Not All Sunshine and Rainbows
Title: Not all Sunshine and Rainbows
Artist: miki_moo
Art Master Post
Author: toolazytowork
Genre: Gen, Casefic
Rating:PG-13 (language, some violence)
Word Count 8880
Warnings/Spoilers:Takes place after S5. In an S6 where things aren't quite so stressful. The monsters, though...they're weird.
Beta: unstoppablei
Summary: Two nights in a row, callers phone into an all night AM radio talk show reporting contact with unicorns. Most of the time the sort of people who call into that show are just plain crazy, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.
Written for: spn_reversebang .
“West of the Great Divide, you’re on the air.” The crackle fuzz of static, the eardrum piercing hum of a radio interfering with a phone line blended with the roar of the wind coming in through the half-opened windows. “Hello? Caller, go ‘head.” There was another hiss of interference. “And turn off your radio, please.”
“Hello? Hello George? Is this George?” His voice had that awful, stumbling loss of basic language skills that is the hallmark of the AM radio call-in guest.
Sam felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment roll over him. He hated listening to people struggle to put sentences together. It was the same sort of feeling he used to get when he had to go in front of the class and present a book report on a book he hadn’t had time to read because he’d spent the whole weekend on a hunt with Dad and Dean. It wasn’t like he could explain to the teacher that he’d spent the weekend hunkered down in a dugout trench watching for signs of a pack of werewolves and that was why he hadn’t had time to prepare his presentation on All Quiet on the Western Front. Instead, he would ramble for ten minutes about the internal and external struggles of the foot soldier in the midst of battle, watching the hands on the clock stand still and struggling to remember any piece of information he’d picked up from the Cliffs Notes he read on his way into school that morning. Sam knew, even under those circumstances, he’d sounded better prepared than the guy on the radio.
“Spit it out,” Dean grumbled. “Idiot.”
“Right..so...” The caller had at least managed to regain his ability to speak in sentences. They weren’t well formed sentences, but it was an improvement. “So, I’m thinking that there’s a lot of proof that something major happened last year and no one’s talking about it and I’m wondering if maybe there isn’t a big government cover up? Because they don’t want us to know that it happened. Because, like, there were all these events, like, weird stuff happening everywhere, and the weather, man! Did you notice some of the weather we had last year? I’m just saying, I think they’re covering something up and I bet if we knew about it there would be global chaos.”
“You don’t know the half of it, pal.”
Sam turned the volume down. “Why are we listening to this? It’s not even entertaining in an ironic kind of way. It’s just embarrassing. The so-called experts sound like their entire wealth of knowledge came from having read most of the materials shelved between 130-139 at their local library. The call in guests are paranoid shut-ins who probably have an entire room set aside for tinfoil storage, and the host seems to hand-pick guests who are the least adept at expressing themselves. I’d rather listen to three straight hours of Iron Maiden than this.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Dean said, turning the radio back up. The host was talking to an in-studio guest who claimed to make regular travels to the angel realm and had returned with knowledge of divine light and understanding of the ways of the angelic. Dean laughed. Sam slouched down in the passenger seat and stared out the window. They were just past Chattanooga on the Georgia side, on their way towards a haunting in Homestead. The scenery would be great, if he could see any of it, which he couldn’t because it was almost four AM and there were hardly any streetlights on this stretch of road. They’d been hit with an unseasonable heat wave, just in time for the Impala’s air conditioner to go on the fritz again. The miles slid by, the warm night breeze rushing through the windows, the radio up extra loud to compensate for the wind. All in all, it made for a miserable trip.
“Where’s my damn phone?” Dean slid his hand across the seat, searching.
“No way,” Sam said, grabbing the phone from its resting spot behind the gear shift. “I’m not letting you do that again.”
It was a good thing they were the only car on the road, since Dean managed to cross into the oncoming traffic lane and narrowly avoid running into a ditch in the scrabble to grab the phone from Sam’s hand. “C’mon, Sammy. I promise not to use your name this time.”
“If you want to make a public fool of yourself you’re going to have to do it one night when I’m not with you. It’s bad enough knowing you call in to shows like this, I’m not going to sit here and listen while you do it.”
“You’re to fun what Benadryl is to allergies,” Dean said, sulking.
“And to think you never took the SAT.”
Dean rolled his eyes and turned the radio up full blast. Sam sighed a ‘the things I put up with’ sigh and stretched out in the seat.
“He was engulfed in light,” the caller said. “His horn emitted a brightness and energy like I’ve never seen. It was stunning. I knew he had come to me to show me the way to enlightenment.”
Sam raised an eyebrow; at least this person had a halfway decent grasp of the English language.
“He approached me without hesitation and placed his horn upon my scar. My scar from when I had the tumor removed in my breast. And immediately I knew that I would be cancer free the next time I went to the doctor. Sure enough, today, I went for a follow up and there’s no sign of the cancer.”
The host, whose intonation betrayed his intense hatred for his listeners, chimed in. “So, you’re saying you were healed by the touch of a unicorn?”
“He told me I was to spread the word. In return for my health, I have to tell the world about the healing message of the unicorn. They will lead us to light. They have the power to heal, if only we accept them into our hearts.”
“Right, well, thank you for that inspirational story.” The host had switched off the phone line and had gone into to DJ mode. “It’s time for a station break. Step outside and look to the night sky. We are not alone. Is that a shooting star, or is that a visitor from beyond? What sort of messages can you hear, if you just open your mind and listen? You’re listening to All Night with George Santilli. We’ll be back after these messages.”
“God, I love this show,” Dean said, and laughed.
Sam scowled. “I hate you.”
A few miles down the road, they pulled into a twenty-four hour truck stop and stocked up on drinks and snacks. After a few minutes of chiding, Dean relented and agreed to let Sam take the next leg. He’d been driving since Central Illinois and needed a break, even if it did mean giving up control of the radio. He tossed Sam the keys and crawled into the backseat to try to grab a little shut eye before they reached their destination. Sam slid behind the wheel of the Impala and tuned the station to NPR. He listened to the last of the overnight classical music, and waited for the start of Morning Edition at five.
---------
The ghost in Homestead took less than two hours to finish off. It didn’t even put up much of a fight. The hunt was a real let down considering how long it had taken them to get there and how little sleep they’d gotten the night before.
That far South the heat wave was intolerable. The room’s air conditioner couldn’t push out enough cool air. The windows were old and cracked, making inside and outside virtually indistinguishable, weather-wise. The bugs were persistent and prehistoric.
They were exhausted. Despite being sprawled out on top of the rough bedspreads, wearing as few items of clothing as they could get away with without crossing out of ‘brothers-sharing-a-hotel-room’ to ‘old-married-couple’ mode, neither could get comfortable enough to fall asleep. It was too hot and sticky to exist. They needed rest, but they sure as hell weren’t going to get it there. They were back on the road by 2am.
Dean scanned through the radio stations until he found the local All Night affiliate. Sam grumbled that it really should be enough punishment that he hadn’t had more than an hour of sleep in the last 36 hours, and that he shouldn’t be forced to listen to that crap again. Dean either didn’t hear or didn’t pay any attention--which was much far more likely.
Much to Dean’s delight (and if pressed, Sam would’ve had to admit, OK, it was a little funny), another woman called in during open lines to discuss the mysterious, magical power of the amazing single-horned creature that radiated colors more brilliant than she had ever encountered.
George displayed his trademark blend of annoyance and disinterest with her description, but he wasn’t so bothered as to cut her off. She kept going on and on about the strength and power of the magnificent beast and how she had always loved unicorns but had never considered herself a woman of faith. Faced with truth and righteousness, she now devoted her life to the path of the brightness and joy emitted from the creature that had started her on the road to salvation.
“One more caller and I think we’ll have a trend.” The smirk was evident in Dean’s voice. “Someone better call Lisa Frank and see what she’s up to these days.”
Any sound his arrival might have made was drowned out by the other sounds in the car. “I’m not sure who Lisa Frank is, but if she has insight into the growing unicorn situation, I would highly recommend you contact her,” Castiel said.
Sam frowned. “Cas? Really? The unicorn women are worthy of your attention, but I’m not?”
Even from the backseat, Castiel’s annoyance was palpable. “How can we put a stop to this conversation? What do you want me to do? Beg your forgiveness? ‘Oh, Sam, I am so sorry I didn’t drop everything I was doing trying to salvage what’s left of heaven and rush down here to provide you with unsatisfactory answers to your questions,’” he said in a mocking, sing-song tone. “Happy now? We have a real issue to deal with here. Unicorns have been extinct for thousands of years, but in the last few weeks dozens of encounters have been reported. This is a cause for concern.”
“They were extinct?” Dean asked. “You mean, like, unicorns existed at some point, and then they stopped existing?”
“Yes, that is the definition of the word,” Castiel responded.
“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” Dean said.
“No, I am not shitting you,” Castiel said, audibly frustrated. “This is a very serious situation. One I had hoped to deal with without having to pull you two into it.”
“But...unicorns?” Sam asked. “Even if one showed up in someone’s house and shot rainbows out of its ass, I seriously doubt people would think they were faced with an actual, real life unicorn. I think more people would assume they were having an acid flashback. Even if they’d never done acid.”
“The chronicles of history portray unicorns as extremely powerful creatures. The re’em that are mentioned throughout the Old Testament are correctly interpreted in the King James version as unicorns. They were described as great, strong beasts given to fierceness and extreme loyalty. It is only recently that they’ve become the object of childish fantasies.”
“OK,” Dean said, “but if that’s the case why are these people describing a unicorn that sounds way more My Little Pony, less fierce Biblical megabeast?”
Sam’s couldn’t stifle his laughter. “Really, dude? I let the Lisa Frank thing slide, but My Little Pony? Since when are you a little girl?”
Dean chose to ignore that question and turned his focus to Castiel. “What do you think’s going on? Why are they back now? And if they’re so awesome, why are they only showing themselves to the sort of people who call in to late night AM radio?”
“Because the sort of people who would believe that crap on the radio are the sort of people who would believe that a unicorn would show up at their house and cure their cancer,” Sam answered, then furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t explain the inconsistency between the creature in the Bible and the thing these women are talking about.”
Cas’ voice dipped as it often did when he was frustrated. “They are extraordinarily powerful creatures; it is possible their power extends to the ability to bend reality.”
“So, they’ve decided it’s in their best interest to look like cartoon characters? What are they trying to do? Inspire a crusade consisting entirely of eight-year-old girls?”
“People are desperate, Dean.” Castiel leaned forward, his hand sliding down the front of the driver’s side seat, his mouth just a few inches from Dean’s ear. “Need I remind you what desperation does to one’s ability to make rational decisions? People are looking for answers. They feel that religion has failed them. They long for some deeper meaning. Something ethereal. Something magical. There are many lost souls, in a very easily manipulated state. The unicorns are taking full advantage of that.”
“What can we do about it?” Sam asked.
“We need to find them and stop them before people outside of the fringes of society find out what is going on.”
There was a bag of potato chips from the night before on the seat; Dean reached his hand into the bag and took a handful. “So,” he said through a mouthful of cheddar cheese Ruffles, “what do we do, lay some kind of unicorn rainbow trap? How hard can these things be to catch?”
“And the unicorns shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls; and their land shall be soaked with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness. “ Castiel spoke with the unmistakable intonation of one quoting scripture.
Dean stopped mid-chew and raised an eyebrow. “Hmmmm?”
“Isiah, 34:7. In Numbers God’s strength is likened repeatedly to that of a unicorn. These are not gentle animals we are dealing with. We must be very careful.”
“What do we do?” Sam asked.
“I suggest we start by paying a visit to the woman from the radio.”
“Well that sounds like fun,” Dean said. “Where is she?”
“Tallahassee, not far off I-10.”
“Great, we can be there by lunchtime,” Dean shifted in his seat the way he did when he was settling in for a long distance drive and turned the radio back up.
“I’ll gather more information and meet you there,” Castiel said before winging off to wherever it was one went to collect unicorn hunting tips.
------
They got to Tallahassee a little after 11:00 AM and convinced the owner of the Audubon Motor Lodge to let them check in early. In the interest of time they’d skipped breakfast, so they were hungry and grubby from the road.
Dean took the first shower, and Sam did some unicorn research because he knew if he so much as rested his eyes for a second he’d be down for the count. He felt more than a little ridiculous Googling unicorns, but swallowed his pride--right after he logged onto Dean’s email account so that any and all unicorn related interests would be filtered into Dean’s search results and not his. He was reading about the K’i lin, the Chinese unicorn when Castiel spoke up.
“We’re not dealing with a K’i lin,” he said. “At least, not the K’i lin of ancient times. They brought good fortune and happiness wherever they went. That’s not what’s happening here.”
Sam turned to face Castiel. “How can you be so sure? Everything we’ve heard so far indicates that these things are bringing happiness. I mean c’mon, curing cancer? Inspiring people to lead good, pure lives? You don’t count that as a good thing?” He glanced at the computer screen and then back at Cas. “Were you reading over my shoulder? Don’t do that.”
“Duly noted,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “From what I’ve been able to gather, I suspect that the unicorns are lulling their followers into a false sense of security. It’s easier to convince people to do stupid things when they believe it is for the greater good, after all.”
“You don’t have to tell him that.” Dean opened the bathroom door, letting out a gust of soap-scented steam as he joined the conversation. Sam frowned, but kept his mouth shut. “So, what you’re saying is the unicorns took a page from the angel playbook and are being huge dicks?”
“That’s one way of looking at it. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to learn very much about the situation. I was, however, able to get an address for the woman. Her name is Barbara Morgan, she lives on Harper’s Ferry Drive. We should go see her as soon as possible.”
Dean sat down next to Castiel on the bed. “Fine,” he said as he pulled his socks on, “but I’m not doing anything until I’ve had some food. We passed a hot dog stand on our way in, we can grab some dogs and eat them on the ride over.”
Four chili dogs and three sweet teas later, they pulled into the driveway at 4503 Harper’s Ferry. The house was a typical two-story McMansion with a Toyota SUV parked out front and nothing to give away that the person living there had recently dedicated herself to a life of servitude to an extinct, widely believed to be mythical, creature. .
“What’s our story, anyway?” Sam asked.
“FBI?” Dean shrugged. “That usually works.”
“Forgive me for asking,” Cas said, “since it’s very possible I’m missing something, but why bother with the FBI charade? Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her to tell us more about unicorns?”
“No one questions the feds,” Dean said as he rooted through the glove box to find the right ID badges. “Besides, how would your average Joe Unicorn Lover know where she lives?” He tossed Sam an ID badge as they got out of the car.
“Actually,” Sam said, resting an arm on the hood of the Impala, “someone like this--y’know, the sort of person who accepts without question that a unicorn is guiding her life--probably would also accept that the unicorn had...uh, sent us here to speak with her.” He mumbled the end of the sentence, more than a little ashamed that he was even able to have that sort of thought.
Dean nodded as he slammed the car door. “All right, then, let’s just march up there and declare ourselves representatives of the Lollipop Guild.”
The three men walked up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. They knocked, waited, and still no answer or even a sound. Sam crept behind the hedges blocking the front window and looked inside. The TV was off, and there were no signs of activity. He did a quick scan of the house and noticed a second floor window was slightly open a crack. “Guys,” Sam whispered, “I think we can get in through that window up on the second floor.”
Dean looked up at the window and then back down at his brother. “How do you propose we do that?”
“You two wait here, I’ll go ‘round the back of the house and see if I can’t climb a tree or something to get up onto the roof. It shouldn’t be too hard to slip in the window.”
“And that won’t look a bit suspicious.”
“I’ll be careful, just keep watch and distract anyone who might ask questions. Tell them you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses or something, that way they’re bound to leave you alone.”
While they were having this conversation, Castiel had zapped himself into the house and opened the front door. “Or you could just come in this way,” he said.
“That works, too,” Sam admitted as they walked inside.
The front room was as bland as the outside of the house, but once they got past the public rooms, the woman’s obsession became apparent. Paintings, posters and cross stitch samplers lined the walls of her bedroom. Porcelain figurines covered every available flat surface. Books about unicorns were stacked as high as the bed. It seemed she was the unicorn worshipping equivalent of a UFO enthusiast who, after years of standing out in a field begging to be abducted, had finally been beamed up and given the full anal probe treatment.
“Wow,” was all Dean could say. He walked around the room, inspected a few of the figurines, flipped through a couple of books, but couldn’t find anything to indicate this woman was anything but your average goofball. No unicorn droppings in the corner, or anything that would give away that she was harboring a mythical creature in the middle of the suburbs.
Sam had gone upstairs and was looking through the rooms. The signs of obsession was not as severe, but that didn’t mean there was a shortage. The walls in one room were covered with unicorns traipsing about in sparkles and rainbows; it looked like a first grader’s idea of heaven. In fact, it appeared to be a little girl’s room. He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or if he was upset to learn that this person had reproduced. He was about to open what he assumed was a closet when he heard a loud crash followed by what sounded like Castiel shouting.
Sam ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He and Dean almost collided in the hallway.
“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know, I thought he was with you.” Another sound, this one closer to a scream, came from somewhere in the house. “CAS!” Sam yelled as the two tore off to find out what was going on.
Dean headed down the hallway. Sam turned back toward the living room, but didn’t get too far when Dean called for him to get his ass into the kitchen, right now. He pivoted on his heel and darted down the hall.
By now, nothing should have really surprised him, but he still wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Dean was standing over Cas, who was half-conscious, sprawled out against the cupboard. He was bleeding from a cut in his head, and it looked like he was hurt pretty bad. Which, well, that just didn’t make much sense.
“Dean, what the hell happened?” Sam grabbed a handful of paper towels, ran them under the faucet and knelt down next to them.
“How the fuck should I know? I got here two seconds before you did and he’s not any in shape to give answers.” He took the paper towels from Sam and tried to clean up some of the blood oozing down Cas’ face. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”
“How are we supposed to do that? We can’t carry him out of the house. He’s bleeding all over the place. We’ll leave a trail. Even if we could avoid that, what will the neighbors think?”
The neighbors must have already been thinking something was wrong because before Dean could come up with a witty retort there was the unmistakable sound of a door in the process of being broken down. A voice shouted that they should make it easy on everyone and come out with their hands up.
“We are so fucking screwed,” Sam whispered.
Dean tapped Cas on the face a couple of times, trying to wake him up. “Cas, dude. Cas, you have got to wake up, man. You’ve got to zap us the fuck out of here.”
Cas’ head flopped from side to side. He groaned. “Can’t.”
“Oh, yeah, you can. C’mon! We need that extra-powered angel mojo of yours!” Dean sounded genuinely frantic.
“Dean, we have to at least hide,” Sam said. “They’ll be in here any second.”
“Dammit! Cas!” This time there was nothing tapping about the motion: Dean hit Castiel with a full-handed slap. “Wake up and get us the hell out of here.”
Cas opened his eyes, “I told you,” he growled, his voice rough with pain. “I can’t.” He closed his eyes; maybe he passed out, or maybe he was conscious but just too damn hurt to do anything but lie there like a pile of rags.
The door, which wasn’t locked, but apparently the cops hadn’t bothered to check, gave in and the police barrelled into the house.
“Hands in the air, mother fucker!” the officer yelled.
Sam and Dean obliged immediately, cursing their luck and wondering how in the hell they were going to get out of this. “He can’t,” Sam nodded towards Castiel, lying slumped against the kitchen cupboard, his blood staining the white tiles.
The cop kicked Cas, who fell sideways onto the kitchen floor. “All right, you two assholes! Face down, hands behind your back and don’t say another fucking word unless you want resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer added to the breaking and entering we’ve already got you on.”
Neither said a thing as they dropped to the ground. They knew better than try to get out of this. Even if they did have a plan, it wouldn’t have solved the little problem of the unconscious angel sprawled out between them.
They were hauled out of the house, and all three of them were thrown into the back seat of a police cruiser. Cas started to come around a few miles into the trip to the station. “What happened?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean whispered. When Cas looked confused rather than apologetic, he clarified. “We’re in deep shit. That’s what happened.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Clearly. What kind of shit are we in? Am I in handcuffs?”
“That’s what happens to crummy criminals,” Dean answered.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Someone called the cops. Or maybe we tripped an alarm. Either way, the cops showed up, you were in no shape to get us out of there before they got inside. We’re on our way to the police station.”
Dean nudge Cas. “Better late than never. Zap us way the hell out of here. Do it quick, too. That cop’s giving me a funny look in the rearview.”
Cas shifted in the seat and attempted to move his hands from his sides. The handcuffs didn’t give. He squinted, focusing all of his attention on the task and tried again. His hands only moved as far as the metal would let him. “I don’t think I can.”
“What do you mean?” Dean’s voice betrayed his growing agitation.
“I can’t get out of the handcuffs. I should be able to, but I can’t.” He struggled against the cuffs. “I think the unicorn might have drained me.”
Sam and Dean both did a double take. “The unicorn?”
The cop in the passenger’s seat reached behind his head and slapped the metal cage that divided the front and back seats. “Keep it down back there!”
“”He was in the kitchen,” Cas said through clenched teeth. “Which isn’t a very good place to keep a unicorn if you ask me, they’re not good around fire. I must’ve startled him, because he rushed me and I barely escaped being impaled on his horn. There was a struggle. Which I clearly lost.”
“So,” Sam said, “You’re saying you’re...”
“Screwed,” Castiel finished.
The officers pulled up to the police station.“All right, I doubt I have to tell you losers the drill. Guys like you probably been through this a dozen or so times before.” The cops opened the cruiser doors. “Get your butts out of the car, c’mon! Step to it!”
They followed the officers, obedient and silent as they were lead to booking. Dean and Sam kept their mouths shut and their heads down, but Cas wasn’t as well-versed in proper arrest etiquette. As they walked in, he couldn’t help but look around and take in the surroundings. The taller cop, the one who had been driving, kicked him in the ankle. “Nothing to see here, keep moving.” Cas tripped over his feet, but from then on followed Sam and Dean’s lead.
They were fingerprinted, their mug shots taken and they were shuffled towards a cell. Throughout the whole experience Castiel alternated between looking confused and emotionally shattered. He tried every trick he knew to get them out of there, but he was no more able to get them out of the situation than the drunk fingerprinted before them was able to say the alphabet backwards while walking a straight line.
“Hey!” Dean said as the cop slammed the jail door shut. “What about our one phone call?”
“You get it after we finish the paperwork. Now, how ‘bout you boys just sit real quiet and maybe it won’t take until tomorrow for us to finish, huh?”
“Dick,” Dean snarled under his breath.
“Did you say something, Boy?” the cop sneered.
Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and pushed him back toward the benches on the other side of the cell. “He didn’t say anything. He’s got allergies.”
In spite of outward appearances, the cop wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t believe Sam any more than he believed that his wife was really at a book club three nights a week. He’d learned that some things weren’t worth fighting about. Besides, his shift was over in less than an hour, no sense making more paperwork for himself because he got in a fight with a perp. He shook his head and walked away.
Sam and Dean joined Cas on the cell’s bench. “Cas,” Dean said. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you than you’re already putting on yourself, but man--we’re dead. I mean that, literally, we are dead men. As far as the world’s concerned, me and Sam aren’t even rotting corpses anymore. We’ve been dead a helluva long time. As for Jimmy, his wife’s probably had him declared dead by now. Even if she hasn’t, after what happened the last time you two got together, I doubt she’s going to run down here to bail us out. So when they run our fingerprints and find out they’ve got three dead guys in the cell, we are going to have a lot of explaining to do. You’ve got to do whatever it takes, you’ve got to get us out of here.”
“Dean, he’s tried,” Sam admonished.
“Well he needs to fucking try harder!” Dean stage whispered through his teeth. The drunk slouched on the other end of the bench jerked his head up and looked around. “Go back to sleep pal.”
Cas swallowed hard, took a deep breath, reached his arms out so that his fingertips were resting on their foreheads and concentrated every last bit of energy he had on getting them as far away as he could.
Which was out of the precinct. But where that was, from a geographical standpoint, they had no idea. From what they could tell, they were behind a dumpster behind a McDonald’s. That really narrowed it down.
“You did it.” Dean pushed himself up against the dumpster and rubbed the sore sport where his head had collided with the ground when they’d landed.
Sam laid on the ground, looking up at the early evening sky “Wow, that was way too close for comfort.” He turned his head toward the other two. “Everybody in one piece? Cas, how’re you feeling?”
.“I’m fine,” he said, and to the relief of all involved, it appeared that he actually was. “Whatever sort of spell the unicorn used, it must’ve worn off. I think I’m almost at full power again.”
“Glad to hear it,” Dean said. “I mean that. But, what’re we going to do now? They took our phones. We have no money. Our wallets are in the car, which has probably been towed and we have no idea where we are.”
“We should call Bobby,” Sam said. “He could at least wire us some money.”
Cas stood up. “It’ll be easier if I go to him myself. You two stay here, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Dean looked worried, “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” Cas asked. Before they could answer, he was gone.
“So, do we just wait here in this pile of trash and hope Bobby agrees to let Cas zap him halfway across the country or what?”
Sam shrugged, “Better here than jail.”
“I hate when you’re right.”
----
“All right, you losers,” the officer bellowed as he walked down the hall. “Time to argue who gets to make the phone...” He stopped mid-sentence when he looked into the cage. “What the hell?”
The drunk, who had sobered up considerably when he’d watched his cell mates disappear, shook his head. “They’re gone.”
That was really not what he needed today. How had this happened? The only way out of the building was past a dozen or so uniformed, mostly armed officers. Hell, the cell didn’t even have a damn window. “Gone, where?”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” the drunk answered.
“Oh, I think you should try me.”
The conversation went around in circles for a minute until the drunk, whose head was throbbing and the contents of his stomach trying to make a run for it, finally relented and told the officer exactly what he’d seen. It went as well as could be expected. The cop shook his head and headed back to the squad room. “They don’t pay me enough for this,” he mumbled.
“Molly, those guys we booked earlier, where are their cell phones?”
“Should be under the desk,” she said, not even looking up. “Same place they always are.”
He pulled out the box and grabbed the two phones. A quick scan through the lists convinced him he was dealing with two guys who worked together pretty much all of the time. Worked together, and had almost no social life outside of each other. Most of the entries matched. The third guy was a mystery. No cell phone, no ID, but it seemed like he knew the other two pretty well. More than likely he could find out all he needed to know with a few well placed phone calls. He checked the call logs on the phones and called the last number they had both called.
The phone rang a few times before it clicked over to the answering machine, “You’ve reached Singer Salvage. I’m busy. Leave a message.” The cop hung up without bothering with a message. Damn. They probably needed a part for that ancient car. Not a big help, but since he had a business name, he figured it’d be worth the trouble to call the Sioux Falls sheriff. The phone rang twice and a woman picked up.
“Hello, this is Officer Buchanan from the Tallahassee police department. I have a question about a couple of prisoners we brought in today.”
“I’m the sheriff here, what can I help you with?”
“Do you know anything about Singer Salvage?” Officer Buchanan asked.
“Bobby? Sure. Everyone knows Bobby. He’s pretty much a legend around these parts.”
Interesting. “Well, I booked a couple of perps today and I think they might know him. Or he might know something about them. If you know him, would you be willing to send some of info my way? I’d really appreciate it, we’ve got...well, these guys are kind of a weird case.”
“If Bobby’s involved, it’s bound to be a little strange.” She hoped she sounded amused and not worried. “Sure, I’ll fax over some of his file. Doubt it’ll help much, but anything for a fellow officer.”
“I sure appreciate it, ma’am. I’ll give you a call if I need anything else. Bye, now.”
“Bye,” she said as she hung up the phone. “Bobby, I swear, you keep my life interesting,” she said to no one in particular. She pulled Bobby’s file, searched through the arrest reports, picking out the ones that painted him as a semi-lovable town crank, rather than a crazed lunatic with an extensive arsenal and a paranoid streak. She faxed those reports, and a picture of Bobby over to the officer before heading over to Bobby’s to see what was going on this time.
The sun was low in the sky as Sheriff Mills turned in to the salvage yard. She pulled in the driveway and parked the cruiser next to an old Chevy van. She never could keep track of which cars he had running at any given time, so she couldn’t tell whether he was home or not. Bobby’s dog- she’d only ever heard him referred to as “that stupid damn dog”- peered out from his hiding place behind a rusted red Pinto. “Hey dog,” she said, “Bobby at home?” The dog provided no useful information, just darted away into the junk piles.
She walked to the door, knocked and tried the handle simultaneously. It was unlocked, but a quick glance around showed no indication that he was there. The place didn’t look any different than it ever did, no signs of trouble. It was most likely just a coincidence that whoever had been arrested in Florida had been in contact with Bobby. He knew a lot of people, some of them probably just needed spare parts. Best to stick with that theory, rather than assume he was off doing something like--to be honest she didn’t want to think about what he might be doing. She slept better at night when she kept those thoughts out of her head.
------
It was getting dark. Sam and Dean had been hiding behind the dumpster for hours with nothing to do but sit and wait. There were only so many games of “I Spy” they could play without running out of creative ways to spy a pile of trash or a brick wall. A few cops had pulled into the lot, but their luck and hiding place had held.
Either no one had noticed they were gone (which, wow, if that was the case, that does not speak well of the Tallahassee police department) or wherever they were was nowhere near where they might logically be. Either way, they’d lost a heartbeat or two between them, but nothing worse. The closest thing to excitement was when one of the employees had come outside on a trash run. For a second, they were afraid they’d have to dive in the dumpster, which would have made the day perfect in its awfulness. Lucky for them, the kid was far more interested in grabbing a smoke break and messing around with his phone than paying attention to anything that was going on in the parking lot. He just tossed the bags over the side without even looking their way.
There were cars in line for the drive-thru stretched around the building; the sounds of drivers leaning out of car windows ordering burgers and fries and kids screaming for Happy Meals were clearly audible. “This is not a good place to be hungry and broke,” Dean said. “You know they pipe stuff through the vents that makes you hungry.”
“Yeah, grease, your favorite food group. I don’t know how you can think about eating when you’ve been sitting next to decomposing garbage half the day.”
“You saw that video, McDonald’s hamburgers don’t decompose, they last forever.” Dean reached down and picked up an empty hamburger wrapper and started waving it in front of his brother’s face. “Eternally lasting delicious meat product with ketchup and those little rehydrated onions...”
Sam slapped the wrapper out of Dean’s hand. “Stop it. I’m hungry--not quite hungry enough to eat this crap--but you’re not helping.”
A red Nissan Altima pulled up next to them. They instinctively slid toward the shadows.
“You two idjits can come out,” Bobby said, leaning out of the window of the car. “It’s just us.”
Dean stood up and poked his head around the edge of the dumpster.
“Hurry your butts up, we have things to do,” Bobby grumbled.
Sam and Dean walked around to the car. Cas was sitting in the passenger’s seat, looking uncomfortable.
Dean opened the door and slid across the seat. “Nice car. It suits you.”
Sam folded himself into the back of the car . “Hey, Bobby, could you move your seat up a little?” he asked.
“You two got me angel zapped halfway across the country. I was having a really nice day, too. I’m driving a rented damn Nissan” he pronounced the name Knees-ann, “you can be uncomfortable for a few minutes.” He shifted into drive and merged into the line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot.
“What took you so damn long?” Dean asked.
Castiel turned in his seat. “Bobby was reluctant to be transported across the country without ample evidence that it wouldn’t...what was the term?”
“Discombobulate,” Bobby answered.
“Right,” Cas said, “I had to prove I wouldn’t discombobulate him. Something he doesn’t seem too concerned might happen to me.”
“What might happen to you, how?” Dean asked.
“It would appear that I am our best defense against the unicorn.”
Sam, who was shifting around in his seat, trying to keep blood flowing to his legs, spoke up. “You’re our best defense? Even after what happened today? That--” he twisted around uncomfortably-- “is not good news.”
Castiel looked dejected. “I’m the only one who comes close to the qualifications.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “What qualifications?”
“In order to trap the unicorn we need a...” Cas trailed off.
“What?” Sam asked.
Bobby spoke up. “A virgin. We need a virgin.”
“Oh.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Well...yeah...I mean...”
“Right.” If Sam wasn’t already uncomfortable, he definitely was now. “Yeah...”
“Just stop, both of you.” said Cas. “This isn’t comical.”
Dean reached over the seat and put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “We’re not laughing. Some other time, we might be. But not right now. This is not funny. Even if the fact that you’ve spent millenia not getting laid--”
“Dean!” Sam poked his brother in the ribs.
“Stay on your side of the car, Sammy. Don’t make me hurt you.”
“You boys stop acting like your balls ain’t dropped yet,” Bobby scolded. “We have work to do.”
“I realize this is the most efficient method, but are you sure there’s not some other option? Maybe one that doesn’t involve me possibly getting gutted by an angry unicorn?” Cas asked.
Dean leaned forward and stuck his head between the front seats. “Why are we planning to use Cas as unicorn bait?”
Cas sighed. “Because a unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin. The stories usually specify a female virgin, but...”
“They’re harder to come by than unicorns,” Dean finished.
“Exactly. Best case scenario, the unicorn is impressed by my virtue and rests his head upon my lap. Then, I’ll kill it and harvest the carbuncle at the base of its horn.”
“And worst case?” Sam asked.
“It finishes what it started this afternoon,” Cas said, furrowing his brow.
Bobby looked over his shoulder as he changed lanes. “Which isn’t going to happen.”
Dean made a disgusted face. “Carbuncle? That sounds so nasty.”
Bobby swore at the GPS system as he made a sharp, last second left turn down a side street. “And if you had one, it would be,” he said. “But on a unicorn it’s a ruby that’s believed to be the source of its power.” The GPS started recalculating directions after another missed turn which distracted Bobby from further explanation.
“Which could be extremely useful at some point,” Cas said. “Even if it isn’t, better I have it than someone else.”
“You stupid damn machine how ‘bout you give me more than 2 seconds warning before I’m supposed to make a turn!” Bobby’s cursed at the GPS as he swung the car into a u-turn.
Sam and Dean both had to stifle their laughter. “But, none of the other encounters were with virgins, were they?” Sam asked. “The house we were at today had a child’s room. Are you sure there’s not another way? And where are we going?”
With a sigh of relief, Bobby turned into a paved area at the entrance to a public park. “Here,” he answered. “We need a virgin because it’s not choosing us, we’re calling it. We need something that’ll convince it to show up.”
“Since I’m guessing we’re not going to stop and have a picnic,” Sam said, “this is where you’re going to lure the unicorn?”
“It’s an open area, but one that is secluded enough that it should not cause suspicion.” Castiel got out of the car and turned to look at the park. “I believe it would be best if I positioned myself under that tree.” He motioned to an oak tree about ten yards away. “It’s far enough away that the unicorn won’t catch your scents, but hopefully close enough that you would be able to come to my aid should it become necessary.”
Bobby was looking in the trunk of the car, searching through Walmart bags for weapons. “We’ll have to improvise. It was a little hard to pack for this trip, what with how I’ve only got the two hands and all. I’ve got one gun, a couple of knives and a baseball bat. That’ll have to be enough.” He examined the supplies for a moment and handed Cas a long, black handled knife with a gold blade. “Here, this should do the trick. Be careful.”
With a slight nod, Cas took the knife and headed out into the field. Ever the soldier, even under such strange circumstances, he marched into battle with his back straight and his face betraying no emotion.
“Cas,” Dean called out. “How do you know this will work?”
He glanced back at three men. “The unicorn has my scent. If I summon him, he will come.” They stood by the car and watched as Cas walked the rest of the way out into the field. He reached the tree, brushed his hand against the knife tucked into his belt and began the unicorn summoning spell.
The park was unbelievably quiet. The sort of quiet that gave the illusion that time had stopped. Dean, Sam and Bobby stood, weapons in hand, watching the darkness a few feet away from the car. Cas sat stiff and bolt upright, his back not even resting against the trunk of the tree. A flash lit the night sky. It brightened the park with streaks of light: red, green, purple, blue, every color of the rainbow spread over the area. A shock wave rattled the earth and knocked them off their feet.
Sam fell backwards into a trash can, dropping the knife as he collided with the metal. He tried to reach out and grab it, but he could barely move. The light force was too strong. He turned and looked towards where Bobby and Dean had been standing. Bobby had managed to brace himself against a post with the baseball bat and was doing his best to move towards Castiel. Dean was struggling to push himself up onto his hands and knees, using the gun as support. With another flare of light the unicorn appeared.
He was huge, stunning, white with a flowing mane and a horn that glowed with an intense, warm light.. And the colors! The colors were spectacular. Darkness and light swirled together around the beast. Every tone and shade imaginable, glittering, shimmering pulses of energy and life. It was unbelievable. No amount of elementary school binders and cartoons with easy listening scores could prepare them for what they saw. The sensation of being in the presence of this magnificent creature froze them in place. They couldn’t move, could barely breathe. They could only stand and stare, mouths agape, eyes wide.
The unicorn whipped its head around, smelling the air. For a brief second he looked as if he knew there were others there beside Castiel and himself. He roared back on his hind legs, his hooves crashing against the swirls of light, sending black waves across the perimeter of the park. Cas chanted under his breath, never looking away from the unicorn.
The creature dropped to all fours. He stood and stared at Castiel. Cas held the gaze, motionless, unblinking, patient. With a snorting sound, the unicorn lowered his eyes, and took a step forward. It continued towards Cas, slow steps, the aura around it growing lighter, calmer as it drew closer to the waiting angel. Cas held as still as possible, his only movement the measured rise and fall of his chest.
With each breath he fought the urge to reach for the knife, waiting for the unicorn to completely submit and lie down before him. The unicorn knelt down on one leg, its eyes meeting Castiel’s for one more moment, before it folded his legs under him and laid his head onto Castiel’s legs. Cas reached a hand out and stroked the unicorn’s mane. He whispered a few words as he traced his hand along the curves of the huge beast’s ears, slid his fingers down onto its nose and then up to the base of the horn. The unicorn snuffled and nuzzled its head against Cas’ stomach. Cas stroked his hand down the side of the unicorn’s head, over its eyes and down along the jaw line. His hand dropped away from the beast’s head, carefully, he moved his hand over to the knife. With a flick of his wrist he pulled the knife out and plunged it into the back of the unicorn’s neck. He twisted the knife, pulled it out and plunged it in again. The unicorn struggled, fought to get to his feet. Cas dug the knife in deeper with one hand and placed his other hand against the base of the unicorn’s horn. Gray, gold and green light shot from the unicorn’s ears and eyes. It crashed to the ground with a great thud, rattling the earth and knocking the leaves off the trees. Cas dropped to his knees, pulled the knife out and cut the carbuncle from the base of the horn. With a cyclonic force, the unicorn was caught up in a swirl of light and wind and disappeared. Cas toppled backward, grabbed the trunk of the tree and held on to avoid being sucked into the vortex.
The rumbling stopped. The park was again dark and quiet. Sam gasped, suddenly aware that he had been neglecting to breathe. Dean dropped the gun and ran over to Cas. Bobby looked at Sam, then over at Dean and Castiel. “What the hell just happened?” he asked.
“I thought you’d know,” Sam said.
He took his ball cap off and ran his hand over his head. “I didn’t expect it to be so...psychedelic. Iron Butterfly would’ve loved that.”
“Or immediately checked themselves into a mental institution.”
Dean and Cas walked across the field and joined them.
“Cas, are you OK?” Sam asked.
“I just killed a unicorn,” he answered, as if that explained everything. He turned away from the men, walked over to lean on the hood of the car. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the carbuncle. He rubbed the stone against his coat and checked the shine.
Sam looked confused. “So, that’s it? The unicorn’s dead. Cas takes the carbuncle thing back to heaven and what?”
“And unicorns go back to being the things of little girl’s day dreams and the world never has to find out their real natures,” Bobby said.
“All in a day’s work,” Dean said as casually as he could muster. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry and in desperate need of a drink.”He walked over and sat down next to Cas. “You wanna join us? I think it’s tradition that the guy who kills the unicorn gets treated all night.”
Cas looked up at Dean, a slight smile curved around the edges of his mouth. He shook his head. “No. I can’t stay. I’m sure there is a lot of work for me in heaven. I’ve been gone too long as it is. Thank you all for your help.” There was a rustle of wings and he was gone.
“Come on,” Bobby said. “Let’s find a bar and get some food and booze in our stomachs.”
They all looked out at the park one more time. Dean slid across the hood and grabbed the passenger side door just as Sam was lunging for it. “Sorry, I called it.”
Sam scowled and crawled into the back of the car, stretching his legs across the seat. Bobby typed “bar” into the GPS and took off down the road toward dinner, drinks and whatever monster they might encounter next. The way things were going lately, a rampaging Snufflelupagus, probably.
Artist: miki_moo
Art Master Post
Author: toolazytowork
Genre: Gen, Casefic
Rating:PG-13 (language, some violence)
Word Count 8880
Warnings/Spoilers:Takes place after S5. In an S6 where things aren't quite so stressful. The monsters, though...they're weird.
Beta: unstoppablei
Summary: Two nights in a row, callers phone into an all night AM radio talk show reporting contact with unicorns. Most of the time the sort of people who call into that show are just plain crazy, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.
Written for: spn_reversebang .
“West of the Great Divide, you’re on the air.” The crackle fuzz of static, the eardrum piercing hum of a radio interfering with a phone line blended with the roar of the wind coming in through the half-opened windows. “Hello? Caller, go ‘head.” There was another hiss of interference. “And turn off your radio, please.”
“Hello? Hello George? Is this George?” His voice had that awful, stumbling loss of basic language skills that is the hallmark of the AM radio call-in guest.
Sam felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment roll over him. He hated listening to people struggle to put sentences together. It was the same sort of feeling he used to get when he had to go in front of the class and present a book report on a book he hadn’t had time to read because he’d spent the whole weekend on a hunt with Dad and Dean. It wasn’t like he could explain to the teacher that he’d spent the weekend hunkered down in a dugout trench watching for signs of a pack of werewolves and that was why he hadn’t had time to prepare his presentation on All Quiet on the Western Front. Instead, he would ramble for ten minutes about the internal and external struggles of the foot soldier in the midst of battle, watching the hands on the clock stand still and struggling to remember any piece of information he’d picked up from the Cliffs Notes he read on his way into school that morning. Sam knew, even under those circumstances, he’d sounded better prepared than the guy on the radio.
“Spit it out,” Dean grumbled. “Idiot.”
“Right..so...” The caller had at least managed to regain his ability to speak in sentences. They weren’t well formed sentences, but it was an improvement. “So, I’m thinking that there’s a lot of proof that something major happened last year and no one’s talking about it and I’m wondering if maybe there isn’t a big government cover up? Because they don’t want us to know that it happened. Because, like, there were all these events, like, weird stuff happening everywhere, and the weather, man! Did you notice some of the weather we had last year? I’m just saying, I think they’re covering something up and I bet if we knew about it there would be global chaos.”
“You don’t know the half of it, pal.”
Sam turned the volume down. “Why are we listening to this? It’s not even entertaining in an ironic kind of way. It’s just embarrassing. The so-called experts sound like their entire wealth of knowledge came from having read most of the materials shelved between 130-139 at their local library. The call in guests are paranoid shut-ins who probably have an entire room set aside for tinfoil storage, and the host seems to hand-pick guests who are the least adept at expressing themselves. I’d rather listen to three straight hours of Iron Maiden than this.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Dean said, turning the radio back up. The host was talking to an in-studio guest who claimed to make regular travels to the angel realm and had returned with knowledge of divine light and understanding of the ways of the angelic. Dean laughed. Sam slouched down in the passenger seat and stared out the window. They were just past Chattanooga on the Georgia side, on their way towards a haunting in Homestead. The scenery would be great, if he could see any of it, which he couldn’t because it was almost four AM and there were hardly any streetlights on this stretch of road. They’d been hit with an unseasonable heat wave, just in time for the Impala’s air conditioner to go on the fritz again. The miles slid by, the warm night breeze rushing through the windows, the radio up extra loud to compensate for the wind. All in all, it made for a miserable trip.
“Where’s my damn phone?” Dean slid his hand across the seat, searching.
“No way,” Sam said, grabbing the phone from its resting spot behind the gear shift. “I’m not letting you do that again.”
It was a good thing they were the only car on the road, since Dean managed to cross into the oncoming traffic lane and narrowly avoid running into a ditch in the scrabble to grab the phone from Sam’s hand. “C’mon, Sammy. I promise not to use your name this time.”
“If you want to make a public fool of yourself you’re going to have to do it one night when I’m not with you. It’s bad enough knowing you call in to shows like this, I’m not going to sit here and listen while you do it.”
“You’re to fun what Benadryl is to allergies,” Dean said, sulking.
“And to think you never took the SAT.”
Dean rolled his eyes and turned the radio up full blast. Sam sighed a ‘the things I put up with’ sigh and stretched out in the seat.
“He was engulfed in light,” the caller said. “His horn emitted a brightness and energy like I’ve never seen. It was stunning. I knew he had come to me to show me the way to enlightenment.”
Sam raised an eyebrow; at least this person had a halfway decent grasp of the English language.
“He approached me without hesitation and placed his horn upon my scar. My scar from when I had the tumor removed in my breast. And immediately I knew that I would be cancer free the next time I went to the doctor. Sure enough, today, I went for a follow up and there’s no sign of the cancer.”
The host, whose intonation betrayed his intense hatred for his listeners, chimed in. “So, you’re saying you were healed by the touch of a unicorn?”
“He told me I was to spread the word. In return for my health, I have to tell the world about the healing message of the unicorn. They will lead us to light. They have the power to heal, if only we accept them into our hearts.”
“Right, well, thank you for that inspirational story.” The host had switched off the phone line and had gone into to DJ mode. “It’s time for a station break. Step outside and look to the night sky. We are not alone. Is that a shooting star, or is that a visitor from beyond? What sort of messages can you hear, if you just open your mind and listen? You’re listening to All Night with George Santilli. We’ll be back after these messages.”
“God, I love this show,” Dean said, and laughed.
Sam scowled. “I hate you.”
A few miles down the road, they pulled into a twenty-four hour truck stop and stocked up on drinks and snacks. After a few minutes of chiding, Dean relented and agreed to let Sam take the next leg. He’d been driving since Central Illinois and needed a break, even if it did mean giving up control of the radio. He tossed Sam the keys and crawled into the backseat to try to grab a little shut eye before they reached their destination. Sam slid behind the wheel of the Impala and tuned the station to NPR. He listened to the last of the overnight classical music, and waited for the start of Morning Edition at five.
---------
The ghost in Homestead took less than two hours to finish off. It didn’t even put up much of a fight. The hunt was a real let down considering how long it had taken them to get there and how little sleep they’d gotten the night before.
That far South the heat wave was intolerable. The room’s air conditioner couldn’t push out enough cool air. The windows were old and cracked, making inside and outside virtually indistinguishable, weather-wise. The bugs were persistent and prehistoric.
They were exhausted. Despite being sprawled out on top of the rough bedspreads, wearing as few items of clothing as they could get away with without crossing out of ‘brothers-sharing-a-hotel-room’ to ‘old-married-couple’ mode, neither could get comfortable enough to fall asleep. It was too hot and sticky to exist. They needed rest, but they sure as hell weren’t going to get it there. They were back on the road by 2am.
Dean scanned through the radio stations until he found the local All Night affiliate. Sam grumbled that it really should be enough punishment that he hadn’t had more than an hour of sleep in the last 36 hours, and that he shouldn’t be forced to listen to that crap again. Dean either didn’t hear or didn’t pay any attention--which was much far more likely.
Much to Dean’s delight (and if pressed, Sam would’ve had to admit, OK, it was a little funny), another woman called in during open lines to discuss the mysterious, magical power of the amazing single-horned creature that radiated colors more brilliant than she had ever encountered.
George displayed his trademark blend of annoyance and disinterest with her description, but he wasn’t so bothered as to cut her off. She kept going on and on about the strength and power of the magnificent beast and how she had always loved unicorns but had never considered herself a woman of faith. Faced with truth and righteousness, she now devoted her life to the path of the brightness and joy emitted from the creature that had started her on the road to salvation.
“One more caller and I think we’ll have a trend.” The smirk was evident in Dean’s voice. “Someone better call Lisa Frank and see what she’s up to these days.”
Any sound his arrival might have made was drowned out by the other sounds in the car. “I’m not sure who Lisa Frank is, but if she has insight into the growing unicorn situation, I would highly recommend you contact her,” Castiel said.
Sam frowned. “Cas? Really? The unicorn women are worthy of your attention, but I’m not?”
Even from the backseat, Castiel’s annoyance was palpable. “How can we put a stop to this conversation? What do you want me to do? Beg your forgiveness? ‘Oh, Sam, I am so sorry I didn’t drop everything I was doing trying to salvage what’s left of heaven and rush down here to provide you with unsatisfactory answers to your questions,’” he said in a mocking, sing-song tone. “Happy now? We have a real issue to deal with here. Unicorns have been extinct for thousands of years, but in the last few weeks dozens of encounters have been reported. This is a cause for concern.”
“They were extinct?” Dean asked. “You mean, like, unicorns existed at some point, and then they stopped existing?”
“Yes, that is the definition of the word,” Castiel responded.
“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” Dean said.
“No, I am not shitting you,” Castiel said, audibly frustrated. “This is a very serious situation. One I had hoped to deal with without having to pull you two into it.”
“But...unicorns?” Sam asked. “Even if one showed up in someone’s house and shot rainbows out of its ass, I seriously doubt people would think they were faced with an actual, real life unicorn. I think more people would assume they were having an acid flashback. Even if they’d never done acid.”
“The chronicles of history portray unicorns as extremely powerful creatures. The re’em that are mentioned throughout the Old Testament are correctly interpreted in the King James version as unicorns. They were described as great, strong beasts given to fierceness and extreme loyalty. It is only recently that they’ve become the object of childish fantasies.”
“OK,” Dean said, “but if that’s the case why are these people describing a unicorn that sounds way more My Little Pony, less fierce Biblical megabeast?”
Sam’s couldn’t stifle his laughter. “Really, dude? I let the Lisa Frank thing slide, but My Little Pony? Since when are you a little girl?”
Dean chose to ignore that question and turned his focus to Castiel. “What do you think’s going on? Why are they back now? And if they’re so awesome, why are they only showing themselves to the sort of people who call in to late night AM radio?”
“Because the sort of people who would believe that crap on the radio are the sort of people who would believe that a unicorn would show up at their house and cure their cancer,” Sam answered, then furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t explain the inconsistency between the creature in the Bible and the thing these women are talking about.”
Cas’ voice dipped as it often did when he was frustrated. “They are extraordinarily powerful creatures; it is possible their power extends to the ability to bend reality.”
“So, they’ve decided it’s in their best interest to look like cartoon characters? What are they trying to do? Inspire a crusade consisting entirely of eight-year-old girls?”
“People are desperate, Dean.” Castiel leaned forward, his hand sliding down the front of the driver’s side seat, his mouth just a few inches from Dean’s ear. “Need I remind you what desperation does to one’s ability to make rational decisions? People are looking for answers. They feel that religion has failed them. They long for some deeper meaning. Something ethereal. Something magical. There are many lost souls, in a very easily manipulated state. The unicorns are taking full advantage of that.”
“What can we do about it?” Sam asked.
“We need to find them and stop them before people outside of the fringes of society find out what is going on.”
There was a bag of potato chips from the night before on the seat; Dean reached his hand into the bag and took a handful. “So,” he said through a mouthful of cheddar cheese Ruffles, “what do we do, lay some kind of unicorn rainbow trap? How hard can these things be to catch?”
“And the unicorns shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls; and their land shall be soaked with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness. “ Castiel spoke with the unmistakable intonation of one quoting scripture.
Dean stopped mid-chew and raised an eyebrow. “Hmmmm?”
“Isiah, 34:7. In Numbers God’s strength is likened repeatedly to that of a unicorn. These are not gentle animals we are dealing with. We must be very careful.”
“What do we do?” Sam asked.
“I suggest we start by paying a visit to the woman from the radio.”
“Well that sounds like fun,” Dean said. “Where is she?”
“Tallahassee, not far off I-10.”
“Great, we can be there by lunchtime,” Dean shifted in his seat the way he did when he was settling in for a long distance drive and turned the radio back up.
“I’ll gather more information and meet you there,” Castiel said before winging off to wherever it was one went to collect unicorn hunting tips.
------
They got to Tallahassee a little after 11:00 AM and convinced the owner of the Audubon Motor Lodge to let them check in early. In the interest of time they’d skipped breakfast, so they were hungry and grubby from the road.
Dean took the first shower, and Sam did some unicorn research because he knew if he so much as rested his eyes for a second he’d be down for the count. He felt more than a little ridiculous Googling unicorns, but swallowed his pride--right after he logged onto Dean’s email account so that any and all unicorn related interests would be filtered into Dean’s search results and not his. He was reading about the K’i lin, the Chinese unicorn when Castiel spoke up.
“We’re not dealing with a K’i lin,” he said. “At least, not the K’i lin of ancient times. They brought good fortune and happiness wherever they went. That’s not what’s happening here.”
Sam turned to face Castiel. “How can you be so sure? Everything we’ve heard so far indicates that these things are bringing happiness. I mean c’mon, curing cancer? Inspiring people to lead good, pure lives? You don’t count that as a good thing?” He glanced at the computer screen and then back at Cas. “Were you reading over my shoulder? Don’t do that.”
“Duly noted,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “From what I’ve been able to gather, I suspect that the unicorns are lulling their followers into a false sense of security. It’s easier to convince people to do stupid things when they believe it is for the greater good, after all.”
“You don’t have to tell him that.” Dean opened the bathroom door, letting out a gust of soap-scented steam as he joined the conversation. Sam frowned, but kept his mouth shut. “So, what you’re saying is the unicorns took a page from the angel playbook and are being huge dicks?”
“That’s one way of looking at it. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to learn very much about the situation. I was, however, able to get an address for the woman. Her name is Barbara Morgan, she lives on Harper’s Ferry Drive. We should go see her as soon as possible.”
Dean sat down next to Castiel on the bed. “Fine,” he said as he pulled his socks on, “but I’m not doing anything until I’ve had some food. We passed a hot dog stand on our way in, we can grab some dogs and eat them on the ride over.”
Four chili dogs and three sweet teas later, they pulled into the driveway at 4503 Harper’s Ferry. The house was a typical two-story McMansion with a Toyota SUV parked out front and nothing to give away that the person living there had recently dedicated herself to a life of servitude to an extinct, widely believed to be mythical, creature. .
“What’s our story, anyway?” Sam asked.
“FBI?” Dean shrugged. “That usually works.”
“Forgive me for asking,” Cas said, “since it’s very possible I’m missing something, but why bother with the FBI charade? Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her to tell us more about unicorns?”
“No one questions the feds,” Dean said as he rooted through the glove box to find the right ID badges. “Besides, how would your average Joe Unicorn Lover know where she lives?” He tossed Sam an ID badge as they got out of the car.
“Actually,” Sam said, resting an arm on the hood of the Impala, “someone like this--y’know, the sort of person who accepts without question that a unicorn is guiding her life--probably would also accept that the unicorn had...uh, sent us here to speak with her.” He mumbled the end of the sentence, more than a little ashamed that he was even able to have that sort of thought.
Dean nodded as he slammed the car door. “All right, then, let’s just march up there and declare ourselves representatives of the Lollipop Guild.”
The three men walked up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. They knocked, waited, and still no answer or even a sound. Sam crept behind the hedges blocking the front window and looked inside. The TV was off, and there were no signs of activity. He did a quick scan of the house and noticed a second floor window was slightly open a crack. “Guys,” Sam whispered, “I think we can get in through that window up on the second floor.”
Dean looked up at the window and then back down at his brother. “How do you propose we do that?”
“You two wait here, I’ll go ‘round the back of the house and see if I can’t climb a tree or something to get up onto the roof. It shouldn’t be too hard to slip in the window.”
“And that won’t look a bit suspicious.”
“I’ll be careful, just keep watch and distract anyone who might ask questions. Tell them you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses or something, that way they’re bound to leave you alone.”
While they were having this conversation, Castiel had zapped himself into the house and opened the front door. “Or you could just come in this way,” he said.
“That works, too,” Sam admitted as they walked inside.
The front room was as bland as the outside of the house, but once they got past the public rooms, the woman’s obsession became apparent. Paintings, posters and cross stitch samplers lined the walls of her bedroom. Porcelain figurines covered every available flat surface. Books about unicorns were stacked as high as the bed. It seemed she was the unicorn worshipping equivalent of a UFO enthusiast who, after years of standing out in a field begging to be abducted, had finally been beamed up and given the full anal probe treatment.
“Wow,” was all Dean could say. He walked around the room, inspected a few of the figurines, flipped through a couple of books, but couldn’t find anything to indicate this woman was anything but your average goofball. No unicorn droppings in the corner, or anything that would give away that she was harboring a mythical creature in the middle of the suburbs.
Sam had gone upstairs and was looking through the rooms. The signs of obsession was not as severe, but that didn’t mean there was a shortage. The walls in one room were covered with unicorns traipsing about in sparkles and rainbows; it looked like a first grader’s idea of heaven. In fact, it appeared to be a little girl’s room. He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or if he was upset to learn that this person had reproduced. He was about to open what he assumed was a closet when he heard a loud crash followed by what sounded like Castiel shouting.
Sam ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He and Dean almost collided in the hallway.
“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know, I thought he was with you.” Another sound, this one closer to a scream, came from somewhere in the house. “CAS!” Sam yelled as the two tore off to find out what was going on.
Dean headed down the hallway. Sam turned back toward the living room, but didn’t get too far when Dean called for him to get his ass into the kitchen, right now. He pivoted on his heel and darted down the hall.
By now, nothing should have really surprised him, but he still wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Dean was standing over Cas, who was half-conscious, sprawled out against the cupboard. He was bleeding from a cut in his head, and it looked like he was hurt pretty bad. Which, well, that just didn’t make much sense.
“Dean, what the hell happened?” Sam grabbed a handful of paper towels, ran them under the faucet and knelt down next to them.
“How the fuck should I know? I got here two seconds before you did and he’s not any in shape to give answers.” He took the paper towels from Sam and tried to clean up some of the blood oozing down Cas’ face. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”
“How are we supposed to do that? We can’t carry him out of the house. He’s bleeding all over the place. We’ll leave a trail. Even if we could avoid that, what will the neighbors think?”
The neighbors must have already been thinking something was wrong because before Dean could come up with a witty retort there was the unmistakable sound of a door in the process of being broken down. A voice shouted that they should make it easy on everyone and come out with their hands up.
“We are so fucking screwed,” Sam whispered.
Dean tapped Cas on the face a couple of times, trying to wake him up. “Cas, dude. Cas, you have got to wake up, man. You’ve got to zap us the fuck out of here.”
Cas’ head flopped from side to side. He groaned. “Can’t.”
“Oh, yeah, you can. C’mon! We need that extra-powered angel mojo of yours!” Dean sounded genuinely frantic.
“Dean, we have to at least hide,” Sam said. “They’ll be in here any second.”
“Dammit! Cas!” This time there was nothing tapping about the motion: Dean hit Castiel with a full-handed slap. “Wake up and get us the hell out of here.”
Cas opened his eyes, “I told you,” he growled, his voice rough with pain. “I can’t.” He closed his eyes; maybe he passed out, or maybe he was conscious but just too damn hurt to do anything but lie there like a pile of rags.
The door, which wasn’t locked, but apparently the cops hadn’t bothered to check, gave in and the police barrelled into the house.
“Hands in the air, mother fucker!” the officer yelled.
Sam and Dean obliged immediately, cursing their luck and wondering how in the hell they were going to get out of this. “He can’t,” Sam nodded towards Castiel, lying slumped against the kitchen cupboard, his blood staining the white tiles.
The cop kicked Cas, who fell sideways onto the kitchen floor. “All right, you two assholes! Face down, hands behind your back and don’t say another fucking word unless you want resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer added to the breaking and entering we’ve already got you on.”
Neither said a thing as they dropped to the ground. They knew better than try to get out of this. Even if they did have a plan, it wouldn’t have solved the little problem of the unconscious angel sprawled out between them.
They were hauled out of the house, and all three of them were thrown into the back seat of a police cruiser. Cas started to come around a few miles into the trip to the station. “What happened?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean whispered. When Cas looked confused rather than apologetic, he clarified. “We’re in deep shit. That’s what happened.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Clearly. What kind of shit are we in? Am I in handcuffs?”
“That’s what happens to crummy criminals,” Dean answered.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Someone called the cops. Or maybe we tripped an alarm. Either way, the cops showed up, you were in no shape to get us out of there before they got inside. We’re on our way to the police station.”
Dean nudge Cas. “Better late than never. Zap us way the hell out of here. Do it quick, too. That cop’s giving me a funny look in the rearview.”
Cas shifted in the seat and attempted to move his hands from his sides. The handcuffs didn’t give. He squinted, focusing all of his attention on the task and tried again. His hands only moved as far as the metal would let him. “I don’t think I can.”
“What do you mean?” Dean’s voice betrayed his growing agitation.
“I can’t get out of the handcuffs. I should be able to, but I can’t.” He struggled against the cuffs. “I think the unicorn might have drained me.”
Sam and Dean both did a double take. “The unicorn?”
The cop in the passenger’s seat reached behind his head and slapped the metal cage that divided the front and back seats. “Keep it down back there!”
“”He was in the kitchen,” Cas said through clenched teeth. “Which isn’t a very good place to keep a unicorn if you ask me, they’re not good around fire. I must’ve startled him, because he rushed me and I barely escaped being impaled on his horn. There was a struggle. Which I clearly lost.”
“So,” Sam said, “You’re saying you’re...”
“Screwed,” Castiel finished.
The officers pulled up to the police station.“All right, I doubt I have to tell you losers the drill. Guys like you probably been through this a dozen or so times before.” The cops opened the cruiser doors. “Get your butts out of the car, c’mon! Step to it!”
They followed the officers, obedient and silent as they were lead to booking. Dean and Sam kept their mouths shut and their heads down, but Cas wasn’t as well-versed in proper arrest etiquette. As they walked in, he couldn’t help but look around and take in the surroundings. The taller cop, the one who had been driving, kicked him in the ankle. “Nothing to see here, keep moving.” Cas tripped over his feet, but from then on followed Sam and Dean’s lead.
They were fingerprinted, their mug shots taken and they were shuffled towards a cell. Throughout the whole experience Castiel alternated between looking confused and emotionally shattered. He tried every trick he knew to get them out of there, but he was no more able to get them out of the situation than the drunk fingerprinted before them was able to say the alphabet backwards while walking a straight line.
“Hey!” Dean said as the cop slammed the jail door shut. “What about our one phone call?”
“You get it after we finish the paperwork. Now, how ‘bout you boys just sit real quiet and maybe it won’t take until tomorrow for us to finish, huh?”
“Dick,” Dean snarled under his breath.
“Did you say something, Boy?” the cop sneered.
Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and pushed him back toward the benches on the other side of the cell. “He didn’t say anything. He’s got allergies.”
In spite of outward appearances, the cop wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t believe Sam any more than he believed that his wife was really at a book club three nights a week. He’d learned that some things weren’t worth fighting about. Besides, his shift was over in less than an hour, no sense making more paperwork for himself because he got in a fight with a perp. He shook his head and walked away.
Sam and Dean joined Cas on the cell’s bench. “Cas,” Dean said. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you than you’re already putting on yourself, but man--we’re dead. I mean that, literally, we are dead men. As far as the world’s concerned, me and Sam aren’t even rotting corpses anymore. We’ve been dead a helluva long time. As for Jimmy, his wife’s probably had him declared dead by now. Even if she hasn’t, after what happened the last time you two got together, I doubt she’s going to run down here to bail us out. So when they run our fingerprints and find out they’ve got three dead guys in the cell, we are going to have a lot of explaining to do. You’ve got to do whatever it takes, you’ve got to get us out of here.”
“Dean, he’s tried,” Sam admonished.
“Well he needs to fucking try harder!” Dean stage whispered through his teeth. The drunk slouched on the other end of the bench jerked his head up and looked around. “Go back to sleep pal.”
Cas swallowed hard, took a deep breath, reached his arms out so that his fingertips were resting on their foreheads and concentrated every last bit of energy he had on getting them as far away as he could.
Which was out of the precinct. But where that was, from a geographical standpoint, they had no idea. From what they could tell, they were behind a dumpster behind a McDonald’s. That really narrowed it down.
“You did it.” Dean pushed himself up against the dumpster and rubbed the sore sport where his head had collided with the ground when they’d landed.
Sam laid on the ground, looking up at the early evening sky “Wow, that was way too close for comfort.” He turned his head toward the other two. “Everybody in one piece? Cas, how’re you feeling?”
.“I’m fine,” he said, and to the relief of all involved, it appeared that he actually was. “Whatever sort of spell the unicorn used, it must’ve worn off. I think I’m almost at full power again.”
“Glad to hear it,” Dean said. “I mean that. But, what’re we going to do now? They took our phones. We have no money. Our wallets are in the car, which has probably been towed and we have no idea where we are.”
“We should call Bobby,” Sam said. “He could at least wire us some money.”
Cas stood up. “It’ll be easier if I go to him myself. You two stay here, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Dean looked worried, “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” Cas asked. Before they could answer, he was gone.
“So, do we just wait here in this pile of trash and hope Bobby agrees to let Cas zap him halfway across the country or what?”
Sam shrugged, “Better here than jail.”
“I hate when you’re right.”
----
“All right, you losers,” the officer bellowed as he walked down the hall. “Time to argue who gets to make the phone...” He stopped mid-sentence when he looked into the cage. “What the hell?”
The drunk, who had sobered up considerably when he’d watched his cell mates disappear, shook his head. “They’re gone.”
That was really not what he needed today. How had this happened? The only way out of the building was past a dozen or so uniformed, mostly armed officers. Hell, the cell didn’t even have a damn window. “Gone, where?”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” the drunk answered.
“Oh, I think you should try me.”
The conversation went around in circles for a minute until the drunk, whose head was throbbing and the contents of his stomach trying to make a run for it, finally relented and told the officer exactly what he’d seen. It went as well as could be expected. The cop shook his head and headed back to the squad room. “They don’t pay me enough for this,” he mumbled.
“Molly, those guys we booked earlier, where are their cell phones?”
“Should be under the desk,” she said, not even looking up. “Same place they always are.”
He pulled out the box and grabbed the two phones. A quick scan through the lists convinced him he was dealing with two guys who worked together pretty much all of the time. Worked together, and had almost no social life outside of each other. Most of the entries matched. The third guy was a mystery. No cell phone, no ID, but it seemed like he knew the other two pretty well. More than likely he could find out all he needed to know with a few well placed phone calls. He checked the call logs on the phones and called the last number they had both called.
The phone rang a few times before it clicked over to the answering machine, “You’ve reached Singer Salvage. I’m busy. Leave a message.” The cop hung up without bothering with a message. Damn. They probably needed a part for that ancient car. Not a big help, but since he had a business name, he figured it’d be worth the trouble to call the Sioux Falls sheriff. The phone rang twice and a woman picked up.
“Hello, this is Officer Buchanan from the Tallahassee police department. I have a question about a couple of prisoners we brought in today.”
“I’m the sheriff here, what can I help you with?”
“Do you know anything about Singer Salvage?” Officer Buchanan asked.
“Bobby? Sure. Everyone knows Bobby. He’s pretty much a legend around these parts.”
Interesting. “Well, I booked a couple of perps today and I think they might know him. Or he might know something about them. If you know him, would you be willing to send some of info my way? I’d really appreciate it, we’ve got...well, these guys are kind of a weird case.”
“If Bobby’s involved, it’s bound to be a little strange.” She hoped she sounded amused and not worried. “Sure, I’ll fax over some of his file. Doubt it’ll help much, but anything for a fellow officer.”
“I sure appreciate it, ma’am. I’ll give you a call if I need anything else. Bye, now.”
“Bye,” she said as she hung up the phone. “Bobby, I swear, you keep my life interesting,” she said to no one in particular. She pulled Bobby’s file, searched through the arrest reports, picking out the ones that painted him as a semi-lovable town crank, rather than a crazed lunatic with an extensive arsenal and a paranoid streak. She faxed those reports, and a picture of Bobby over to the officer before heading over to Bobby’s to see what was going on this time.
The sun was low in the sky as Sheriff Mills turned in to the salvage yard. She pulled in the driveway and parked the cruiser next to an old Chevy van. She never could keep track of which cars he had running at any given time, so she couldn’t tell whether he was home or not. Bobby’s dog- she’d only ever heard him referred to as “that stupid damn dog”- peered out from his hiding place behind a rusted red Pinto. “Hey dog,” she said, “Bobby at home?” The dog provided no useful information, just darted away into the junk piles.
She walked to the door, knocked and tried the handle simultaneously. It was unlocked, but a quick glance around showed no indication that he was there. The place didn’t look any different than it ever did, no signs of trouble. It was most likely just a coincidence that whoever had been arrested in Florida had been in contact with Bobby. He knew a lot of people, some of them probably just needed spare parts. Best to stick with that theory, rather than assume he was off doing something like--to be honest she didn’t want to think about what he might be doing. She slept better at night when she kept those thoughts out of her head.
------
It was getting dark. Sam and Dean had been hiding behind the dumpster for hours with nothing to do but sit and wait. There were only so many games of “I Spy” they could play without running out of creative ways to spy a pile of trash or a brick wall. A few cops had pulled into the lot, but their luck and hiding place had held.
Either no one had noticed they were gone (which, wow, if that was the case, that does not speak well of the Tallahassee police department) or wherever they were was nowhere near where they might logically be. Either way, they’d lost a heartbeat or two between them, but nothing worse. The closest thing to excitement was when one of the employees had come outside on a trash run. For a second, they were afraid they’d have to dive in the dumpster, which would have made the day perfect in its awfulness. Lucky for them, the kid was far more interested in grabbing a smoke break and messing around with his phone than paying attention to anything that was going on in the parking lot. He just tossed the bags over the side without even looking their way.
There were cars in line for the drive-thru stretched around the building; the sounds of drivers leaning out of car windows ordering burgers and fries and kids screaming for Happy Meals were clearly audible. “This is not a good place to be hungry and broke,” Dean said. “You know they pipe stuff through the vents that makes you hungry.”
“Yeah, grease, your favorite food group. I don’t know how you can think about eating when you’ve been sitting next to decomposing garbage half the day.”
“You saw that video, McDonald’s hamburgers don’t decompose, they last forever.” Dean reached down and picked up an empty hamburger wrapper and started waving it in front of his brother’s face. “Eternally lasting delicious meat product with ketchup and those little rehydrated onions...”
Sam slapped the wrapper out of Dean’s hand. “Stop it. I’m hungry--not quite hungry enough to eat this crap--but you’re not helping.”
A red Nissan Altima pulled up next to them. They instinctively slid toward the shadows.
“You two idjits can come out,” Bobby said, leaning out of the window of the car. “It’s just us.”
Dean stood up and poked his head around the edge of the dumpster.
“Hurry your butts up, we have things to do,” Bobby grumbled.
Sam and Dean walked around to the car. Cas was sitting in the passenger’s seat, looking uncomfortable.
Dean opened the door and slid across the seat. “Nice car. It suits you.”
Sam folded himself into the back of the car . “Hey, Bobby, could you move your seat up a little?” he asked.
“You two got me angel zapped halfway across the country. I was having a really nice day, too. I’m driving a rented damn Nissan” he pronounced the name Knees-ann, “you can be uncomfortable for a few minutes.” He shifted into drive and merged into the line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot.
“What took you so damn long?” Dean asked.
Castiel turned in his seat. “Bobby was reluctant to be transported across the country without ample evidence that it wouldn’t...what was the term?”
“Discombobulate,” Bobby answered.
“Right,” Cas said, “I had to prove I wouldn’t discombobulate him. Something he doesn’t seem too concerned might happen to me.”
“What might happen to you, how?” Dean asked.
“It would appear that I am our best defense against the unicorn.”
Sam, who was shifting around in his seat, trying to keep blood flowing to his legs, spoke up. “You’re our best defense? Even after what happened today? That--” he twisted around uncomfortably-- “is not good news.”
Castiel looked dejected. “I’m the only one who comes close to the qualifications.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “What qualifications?”
“In order to trap the unicorn we need a...” Cas trailed off.
“What?” Sam asked.
Bobby spoke up. “A virgin. We need a virgin.”
“Oh.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Well...yeah...I mean...”
“Right.” If Sam wasn’t already uncomfortable, he definitely was now. “Yeah...”
“Just stop, both of you.” said Cas. “This isn’t comical.”
Dean reached over the seat and put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “We’re not laughing. Some other time, we might be. But not right now. This is not funny. Even if the fact that you’ve spent millenia not getting laid--”
“Dean!” Sam poked his brother in the ribs.
“Stay on your side of the car, Sammy. Don’t make me hurt you.”
“You boys stop acting like your balls ain’t dropped yet,” Bobby scolded. “We have work to do.”
“I realize this is the most efficient method, but are you sure there’s not some other option? Maybe one that doesn’t involve me possibly getting gutted by an angry unicorn?” Cas asked.
Dean leaned forward and stuck his head between the front seats. “Why are we planning to use Cas as unicorn bait?”
Cas sighed. “Because a unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin. The stories usually specify a female virgin, but...”
“They’re harder to come by than unicorns,” Dean finished.
“Exactly. Best case scenario, the unicorn is impressed by my virtue and rests his head upon my lap. Then, I’ll kill it and harvest the carbuncle at the base of its horn.”
“And worst case?” Sam asked.
“It finishes what it started this afternoon,” Cas said, furrowing his brow.
Bobby looked over his shoulder as he changed lanes. “Which isn’t going to happen.”
Dean made a disgusted face. “Carbuncle? That sounds so nasty.”
Bobby swore at the GPS system as he made a sharp, last second left turn down a side street. “And if you had one, it would be,” he said. “But on a unicorn it’s a ruby that’s believed to be the source of its power.” The GPS started recalculating directions after another missed turn which distracted Bobby from further explanation.
“Which could be extremely useful at some point,” Cas said. “Even if it isn’t, better I have it than someone else.”
“You stupid damn machine how ‘bout you give me more than 2 seconds warning before I’m supposed to make a turn!” Bobby’s cursed at the GPS as he swung the car into a u-turn.
Sam and Dean both had to stifle their laughter. “But, none of the other encounters were with virgins, were they?” Sam asked. “The house we were at today had a child’s room. Are you sure there’s not another way? And where are we going?”
With a sigh of relief, Bobby turned into a paved area at the entrance to a public park. “Here,” he answered. “We need a virgin because it’s not choosing us, we’re calling it. We need something that’ll convince it to show up.”
“Since I’m guessing we’re not going to stop and have a picnic,” Sam said, “this is where you’re going to lure the unicorn?”
“It’s an open area, but one that is secluded enough that it should not cause suspicion.” Castiel got out of the car and turned to look at the park. “I believe it would be best if I positioned myself under that tree.” He motioned to an oak tree about ten yards away. “It’s far enough away that the unicorn won’t catch your scents, but hopefully close enough that you would be able to come to my aid should it become necessary.”
Bobby was looking in the trunk of the car, searching through Walmart bags for weapons. “We’ll have to improvise. It was a little hard to pack for this trip, what with how I’ve only got the two hands and all. I’ve got one gun, a couple of knives and a baseball bat. That’ll have to be enough.” He examined the supplies for a moment and handed Cas a long, black handled knife with a gold blade. “Here, this should do the trick. Be careful.”
With a slight nod, Cas took the knife and headed out into the field. Ever the soldier, even under such strange circumstances, he marched into battle with his back straight and his face betraying no emotion.
“Cas,” Dean called out. “How do you know this will work?”
He glanced back at three men. “The unicorn has my scent. If I summon him, he will come.” They stood by the car and watched as Cas walked the rest of the way out into the field. He reached the tree, brushed his hand against the knife tucked into his belt and began the unicorn summoning spell.
The park was unbelievably quiet. The sort of quiet that gave the illusion that time had stopped. Dean, Sam and Bobby stood, weapons in hand, watching the darkness a few feet away from the car. Cas sat stiff and bolt upright, his back not even resting against the trunk of the tree. A flash lit the night sky. It brightened the park with streaks of light: red, green, purple, blue, every color of the rainbow spread over the area. A shock wave rattled the earth and knocked them off their feet.
Sam fell backwards into a trash can, dropping the knife as he collided with the metal. He tried to reach out and grab it, but he could barely move. The light force was too strong. He turned and looked towards where Bobby and Dean had been standing. Bobby had managed to brace himself against a post with the baseball bat and was doing his best to move towards Castiel. Dean was struggling to push himself up onto his hands and knees, using the gun as support. With another flare of light the unicorn appeared.
He was huge, stunning, white with a flowing mane and a horn that glowed with an intense, warm light.. And the colors! The colors were spectacular. Darkness and light swirled together around the beast. Every tone and shade imaginable, glittering, shimmering pulses of energy and life. It was unbelievable. No amount of elementary school binders and cartoons with easy listening scores could prepare them for what they saw. The sensation of being in the presence of this magnificent creature froze them in place. They couldn’t move, could barely breathe. They could only stand and stare, mouths agape, eyes wide.
The unicorn whipped its head around, smelling the air. For a brief second he looked as if he knew there were others there beside Castiel and himself. He roared back on his hind legs, his hooves crashing against the swirls of light, sending black waves across the perimeter of the park. Cas chanted under his breath, never looking away from the unicorn.
The creature dropped to all fours. He stood and stared at Castiel. Cas held the gaze, motionless, unblinking, patient. With a snorting sound, the unicorn lowered his eyes, and took a step forward. It continued towards Cas, slow steps, the aura around it growing lighter, calmer as it drew closer to the waiting angel. Cas held as still as possible, his only movement the measured rise and fall of his chest.
With each breath he fought the urge to reach for the knife, waiting for the unicorn to completely submit and lie down before him. The unicorn knelt down on one leg, its eyes meeting Castiel’s for one more moment, before it folded his legs under him and laid his head onto Castiel’s legs. Cas reached a hand out and stroked the unicorn’s mane. He whispered a few words as he traced his hand along the curves of the huge beast’s ears, slid his fingers down onto its nose and then up to the base of the horn. The unicorn snuffled and nuzzled its head against Cas’ stomach. Cas stroked his hand down the side of the unicorn’s head, over its eyes and down along the jaw line. His hand dropped away from the beast’s head, carefully, he moved his hand over to the knife. With a flick of his wrist he pulled the knife out and plunged it into the back of the unicorn’s neck. He twisted the knife, pulled it out and plunged it in again. The unicorn struggled, fought to get to his feet. Cas dug the knife in deeper with one hand and placed his other hand against the base of the unicorn’s horn. Gray, gold and green light shot from the unicorn’s ears and eyes. It crashed to the ground with a great thud, rattling the earth and knocking the leaves off the trees. Cas dropped to his knees, pulled the knife out and cut the carbuncle from the base of the horn. With a cyclonic force, the unicorn was caught up in a swirl of light and wind and disappeared. Cas toppled backward, grabbed the trunk of the tree and held on to avoid being sucked into the vortex.
The rumbling stopped. The park was again dark and quiet. Sam gasped, suddenly aware that he had been neglecting to breathe. Dean dropped the gun and ran over to Cas. Bobby looked at Sam, then over at Dean and Castiel. “What the hell just happened?” he asked.
“I thought you’d know,” Sam said.
He took his ball cap off and ran his hand over his head. “I didn’t expect it to be so...psychedelic. Iron Butterfly would’ve loved that.”
“Or immediately checked themselves into a mental institution.”
Dean and Cas walked across the field and joined them.
“Cas, are you OK?” Sam asked.
“I just killed a unicorn,” he answered, as if that explained everything. He turned away from the men, walked over to lean on the hood of the car. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the carbuncle. He rubbed the stone against his coat and checked the shine.
Sam looked confused. “So, that’s it? The unicorn’s dead. Cas takes the carbuncle thing back to heaven and what?”
“And unicorns go back to being the things of little girl’s day dreams and the world never has to find out their real natures,” Bobby said.
“All in a day’s work,” Dean said as casually as he could muster. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry and in desperate need of a drink.”He walked over and sat down next to Cas. “You wanna join us? I think it’s tradition that the guy who kills the unicorn gets treated all night.”
Cas looked up at Dean, a slight smile curved around the edges of his mouth. He shook his head. “No. I can’t stay. I’m sure there is a lot of work for me in heaven. I’ve been gone too long as it is. Thank you all for your help.” There was a rustle of wings and he was gone.
“Come on,” Bobby said. “Let’s find a bar and get some food and booze in our stomachs.”
They all looked out at the park one more time. Dean slid across the hood and grabbed the passenger side door just as Sam was lunging for it. “Sorry, I called it.”
Sam scowled and crawled into the back of the car, stretching his legs across the seat. Bobby typed “bar” into the GPS and took off down the road toward dinner, drinks and whatever monster they might encounter next. The way things were going lately, a rampaging Snufflelupagus, probably.