothers stood well away from the fire, beyond the reach of the angry flames.
The wind roared over the salt circle, the candles burning within it flickering but staying lit, protected inside the glass hurricane lamps the brothers had glued to the floor.
Dean winced at the sting of salt against his face as the blast of air moved over the circle, before turning toward Sam. His brother had his arm raised in front of his eyes to shield them from the salt barrage but as he glanced across at Dean, he nodded.
Dean smiled. The circle was intact - thanks to the wide band of glue the brothers had painted on the floor before laying down the salt. The spirit-fuelled gust had picked up loose crystals but, as the wind died down and Barnes materialized, the salt circle remained unbroken, the spirit trapped inside.
Barnes was livid, eyes flashing as his gaze jumped from Sam to Dean and back. He snarled audibly as he raised his shotgun, pointing it at the younger Winchester. Dean matched Barnes' expression, furious over the implied threat, and instinctively stepped in front of his brother. Both Winchesters jumped as Barnes pulled the trigger and the gun fired.
The spectral bullet from the spirit's weapon seemed to move in slow motion, traveling directly toward Dean - but as it hit the edge of the circle, less than two feet from the elder Winchester's head, it dissipated into nothing.
Dean's steely glare morphed into a cold smile, but Barnes was incensed. He charged at Dean but, like his bullet, the salt circle stopped him cold.
The spirit stood nose-to-nose with Dean, leaning in as close as the circle allowed. "You think this will stop me," he spat.
Dean didn't flinch. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He stepped back, eyes never breaking contact with Barnes, and began reciting the banishing spell. His voice was even, controlled.
Barnes' glare turned on Sam. "You think it's right that a man's life ends when he tossed at the side of the road - left there, forgotten, like a piece of trash?"
Sam stepped beside his brother as Dean continued the spell. "You could have reached out - asked for help. There are people, people like us, who would have heard you, who could have helped."
"Help?" Barnes snarled. "Where was that help when I was still breathing? When I was dying?" His smile was cold. "I heard the cars. No one stopped, no one helped. So I swore they would pay - know what I felt, know it was me who took their lives." His eyes flashed maliciously. "I will not be forgotten."
He glared again at Dean. "Give it your best shot, boy. But you'd be amazed what I can do now." He stepped back, eyes sliding closed.
The door suddenly slammed against the wall as another icy blast ripped through the cabin, barreling into the brothers. Each staggered backwards, Sam reaching out to steady Dean as he continued reciting the ritual.
The wind picked up speed, racing around the salt circle, howling louder and growing in intensity with each pass. Barnes stood, untouched, in the centre of the vortex.
Dean was struggling to get out the words, the wind and cold stealing his breath. Knowing his stubborn brother wouldn't turn his back on Barnes, Sam moved to Dean's left, using himself as a human windbreak and sheltering Dean from the onslaught. Dean patted Sam's chest in silent thanks as he pushed on with the spell.
Ducking his head to protect his face from the barrage of ice and dirt picked up by the wind, wincing at the sting, Sam glanced down and his eyes widened in shock. The wind whipping around the circle was scouring away the salt, the layers becoming thinner with each pass. Soon it would wear through to the wood floor beneath, breaking the circle and allowing Barnes to escape.
Sam grabbed Dean's arm to draw his attention, then motioned with his head to the rapidly thinning circle.
Dean nodded brusquely; he'd seen it too. His words, almost inaudible beneath the howl of the wind, tumbled out even faster, even as he bent down and picked up a length of metal chain from the floor.
He finished the incantation just as a gap appeared in the circle. Barnes's cold smile widened triumphantly as the breach became a full break.
Squinting against the wind, Sam raised his shotgun and pulled the trigger - just as the spirit reached out and pulled the gun from his grasp. The shot went wide, the gun skittering across the floor. In the same motion, Barnes waved his hand toward Sam, a blast of energy cutting through the wind, yanking him off his feet and tossing him across the cabin. He hit the far wall hard and crumpled to the floor.
Barnes turned immediately to Dean, sneering as he raised his shotgun. But before the gun was even level, Dean had wrapped the chain he held around his hand - and pulled.
The chain stretched from Dean to the fireplace, where it was attached to an iron tripod Sam had constructed over the grate. Suspended from the tripod was a covered pot containing the herbs and oils needed to complete the banishing ritual. When Dean pulled the chain, the tripod collapsed, jarring loose the lid and dumping the pot and its contents into the fire.
Barnes roared, any powers he possessed gone the instant the mixture blended with fire. The flames turned blue, exploding out into the room. The howling winds, still racing around the circle, suddenly turned on Barnes, swirling around him, faster and faster, until, like the salt on the floor, they scrubbed the spirit from existence.
As he vanished with one final scream of rage, there was a bright flash of light, followed by a concussive blast that blew out the windows, lifted Dean off his feet and sent him skidding across the worn, plank floor.
Suddenly, the cabin was silent.
Sprawled on his back, coughing at the dust kicked up by the explosion, Dean pushed himself shakily onto his elbows, immediately seeking out Sam. His brother lay in a crumpled heap against the wall. "Sammy?"
Sam groaned, pushing himself up but falling back against the wall. Coughing, he nodded slowly. "I'm good."
"Liar." Dean lurched to his feet, staggering over to his brother.
"Had a good teacher." Sam bit back another groan as he worked the kinks out of his back. "Just gimme a minute." He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked up at Dean, worry quickly overtaking his own discomfort. "You?"
Dean offered an exaggerated grin: "Awesome - except for the splinters in my ass from that slide across the floor." He rubbed his backside as he scanned the now trashed cabin.
The salt circle was almost scrubbed clean, the broken glass from the hurricane lamps scattered throughout the room. The candles were overturned and extinguished, thin trails of smoke spiraling upwards.
In the fireplace, the once roaring fire was out, the embers fading quickly from red to gray beneath the iron grate. Soot stained the hearth underneath the collapsed tripod that had held the banishing mixture. The pot itself had been blown across the room by the final supernatural explosion.
The windows were gone, jagged glass hanging from the cracked frames and littering the sills, and the cabin door hung at an unnatural angle after the spirit-fueled wind had ripped it from its hinges.
Dean shook his head at the destruction. "We knew he wasn't gonna go quietly but damn ..."
Sam nodded as he surveyed the damage. "That controlling the wind thing? That's a new one on me."
"I know." Dean reached down to help up his brother. "Ever get the feeling we cut class the day they handed out the playbook on fighting these bastards?"
Sam snorted as hetook Dean's proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet. "There's a playbook?"
Dean watched Sam carefully as he stretched his back and rolled his neck from side to side. "Still good?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Nothing a hot shower won't fix."
Dean glanced out the window. "Well, that won't be for a while. We've got a long walk back to the motel. That going to be a problem?"
Sam shook his head. "Nah. You?"
"I'm good." He glanced down at his feet. "Just glad I'm wearing my boots and not those lame-ass loafers." He grinned. "And it'll feel good to take them off by myself too, and not have to ask my kid brother to do it for me."
Sam began to gather up any salvageable supplies. "You know it was never a problem."
Dean watched Sam and smiled, that rare, unguarded smile that only Sam was privy to. "Yeah - and thanks for that. For…everything."
Sam looked up, returned the smile, and kept working.
The clean-up didn't take long. There was little they could do about the physical damage to the cabin but, within minutes, they had removed any identifiable traces of their presence.
Dean gave the room a final once-over. Satisfied, he pulled on his leather coat, slung the duffel over his shoulder and followed his brother down the path that led to the service road. Sam reached the final bend in the path first and stopped.
Dean frowned. "Shake a leg, Sammy. I wanna call Bobby ASAP so he can pick up the car. How long do you think it'll take to get from South Dakota to Vermont with a flatbed?"
Sam stood, hands in his pockets, squinting against the bright sunlight as he looked back at his brother. "Don't think we'll need one."
Dean quirked an eyebrow. "What?"
Sam grinned, motioning with his head around the corner.
Puzzled, Dean rounded the bend - his face lighting up as he did. Parked on the service road was the Impala. An undamaged Impala, her black paint gleaming in the clear mountain sunlight.
"Hot damn." Dean dropped the duffel, moving quickly to his car. "Oh, baby - you are a sight for sore eyes." He ran his hand reverentially over her hood as he walked around to the driver's side. He looked at Sam incredulously. "Look at her. There's not a speck of dirt, never mind a dent."
He pulled open the door, grinning at the familiar groan of the hinges. "You think Bertie did this?"
Sam picked up the duffel Dean had dropped, opened the back door and tossed it on the back seat. "Who else?"
Dean settled happily into the driver's seat, hands sliding lovingly around the wheel.
Sam walked around the car, opened the passenger door and glanced over at his brother, biting back a smile. "You want me to take a walk? Give you two a moment?"
Dean grinned. "Don't spoil it, Sammy. You're okay, I'm okay, my baby's rockin' and this world has one less bastard spirit screwing over the good guys." He turned the key that was sitting in the ignition and sighed contentedly as the engine turned over on the first try, the familiar throaty rumble replacing the silence. "This is a good day."
Sam grinned as he folded himself into the passenger seat and closed the door. "No argument here."
Dean slid the car in gear, eased his foot down on the gas pedal and pulled away from the cabin. As the Chevy picked up speed, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Berthe stood in the middle of the road, her hood down, the wind gently playing with her long blond hair. She smiled and nodded, just as gust of wind lifted her cloak, causing it to billow outwards.
Dean's eyes widened and he slammed on the brakes, whipping his head around to look out the rear window.
Sam's arm shot out, grabbing the dashboard to brace himself against the sudden stop, then followed his brother's gaze. "What?" There was nothing behind them. "What is it?"
"It was Bertie." Dean gestured with his head to the road behind them. "She was standing right there."
Sam shook his head. "I didn't see her."
Dean's eyebrow quirked. "Oh I saw her. All of her. The wind blew open her cape and, um…"
"Oh." Sam grinned, turning to face the front. "Guess I forgot to mention she's sky clad huh?"
Dean glared at his brother. "If that means naked then, yeah, Sammy, you left out that little detail."
Sam's grin widened. "Oops."
Dean glanced again behind them. "Seriously? A naked goddess saved our asses?"
Sam shrugged. "Nudity's pretty common in pagan lore, Dean - communing with the world as you came into, that sort of thing. Most of the stories about Berthe suggest that, when she's earthbound, she wears her cape and nothing else."
Dean shot his brother a look. "It's not fair, Sammy." He pressed the accelerator, shaking his head as the Chevy picked up speed. "All the ugly-ass demons and puke-inducing creatures we go up against on a daily basis, we finally run into a hot babe - a naked, hot babe, who's good with cars, no less - and I'm too freakin' out of it to notice. It's just not fair."
xxxXXXxxx
Dean pushed open the door and walked into the motel room, rubbing his stomach contentedly. "That… was a damn fine steak."
Sam smiled as he followed his brother in, closing the door behind them. "I should be used to it by now but I still don't know how you do it."
"What?" Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam as he placed the paper bag he carried on the desk and shrugged out of his leather jacket.
Sam shook his head as he pulled off his coat and threw it onto a chair "Polish off the biggest steak in the house, a potato the size of Idaho, half a basket of bread rolls and a salad - and still find room for pie."
Dean grinned as he pulled a bottle of Crown Royal from the paper bag and unscrewed the cap. "I was hungry."
"Three pieces of pie."
"Really hungry."
Dean turned over two glasses that sat on the desk and poured a healthy shot of whiskey into each. "What can I say: kicking a spirit's ass always gives me an appetite."
He carried the glasses across the room, handing one to Sam and raising his own. "To one less son of bitch spirit kicking the crap out of innocent people, to naked goddesses coming to our rescue - may it happen again when I'm conscious enough to fully appreciate it - and to my pain-in-the-ass little brother and his kick-ass Christmas presents. Cheers."
Sam, now sitting on the edge of his bed, leaned forward and clinked his glass with Dean's. "To good health." He smiled as he glanced at Dean's healthy hands, and at the silver band now back on his brother's right ring finger. "To things back as they should be."
Dean caught the glance, looked down at his ring and rolled his eyes. "Nice move, by the way - giving me this back at the restaurant."
Sam swung his legs up on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, eyes widening innocently. "What? We were celebrating. Seemed like the right time."
Dean eyebrows arched. "Right - and it wasn't the least bit awkward that the couple at the table next to us thought you were proposing."
Sam grinned. "It was real nice of them to send over champagne." His grin widened. "And they were just thrilled that you said yes."
"Yeah, you playing along? Real funny," Dean huffed, as he sat down on the edge of his bed and grabbed the remote. He turned on the TV and started flipping through channels.
Sam just smiled at his brother's grousing, as he grabbed his new copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from the bedside table and opened it to Chapter One. Moments like these, when a job had gone well, and left both of them in one piece, were increasingly rare; moments when they could let down their guard and just enjoy each others' company, even more so.
"Hey look, Jaws is on."
Sam glanced at the TV, then over at his brother. "You've only seen it like a million times. Think I'll read my book."
Dean shot Sam a look. "Remind me again, how many times have you read that?"
Sam grinned. "Touché."
Dean's eyebrow quirked. "Touché? Really? See, that's why you need more Jaws, less Mockingbird - you'd never catch Robert Shaw saying Touché."
Sam rolled his eyes and dropped the book on the bed beside him. "Fine, let's watch the movie."
Dean smiled happily, kicked off his boots, pulled his legs up on the bed and settled back against the headboard.
Sam glanced over at Dean. "I think I've found us a new hunt. There's a-"
"Not tonight, Sammy." Dean stared into his glass. "There's always gonna be a new hunt, always gonna be some evil son of bitch lying around the corner." He looked up at Sam. "Today was a good day, and life's pretty stingy with those when your last name's Winchester. Let's just enjoy it."
He settled back, taking another sip of his whiskey and savoring the pleasant burn. "The world can kick our asses tomorrow."
Finis
A/N: For anyone curious, Berthe, or Percht, exists in pagan lore as Sam described her. And, yes, she supposedly travels around 'sky clad.' That was too good not to use. I took some creative license - for instance, I'm not sure how good the real Berthe is with a car but, hey, the Impala deserved a happy ending, too. Lines you recognized in Sam's nightmare sequence came from Devil's Trap and In My Time of Dying, and were written by Kripke & Co.. Hope you enjoyed the story. Till next time, cheers.