In The Grip of Fate Chap 4/?
Title: In The Grip of Fate Chap 4/?
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, babyfic! (NON-MPREG), angst
Word Count: 3,378
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: The boys begin their lives together, but life throws them an unexpected curveball. How a peaceful Winchester morning turns into a headache of a day OR Sam and Dean finally get some answers.
Author Notes: Sequel to Just Breathe and set approximately 6 weeks after the timestamp Good Good Night. As always unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: A little action, a lot of explanation. Some loose ends should get clearer. I played with canon big time and then weaved Casey through it. I hope it makes sense.
Sam heard the sound of a drawer sliding shut and cracked an eye to find their bedroom filled with the soft, buttery glow of morning. Dean stood near the foot of the bed, pulling a worn grey t-shirt over his head. Feeling Sam’s gaze, he turned and moved to the side of the bed.
“Get some more sleep, Sam. It’s still early.” Dean leaned over and brushed his lips over his brother’s, watching the slit hazel eye close as sleep once again claimed Sam. He closed the door behind him quietly and the headed toward the stairs, following the smell of coffee. Passing the spare room’s open door, he saw the bed was made and the playpen empty, indicating that Casey and his nephew were already awake. Smiling, he went down the stairs two at a time.
Bobby sat at the Kitchen table, pouring over a large leather-bound tome. Peaking over the older man’s shoulder on his way to the coffee pot, a picture of a man with loose, pale skin and red eyes taking a bite out of a mutilated woman’s arm caught his eye. The woman’s torso was flayed open exposing her shattered rib cage and mangled internal organs.
“A little before breakfast reading, Bobby?” Dean shuddered slightly and continued on his quest for caffeine.
“Rufus thinks he might be after a rugaru and wanted to know how to kill the damn thing.” Bobby turned the page, the image now hidden under small lines of text.
“A rugaru? Doesn’t Sam get that on his salads?” Dean lifted the mug to his nose and inhaled the rich aroma, allowing the scent to clear away the last vestiges of sleep.
“Aren’t you just a laugh riot first thing in the morning,” Bobby smirked.
“What can I say, I’m a triple threat. Looks, brains and a sense of humor.” Leaning back against the counter, Dean craned his neck to peer into the Study. “Where are Casey and Joey?”
“She said something about taking that carrier-carseat thing out to the car so it wouldn’t be under foot.”
“Huh.” Dean pushed off the counter and made his way through the Study to the bay windows that faced the front of the house. Pushing aside the lace shrouding the glass panes - Dean always assumed the handmade curtains were placed by Bobby’s late wife Karen - he peered out to find Casey seated on the front steps with Joey, carrier forgotten on the porch behind her. The baby lie in his mother’s lap, body matching perfectly to the length of her upper legs, feet snug to her abdomen and head propped on her knees. Casey’s arms fitted along Joey’s sides creating a protective wall of flesh, bone and blood while her hands cupped his skull, shielding it from the hardness of her joints. Through the single paned window, he could hear the soft sounds of Joey happily gurgling and Casey’s answering baby babbles.
Dean started at the feeling of arms circling his waist and a warmth pressing into the side of his neck. Jerking to the side, Dean shot a quizzical look back in the direction of the Kitchen.
“He’s in the basement. I just wanted to say good morning.” Sam dropped his arms from around his brother and sidestepped so they stood shoulder to shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
He pushed back the crocheted fabric on the other side of the window, affording him a view of the maternal scene outside. Nodding his head, he took Dean’s coffee cup from his hand and sipped the dark liquid with a grimace.
Smirking, Dean lifted his mug from Sam’s hand. “If you don’t like it black, get your own.”
Beyond the glass barrier, Casey’s voice filtered to them. “Shhh, angelum. There is someone I want you to meet.” She whistled softly and Rumsfeld loped over to sit next to her on the stoop. “Rumsfeld, this is Joss. You will protect him just like you always have his father.” Dean looked over at Sam, his face a mask of confusion, but Sam’s gaze remained focused outside. Feeling his brother tense, Dean turned to see the Rottweiler’s massive head dip down close to Joey. The dog’s muzzle hovered inches above the small form and Dean felt Sam’s fear for his son battling with his trust of its mother. Large, wet nostrils flared as Rumsfeld acquainted himself with Joey’s smell before moving its head to Casey’s shoulder, giving the side of her face a small lick. Sam relaxed slightly when the dog lay down on the porch at Casey’s hip.
“You know, Casey gave me Rumsfeld.” Bobby’s gravelly voice sounded from behind them, startling both men. “I told her once that Sam wanted a dog but John wouldn’t let him have one. The next thing I know this pup shows up with a note saying that all children should have a pet.”
Dean turned to reply, to ask what Casey meant about the dog protecting Sam, when Rumsfeld’s whine captured the attention of all three men. Looking out the window was like watching interspecies synchronized swimming. In unison, Casey’s, Rumsfeld’s and Joey’s heads all turned to the left, peering through the early morning mist and gutted remnants of Detroit’s heyday. Joey’s happy noises went silent as Casey’s eyes narrowed and the Rottweiler’s hackles rose, his lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. Without tearing her gaze away, Casey reached behind her to the carrier and curling her fingers under the plastic frame, pulled it closer. Joey was carefully placed in the padded lining and his mother leaned back into the solid frame of the dog beside her.
“Take Joss in the house. Straight to Dean, Sam or Bobby. No one else.” She rubbed gently under the dog’s chin and received a lick to the shoulder in reply. Dean stared wide-eyed as the massive black hound crossed behind the girl, took the handle to the carrier in his mouth and headed for the front door.
“Door,” Casey screamed, arm winding its way around her back and pulling a gun from the holster Dean didn’t realize she was carrying.
Dean felt a flurry of movement as Bobby hurried to the open the front door and relieve the dog of the small infant. On muscle memory, Dean’s hand went to the small of his back only to be reminded that he and Sam hadn’t carried weapons since settling into civilian life. Empty air surrounded him and he realized that Sam wasn’t at the window anymore. Turning, he found Sam rummaging through the top right drawer of Bobby’s desk. Pulling out two 9mm guns, he tossed one to Dean and, after checking the magazine of the one in his hand, moved to the front door.
By the time the Winchesters reached her side, Casey was standing a few feet in front of the porch, head pivoting from left to right. Flanking her, the brothers followed her line of sight trying to discern what danger she was detecting. Two figures moved out of the foggy morning air: one, a tall black man with pockmarked cheeks, coming from the left and the other, a slender girl with flaming red hair, from the right. Sam swallowed as the memory of dark woods in the crisp North Carolina air swept over him along with phantom echoes of searing pain.
“What’s going on,” Dean murmured as the two figures drew near.
“Don’t know,” Casey whispered, “Shapeshifter on the left, werewolf on the right. Silver will kill both, but I’m loaded with regular rounds.” Dean and Sam traded grimaces over her head. Their guns were just as useless as hers.
Casey caught the twin frowns and gritted her teeth in frustration. She stepped slightly forward, blocking Sam as the shapeshifter moved toward him. The man’s lips curled into a sneer at her show of protectiveness. “They don’t want him anymore. We want the baby.”
“You touch a hair on that baby’s head and it will be the last thing you ever do,” Dean growled over his shoulder as he squared off against the werewolf.
The redhead graced him with a feral smile, eyes and teeth glinting in the weak morning light. She tilted her head up slightly and sniffed the air. “What are you going to do, hunter? I can smell your bullets. Tssk, tssk tssk. Lead not silver. That isn’t going to do you much good against us.”
“I’m sorry.” Dean and Sam both cautioned a glance at Casey’s quietly spoken words. Her head was down, but her jaw was firm and set.
“For what,” Sam asked.
“This.” Dropping the gun in her right hand, Dean watched as she reached out and curled the fingers of her left hand around Sam’s bare forearm.
Sam was overwhelmed by the oddest sensation of someone reaching into his chest, grabbing hold of something between his heart and stomach and pulling it out of him. At the same time, warmth pooled at the base of his skull and traveled down his spine like someone had poured bath water down his back. He felt weak, the only thing keeping him on his feet, the hard grasp of the girl next to him.
Casey took a deep breath and stretched her hand out to the shapeshifter, the man’s smug smile fading as he was stopped in his tracks. Casey jerked her arm to the right and the shapeshifter followed its path through the air, landing with a thud against the burnt out remains of a ’65 Mustang. Quickly moving her focus to the werewolf, she repeated the motion sending the girl into a ’74 Ford F150.
Sam forced his eyes to open, not even sure when he’d closed them, and saw Casey hold her hand out in front of her with fingers splayed wide. The two creatures were gathering themselves and advancing on the trio again.
Dean opened his mouth to suggest a speedy retreat, but was stunned into silence when the man and girl seemed to bounce off an invisible blockade. If Dean hadn’t been so stunned, it might have been funny. Two evil things, fuming with rage, stuck like mimes in a glass box.
“Shoot now,” Casey gasped, her voice little more than a strained croak.
Dean saw the flash off a barrel and heard the retort of a gun from somewhere near the front porch, a split second before the girl fell into the dust. A heartbeat later, a second crack split the air and the man was downed as well. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bobby standing near the steps with a rifle in his hand.
Casey released her hold on Sam’s arm and he fell to his knees, pale and panting. Closing his eyes against the building nausea in his stomach, Sam heard Casey collapse next to him.
“Sam! Casey!” Dean’s concerned voice cut through the fog clouding Sam’s brain. With effort, he opened his eyes and met the worried green of his brother’s.
“Help Sam into the house.” Casey pushed at Dean’s shoulder, her other hand wiping at her nose. Her hand came away bloody and she sighed at the sight. “Go on. I’ll take care of this and be in soon.”
Dean hefted Sam from the ground and the two stumbled up the stairs and into the house like college boys after a frat party. Bobby passed them at the front door, scurrying down the stairs to Casey’s side. Sam and Dean stopped just inside the doorway and turned to see the older man gathering the girl in his arms and lifting her from the ground. With more care and tenderness than either Winchester thought he possessed, Bobby guided Casey into the house and seated her on the sofa in the Study. He went back out the door grumbling lowly about a backhoe and digging more graves than the mafia.
Dean eased Sam into the overstuffed chair then rounded on Casey. “I think it’s time we had that talk.”
Casey sighed as she stood and crossed to Bobby’s desk where Joey sat on the floor in his carrier, Rumsfeld lying next to him. “Fuck,” she said, lifting the baby from the carseat. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about with that little display outside,” Dean ground out, dropping angrily onto the couch.
“O-kay, I guess we’ll start with me then. Bobby said he told you some of this. What all do you know?” She walked over and placed Joey in Dean’s lap. The weight across his legs calmed him and he felt some of the irritation dissipate.
“Basically, that you're descended from a group of baby girls chosen and blessed by angels. Not much else.” Sam watched Joey grab onto Dean’s finger and wave it back and forth, gurgling at the silly faces Dean was making at him.
“And your vague and mysterious references to ‘upgrade package’,” Dean added, nipping at the tiny fingers around his with lip covered teeth.
“Where to begin, where to being,” Casey mumbled, pacing back and forth. Rumsfeld’s head lifted from his crossed paws to track her movements. “Crap! I’ve never had to explain this before. Okay. You already know that we’re stronger, faster and, of course, the expedited healing properties.”
“Why is that,” Dean interrupted.
“You can’t fight if you’re injured so the faster we heal, the faster we return to the battle.” She paused, eyes becoming haunted.
“But you’re different.” Dean prompted. So far, Casey hadn’t said anything to explain what happened outside.
“Right. I am the freak among freaks. I can do things no one else can or ever has been able to. I can sense truth. I know when I am being lied to or when something is being hidden from me and I can make someone be honest. I can see to the heart of any situation, past subterfuges and distractions. It’s also the reason I can detect demons and supernatural beings. But as useful as that can be its little more than a parlor trick. What really cements my freak status? I’m a conduit. I can channel and magnify the powers of others.”
“That’s what happened outside.” Sam’s slumped back in the chair at the revelation.
“Wait, wait, wait. Outside you channeled his powers? What powers?” Dean’s leg began tapping in frustration until he remembered Joey in his lap. He stroked a finger over the baby’s soft cheek in apology.
“Telekinesis. You already knew he was psychic. This is just another aspect, like the visions. I just tapped into it.”
“What? Sam’s not - ,” Dean sat up straight, looking to his brother for confirmation. Joey woken from his light doze, fussed at the abrupt change in position. Casey lifted a plaid diaper bag from the floor and rummaged through until she found a pale green pacifier. She passed it over and Dean rubbed the rubber nub over the whining child’s lips until his mouth opened. A few sucks later, Joey's eyes slid shut again.
Reverting back to her pacing, Casey ran a hand over her face irritably. “Yeah, he is. I’ve spent the majority of the last ten months trying to figure out why the demons were so bent on getting a hold of Sam. I mean, they were so desperate they used a skinwalker and a vampire to get their hands on him. Even demons have standards and most would rather exorcise themselves than deal with viral and genetic freaks. Zoe and I finally caught up with this demon, some big deal hell spawn, named Tom. I…convinced him to tell us what he knew about why Sam had a price on his head.
According to Tom, your home wasn’t the only one the demon - his name’s Azazel by the way - went to in 1983. Dozens of babies were visited by the son of a bitch as part of a larger plan. Azazel kept tabs on these children over the years, placing people in their lives to garner trust: teachers, friends, neighbors, doctors.”
“Why?” Sam’s sounded so small and lost.
“The idea was to use these people to manipulate and corrupt the children, push them, nudge them to their side. You were designed to be hell’s version of us. Humans, gifted with psychic abilities, fighting on their side in a war between heaven and hell. Generals to lead their demon army when the time came. Fighting fire with fire or, more precisely, superhuman with superhuman.”
“What’s changed?” Sam’s voice croaked. “If the demon has been watching me all these years, why did it decide now to come after me?”
“Your relationship with Dean. Even before,” She waved her hand in the air, “your connection was stronger than normal brothers and Azazel knew it would be difficult to get to you while Dean was around. But as lovers, it would be almost impossible. So he decided to separate you from him before the new bond could be forged. Obviously, it didn't work.”
“Why should we believe this Tom?” Dean’s voice was hushed to keep from disturbing Joey, but the suspicion and anger rang through clearly. “Demons lie. It’s what they do. Even if he wasn’t, who’s to say he knew what he was talking about. I mean, we’ve been hunting this bastard our whole lives and never heard of it attacking others.”
“First off, what part of lie detector did you not understand,” she asked, pointing a finger at her own chest. “Second, Tom knew what he was talking about. He was the bastard’s son. And finally, I think you’d be surprised what your Dad knew that he never shared.”
Dean felt sucker punched. He remembered a long ago conversation he’d overheard between Zoe and Casey - Winchester knows more than he’s telling anyone - He’s lying, not flat out, but through omission. Did Dad know the demon’s plan for Sam? Did he know what Sam could have become? Dean looked over at Casey and she nodded, her eyes softened in sympathy.
“What does this have to do with Joey? The shapeshifter said he didn’t want me anymore. He wanted Joey.” Sam stood and walked over to Dean. Leaning down, he scooped the sleeping baby out of his brother’s lap and cradled him to his chest.
Casey sighed. “Joseph Samuel, named for my father and his, is the offspring of a General of heaven and a General of hell.” Sam’s breath hitched and Dean realized that his brother hadn’t known for sure that Joey was his until now. “Normally this would be a major cause for concern on both sides, but add in my talents and Sam’s…”
“They’re terrified,” Dean finished.
“Something like that, yeah. Neither side is sure what his abilities will be when they manifest, but they both agree that he will be powerful and they want him. I’ve been dodging demons for months, but they’ve ramped up their efforts since he was born.”
“Where’s Zoe in all this? She just left you to deal with this shit on your own? What? Didn’t want to help take care of a baby?” Dean’s tone was harsh. Last year Zoe damned near brained him because Casey was shot while protecting him and now she wasn’t around when Casey clearly needed her help.
Casey’s eyes flashed cold and dangerous. “Watch your fucking mouth. Zoe loved Joss. Hell, she gave him the nickname.”
“Loved?” Sam was swaying Joey back and forth trying to keep him asleep despite the growing tension in the room.
“Zoe’s dead,” Casey managed, biting her lower lip. “Tom’s sister took exception to us sending him back downstairs and decided to kill two birds with one stone - get Joss and a little payback. Zoe protected us, gave me enough time to get away with him and it cost her her life.” Casey’s hand automatically went to her necklace and for the first time Sam noticed she now wore two medallions instead of one. A reminder of your mortality hanging around your neck, the only reminder people will have of your life.
“Casey, I’m so-,” Dean began.
“Just - don’t. Okay.” Casey rubbed her hand over her forehead.
“You said that both sides want him. Does that mean angels are after him too?” Fear gripped Sam’s heart at the thought and his arms tightened around his son unconsciously.
“No.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because she made a fucking deal.” The deep baritone voice rumbled through the room forcing the trio to turn toward the doorway. Standing next to a dirt smudged Bobby was John Trotter.
Chapter Five
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, babyfic! (NON-MPREG), angst
Word Count: 3,378
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: The boys begin their lives together, but life throws them an unexpected curveball. How a peaceful Winchester morning turns into a headache of a day OR Sam and Dean finally get some answers.
Author Notes: Sequel to Just Breathe and set approximately 6 weeks after the timestamp Good Good Night. As always unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: A little action, a lot of explanation. Some loose ends should get clearer. I played with canon big time and then weaved Casey through it. I hope it makes sense.
Sam heard the sound of a drawer sliding shut and cracked an eye to find their bedroom filled with the soft, buttery glow of morning. Dean stood near the foot of the bed, pulling a worn grey t-shirt over his head. Feeling Sam’s gaze, he turned and moved to the side of the bed.
“Get some more sleep, Sam. It’s still early.” Dean leaned over and brushed his lips over his brother’s, watching the slit hazel eye close as sleep once again claimed Sam. He closed the door behind him quietly and the headed toward the stairs, following the smell of coffee. Passing the spare room’s open door, he saw the bed was made and the playpen empty, indicating that Casey and his nephew were already awake. Smiling, he went down the stairs two at a time.
Bobby sat at the Kitchen table, pouring over a large leather-bound tome. Peaking over the older man’s shoulder on his way to the coffee pot, a picture of a man with loose, pale skin and red eyes taking a bite out of a mutilated woman’s arm caught his eye. The woman’s torso was flayed open exposing her shattered rib cage and mangled internal organs.
“A little before breakfast reading, Bobby?” Dean shuddered slightly and continued on his quest for caffeine.
“Rufus thinks he might be after a rugaru and wanted to know how to kill the damn thing.” Bobby turned the page, the image now hidden under small lines of text.
“A rugaru? Doesn’t Sam get that on his salads?” Dean lifted the mug to his nose and inhaled the rich aroma, allowing the scent to clear away the last vestiges of sleep.
“Aren’t you just a laugh riot first thing in the morning,” Bobby smirked.
“What can I say, I’m a triple threat. Looks, brains and a sense of humor.” Leaning back against the counter, Dean craned his neck to peer into the Study. “Where are Casey and Joey?”
“She said something about taking that carrier-carseat thing out to the car so it wouldn’t be under foot.”
“Huh.” Dean pushed off the counter and made his way through the Study to the bay windows that faced the front of the house. Pushing aside the lace shrouding the glass panes - Dean always assumed the handmade curtains were placed by Bobby’s late wife Karen - he peered out to find Casey seated on the front steps with Joey, carrier forgotten on the porch behind her. The baby lie in his mother’s lap, body matching perfectly to the length of her upper legs, feet snug to her abdomen and head propped on her knees. Casey’s arms fitted along Joey’s sides creating a protective wall of flesh, bone and blood while her hands cupped his skull, shielding it from the hardness of her joints. Through the single paned window, he could hear the soft sounds of Joey happily gurgling and Casey’s answering baby babbles.
Dean started at the feeling of arms circling his waist and a warmth pressing into the side of his neck. Jerking to the side, Dean shot a quizzical look back in the direction of the Kitchen.
“He’s in the basement. I just wanted to say good morning.” Sam dropped his arms from around his brother and sidestepped so they stood shoulder to shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
He pushed back the crocheted fabric on the other side of the window, affording him a view of the maternal scene outside. Nodding his head, he took Dean’s coffee cup from his hand and sipped the dark liquid with a grimace.
Smirking, Dean lifted his mug from Sam’s hand. “If you don’t like it black, get your own.”
Beyond the glass barrier, Casey’s voice filtered to them. “Shhh, angelum. There is someone I want you to meet.” She whistled softly and Rumsfeld loped over to sit next to her on the stoop. “Rumsfeld, this is Joss. You will protect him just like you always have his father.” Dean looked over at Sam, his face a mask of confusion, but Sam’s gaze remained focused outside. Feeling his brother tense, Dean turned to see the Rottweiler’s massive head dip down close to Joey. The dog’s muzzle hovered inches above the small form and Dean felt Sam’s fear for his son battling with his trust of its mother. Large, wet nostrils flared as Rumsfeld acquainted himself with Joey’s smell before moving its head to Casey’s shoulder, giving the side of her face a small lick. Sam relaxed slightly when the dog lay down on the porch at Casey’s hip.
“You know, Casey gave me Rumsfeld.” Bobby’s gravelly voice sounded from behind them, startling both men. “I told her once that Sam wanted a dog but John wouldn’t let him have one. The next thing I know this pup shows up with a note saying that all children should have a pet.”
Dean turned to reply, to ask what Casey meant about the dog protecting Sam, when Rumsfeld’s whine captured the attention of all three men. Looking out the window was like watching interspecies synchronized swimming. In unison, Casey’s, Rumsfeld’s and Joey’s heads all turned to the left, peering through the early morning mist and gutted remnants of Detroit’s heyday. Joey’s happy noises went silent as Casey’s eyes narrowed and the Rottweiler’s hackles rose, his lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. Without tearing her gaze away, Casey reached behind her to the carrier and curling her fingers under the plastic frame, pulled it closer. Joey was carefully placed in the padded lining and his mother leaned back into the solid frame of the dog beside her.
“Take Joss in the house. Straight to Dean, Sam or Bobby. No one else.” She rubbed gently under the dog’s chin and received a lick to the shoulder in reply. Dean stared wide-eyed as the massive black hound crossed behind the girl, took the handle to the carrier in his mouth and headed for the front door.
“Door,” Casey screamed, arm winding its way around her back and pulling a gun from the holster Dean didn’t realize she was carrying.
Dean felt a flurry of movement as Bobby hurried to the open the front door and relieve the dog of the small infant. On muscle memory, Dean’s hand went to the small of his back only to be reminded that he and Sam hadn’t carried weapons since settling into civilian life. Empty air surrounded him and he realized that Sam wasn’t at the window anymore. Turning, he found Sam rummaging through the top right drawer of Bobby’s desk. Pulling out two 9mm guns, he tossed one to Dean and, after checking the magazine of the one in his hand, moved to the front door.
By the time the Winchesters reached her side, Casey was standing a few feet in front of the porch, head pivoting from left to right. Flanking her, the brothers followed her line of sight trying to discern what danger she was detecting. Two figures moved out of the foggy morning air: one, a tall black man with pockmarked cheeks, coming from the left and the other, a slender girl with flaming red hair, from the right. Sam swallowed as the memory of dark woods in the crisp North Carolina air swept over him along with phantom echoes of searing pain.
“What’s going on,” Dean murmured as the two figures drew near.
“Don’t know,” Casey whispered, “Shapeshifter on the left, werewolf on the right. Silver will kill both, but I’m loaded with regular rounds.” Dean and Sam traded grimaces over her head. Their guns were just as useless as hers.
Casey caught the twin frowns and gritted her teeth in frustration. She stepped slightly forward, blocking Sam as the shapeshifter moved toward him. The man’s lips curled into a sneer at her show of protectiveness. “They don’t want him anymore. We want the baby.”
“You touch a hair on that baby’s head and it will be the last thing you ever do,” Dean growled over his shoulder as he squared off against the werewolf.
The redhead graced him with a feral smile, eyes and teeth glinting in the weak morning light. She tilted her head up slightly and sniffed the air. “What are you going to do, hunter? I can smell your bullets. Tssk, tssk tssk. Lead not silver. That isn’t going to do you much good against us.”
“I’m sorry.” Dean and Sam both cautioned a glance at Casey’s quietly spoken words. Her head was down, but her jaw was firm and set.
“For what,” Sam asked.
“This.” Dropping the gun in her right hand, Dean watched as she reached out and curled the fingers of her left hand around Sam’s bare forearm.
Sam was overwhelmed by the oddest sensation of someone reaching into his chest, grabbing hold of something between his heart and stomach and pulling it out of him. At the same time, warmth pooled at the base of his skull and traveled down his spine like someone had poured bath water down his back. He felt weak, the only thing keeping him on his feet, the hard grasp of the girl next to him.
Casey took a deep breath and stretched her hand out to the shapeshifter, the man’s smug smile fading as he was stopped in his tracks. Casey jerked her arm to the right and the shapeshifter followed its path through the air, landing with a thud against the burnt out remains of a ’65 Mustang. Quickly moving her focus to the werewolf, she repeated the motion sending the girl into a ’74 Ford F150.
Sam forced his eyes to open, not even sure when he’d closed them, and saw Casey hold her hand out in front of her with fingers splayed wide. The two creatures were gathering themselves and advancing on the trio again.
Dean opened his mouth to suggest a speedy retreat, but was stunned into silence when the man and girl seemed to bounce off an invisible blockade. If Dean hadn’t been so stunned, it might have been funny. Two evil things, fuming with rage, stuck like mimes in a glass box.
“Shoot now,” Casey gasped, her voice little more than a strained croak.
Dean saw the flash off a barrel and heard the retort of a gun from somewhere near the front porch, a split second before the girl fell into the dust. A heartbeat later, a second crack split the air and the man was downed as well. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bobby standing near the steps with a rifle in his hand.
Casey released her hold on Sam’s arm and he fell to his knees, pale and panting. Closing his eyes against the building nausea in his stomach, Sam heard Casey collapse next to him.
“Sam! Casey!” Dean’s concerned voice cut through the fog clouding Sam’s brain. With effort, he opened his eyes and met the worried green of his brother’s.
“Help Sam into the house.” Casey pushed at Dean’s shoulder, her other hand wiping at her nose. Her hand came away bloody and she sighed at the sight. “Go on. I’ll take care of this and be in soon.”
Dean hefted Sam from the ground and the two stumbled up the stairs and into the house like college boys after a frat party. Bobby passed them at the front door, scurrying down the stairs to Casey’s side. Sam and Dean stopped just inside the doorway and turned to see the older man gathering the girl in his arms and lifting her from the ground. With more care and tenderness than either Winchester thought he possessed, Bobby guided Casey into the house and seated her on the sofa in the Study. He went back out the door grumbling lowly about a backhoe and digging more graves than the mafia.
Dean eased Sam into the overstuffed chair then rounded on Casey. “I think it’s time we had that talk.”
Casey sighed as she stood and crossed to Bobby’s desk where Joey sat on the floor in his carrier, Rumsfeld lying next to him. “Fuck,” she said, lifting the baby from the carseat. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about with that little display outside,” Dean ground out, dropping angrily onto the couch.
“O-kay, I guess we’ll start with me then. Bobby said he told you some of this. What all do you know?” She walked over and placed Joey in Dean’s lap. The weight across his legs calmed him and he felt some of the irritation dissipate.
“Basically, that you're descended from a group of baby girls chosen and blessed by angels. Not much else.” Sam watched Joey grab onto Dean’s finger and wave it back and forth, gurgling at the silly faces Dean was making at him.
“And your vague and mysterious references to ‘upgrade package’,” Dean added, nipping at the tiny fingers around his with lip covered teeth.
“Where to begin, where to being,” Casey mumbled, pacing back and forth. Rumsfeld’s head lifted from his crossed paws to track her movements. “Crap! I’ve never had to explain this before. Okay. You already know that we’re stronger, faster and, of course, the expedited healing properties.”
“Why is that,” Dean interrupted.
“You can’t fight if you’re injured so the faster we heal, the faster we return to the battle.” She paused, eyes becoming haunted.
“But you’re different.” Dean prompted. So far, Casey hadn’t said anything to explain what happened outside.
“Right. I am the freak among freaks. I can do things no one else can or ever has been able to. I can sense truth. I know when I am being lied to or when something is being hidden from me and I can make someone be honest. I can see to the heart of any situation, past subterfuges and distractions. It’s also the reason I can detect demons and supernatural beings. But as useful as that can be its little more than a parlor trick. What really cements my freak status? I’m a conduit. I can channel and magnify the powers of others.”
“That’s what happened outside.” Sam’s slumped back in the chair at the revelation.
“Wait, wait, wait. Outside you channeled his powers? What powers?” Dean’s leg began tapping in frustration until he remembered Joey in his lap. He stroked a finger over the baby’s soft cheek in apology.
“Telekinesis. You already knew he was psychic. This is just another aspect, like the visions. I just tapped into it.”
“What? Sam’s not - ,” Dean sat up straight, looking to his brother for confirmation. Joey woken from his light doze, fussed at the abrupt change in position. Casey lifted a plaid diaper bag from the floor and rummaged through until she found a pale green pacifier. She passed it over and Dean rubbed the rubber nub over the whining child’s lips until his mouth opened. A few sucks later, Joey's eyes slid shut again.
Reverting back to her pacing, Casey ran a hand over her face irritably. “Yeah, he is. I’ve spent the majority of the last ten months trying to figure out why the demons were so bent on getting a hold of Sam. I mean, they were so desperate they used a skinwalker and a vampire to get their hands on him. Even demons have standards and most would rather exorcise themselves than deal with viral and genetic freaks. Zoe and I finally caught up with this demon, some big deal hell spawn, named Tom. I…convinced him to tell us what he knew about why Sam had a price on his head.
According to Tom, your home wasn’t the only one the demon - his name’s Azazel by the way - went to in 1983. Dozens of babies were visited by the son of a bitch as part of a larger plan. Azazel kept tabs on these children over the years, placing people in their lives to garner trust: teachers, friends, neighbors, doctors.”
“Why?” Sam’s sounded so small and lost.
“The idea was to use these people to manipulate and corrupt the children, push them, nudge them to their side. You were designed to be hell’s version of us. Humans, gifted with psychic abilities, fighting on their side in a war between heaven and hell. Generals to lead their demon army when the time came. Fighting fire with fire or, more precisely, superhuman with superhuman.”
“What’s changed?” Sam’s voice croaked. “If the demon has been watching me all these years, why did it decide now to come after me?”
“Your relationship with Dean. Even before,” She waved her hand in the air, “your connection was stronger than normal brothers and Azazel knew it would be difficult to get to you while Dean was around. But as lovers, it would be almost impossible. So he decided to separate you from him before the new bond could be forged. Obviously, it didn't work.”
“Why should we believe this Tom?” Dean’s voice was hushed to keep from disturbing Joey, but the suspicion and anger rang through clearly. “Demons lie. It’s what they do. Even if he wasn’t, who’s to say he knew what he was talking about. I mean, we’ve been hunting this bastard our whole lives and never heard of it attacking others.”
“First off, what part of lie detector did you not understand,” she asked, pointing a finger at her own chest. “Second, Tom knew what he was talking about. He was the bastard’s son. And finally, I think you’d be surprised what your Dad knew that he never shared.”
Dean felt sucker punched. He remembered a long ago conversation he’d overheard between Zoe and Casey - Winchester knows more than he’s telling anyone - He’s lying, not flat out, but through omission. Did Dad know the demon’s plan for Sam? Did he know what Sam could have become? Dean looked over at Casey and she nodded, her eyes softened in sympathy.
“What does this have to do with Joey? The shapeshifter said he didn’t want me anymore. He wanted Joey.” Sam stood and walked over to Dean. Leaning down, he scooped the sleeping baby out of his brother’s lap and cradled him to his chest.
Casey sighed. “Joseph Samuel, named for my father and his, is the offspring of a General of heaven and a General of hell.” Sam’s breath hitched and Dean realized that his brother hadn’t known for sure that Joey was his until now. “Normally this would be a major cause for concern on both sides, but add in my talents and Sam’s…”
“They’re terrified,” Dean finished.
“Something like that, yeah. Neither side is sure what his abilities will be when they manifest, but they both agree that he will be powerful and they want him. I’ve been dodging demons for months, but they’ve ramped up their efforts since he was born.”
“Where’s Zoe in all this? She just left you to deal with this shit on your own? What? Didn’t want to help take care of a baby?” Dean’s tone was harsh. Last year Zoe damned near brained him because Casey was shot while protecting him and now she wasn’t around when Casey clearly needed her help.
Casey’s eyes flashed cold and dangerous. “Watch your fucking mouth. Zoe loved Joss. Hell, she gave him the nickname.”
“Loved?” Sam was swaying Joey back and forth trying to keep him asleep despite the growing tension in the room.
“Zoe’s dead,” Casey managed, biting her lower lip. “Tom’s sister took exception to us sending him back downstairs and decided to kill two birds with one stone - get Joss and a little payback. Zoe protected us, gave me enough time to get away with him and it cost her her life.” Casey’s hand automatically went to her necklace and for the first time Sam noticed she now wore two medallions instead of one. A reminder of your mortality hanging around your neck, the only reminder people will have of your life.
“Casey, I’m so-,” Dean began.
“Just - don’t. Okay.” Casey rubbed her hand over her forehead.
“You said that both sides want him. Does that mean angels are after him too?” Fear gripped Sam’s heart at the thought and his arms tightened around his son unconsciously.
“No.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because she made a fucking deal.” The deep baritone voice rumbled through the room forcing the trio to turn toward the doorway. Standing next to a dirt smudged Bobby was John Trotter.
Chapter Five