Requiem for Snow
Title: Requiem for Snow
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: None
Warnings: Language, mild violence, complete disregard for Greek Mythological Canon
Word Count: 8527
Notes: This story follows canon up to Changing Channels - sort of - and borrows chunks of the rest of Season Five completely at random. This story has no beta.
Trailer 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8LXZM9nRC4
Trailer 2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wijPDaRc9iA
Trailer 3 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eR1JNDxstk
Summary: The January before he went to Hell, Dean and his brother Sam faced the Last Calusa in Key West, Florida. Following the defeat of this ancient curse, the brothers left, barreling straight into their destiny and the inevitable showdown against Lilith and her minions. But what they assumed was just another hunt was actually a key part in the plans of the Apocalypse. A plan not laid by the powers below, but by the ones up above. Chapter title from the song by Jump, Little Children
Summary This Chapter: While the brothers head to Nebraska to unknowingly face Famine, back in South Dakota, Heather and Nate have a talk about their project - and a little about Heather's past. In Vancouver, Melpomene spends a morning with Morpheus - who's picked up a slight illness thanks to contact with one of the Winchesters. Michael finds something he thought for sure he'd lost and upon their return to Sioux Falls, Dean finds that their battle with Famine is almost a cakewalk for what's waiting for him. This chapter was written with the idea that the reader has seen 'My Bloody Valentine'
Nate hitched up the collar of his coat as he got off his four wheeler next to one of the open out buildings in the salvage yard. The wind was fortunately, blowing against the closed wall of the shop, so it wouldn't be too bad. Why he and Heather couldn't work on their project inside the house - like normal people - he had no idea. After taking off his helmet and putting it in the wooden box affixed to the back of the vehicle, he picked up his backpack and started across the short area. He could see that some of the snow was shining silver and the faint reek of spray paint was in the air. A local station was playing on a radio that had probably been new ten years before Nate was born and the drone of a space heater told him why he could see Heather working without a coat. “Hey.”
Heather looked up. “Hi, Nate.”
He came up to the work table and looked down at a silvery object that was about the size of a pizza box. “What is that?”
“It's the Tato Platform... or will be, once I finish it.” She shrugged. “It used to be a Barbie Dream pool or some other thing like that... I was never a big fan of Barbie.”
“That's... where did you find it anyway?” He set down his bag on an empty spot of the table.
“A barn that was getting torn down.. that's where I got a lot of the other stuff too...” She indicated a box full of various pieces of wood and other odds and ends. “Got some of the paint there as well.”
Nate came around so he was standing next to her. “Don't tell me you found the action figures you needed ...”
“Actually, yeah I did... all four of them.” She nodded at four small items he hadn't noticed. “Nice.” She nodded towards his bag. “What are you working on?”
“Right...” He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I got the outside of the box painted already...well, a base coat anyway...” He set the sketch down to show her. “I was thinking... we've got all these old shoe boxes at home... and I was planning on making a few buildings... well, at least just a few that extend over the top of the larger box...”
“That might work... it never really said how high the platform was... I always pictured it to be at least fifty stories...” She rubbed the side of her nose. “I just hope Mrs. Fasci doesn't change the assignment and make the box size standard.”
“She's never done that...” He grinned. “Anyway, during the weekend of spring break Patrick Henry has their big art and science fair... they put the big projects and stuff, I guess you can say like ours, in the the gym and the people with smaller projects and inventions - because that's what the eighth graders are making, are all in the cafeteria.”
“My old school used to have one of those... it was in March too... well, my old old school, not the last one I attended.” Heather leaned against the work bench while Nate picked up one of the action figures and examined it.
“How many schools have you been in?” He turned the figure over, frowning.
“Three, including Patrick Henry.” She sighed and opened one of the two thermoses on the bench. “You want some hot chocolate?”
“No thanks.” He put the figure down and turned back to his plans. “Three schools? Here I was feeling bad because my parents took me out of Holy Spirit and put me into Patrick Henry...”
“Why?”
“My mom and dad can't afford the local Catholic High school.” He leaned over his plans. “Well, they could..” He nudged a rock with his foot. “It's complicated.”
“They have scholarships for those things. I remember because at... when I was at St. John's - since we also went to the church there, there was a fund for kids whose parents couldn't afford it...”
“There are kids who need that more than I do.” Nate replied. “Anyway... it's not important...”
“I will admit... the food program isn't half bad... but the food coloring in the mashed potatoes is unforgivable.” Heather sighed and shook her head.
“That's why I brown bag it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So... St. John's.... where is that? Rapid City?”
“No, St. John's the Apostle... it's a church and school in Indianapolis... it constantly gets confused with the other St. John's in the city... which is St. John the Baptist... the Episcopalian High School.” She picked up a can of spray paint and the platform and went into the open area to give it a second coat.
“I think I changed my mind about the hot chocolate...” Nate was still cold from the ride over.
“Help yourself.” She replied as she shook the can and uncapped it.
Nate merely watched her as he found the spare cup he figured she'd brought out for him and filled it halfway. “So you moved here from Indianapolis?”
Heather came back over setting the platform down. “No, I moved here from a small town called Jasper.” She set the can of paint down. “That was in... late November.”
“Where are your mom and dad?” Nate winced as soon as he'd spoken. “Sorry, you don't have to answer that...”
“No...” Heather held onto the work bench for support. “No, it's okay... I mean...” She swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
“Oh shit...I mean, shoot...” He started digging in his coat pocket for a tissue.
“I've got one...” She pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and blew her nose.
Nate looked down into his mug. “The fire?”
“Yeah.” She let out a sniffle. “The fire.” She took a deep breath. “I... I don't really want to...”
“I shouldn't have asked.” Nate kicked at a rock. “I mean...I sometimes worry about my other... I mean, I worry about my parents... but every now and then... I think about my birth family... and I wonder how they are.”
Heather managed to conceal the fact that she already knew Nate was adopted rather well. “I... I used to wonder about mine.”
He jerked his head up. “You're adopted too?”
“Uh huh.” She came over and poured herself some hot chocolate as well. “Speaking as someone who's found out where they came from... believe me when I say ignorance is bliss.”
Nate took a swallow of the hot chocolate, nodding slightly. “I'll try and keep that in mind.” He glanced at the house, just visible over what used to be a conversion van. “So is Mr. Singer really your uncle?”
“Family friend.” Heather took another drink from her own mug. “I'd...I''d really appreciate it if you won't go telling people about this.”
“I won't.” Nate kicked at another rock. “Say... can I ask you something else?”
“What?” She put her mug down.
“That Impala I saw you getting into a week ago... whose car is that?”
“It belongs to Dean.”
“Dean... and he's...”
“Biological father.” She shook her head. “It is a nice car.”
“It's more than nice. That car is bloody awesome...”
“Oh, I see you've poked around in the quagmire that is the Harry Potter fandom.”
Nate chuckled. “Hey, what can I say, Emma Watson's hot.”
“She's also like, seven years older than you are.”
He grinned. “So?”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Boys...”
“Hey, I just call it like I see it...” He pursed his lips, studying her. “Let me guess... you prefer Tom Felton over Daniel Radcliffe.”
“Skandar, actually.”
“Who?” He took a sip of hot chocolate.
“You know. Skandar Keynes?” She grinned. “As is in, 'It's king, actually' Edmund..”
“Oh that guy...” Nate broke in. “And he's how much older than you?”
“Five years.”
“Like that's all that different from seven....”
“It is when the one on the far side of seven is in college.” She rolled her eyes. “Then again, we're just bloody Yanks to them and we've got a better chance of making it hot tomorrow than we do meeting them.”
“We can dream...” He set his mug down. “Let's try and get something done...”
****
Melpomene leaned against the railing of the walking bridge, watching the cross-country skiers passing by in the distance, sighing. The cold Canadian morning was quiet, most of the people in this small town outside of Vancouver were in church at this time - so the current Olympic event that was going on went relatively unnoticed. She rubbed her shoulders as she heard footsteps approaching her. “Hello, Morpheus.”
“Good morning.” the younger god came over and set down a tall paper cup on the railing. “Black with an extra shot of espresso and a double dash of cinnamon.”
She took the cup and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” He leaned against the rail, looking in the opposite direction she was. “This meeting of the gods is a very bad idea.”
“I know that. Anyone with more than a tablespoon of common sense knows that.... which only confirms to me that my sister Athena, is in fact, a total dumb-ass.”
Morpheus snorted. “How did she get to be one of the favored daughters anyway?”
“A lot of ass kissing.” She took a long swallow of coffee. “I wouldn't want to be in that little clique anyway. I don't know how Missy stands it. Then again, she has her own friends so she manages to always be busy in her own right.”
“True enough.” He took a drink from his own cup.
“I know this can't be why you came all the way out here, Morpheus.”
“That.... that stuff the horsemen can do... It's too strong for me to block... at least, completely...” He let out a shuddering breath. “I don't know why I'm not...”
“At least you recognize it.” She sighed. “And I know what you're hungry for too.”
“You don't mind, do you?” He gave her a very apologetic look. “I mean...I know you're working and...”
“Hey...” She turned and put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a one armed hug and then kissed his forehead. The god closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. “It's okay, pethimou.... I could use the company.... the only other one still in town currently is Perry... she thought she snagged all the indoor sports... but there's a hockey game later...”
“Who's playing?”
“I think it's Germany versus Russia.. you know, thirty years ago, that could be one hell of a match up. Probably still is... but it's not the US or Canada... it's a shame Greece doesn't have a hockey team.”
“Yeah...” He smiled awkwardly. “It won't.... it won't transfer to other people, will it?”
“No, it won't... well, it could so it's probably best if you didn't go on your usual rounds.”
“Uh huh.” He sighed. “I just... I think I've got enough wards up in Sam Winchester's subconscious that Lucifer can't find him... at least, not for a few nights... maybe as much as a week.” He took another swallow of coffee.
“It's all good, Sulley.” She gave the young man a smile. “You, hungry for attention? I never would have guessed that....” She drank from her own cup.
“I just wish...” He stared to sniffle. “I just wish I could... you know.”
“Well, it's not your fault your father's an asshole.”
He snorted. “What is it Yiaya says? Sometimes great joy comes from great suffering?”
“She would know.... that's how she ended up with me and my sisters.” She stood up straighter and brushed an errant lock of hair from Morpheus's face. “And how I ended up with you.”
“But you had to lie about where I came from...”
“Do you really want to be like Apollo?”
“No.” They started away from the bridge, heading down the salted path towards the end of the cross country path. “Because I know he'd just manipulate me and my abilities if he knew.” He reached out with his free hand and clasped the cuff of Melpomene's coat sleeve, holding on tightly as if he couldn't bear to break any form of contact with her, and it was, for the most part, true. It was almost comical in a way - he was a full foot taller than her. Most people would wonder why a six foot three man was grasping a woman's coat like a little boy who didn't want to get separated from his mom. He for one, didn't care. There mere contact was enough to control the slowly building hunger in his gut. “I wouldn't want to be like him. I don't ever want to be like him.”
“Well, few thousand years and you've not shown much more than an inkling... although your current penchant for killing the Edward Cullens all those teenage girls are dreaming of...”
“Hey, Edward Cullen is a douche.” He said, grinning.
“True...” she took a drink of coffee. “You want to have some lunch?”
“Okay.” He kicked at a rock on the path. “Guess it's sort of a good thing we made a tradition of spending at least one day during the Olympics together....”
“Yeah.” She gave him a warm smile. “So in keeping with that... you still want to be an angel?”
“'Course...” He returned the smile. This was the same conversation they always had - about what they would do if they could change what they were, what they would do if they were human.. somehow, all their conversations came back to this. Morpheus sometimes thought it was silly - but thanks to a small encounter with Famine via blocking keeping Lucifer out of Sam Winchester's head, it was exactly what he needed. “You still want to be a reaper?”
“Absolutely.... travel the world... wouldn't need to eat... all you have to worry about is some ass-hat trying to bind you to them or Death's Scythe...”
“Wouldn't you miss peanut butter?”
“Well, if I never knew how good it was, how could I miss it?” They headed out of the park and into the town. “That's the only problem with this place...I won't be finding any peanut butter around here...at least in a decent form.”
“There's poutine.” He grinned.
“For breakfast?”
“Hey, potatoes, cheese and gravy... that's three of the five food groups...”
“True... and if you have hot chocolate and a side of bacon... you're all set.”
***
Heather was halfway through her school-day when she realized that she should have never left the house. Working out in the cold on Saturday plus the exposure to whatever nasty bug Uncle Bobby had last week had hit her full force when she got up this morning. Rather than listen to common sense, she'd taken a good dose of daytime cold medicine and drug herself to the bus stop. If the old hunter had actually been at home today, she probably would have gone to see the school nurse and begged him to let her come home early. Not that she thinks she'd have much of a problem with that - but another hunter whose name she didn't quite recall at the moment had arrived early last night in order to take Uncle Bobby to some sort of specialist all the way in Kansas City today. The true kicker was that it was going to be an overnight stay - and while Heather found it unnerving, apparently neither of them saw nothing wrong with leaving a thirteen year old girl alone for one night. So going home early had been out of the question. Supporting herself with her hand against the frame of her locker, she slowly pulled books out and put them into her bag. There was no way in hell she was coming to school tomorrow.
“Hey, Kittredge....”
She turned slowly at the voice and a moment later, Luke Andros, Nate's friend, was leaning against the locker next to hers. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you could explain....” He stopped. “You look like crap.”
“I know I do.... twelve hour cold relief my foot...” She rubbed her head. “What did you need?”
He looked slightly contrite. “Don't worry about it... I'll ask someone else in our history class, you were just the first one I ran into...” He straightened up. “I'll go now...”
“Luke, we ride the same bus.” She pulled her coat on and slammed her locker shut.
“True...” He watched as she shouldered her bag. “I just don't get what the teacher was asking... I mean, do we look at the historical event from our point of view, or are we supposed to look at it as if we were really someone of that era...”
“From our own perspective...” She covered her mouth and coughed. “Three pages, if I remember correctly.”
“This is suckage.”
“No, it's Honors History.” She let out a weak chuckle as they got onto the bus and she plunked herself down in the first empty seat she came to. Luke continued onward towards the back where some of his friends were. Heather leaned against the window, watching the other students streaming past her. When she got back to uncle Bobby's, she'd check the salt lines, the locks - and then she was going to go to bed. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't thirsty.... what she was was a sick thirteen year old girl who wanted her mom.
*
Dean sat down on his bed and flipped open his phone. He scrolled through the numbers and hit number four on his contacts. With the way this case was looking, he and Sam could possibly be here in Redding a few more days. It rang three times before it was answered.
“Hello?” A very congested voice said - it was actually hard to hear anything over the shouting.
“Heather? You okay?” Dean frowned.
“I've got a cold... Uncle Bobby wasn't lying when he said it was a vicious one.”
“Where the hell are you? It sounds like you're in the middle of a circus.”
Heather watched a lunch bag fly past her in the other row. “You're close, I'm on the bus. Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong... but with the way things are at the moment, Sam and I might not be back in Sioux Falls until later this week.”
“It's okay.” She coughed. “I'm just going to get back to the house and go to sleep.”
“I'll call you in the morning to see how you're doing...” Dean replied as he heard the door of the motel room open behind him. “You take care of yourself.”
“I'll try.” She said as the bus pulled on the highway towards the outer part of town “You and Sam be careful.”
Dean tried not to laugh. “You know us.”
“That's exact... exact....” She sneezed. “Exactly what I am talking about.”
“You get back to Uncle Bobby's and get some rest... got it?”
“I got it. Say hi to Sam for me.” She said and hung up, sticking the phone back in her bag.
Dean hung up on his end and turned towards his brother, he frowned at the brief case he was holding. “What is that, Sam?”
“I don't know... a demon I was chasing dropped it.” Sam set the case on a table and went to change out of his suit.
“Demon, huh?” Dean eyed the case warily. “What the hell is going on in this town?”
“I have no idea...” Sam rubbed his eyes after pulling on a flannel shirt. “Who were you talking to, Bobby?”
“No, Heather... sounds like she's got the same bug Bobby had last week.” He stood up. “So what do you suppose is in this thing?”
“Not sure, it's not all that heavy...” Sam came over to the table and they both looked down at the case. His head had been pounding for the better part of the day, making him wonder if he'd also caught the bug - but that seemed impossible. His main problem in facing the demon had been that horrid, unquenchable hunger he thought he'd gotten over - the thirst for demon blood. Something told him that the sooner he and Dean got to the bottom of what the hell was going on in this town, the sooner he could bury the hunger again.
*
Heather had learned to measure the trip from the end of the road to Bobby's house in terms of landmarks. The first bridge was a small overpass that went over a creek called Small Muddy - if there was a Big Muddy, she didn't know where it was - it reminded her of the three Horseshoe Creeks on Interstate 64 - the Big, the Little and the plain Horseshoe - clearly, South Dakota didn't have any more creativity in the naming of such things than Illinois did. The creek was one fourth of the way to the Salvage Yard. The next landmark was a weather-beaten billboard advertising some restaurant she doubted was still in operation in the town of Yankton - a good forty-five minutes away - she was a third of the way back by then. The halfway point was the semi-tall overpass that went over the Union Pacific Tracks. Two thirds was a cottonwood tree - and the last landmark was a strand of barbed wire fence that marked the start of Bobby's property. Normally the walk took her just under fifteen minutes - she'd parsed her time down considerably since she started making it - but today, feeling like crap, the walk was taking twice as long as usual.
She rubbed at her nose as she saw the start of the train bridge come into view over the crest of the hill. Heather's mind was more on the thought of being in a warm house shortly than anything else. Just as she was about to make the journey across she heard it - the rumble of that stupid kid in his car racing towards her. The road was wide enough - the jerk could slow down in time - there wasn't any ice to worry about. She grasped the collar of her coat closed and kept walking.
What happened next was something she never saw clearly, even afterwards - the car came up on the bridge, swerving into the other lane, belching smoke and the rumble of the engine and the blasting of music that sounded more like someone screaming than anything else. Whether the kid misjudged the distance or wasn't paying attention - she'd never know - but the car whipped back into the left lane to early, the rear bumper making contact with Heather's knee. She screamed in pain and staggered to the side - the wrong side - towards the railing on the side of the bridge. For the briefest of moments Heather thought she was flying - only to have that notion crushed and taken away as she made contact with the ground next to the tracks - twenty feet down from the road above her.
“Ow...” She whimpered in pain, holding her breath - waiting for the screech of tires she was certain was coming. The kid couldn't be that much of an asshole, could he? Heather swallowed hard, her eyes focused at her bag - the strap of which had somehow come wedged between the bridge and the metal sign proclaiming the road above to be Route Thirty-Three. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there - a minute... maybe five... still the kid didn't appear above her, calling down. Where is he? Heather couldn't feel her legs - given the angle she was lying at she knew she'd done something to her back. Ten minutes ago, she'd been looking forward to getting home and going to sleep. Now here she was, feeling like a broken doll. She was thankful she'd not landed on the tracks themselves - but she was aware of something smooth resting underneath her left wrist.
Heather took a shuddering breath. “He...help...” Oh God, don't tell me that kid just left me here... maybe he doesn't have a cell and he's driving like hell to get home and call the paramedics... something... The pressure in her chest and the odd feeling on her chest made it hard to breathe - all she wanted to do was close her eyes and just sleep. If a train comes, you're going to lose that hand... By now she was certain it'd been ten minutes and there was no far off siren, no voice calling to her... no one was coming. Bobby was in Kansas City - he wouldn't know where she was until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. Dean, Sam and probably Castiel were all who knew where... they thought she was safe at home by now. She felt the tears starting to well up in her eyes. I am going to die by this railroad track in the middle of nowhere... I could deal with that if I wasn't alone...okay, alone I could deal... I just wish I wasn't cold...
*
It was quiet in the Garden - it almost always was. Michael had started coming here shortly after his father vanished - hoping, praying he'd hear his voice. The garden looked different to all humans and angels that walked its length - to the archangel, it would always be that beautiful place that humans called Yosemite Valley, home of the majestic trees that soared to a height naught but mountains could surpass. It'd been in that valley, so many, many, many eons ago - back when he was a fledgling that he, his three brothers and their sister had invited a game that humans called hide-and-go seek. Even today, a small smile played at his lips remembering how Raphael would complain about being 'it' but preformed the task with more vigor than any of them did - and how Arael and Lucifer tended to find the best hiding spots - usually together, like two peas in a pod. Gabriel was almost never it - he was undoubtedly the swiftest of the five. As for himself? He was good at all of it - and tended to volunteer to be the chaser - but he always let Raphael tag him. Now he sat waiting for an answer to a prayer that had been in vain so far. As he sat there, his eyes closed and his hands resting palms up in supplication, his back leaning against a giant Redwood tree, something shifted ever-so slightly in his field of sight. He could see countless people clearly - but so many of then remained unnoticed by him - he'd only scoured his view for certain people. A spark that had gone dark some months ago - something that had only become accessible to him through dreams - suddenly blazed into his vision with all the suddenness of a bolt of lightning. He raised his head, the light still hovering in his mind's eye - he knew this spark, he'd know it anywhere. Eyes still closed, he rose to his feet, letting the feeling come to him as he opens his eyes and looked around. “Joshua!”
“Yes?” the angel who keeps their father's garden is far shorter than Michael. Appearing to the humans who find their way here as a benign dark skinned man in plain clothes, he keeps himself perfectly passive at Michael's outburst.
“I am going to need you to contact Gabriel... I'm afraid the plans have changed once again.” With that, the archangel vanished from Heaven. This was not a tangent he was prepared for as he flew down towards the Earth, his mind fixed on a spot in South Dakota. He'd left the Continuance a simple task - make his true vessel hear him. Although she'd not given the message yet - she'd gotten one damned good letter ready and waiting for Dean Winchester in Robert Singer's house. He was pretty adamant of keeping children out of this if at all possible. Hell, his brother wasn't going to make children fight either... strange how despite it all, children were left on the sidelines - they were last and worse case scenario to both sides as far as the archangel was concerned - even demons didn't possess children all that often. There was one Apocalypse plan that was so unthinkable Michael wouldn't even voice it. As he came to the spot the spark had led him - he didn't need to conceal himself - he was vaguely aware of a street-lamp that shattered on the road above him as he settled in a crouch next to the girl's barely conscious form.
The Continuance was dying and he had no vessel. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Grace?”
Heather whimpered in response. She cracked her eyes open and saw almost nothing but light. A warm feeling was settling over her - the cold wasn't so bad as it was a minute ago.
Michael knew that what he was about to do was borderline unforgivable. His sister would be livid - his true vessel would be furious... but they'd be twice as enraged if you let the girl die. He set a hand against the girl's head, already tallying her injuries. Both legs broken - left shoulder dislocated - at least four of her vertebrae were cracked - even if a human were to find her to rescue her, she'd never walk again. The reason he could finally find her through the sigils placed upon her was from the seven broken ribs - a punctured lung - and the wicked cold she was plagued with to start with wasn't helping matters either. If anything, the illness was helping her die faster. “Grace? Gracie?”
Heather blinked, trying to make sense of all this. “Wh...what...”
“Ssh.... don't talk, I can read your mind easily enough...”
Cold, so cold... ow, mommy I want mommydaddydeansamcastielmommybobbysomebody... it hurts... mommydeandaddysamcastielbobbymommysomebody...
“I know it does, Gracie...”
Dean calls me Gracie... I want to sleep... I just want to sleep and not have to worry...
Michael shook his head. “It's not your time yet...” He let out a breath. “I can help you... but...”
You told me how angels get their vessels. I'd have to be insane to say no. Heather didn't know where she got the strength to suddenly have coherent thoughts. The hope of getting away from here - out of here, to stop hurting - that all helped build up her strength. Do I have to say it out loud?
“No, you don't.” He closes his eyes - already knowing what's coming.
Yes. Heather closed her eyes again as heat and comfort pour into her with all the force of a flash flood. She wasn’t sure at what point things started to happen - but as most of her body had already gone numb from cold and pain - she merely let go of her conscious self. The archangel tucked into a corner of her own mind, rather like a dream - she wasn't completely unaware - but the feeling was wonderful. In that little piece of her mind, she was tucked into warm quilt fresh from the dryer and settled in a comfortable chair next to a blazing fire. Her last singular coherent thought is that she won't be missed at school until at least Wednesday.
Michael pulled himself into a sit, the bones of the girl's body healed as he entered it. The injuries, the illness - all of that is gone as he stands up, assessing other damage that needs his attention. The tear in the pants, matted hair, the dirt, all of it he repairs and brushes it off, and then he sees the bag hanging above him. A fraction of a second later, he was standing on the road, looking down at it. The tracks in the road tell him how all of this started and a feeling of fury lances through him. The boy hadn't even stopped... hadn't even thought about it...
Don't kill him...he might not have seen me in all that smoke his car was belching.
Heather's voice was drowsy from the corner of her own mind and rather than tell her to be silent, Michael responded in a gentle voice - using the same voice he's used to talk with her in dreams. And why not? He left you to die...
Because he's young and stupid... can't you just...
Just what?
Why can't we just go and put the fear of God in him instead?
Michael threw back his head and laughed. A light-bulb in another streetlight shattered at the sound. That... might actually be fun... An idea had already sprung into Michael's mind. But we'll do it after dark... right now, you sleep...
Not going to argue there, Michael...
The archangel smiled as he felt the child go to sleep in her own mind. A moment later he was gone from the bridge. Five minutes later, a train roared by on the tracks, dislodging the bag and leaving it lying on the ground next to a bloodstained scrunchy that had fallen from Heather's hair.
**
Dean decided to mark down the fifteenth of February, two-thousand ten as one of the five worst days of his life. First went, of course, to the day his mom died - second would have to be the day his father died, third the day he went to Hell - fourth being the day Lucifer got out of Hell. This day - the fight with Famine - seeing Sam use his demonic powers after a good five months on the detox wagon and Cas... seeing an angel powerless to overcome the touch of the horseman... Dean had to wonder if he'd set a Winchester record in the time it took him to get everything in the hotel room together, throw it in the trunk of the Impala and gotten the fuck out of Dodge. Redding was a small town on the outskirts of Grand Isle (although Grand Isle wasn't all that bigger) - and looking back, he was very, very thankful that Famine never made it to Lincoln. Sam was lying in the backseat, his breathing already getting slow and labored, the way it always had when he was coming off a demon-blood high. Castiel sat next to Dean in the front seat, staring at his hands, grimacing at the stains of mustard and ketchup under the nails.
You're not well fed, Dean Winchester - the reason you can stand in my presence and not give into hunger is because you're empty inside.
Empty.
He took a long breath and glanced in the rear-view mirror at his brother. “We'll be at Bobby's soon, Sammy.”
Sam shuddered, knowing what was waiting for him at the old hunter's house. “I...I'm sorry... I...”
“It's not your fault!” Dean barked, more tired than anything. “You just need to let it get out of your system...”
The younger brother sat up, rubbing his eyes. “If... if that was Famine... I don't want to think what Pestilence is like...”
“Pestilence is not yet risen... or if he has, he is not anywhere near here.” Castiel said, still looking at his hands. He kept telling himself that his moments of weakness was caused by the fact that he was in a human vessel and the hunger was a result of that Jimmy's hunger, not his own. He hasn't heard Jimmy in weeks - he can't blame the man - it's not as if Castiel has been eating anything. He recalled the last thing he ate before his hamburger binge of the past two days - a piece of delicious pineapple upside-down cake in Texas. The angel glanced at Dean, he'd heard Famine's words - but couldn't find the right words to bring comfort to his friend. He knows he can't - he knows Sam can't either... but there was one person who probably could - and once they were all safely back at Bobby Singer's house and Sam was done detoxing from the demon blood... there needed to be one of those things humans called a family meeting. They had come this far and they couldn't just stop now...
Dean's watch beeped softly, a tiny indication that the day had changed over - it was Tuesday. He turned the Impala off the highway and onto the road that led to the salvage yard. “Almost there...” He said under his breath as they drove past a billboard. “Looks like the weather's been a little nicer since we left...”
“Did you call ahead?” Sam said and winced, pinching the bridge of his nose again.
“No... Heather told me that Bobby's down in Kansas City seeing some kind of specialist... and I also know she's sick - odds are, she's in a Ny-Quill induced sleep at the moment. I'll check on her after... after we get you settled.”
Settled - Sam knew what that meant. He was expecting it and knew he'd shortly be locked up and strapped down in the panic room. While he didn't want to think about how long it would take... he did remember that there was a space heater in the room, so at least he wouldn't freeze. They went over the train bridge and then the salvage yard was in sight. Castiel didn't say anything as they stopped and he got out of the car, unlocked the gate and swung the door open to let the Impala in. As soon as it was clear, he shut the gate and locked it, following the car to the house.
The house was still and dark when they came inside, Sam had gone in first and gone straight to the bathroom - and after brushing his teeth and changing clothes, he came back out and made his way into the basement. It felt like marching to his death. As he went into the panic room and sat down on the bed, he looked up at his brother, who was leaning against one of the empty cabinets. The feeling of withdrawal was already starting to creep into his brain - that horrid craving that made him hate himself. “I... I think I'll be fine in a few hours...”
“I wish I didn't have to do this, Sammy.” Dean moved away from the cabinet and went and adjusted the space heater. “I won't be leaving any time soon, either.” He stood up as Sam took off his boots and pulled on an extra pair of socks.
“Just... make sure Heather doesn't come down here and let me out before...”
“I won't...” He managed a weak grin. “She sounded congested enough on the phone she probably won't do much of anything for a few days...”
“Yeah...” He let out a resolved breath and laid down as Cas came into the panic room and shut his eyes as the angel and his brother bound him to the bed with restraints. It was just like being back in that padded room back in the mental hospital...only the monsters in his own head frightened far more than any real monsters that he'd faced. He was so intent on keeping calm that he almost didn't hear the heavy iron door clang shut and the loud bang of the lock sliding into place. He closed his eyes, pulled at the restraint on his left wrist once and then shifted slightly on the bed so he could scratch his nose. It was going to be a long night.
Dean had gone back upstairs and glanced at Cas, who was sitting placidly at the kitchen table. “You okay?”
“I am fine, Dean.”
He shook his head in reply and made his way through the library and went up the stairs. Having slept through plenty of severe storms due to night time cold medicine, Dean wasn't to worried that Heather would wake up when Sam started screaming. Then again... she might. He'd just make sure she was okay - see if she needed anything - she probably would feel better just knowing she wasn't alone - and then he'd go back downstairs and... do something. Funnily enough, as he made his way up the stairs he thought of the tomato rice soup his mom used to make him when he was sick. He wondered if Heather would like it too... Sleep didn't seem like an option for him at this point. Dean knocked once on the first bedroom door before opening it, just in case she was already awake. He turned the knob and pushed the door open - noting that it no longer groaned on its hinges. He looked around towards the bed, squinting in the darkness. “Hey Gosalyn, you awake?”
What struck him instantly was the silence. No one with a cold slept silently, medicated or not. “Heather?” He flicked the light on and felt his heart drop all the way to his feet.
The bed was empty.
“No...” He pulled back from the room and walked quickly down the hall, throwing open the door to the next bedroom - the one with the twin beds that he and Sam used to use when they were little. He flipped on the light here, panic starting to rise. “Heather?” This room was also empty - as was the third bedroom. He slammed the bathroom door open as well - it was as vacant as the bedrooms. He raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time and yanked open the hall closet - Heather's coat was there - but she'd taken to wearing that to-big old coat of Sam's... and then he ran back upstairs to confirm something. He scanned the empty room, searching for her bag. It wasn't there.
Dean's knees gave out from under him and he sank to the floor. This could not be happening - where is she? His mind suddenly slammed back into working form... those deeper ditches he'd warned her about... they were free of water at this time of year, but being just out of site of the road...
“Dean, what is...” Castiel had come up from downstairs, alarmed at the noise. He took in the empty room and then frowned. “When did you last speak to her?”
“Yesterday afternoon... around three-thirty...” His mind counted the hours back - nearly ten hours ago. Ten hours... is that long enough for someone to freeze to death?
The angel pulled Dean to a stand and half carried, half drug him back down the stairs to the couch. The tone of his friend's voice and the expression on his face is one of pure agony. “We will find her.”
“She... it... no...” Dean had only been this incoherent with shock and fear once before - the time Sam had run away in Flagstaff. This was different - it was biting cold outside... “uh... uh...”
“I will go look for her...” He took a deep breath. “She can not be very far from the road and there are only so many places she could be where she could not be seen.”
“Cas.... hurry....” He staggered to his feet and moved to the fireplace in need of some sort of task to bring him back to rational thought.
“I will not be gone long.” And with a small fluttering sound, he was gone.
*
Castiel had landed just at the start of the road that led to the salvage yard when he caught the barest trace of something in the air - it was long since passed by, but something lingered. He walked quickly in the same direction it went - the familiarity of the power growing more certain. When he came to the train bridge, he was nearly driven to his knees at the fact he'd not recognized it sooner or felt it when they drove by in the Impala. He looked down - all the way down to the tracks below and a moment later, stood next to them. He knew this power all to well - although he'd not been in its presence in years - not since the day before he and the rest of his garrison laid siege to Hell. Lying on the ground next to the tracks was the slightly battered messenger bag that Heather carried to school - next to it was a plaid hair-band he's seen her wear a few times. When he picked up the later, he noted it was stiff and something crumbled from his fingers as he looked it over.
Blood.
He stood, holding the bag in the other hand and reappeared in Bobby Singer's library.
“Cas?” Dean said from behind him and the sheer agony in the man's voice nearly breaks Castiel. He turned and set the bag and hair-band on the couch - the scrunchie rolled off and landed next to Dean's foot.
Dean looked from the band, to the bag, to Castiel - his eyes full of pain and fear. He didn't think it was possible to feel this terrified - he's been scared for Sam - he's seen Sam die for fuck's sake... so why did this hurt so much more? “Cas?” He repeated.
The angel swallows, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Michael.” It's at that exact moment that the withdrawal hits Sam hard and he started to scream for help that could not be given - screams of pain that can only be endured and gotten through. As it is, all the angel can do is catch Dean as he fell forward and started to weep. He wanted to tell Dean that surely Heather would be dead if Michael hadn't found her, that it could be so much worse, but those words sounded empty to him even in his head. He knew that the only way that the archangel could have found the girl was if something happened to break the girl's ribs - and if she fell the distance from the road the tracks - then she had been in pain. He went over in his mind how the girl would have even taken it into her mind to even listen to Michael - and the moment he came to that realization than he already knew the answer.
Because there was no one else to listen to her - and to actually hear what she was saying.
Chapter Twenty
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: None
Warnings: Language, mild violence, complete disregard for Greek Mythological Canon
Word Count: 8527
Notes: This story follows canon up to Changing Channels - sort of - and borrows chunks of the rest of Season Five completely at random. This story has no beta.
Trailer 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8LXZM9nRC4
Trailer 2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wijPDaRc9iA
Trailer 3 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eR1JNDxstk
Summary: The January before he went to Hell, Dean and his brother Sam faced the Last Calusa in Key West, Florida. Following the defeat of this ancient curse, the brothers left, barreling straight into their destiny and the inevitable showdown against Lilith and her minions. But what they assumed was just another hunt was actually a key part in the plans of the Apocalypse. A plan not laid by the powers below, but by the ones up above. Chapter title from the song by Jump, Little Children
Summary This Chapter: While the brothers head to Nebraska to unknowingly face Famine, back in South Dakota, Heather and Nate have a talk about their project - and a little about Heather's past. In Vancouver, Melpomene spends a morning with Morpheus - who's picked up a slight illness thanks to contact with one of the Winchesters. Michael finds something he thought for sure he'd lost and upon their return to Sioux Falls, Dean finds that their battle with Famine is almost a cakewalk for what's waiting for him. This chapter was written with the idea that the reader has seen 'My Bloody Valentine'
Nate hitched up the collar of his coat as he got off his four wheeler next to one of the open out buildings in the salvage yard. The wind was fortunately, blowing against the closed wall of the shop, so it wouldn't be too bad. Why he and Heather couldn't work on their project inside the house - like normal people - he had no idea. After taking off his helmet and putting it in the wooden box affixed to the back of the vehicle, he picked up his backpack and started across the short area. He could see that some of the snow was shining silver and the faint reek of spray paint was in the air. A local station was playing on a radio that had probably been new ten years before Nate was born and the drone of a space heater told him why he could see Heather working without a coat. “Hey.”
Heather looked up. “Hi, Nate.”
He came up to the work table and looked down at a silvery object that was about the size of a pizza box. “What is that?”
“It's the Tato Platform... or will be, once I finish it.” She shrugged. “It used to be a Barbie Dream pool or some other thing like that... I was never a big fan of Barbie.”
“That's... where did you find it anyway?” He set down his bag on an empty spot of the table.
“A barn that was getting torn down.. that's where I got a lot of the other stuff too...” She indicated a box full of various pieces of wood and other odds and ends. “Got some of the paint there as well.”
Nate came around so he was standing next to her. “Don't tell me you found the action figures you needed ...”
“Actually, yeah I did... all four of them.” She nodded at four small items he hadn't noticed. “Nice.” She nodded towards his bag. “What are you working on?”
“Right...” He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I got the outside of the box painted already...well, a base coat anyway...” He set the sketch down to show her. “I was thinking... we've got all these old shoe boxes at home... and I was planning on making a few buildings... well, at least just a few that extend over the top of the larger box...”
“That might work... it never really said how high the platform was... I always pictured it to be at least fifty stories...” She rubbed the side of her nose. “I just hope Mrs. Fasci doesn't change the assignment and make the box size standard.”
“She's never done that...” He grinned. “Anyway, during the weekend of spring break Patrick Henry has their big art and science fair... they put the big projects and stuff, I guess you can say like ours, in the the gym and the people with smaller projects and inventions - because that's what the eighth graders are making, are all in the cafeteria.”
“My old school used to have one of those... it was in March too... well, my old old school, not the last one I attended.” Heather leaned against the work bench while Nate picked up one of the action figures and examined it.
“How many schools have you been in?” He turned the figure over, frowning.
“Three, including Patrick Henry.” She sighed and opened one of the two thermoses on the bench. “You want some hot chocolate?”
“No thanks.” He put the figure down and turned back to his plans. “Three schools? Here I was feeling bad because my parents took me out of Holy Spirit and put me into Patrick Henry...”
“Why?”
“My mom and dad can't afford the local Catholic High school.” He leaned over his plans. “Well, they could..” He nudged a rock with his foot. “It's complicated.”
“They have scholarships for those things. I remember because at... when I was at St. John's - since we also went to the church there, there was a fund for kids whose parents couldn't afford it...”
“There are kids who need that more than I do.” Nate replied. “Anyway... it's not important...”
“I will admit... the food program isn't half bad... but the food coloring in the mashed potatoes is unforgivable.” Heather sighed and shook her head.
“That's why I brown bag it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So... St. John's.... where is that? Rapid City?”
“No, St. John's the Apostle... it's a church and school in Indianapolis... it constantly gets confused with the other St. John's in the city... which is St. John the Baptist... the Episcopalian High School.” She picked up a can of spray paint and the platform and went into the open area to give it a second coat.
“I think I changed my mind about the hot chocolate...” Nate was still cold from the ride over.
“Help yourself.” She replied as she shook the can and uncapped it.
Nate merely watched her as he found the spare cup he figured she'd brought out for him and filled it halfway. “So you moved here from Indianapolis?”
Heather came back over setting the platform down. “No, I moved here from a small town called Jasper.” She set the can of paint down. “That was in... late November.”
“Where are your mom and dad?” Nate winced as soon as he'd spoken. “Sorry, you don't have to answer that...”
“No...” Heather held onto the work bench for support. “No, it's okay... I mean...” She swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
“Oh shit...I mean, shoot...” He started digging in his coat pocket for a tissue.
“I've got one...” She pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and blew her nose.
Nate looked down into his mug. “The fire?”
“Yeah.” She let out a sniffle. “The fire.” She took a deep breath. “I... I don't really want to...”
“I shouldn't have asked.” Nate kicked at a rock. “I mean...I sometimes worry about my other... I mean, I worry about my parents... but every now and then... I think about my birth family... and I wonder how they are.”
Heather managed to conceal the fact that she already knew Nate was adopted rather well. “I... I used to wonder about mine.”
He jerked his head up. “You're adopted too?”
“Uh huh.” She came over and poured herself some hot chocolate as well. “Speaking as someone who's found out where they came from... believe me when I say ignorance is bliss.”
Nate took a swallow of the hot chocolate, nodding slightly. “I'll try and keep that in mind.” He glanced at the house, just visible over what used to be a conversion van. “So is Mr. Singer really your uncle?”
“Family friend.” Heather took another drink from her own mug. “I'd...I''d really appreciate it if you won't go telling people about this.”
“I won't.” Nate kicked at another rock. “Say... can I ask you something else?”
“What?” She put her mug down.
“That Impala I saw you getting into a week ago... whose car is that?”
“It belongs to Dean.”
“Dean... and he's...”
“Biological father.” She shook her head. “It is a nice car.”
“It's more than nice. That car is bloody awesome...”
“Oh, I see you've poked around in the quagmire that is the Harry Potter fandom.”
Nate chuckled. “Hey, what can I say, Emma Watson's hot.”
“She's also like, seven years older than you are.”
He grinned. “So?”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Boys...”
“Hey, I just call it like I see it...” He pursed his lips, studying her. “Let me guess... you prefer Tom Felton over Daniel Radcliffe.”
“Skandar, actually.”
“Who?” He took a sip of hot chocolate.
“You know. Skandar Keynes?” She grinned. “As is in, 'It's king, actually' Edmund..”
“Oh that guy...” Nate broke in. “And he's how much older than you?”
“Five years.”
“Like that's all that different from seven....”
“It is when the one on the far side of seven is in college.” She rolled her eyes. “Then again, we're just bloody Yanks to them and we've got a better chance of making it hot tomorrow than we do meeting them.”
“We can dream...” He set his mug down. “Let's try and get something done...”
****
Melpomene leaned against the railing of the walking bridge, watching the cross-country skiers passing by in the distance, sighing. The cold Canadian morning was quiet, most of the people in this small town outside of Vancouver were in church at this time - so the current Olympic event that was going on went relatively unnoticed. She rubbed her shoulders as she heard footsteps approaching her. “Hello, Morpheus.”
“Good morning.” the younger god came over and set down a tall paper cup on the railing. “Black with an extra shot of espresso and a double dash of cinnamon.”
She took the cup and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” He leaned against the rail, looking in the opposite direction she was. “This meeting of the gods is a very bad idea.”
“I know that. Anyone with more than a tablespoon of common sense knows that.... which only confirms to me that my sister Athena, is in fact, a total dumb-ass.”
Morpheus snorted. “How did she get to be one of the favored daughters anyway?”
“A lot of ass kissing.” She took a long swallow of coffee. “I wouldn't want to be in that little clique anyway. I don't know how Missy stands it. Then again, she has her own friends so she manages to always be busy in her own right.”
“True enough.” He took a drink from his own cup.
“I know this can't be why you came all the way out here, Morpheus.”
“That.... that stuff the horsemen can do... It's too strong for me to block... at least, completely...” He let out a shuddering breath. “I don't know why I'm not...”
“At least you recognize it.” She sighed. “And I know what you're hungry for too.”
“You don't mind, do you?” He gave her a very apologetic look. “I mean...I know you're working and...”
“Hey...” She turned and put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a one armed hug and then kissed his forehead. The god closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. “It's okay, pethimou.... I could use the company.... the only other one still in town currently is Perry... she thought she snagged all the indoor sports... but there's a hockey game later...”
“Who's playing?”
“I think it's Germany versus Russia.. you know, thirty years ago, that could be one hell of a match up. Probably still is... but it's not the US or Canada... it's a shame Greece doesn't have a hockey team.”
“Yeah...” He smiled awkwardly. “It won't.... it won't transfer to other people, will it?”
“No, it won't... well, it could so it's probably best if you didn't go on your usual rounds.”
“Uh huh.” He sighed. “I just... I think I've got enough wards up in Sam Winchester's subconscious that Lucifer can't find him... at least, not for a few nights... maybe as much as a week.” He took another swallow of coffee.
“It's all good, Sulley.” She gave the young man a smile. “You, hungry for attention? I never would have guessed that....” She drank from her own cup.
“I just wish...” He stared to sniffle. “I just wish I could... you know.”
“Well, it's not your fault your father's an asshole.”
He snorted. “What is it Yiaya says? Sometimes great joy comes from great suffering?”
“She would know.... that's how she ended up with me and my sisters.” She stood up straighter and brushed an errant lock of hair from Morpheus's face. “And how I ended up with you.”
“But you had to lie about where I came from...”
“Do you really want to be like Apollo?”
“No.” They started away from the bridge, heading down the salted path towards the end of the cross country path. “Because I know he'd just manipulate me and my abilities if he knew.” He reached out with his free hand and clasped the cuff of Melpomene's coat sleeve, holding on tightly as if he couldn't bear to break any form of contact with her, and it was, for the most part, true. It was almost comical in a way - he was a full foot taller than her. Most people would wonder why a six foot three man was grasping a woman's coat like a little boy who didn't want to get separated from his mom. He for one, didn't care. There mere contact was enough to control the slowly building hunger in his gut. “I wouldn't want to be like him. I don't ever want to be like him.”
“Well, few thousand years and you've not shown much more than an inkling... although your current penchant for killing the Edward Cullens all those teenage girls are dreaming of...”
“Hey, Edward Cullen is a douche.” He said, grinning.
“True...” she took a drink of coffee. “You want to have some lunch?”
“Okay.” He kicked at a rock on the path. “Guess it's sort of a good thing we made a tradition of spending at least one day during the Olympics together....”
“Yeah.” She gave him a warm smile. “So in keeping with that... you still want to be an angel?”
“'Course...” He returned the smile. This was the same conversation they always had - about what they would do if they could change what they were, what they would do if they were human.. somehow, all their conversations came back to this. Morpheus sometimes thought it was silly - but thanks to a small encounter with Famine via blocking keeping Lucifer out of Sam Winchester's head, it was exactly what he needed. “You still want to be a reaper?”
“Absolutely.... travel the world... wouldn't need to eat... all you have to worry about is some ass-hat trying to bind you to them or Death's Scythe...”
“Wouldn't you miss peanut butter?”
“Well, if I never knew how good it was, how could I miss it?” They headed out of the park and into the town. “That's the only problem with this place...I won't be finding any peanut butter around here...at least in a decent form.”
“There's poutine.” He grinned.
“For breakfast?”
“Hey, potatoes, cheese and gravy... that's three of the five food groups...”
“True... and if you have hot chocolate and a side of bacon... you're all set.”
***
Heather was halfway through her school-day when she realized that she should have never left the house. Working out in the cold on Saturday plus the exposure to whatever nasty bug Uncle Bobby had last week had hit her full force when she got up this morning. Rather than listen to common sense, she'd taken a good dose of daytime cold medicine and drug herself to the bus stop. If the old hunter had actually been at home today, she probably would have gone to see the school nurse and begged him to let her come home early. Not that she thinks she'd have much of a problem with that - but another hunter whose name she didn't quite recall at the moment had arrived early last night in order to take Uncle Bobby to some sort of specialist all the way in Kansas City today. The true kicker was that it was going to be an overnight stay - and while Heather found it unnerving, apparently neither of them saw nothing wrong with leaving a thirteen year old girl alone for one night. So going home early had been out of the question. Supporting herself with her hand against the frame of her locker, she slowly pulled books out and put them into her bag. There was no way in hell she was coming to school tomorrow.
“Hey, Kittredge....”
She turned slowly at the voice and a moment later, Luke Andros, Nate's friend, was leaning against the locker next to hers. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you could explain....” He stopped. “You look like crap.”
“I know I do.... twelve hour cold relief my foot...” She rubbed her head. “What did you need?”
He looked slightly contrite. “Don't worry about it... I'll ask someone else in our history class, you were just the first one I ran into...” He straightened up. “I'll go now...”
“Luke, we ride the same bus.” She pulled her coat on and slammed her locker shut.
“True...” He watched as she shouldered her bag. “I just don't get what the teacher was asking... I mean, do we look at the historical event from our point of view, or are we supposed to look at it as if we were really someone of that era...”
“From our own perspective...” She covered her mouth and coughed. “Three pages, if I remember correctly.”
“This is suckage.”
“No, it's Honors History.” She let out a weak chuckle as they got onto the bus and she plunked herself down in the first empty seat she came to. Luke continued onward towards the back where some of his friends were. Heather leaned against the window, watching the other students streaming past her. When she got back to uncle Bobby's, she'd check the salt lines, the locks - and then she was going to go to bed. She wasn't hungry, she wasn't thirsty.... what she was was a sick thirteen year old girl who wanted her mom.
*
Dean sat down on his bed and flipped open his phone. He scrolled through the numbers and hit number four on his contacts. With the way this case was looking, he and Sam could possibly be here in Redding a few more days. It rang three times before it was answered.
“Hello?” A very congested voice said - it was actually hard to hear anything over the shouting.
“Heather? You okay?” Dean frowned.
“I've got a cold... Uncle Bobby wasn't lying when he said it was a vicious one.”
“Where the hell are you? It sounds like you're in the middle of a circus.”
Heather watched a lunch bag fly past her in the other row. “You're close, I'm on the bus. Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong... but with the way things are at the moment, Sam and I might not be back in Sioux Falls until later this week.”
“It's okay.” She coughed. “I'm just going to get back to the house and go to sleep.”
“I'll call you in the morning to see how you're doing...” Dean replied as he heard the door of the motel room open behind him. “You take care of yourself.”
“I'll try.” She said as the bus pulled on the highway towards the outer part of town “You and Sam be careful.”
Dean tried not to laugh. “You know us.”
“That's exact... exact....” She sneezed. “Exactly what I am talking about.”
“You get back to Uncle Bobby's and get some rest... got it?”
“I got it. Say hi to Sam for me.” She said and hung up, sticking the phone back in her bag.
Dean hung up on his end and turned towards his brother, he frowned at the brief case he was holding. “What is that, Sam?”
“I don't know... a demon I was chasing dropped it.” Sam set the case on a table and went to change out of his suit.
“Demon, huh?” Dean eyed the case warily. “What the hell is going on in this town?”
“I have no idea...” Sam rubbed his eyes after pulling on a flannel shirt. “Who were you talking to, Bobby?”
“No, Heather... sounds like she's got the same bug Bobby had last week.” He stood up. “So what do you suppose is in this thing?”
“Not sure, it's not all that heavy...” Sam came over to the table and they both looked down at the case. His head had been pounding for the better part of the day, making him wonder if he'd also caught the bug - but that seemed impossible. His main problem in facing the demon had been that horrid, unquenchable hunger he thought he'd gotten over - the thirst for demon blood. Something told him that the sooner he and Dean got to the bottom of what the hell was going on in this town, the sooner he could bury the hunger again.
*
Heather had learned to measure the trip from the end of the road to Bobby's house in terms of landmarks. The first bridge was a small overpass that went over a creek called Small Muddy - if there was a Big Muddy, she didn't know where it was - it reminded her of the three Horseshoe Creeks on Interstate 64 - the Big, the Little and the plain Horseshoe - clearly, South Dakota didn't have any more creativity in the naming of such things than Illinois did. The creek was one fourth of the way to the Salvage Yard. The next landmark was a weather-beaten billboard advertising some restaurant she doubted was still in operation in the town of Yankton - a good forty-five minutes away - she was a third of the way back by then. The halfway point was the semi-tall overpass that went over the Union Pacific Tracks. Two thirds was a cottonwood tree - and the last landmark was a strand of barbed wire fence that marked the start of Bobby's property. Normally the walk took her just under fifteen minutes - she'd parsed her time down considerably since she started making it - but today, feeling like crap, the walk was taking twice as long as usual.
She rubbed at her nose as she saw the start of the train bridge come into view over the crest of the hill. Heather's mind was more on the thought of being in a warm house shortly than anything else. Just as she was about to make the journey across she heard it - the rumble of that stupid kid in his car racing towards her. The road was wide enough - the jerk could slow down in time - there wasn't any ice to worry about. She grasped the collar of her coat closed and kept walking.
What happened next was something she never saw clearly, even afterwards - the car came up on the bridge, swerving into the other lane, belching smoke and the rumble of the engine and the blasting of music that sounded more like someone screaming than anything else. Whether the kid misjudged the distance or wasn't paying attention - she'd never know - but the car whipped back into the left lane to early, the rear bumper making contact with Heather's knee. She screamed in pain and staggered to the side - the wrong side - towards the railing on the side of the bridge. For the briefest of moments Heather thought she was flying - only to have that notion crushed and taken away as she made contact with the ground next to the tracks - twenty feet down from the road above her.
“Ow...” She whimpered in pain, holding her breath - waiting for the screech of tires she was certain was coming. The kid couldn't be that much of an asshole, could he? Heather swallowed hard, her eyes focused at her bag - the strap of which had somehow come wedged between the bridge and the metal sign proclaiming the road above to be Route Thirty-Three. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there - a minute... maybe five... still the kid didn't appear above her, calling down. Where is he? Heather couldn't feel her legs - given the angle she was lying at she knew she'd done something to her back. Ten minutes ago, she'd been looking forward to getting home and going to sleep. Now here she was, feeling like a broken doll. She was thankful she'd not landed on the tracks themselves - but she was aware of something smooth resting underneath her left wrist.
Heather took a shuddering breath. “He...help...” Oh God, don't tell me that kid just left me here... maybe he doesn't have a cell and he's driving like hell to get home and call the paramedics... something... The pressure in her chest and the odd feeling on her chest made it hard to breathe - all she wanted to do was close her eyes and just sleep. If a train comes, you're going to lose that hand... By now she was certain it'd been ten minutes and there was no far off siren, no voice calling to her... no one was coming. Bobby was in Kansas City - he wouldn't know where she was until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. Dean, Sam and probably Castiel were all who knew where... they thought she was safe at home by now. She felt the tears starting to well up in her eyes. I am going to die by this railroad track in the middle of nowhere... I could deal with that if I wasn't alone...okay, alone I could deal... I just wish I wasn't cold...
*
It was quiet in the Garden - it almost always was. Michael had started coming here shortly after his father vanished - hoping, praying he'd hear his voice. The garden looked different to all humans and angels that walked its length - to the archangel, it would always be that beautiful place that humans called Yosemite Valley, home of the majestic trees that soared to a height naught but mountains could surpass. It'd been in that valley, so many, many, many eons ago - back when he was a fledgling that he, his three brothers and their sister had invited a game that humans called hide-and-go seek. Even today, a small smile played at his lips remembering how Raphael would complain about being 'it' but preformed the task with more vigor than any of them did - and how Arael and Lucifer tended to find the best hiding spots - usually together, like two peas in a pod. Gabriel was almost never it - he was undoubtedly the swiftest of the five. As for himself? He was good at all of it - and tended to volunteer to be the chaser - but he always let Raphael tag him. Now he sat waiting for an answer to a prayer that had been in vain so far. As he sat there, his eyes closed and his hands resting palms up in supplication, his back leaning against a giant Redwood tree, something shifted ever-so slightly in his field of sight. He could see countless people clearly - but so many of then remained unnoticed by him - he'd only scoured his view for certain people. A spark that had gone dark some months ago - something that had only become accessible to him through dreams - suddenly blazed into his vision with all the suddenness of a bolt of lightning. He raised his head, the light still hovering in his mind's eye - he knew this spark, he'd know it anywhere. Eyes still closed, he rose to his feet, letting the feeling come to him as he opens his eyes and looked around. “Joshua!”
“Yes?” the angel who keeps their father's garden is far shorter than Michael. Appearing to the humans who find their way here as a benign dark skinned man in plain clothes, he keeps himself perfectly passive at Michael's outburst.
“I am going to need you to contact Gabriel... I'm afraid the plans have changed once again.” With that, the archangel vanished from Heaven. This was not a tangent he was prepared for as he flew down towards the Earth, his mind fixed on a spot in South Dakota. He'd left the Continuance a simple task - make his true vessel hear him. Although she'd not given the message yet - she'd gotten one damned good letter ready and waiting for Dean Winchester in Robert Singer's house. He was pretty adamant of keeping children out of this if at all possible. Hell, his brother wasn't going to make children fight either... strange how despite it all, children were left on the sidelines - they were last and worse case scenario to both sides as far as the archangel was concerned - even demons didn't possess children all that often. There was one Apocalypse plan that was so unthinkable Michael wouldn't even voice it. As he came to the spot the spark had led him - he didn't need to conceal himself - he was vaguely aware of a street-lamp that shattered on the road above him as he settled in a crouch next to the girl's barely conscious form.
The Continuance was dying and he had no vessel. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Grace?”
Heather whimpered in response. She cracked her eyes open and saw almost nothing but light. A warm feeling was settling over her - the cold wasn't so bad as it was a minute ago.
Michael knew that what he was about to do was borderline unforgivable. His sister would be livid - his true vessel would be furious... but they'd be twice as enraged if you let the girl die. He set a hand against the girl's head, already tallying her injuries. Both legs broken - left shoulder dislocated - at least four of her vertebrae were cracked - even if a human were to find her to rescue her, she'd never walk again. The reason he could finally find her through the sigils placed upon her was from the seven broken ribs - a punctured lung - and the wicked cold she was plagued with to start with wasn't helping matters either. If anything, the illness was helping her die faster. “Grace? Gracie?”
Heather blinked, trying to make sense of all this. “Wh...what...”
“Ssh.... don't talk, I can read your mind easily enough...”
Cold, so cold... ow, mommy I want mommydaddydeansamcastielmommybobbysomebody... it hurts... mommydeandaddysamcastielbobbymommysomebody...
“I know it does, Gracie...”
Dean calls me Gracie... I want to sleep... I just want to sleep and not have to worry...
Michael shook his head. “It's not your time yet...” He let out a breath. “I can help you... but...”
You told me how angels get their vessels. I'd have to be insane to say no. Heather didn't know where she got the strength to suddenly have coherent thoughts. The hope of getting away from here - out of here, to stop hurting - that all helped build up her strength. Do I have to say it out loud?
“No, you don't.” He closes his eyes - already knowing what's coming.
Yes. Heather closed her eyes again as heat and comfort pour into her with all the force of a flash flood. She wasn’t sure at what point things started to happen - but as most of her body had already gone numb from cold and pain - she merely let go of her conscious self. The archangel tucked into a corner of her own mind, rather like a dream - she wasn't completely unaware - but the feeling was wonderful. In that little piece of her mind, she was tucked into warm quilt fresh from the dryer and settled in a comfortable chair next to a blazing fire. Her last singular coherent thought is that she won't be missed at school until at least Wednesday.
Michael pulled himself into a sit, the bones of the girl's body healed as he entered it. The injuries, the illness - all of that is gone as he stands up, assessing other damage that needs his attention. The tear in the pants, matted hair, the dirt, all of it he repairs and brushes it off, and then he sees the bag hanging above him. A fraction of a second later, he was standing on the road, looking down at it. The tracks in the road tell him how all of this started and a feeling of fury lances through him. The boy hadn't even stopped... hadn't even thought about it...
Don't kill him...he might not have seen me in all that smoke his car was belching.
Heather's voice was drowsy from the corner of her own mind and rather than tell her to be silent, Michael responded in a gentle voice - using the same voice he's used to talk with her in dreams. And why not? He left you to die...
Because he's young and stupid... can't you just...
Just what?
Why can't we just go and put the fear of God in him instead?
Michael threw back his head and laughed. A light-bulb in another streetlight shattered at the sound. That... might actually be fun... An idea had already sprung into Michael's mind. But we'll do it after dark... right now, you sleep...
Not going to argue there, Michael...
The archangel smiled as he felt the child go to sleep in her own mind. A moment later he was gone from the bridge. Five minutes later, a train roared by on the tracks, dislodging the bag and leaving it lying on the ground next to a bloodstained scrunchy that had fallen from Heather's hair.
**
Dean decided to mark down the fifteenth of February, two-thousand ten as one of the five worst days of his life. First went, of course, to the day his mom died - second would have to be the day his father died, third the day he went to Hell - fourth being the day Lucifer got out of Hell. This day - the fight with Famine - seeing Sam use his demonic powers after a good five months on the detox wagon and Cas... seeing an angel powerless to overcome the touch of the horseman... Dean had to wonder if he'd set a Winchester record in the time it took him to get everything in the hotel room together, throw it in the trunk of the Impala and gotten the fuck out of Dodge. Redding was a small town on the outskirts of Grand Isle (although Grand Isle wasn't all that bigger) - and looking back, he was very, very thankful that Famine never made it to Lincoln. Sam was lying in the backseat, his breathing already getting slow and labored, the way it always had when he was coming off a demon-blood high. Castiel sat next to Dean in the front seat, staring at his hands, grimacing at the stains of mustard and ketchup under the nails.
You're not well fed, Dean Winchester - the reason you can stand in my presence and not give into hunger is because you're empty inside.
Empty.
He took a long breath and glanced in the rear-view mirror at his brother. “We'll be at Bobby's soon, Sammy.”
Sam shuddered, knowing what was waiting for him at the old hunter's house. “I...I'm sorry... I...”
“It's not your fault!” Dean barked, more tired than anything. “You just need to let it get out of your system...”
The younger brother sat up, rubbing his eyes. “If... if that was Famine... I don't want to think what Pestilence is like...”
“Pestilence is not yet risen... or if he has, he is not anywhere near here.” Castiel said, still looking at his hands. He kept telling himself that his moments of weakness was caused by the fact that he was in a human vessel and the hunger was a result of that Jimmy's hunger, not his own. He hasn't heard Jimmy in weeks - he can't blame the man - it's not as if Castiel has been eating anything. He recalled the last thing he ate before his hamburger binge of the past two days - a piece of delicious pineapple upside-down cake in Texas. The angel glanced at Dean, he'd heard Famine's words - but couldn't find the right words to bring comfort to his friend. He knows he can't - he knows Sam can't either... but there was one person who probably could - and once they were all safely back at Bobby Singer's house and Sam was done detoxing from the demon blood... there needed to be one of those things humans called a family meeting. They had come this far and they couldn't just stop now...
Dean's watch beeped softly, a tiny indication that the day had changed over - it was Tuesday. He turned the Impala off the highway and onto the road that led to the salvage yard. “Almost there...” He said under his breath as they drove past a billboard. “Looks like the weather's been a little nicer since we left...”
“Did you call ahead?” Sam said and winced, pinching the bridge of his nose again.
“No... Heather told me that Bobby's down in Kansas City seeing some kind of specialist... and I also know she's sick - odds are, she's in a Ny-Quill induced sleep at the moment. I'll check on her after... after we get you settled.”
Settled - Sam knew what that meant. He was expecting it and knew he'd shortly be locked up and strapped down in the panic room. While he didn't want to think about how long it would take... he did remember that there was a space heater in the room, so at least he wouldn't freeze. They went over the train bridge and then the salvage yard was in sight. Castiel didn't say anything as they stopped and he got out of the car, unlocked the gate and swung the door open to let the Impala in. As soon as it was clear, he shut the gate and locked it, following the car to the house.
The house was still and dark when they came inside, Sam had gone in first and gone straight to the bathroom - and after brushing his teeth and changing clothes, he came back out and made his way into the basement. It felt like marching to his death. As he went into the panic room and sat down on the bed, he looked up at his brother, who was leaning against one of the empty cabinets. The feeling of withdrawal was already starting to creep into his brain - that horrid craving that made him hate himself. “I... I think I'll be fine in a few hours...”
“I wish I didn't have to do this, Sammy.” Dean moved away from the cabinet and went and adjusted the space heater. “I won't be leaving any time soon, either.” He stood up as Sam took off his boots and pulled on an extra pair of socks.
“Just... make sure Heather doesn't come down here and let me out before...”
“I won't...” He managed a weak grin. “She sounded congested enough on the phone she probably won't do much of anything for a few days...”
“Yeah...” He let out a resolved breath and laid down as Cas came into the panic room and shut his eyes as the angel and his brother bound him to the bed with restraints. It was just like being back in that padded room back in the mental hospital...only the monsters in his own head frightened far more than any real monsters that he'd faced. He was so intent on keeping calm that he almost didn't hear the heavy iron door clang shut and the loud bang of the lock sliding into place. He closed his eyes, pulled at the restraint on his left wrist once and then shifted slightly on the bed so he could scratch his nose. It was going to be a long night.
Dean had gone back upstairs and glanced at Cas, who was sitting placidly at the kitchen table. “You okay?”
“I am fine, Dean.”
He shook his head in reply and made his way through the library and went up the stairs. Having slept through plenty of severe storms due to night time cold medicine, Dean wasn't to worried that Heather would wake up when Sam started screaming. Then again... she might. He'd just make sure she was okay - see if she needed anything - she probably would feel better just knowing she wasn't alone - and then he'd go back downstairs and... do something. Funnily enough, as he made his way up the stairs he thought of the tomato rice soup his mom used to make him when he was sick. He wondered if Heather would like it too... Sleep didn't seem like an option for him at this point. Dean knocked once on the first bedroom door before opening it, just in case she was already awake. He turned the knob and pushed the door open - noting that it no longer groaned on its hinges. He looked around towards the bed, squinting in the darkness. “Hey Gosalyn, you awake?”
What struck him instantly was the silence. No one with a cold slept silently, medicated or not. “Heather?” He flicked the light on and felt his heart drop all the way to his feet.
The bed was empty.
“No...” He pulled back from the room and walked quickly down the hall, throwing open the door to the next bedroom - the one with the twin beds that he and Sam used to use when they were little. He flipped on the light here, panic starting to rise. “Heather?” This room was also empty - as was the third bedroom. He slammed the bathroom door open as well - it was as vacant as the bedrooms. He raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time and yanked open the hall closet - Heather's coat was there - but she'd taken to wearing that to-big old coat of Sam's... and then he ran back upstairs to confirm something. He scanned the empty room, searching for her bag. It wasn't there.
Dean's knees gave out from under him and he sank to the floor. This could not be happening - where is she? His mind suddenly slammed back into working form... those deeper ditches he'd warned her about... they were free of water at this time of year, but being just out of site of the road...
“Dean, what is...” Castiel had come up from downstairs, alarmed at the noise. He took in the empty room and then frowned. “When did you last speak to her?”
“Yesterday afternoon... around three-thirty...” His mind counted the hours back - nearly ten hours ago. Ten hours... is that long enough for someone to freeze to death?
The angel pulled Dean to a stand and half carried, half drug him back down the stairs to the couch. The tone of his friend's voice and the expression on his face is one of pure agony. “We will find her.”
“She... it... no...” Dean had only been this incoherent with shock and fear once before - the time Sam had run away in Flagstaff. This was different - it was biting cold outside... “uh... uh...”
“I will go look for her...” He took a deep breath. “She can not be very far from the road and there are only so many places she could be where she could not be seen.”
“Cas.... hurry....” He staggered to his feet and moved to the fireplace in need of some sort of task to bring him back to rational thought.
“I will not be gone long.” And with a small fluttering sound, he was gone.
*
Castiel had landed just at the start of the road that led to the salvage yard when he caught the barest trace of something in the air - it was long since passed by, but something lingered. He walked quickly in the same direction it went - the familiarity of the power growing more certain. When he came to the train bridge, he was nearly driven to his knees at the fact he'd not recognized it sooner or felt it when they drove by in the Impala. He looked down - all the way down to the tracks below and a moment later, stood next to them. He knew this power all to well - although he'd not been in its presence in years - not since the day before he and the rest of his garrison laid siege to Hell. Lying on the ground next to the tracks was the slightly battered messenger bag that Heather carried to school - next to it was a plaid hair-band he's seen her wear a few times. When he picked up the later, he noted it was stiff and something crumbled from his fingers as he looked it over.
Blood.
He stood, holding the bag in the other hand and reappeared in Bobby Singer's library.
“Cas?” Dean said from behind him and the sheer agony in the man's voice nearly breaks Castiel. He turned and set the bag and hair-band on the couch - the scrunchie rolled off and landed next to Dean's foot.
Dean looked from the band, to the bag, to Castiel - his eyes full of pain and fear. He didn't think it was possible to feel this terrified - he's been scared for Sam - he's seen Sam die for fuck's sake... so why did this hurt so much more? “Cas?” He repeated.
The angel swallows, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Michael.” It's at that exact moment that the withdrawal hits Sam hard and he started to scream for help that could not be given - screams of pain that can only be endured and gotten through. As it is, all the angel can do is catch Dean as he fell forward and started to weep. He wanted to tell Dean that surely Heather would be dead if Michael hadn't found her, that it could be so much worse, but those words sounded empty to him even in his head. He knew that the only way that the archangel could have found the girl was if something happened to break the girl's ribs - and if she fell the distance from the road the tracks - then she had been in pain. He went over in his mind how the girl would have even taken it into her mind to even listen to Michael - and the moment he came to that realization than he already knew the answer.
Because there was no one else to listen to her - and to actually hear what she was saying.
Chapter Twenty