Testimony (Perseides, Chapter 2 of 7)
Title: Testimony (Perseides, Chapter 2 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.
Word Count: 45,000 total
Summary: The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and then rent our world in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, a tough ex-cop, risks everything to search for him.
Notes: This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.
Dean didn't much remember his own mother, but he had decided that if he did, Sheriff Mills would have reminded him of her. She slightly resembled the one picture he had kept, a fine-boned, smiling-eyed woman. If what Cas kept implying was right, and Bobby was a little sweet on her, well, then Bobby was a man with good taste.
“Bobby, can’t you stay out of trouble even a week?” she had mock-sighed when she had shown up that morning, clattering in in her jeep. She hauled in a great pile of clothes.
“I'm lost without you. Oh, this is great,” said Bobby, picking up a black suit. “Cas has gotten too damned tall for anything I own.”
“I don't see why I need to wear a suit for Swearengen,” Cas muttered darkly.
“Castiel,” said Jody softly. He looked at her, evidently startled at the sound of his full name. “Be an angel for Bobby? For me?”
Cas' cheeks blazed a bright pink, and he silently took up the suit and left the room, Bobby dogging his tracks. “I don't need help!” Cas was muttering.
“Kid, you can't tie a tie to save your immortal soul!” laughed Bobby.
“Castiel?” Dean asked Jody.
“That's his proper angel name. Not that there's a ton of proper folks in this neck of the woods,” laughed Jody. “The -el part means 'of God.'”
“Oh, I didn't know.”
“They're a little shy about it, those angels. And for good reason. It’s funny, really,” she said, as her eyes got a far off look. “But when Cas first came to live with Bobby, we had him in my son’s clothes.”
“Your son?” he asked.
“My … late son,” she said. “I lost my family, my son and my husband, just before I came out here.”
“You’re from the West?”
“Yes, originally. And Bobby: his wife had just passed away, about the same time.”
“A lot of people … lost someone,” Dean said awkwardly.
“But then his brother showed up with Cas, and that’s kept us busy. Now,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “I don't have a suit that would fit you, but it might be good to put on something that isn't...” she waved her hand at his uniform.
“Doesn't look quite so conspicuous?” asked Dean. He nodded. He shrugged out of his charred uniform jacket and tugged on a couple of jackets Jody had brought over. “I think this one fits OK,” he said, flexing his arms in the weather-beaten old leather jacket. “Your husband’s?” he asked. Jody nodded. “I'll get it back to you!”
“Naw. Keep it. He can't use it where he is,” Jody said sadly, but any further conversation was interrupted by then entrance of Bobby, who was fussing over Cas.
“Will you quit fiddlin’ with your damned tie, kid?”
“I cannot testify if I am the victim of strangulation,” grumbled Cas, loosening the tie. Dean whistled low. The suit was about a size too big, but Bobby had managed to transform the angel from some kind of feral creature to a kid you wouldn’t think twice about if he showed up on your doorstep peddling Bible magazines.
“Come on now,” said Jody, re-straightening Cas’ tie. “I gotta get your asses to court, or Al will have my ass.”
After a dusty ride in Jody’s jeep, Cas and Bobby following behind in a rattletrap pickup truck, Dean found that “court,” such as it was, was located in a prefab sheet metal structure situated, as was most everything here, nearby to absolutely nothing at all. Dean entered along with Jody and Bobby and Cas, expecting to find it was deserted, and was dumbstruck by the number of people bustling around.
“Where the hell did all these … people come from?” he asked.
“They come from hundreds of miles for Al’s court,” laughed Bobby.
Someone had rustled up an actual antique oak desk and chair for the judge, but the rest looked catch as catch can, and the public seating area was filled with locals perched on anything from old lawn chairs to milk crates to tarps spread out right on the floor. Dean spotted picnic baskets, and an array of beverages, more than a few of which were alcoholic. There was more than one guy circulating with a milk crate full of cold beer, and in one section, people were actually batting around a beach ball.
Dean decided the locals must regard this as a combination ball game/day at the circus. Jody led him to a seat (a folding chair) up near the front, and then sat beside him. On the other side of what was more or less an aisle, he saw the demon brothers, the Mammonites, sitting and scowling at him. They wore their human eyes, leading Dean to wonder how much of the crowd was human, and how many other demons were there.
“All rise!” bellowed the bailiff, and, to Dean’s surprise, the sorry crowd managed to quiet down somewhat get itself more or less on its feet. “The Court of the Honorable Judge Albert Swearengen, Magistrate of the Southwest Division of the Union of Unincorporated Free Territories, is now in session.”
Swearengen was clad in a black judge’s robe, though from his bloodshot eyes Dean wondered if he may have downed a bloody Mary for breakfast. Swearengen smashed his gavel on his desk, and with a curt, “Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, everybody,” court was in session.
The bailiff put a sheet of paper before Swearengen, and he donned half glasses to read it. After giving it a thorough perusal, he raised his eyes at the courtroom. He glared at Dean, who cringed, and then fixed his stare at the demons, who also shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
Swearengen held up the paper between two fingers, as if he intended to toss it away. “I got a complaint here about a fugitive from justice. You Mammonite boys now acting as employees of the Territories? ‘Cause if so I got some work for you, picking up trash around my residence.”
There were unmuffled guffaws from the audience. The smaller demon - Dean realized he didn’t know a name for either of them - rose and tried to salvage a shred of dignity. “Your honor. My brother and I, we were essaying the local surroundings….”
“Essaying? You were putting the local grounds to the test?”
“We was lookin’ around, Al,” said the smaller Mammonite. “Like we do.”
“You were surveying, you jackass! Now, don’t use a five dollar word with fifty cents of brains.”
The audience laughed again, and Dean struggled not to grin.
“An’ we came upon him!” said the smaller demon, making a dramatic sweeping gesture towards Dean. “He was lurking! Obviously not from these parts, and inveigling stolen merchandise from the East!”
“Inveigling?” sighed the judge.
“He stole a cop car, judge!”
“Why didn’t you just say that, you fucking moron!”
The audience was now openly roaring with laughter, and Dean noticed somewhere behind him the beach ball was back in the air.
“Judge,” said the larger Mammonite brother, who rose and put a big hand on his brother’s shoulder, shoving the smaller demon into his seat. “This man is clearly a fugitive! The Singer boy was trying to aid and abet this criminal. I say we need to hand him over to the authorities!”
“You want me to send him back East?” asked the judge. “You chipping in for a bus ticket?”
“Not at all, Judge Swearengen. I want us to think how this could put us in good stead with the authorities on the other side of the wall.”
The audience quieted down upon mention of Lucifer's wall.
“Ah. You want us to hand his ass over to Lucy,” said Swearengen. This time there was no laughing, just hushed murmurs from the audience. Dean gulped. Jody surreptitiously reached over and patted his leg.
“It’s no secret that those to the West have their eye out over the Unincorporated Territories,” the big Mammonite continued as the hushed conversations in the audience continued. “The war won’t last forever. And afterwards, they may look favorably towards those of us who have recognized their authority.”
“Aw. So this is gonna make Lucy our newest fucking friend?” asked the judge.
“It’s no secret: the angels have vast and unknowable powers. Powers they can selfishly keep for their own gains,” he said shooting a scowl at Castiel, who glowered back, “or powers they can share, powers that could turn this shithole into a decent town.”
“Won’t be decent with you in it,” someone snarked from the audience.
“Hey, I could have you removed!” yelled Swearengen, banging his gavel. “And then you’d have to entertain your damn fool self for the rest of the morning.”
“Think of the bargain!” continued the Mammonite. “One Eastern traitor, for the potential of untold wealth and glory!”
Dean found he was slumping in his seat. He really had no idea why Lucifer would have the slightest interest in him, but he had absolutely no inclination to find out. Whose idea had it been to crash the wall and go get Sammy? Oh....
“All right! Enough fucking riches. I wanna see what Singer has to say about this. Bobby,” said Swearengen. “Bobby! You found this guy?”
“My boy fround him! Cas did!”
“Did you bring your boy here today?”
“Cas is right here,” said Bobby, pointing to the chair next to him.
“That’s Cas?” asked Swearengen, looking the angel, who was still irritably yanking at his tie. “What the fuck did you do to him? Boy looks almost human.”
“Of course it’s me, Al,” grumbled Cas as the audience chuckled.
“Then get your ass in the witness chair, boy!” ordered Swearengen. Cas rose to his feet and ambled over to the witness stand, pulling uncomfortably on his tie.
The bailiff held up a bible, and Cas put a hand on it. “You’re Castiel, the Singer kid?” demanded Swearengen.
“I am none other,” said Cas. For once, Dean thought, he seemed almost equal to that voice. He noticed the people listening had quieted down again.
“Then sit your ass down. And don’t fucking lie, or I’ll come and kick the tar out of you,” warned Swearengen.
Cas cast a distinctly unpleasant glance at Swearengen, but sat down without making the comeback that was doubtless on the tip of his tongue. He also glanced at Dean and nodded slightly.
“Now,” said Swearengen, “you are the individual who found Mr. Winchester?”
“I am,” said Cas.
“Well, don’t just sit there, tell us what happened!” said the judge.
“I viewed Mr. Winchester’s vehicle descending from the heavens, looking for all the world like a lost shooting star.”
“WHAT?” shouted the big Mammonite. “What is this bullshit?”
“Aw shut your face, we already heard from you, dickless,” said Swearengen, pounding his gavel. “Go on, kid.”
“I arrived at the site, to find a once proud ship lying broken on the desert, the wreckage licked by flames of a terrible nature. In the soft orange glow, weird against the early dawn, I affixed the legal markers of my employer, Singer Salvage, to the perimeter, as specified by the International Code of Salvage Law, subsection 4-v-b-iii.”
“That's a damn good subsection,” commented Swearengen. “Go on.”
“It was at this point,” Cas told the now fairly hushed audience, “in the cold light of the desert, an awareness of a living presence, a beating heart, trapped inside the wreckage permeated my consciousness. I worked swiftly, and retrieved the man you see before you today, Dean Winchester, from the bowels of the wreckage and certain death.”
“Now, see, you dumb bastards, that's testimony!” said Swearengen, who had retrieved a flask from his robes and was unscrewing it.
“It is for this reason,” Castiel continued when the scattered applause and whoops from the gallery had subsided, “Mr. Winchester's presence inside my legally placed markers, that I declare him to be part and parcel of our lawful salvage.”
Dean blinked. This was news to him. He glanced over at Bobby, who was nodding.
“WHAT!” screamed the big Mammonite, who had leapt to his feet. “That's ridiculous.”
“What I said!” Swearengen yelled back at him. “Sit the fuck down, or I'll have the bailiff do it for you. That's loaded with rock salt, you dumb motherfucker.” And, indeed, the bailiff had a shotgun he was pointing directly at the big Mammonite's gut. The Mammonite frowned, but sat down again.
Swearengen turned to Cas. “So. You say he's your salvage?” he asked, generously lacing his coffee with something from the flask.
“That is my claim,” said Castiel.
“Well,” said Swearengen, “sounds reasonable to me.”
Both Mammonite brothers began to protest again, but the judge just pointed a gavel in his direction. “All right then, enough of this bullshit,” said Swearengen, taking a big gulp of his spiked coffee. “I now declare the pilot, Mr. Dean Winchester, the legal property of Singer Salvage. You do what you want with him, kid,” he added to Cas.
“Thank you, your honor,” Cas told Swearengen, but he was grinning at Dean.
Sam Winchester was playing poker.
And, as had often happened to him lately, he was losing.
Badly.
“Aw, it just isn’t my night,” he sighed, throwing his hand on the table, face down.
“You are the worst fucking poker player in existence,” sighed Rufus, who threw his own cards down as well. “The worst in existence.”
“Well, I gotta blame my shithead brother. He taught me everything I know!” said Sam.
“Please convey our thanks to your brother,” laughed one of Sam’s opponents, a red-eyed demon named Asmodeus.
“Well, I’m tapped,” said Sam, standing up.
“You know, it's really too bad,” mused Balthazar, who was somehow neither winning nor losing.
“How is that?” asked Asmodeus.
“Our charming young friend,” said Balthazar, raising a hand to indicate Sam. “Wasting his time at the poker table....”
“I wouldn't call it wasted, friend,” said Asmodeus, holding up his chips.
“....when I'm sure the townsfolk would be favorably inclined towards him. Especially, if I may say so, the young ladies.”
Asmodeus was quiet, his eyes now flicking between Sam and Balthazar. Sam smiled sweetly, trying to look a little oblivious.
“He's new here,” said Asmodeus. “A little soon to be put on the trustees list.”
“Oh, that's too bad. And who makes up this list?” asked Balthazar.
“You know damned well who makes the list, Balthazar,” said Asmodeus.
“Well, you would only be doing yourself a favor, my friend,” Balthazar told Asmodeus. “I know the vendors in town would most definitely give this young man some fair-minded trades.”
“Oh, like you don’t charm the pants off them already, Balthy,” said Asmodeus.
“It’s a curse!” sighed Balthazar.
Asmodeus gave Sam a searching look. “You wouldn't run off on me, would you?” Asmodeus asked him.
“Uh. What would happen if I even tried?” asked Sam.
“Well, your skin would be boiled off. For one thing,” said Asmodeus. “But it doesn't keep some idiots from trying!”
“Huh. Skin boiling doesn't sound like that matches my present ambitions. To, uh, live,” grinned Sam.
“You're not gonna fuck me, are you, Balthazar?” asked Asmodeus.
“Oh, my dear, you are quite comely for a prison guard, but unfortunately, not my type,” winked Balthazar.
Sam nodded to the group, and then he and Rufus took their leave. This was not a bunkhouse; it was actually a guard house, so it was a little more comfortable, with a real poker table and actual chairs. The black-eyes weren't much in evidence around the camp tonight. It had taken Sam a while, as their uniforms often didn't indicate it, but Rufus had advised him early on that a lot of surviving was “knowing your demon sons a bitches.” Everybody (including Balthazar, he suspected, though the guy seemed to know everything) was pretty vague on why the differences. Rumor was that the black-eyes answered directly to Lucifer, or one of his lieutenants. The red-eyes seemed to have different loyalties. Sam had observed that it was pretty easy to reason with the red-eyes, especially if there was money or goods in it for them.
“So, um, Rufus?”
“Yeah?”
“That's whole deal about getting your skin boiled off. Was that guy on the level?”
“I honestly don't know. It's the black-eyes who do the anti-escape spells. And they have, what do you call it, a sense of humor about it.”
“You ever seen anybody try to escape?”
Rufus nodded. “Yeah, it wasn't pretty. Wasn't much left of him, truth be told. And they never fired a shot.”
“Sounds horrible,” said Sam. He didn't really know what else to say. And the unspoken question, we're all trying to get out of here?
Rufus nodded, perhaps sensing what was on Sam's mind. “When I say, be careful, kid,” said Rufus. “Then you'll know I mean it.”
Jody had insisted on escorting them back to Singer Salvage. Dean noticed that she, Bobby and Cas were all openly carrying arms.
When they all stopped at the gate, Bobby asked, “How long you think we've got?”
“I dunno,” said Jody, shaking her head. “By the look of those Mammonites, maybe nightfall. I'll do what I can. I got calls out for some law enforcement folks in the surrounding territories. But you need to get your salvage to higher ground, if you know what I mean,” she added, glancing at Dean.
Bobby nodded. Pausing just to give Dean a hug, Jody departed.
“Can I ask what's going on?” said Dean as they entered the salvage yard. Bobby locked the gate, but they left Cas there. Cas held out a hand, and seemed to be muttering some kind of chant at the gate.
“Looks like we just bought you some time, kid,” said Bobby. “Cas can shore up our defenses. But the Mammonites smell a reward, and now they've got a few allies. We gotta find a place for you to go to ground. At least 'til this blows over.”
“We will take him to find his brother,” said Cas, who was striding up behind them.
“Kid, are you out of your motherfucking mind?” asked Bobby.
“I have a plan,” said Castiel.
“You? A plan? Well, I gotta hear this!” said Bobby.
“I will take Dean to my brother.”
“Oh, that's just brilliant, Cas! One dumb ass takes another dumb ass to see the world's biggest dumb ass!”
“My brother will doubtlessly be able to divine where Sam is being held,” said Cas. “He is very powerful. And wise,” he told Dean.
“He's a idjit!” said Bobby. “An angel idjit is still a idjit!”
“Wait,” said Dean. “This guy, your brother: you say he can locate Sammy?”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Cas.
“Of that I have every goddam doubt,” grumbled Bobby.
“Would he be able to tell...” Dean looked at Cas, his eyes pleading. “I just wanna know if he's OK.”
Now both Dean and Cas were staring at Bobby. “Oh for the love of...” he muttered. “You wanna crawl through enemy territory, check on your brother, and then just amble on back?”
“I have made the journey numerous times, Bobby,” Cas told him.
“Not with a damn fugitive cop from the East you haven't,” Bobby reminded him.
“We will go, and determine the status of Sam Winchester. This will have the added effect of removing Dean from a potentially volatile situation,” said Cas.
“Damn jailhouse lawyer,” said Bobby. “Well, if I had a better plan, I'd offer it up.” He aimed a scowl at Cas. “Pack up.”
Dean and Cas looked at each other as if they were two kids who Dad had just cleared to take the family car.
Cas inclined his head at Dean, and ran off, Dean at his heels.
The room that was evidently Castiel's shared décor with Bobby's living room: there were books literally everywhere, including piled up on top of the bed. Dean pushed a stack aside and sat down there while Cas threw things in his pack.
“Uh, Cas?”
“Yes Dean?”
“Do you … sleep?” Dean winced, as he didn't want to offend. But angels were strange, so he thought it was a fair question. Or at least the one angel he knew was pretty strange.
“Of course,” said Cas. “Not so much as I did when I was younger. But that's one way we talk to each other. Dreams.” He considered a pistol, frowned, put it back on the shelf, and took a knife instead.
“Uh. You can talk … in dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know,” said Dean. He looked at the high stack of literature beside him. “So. You read all these books?”
“I have read all of Bobby's books.”
“Wait, all of them? I mean, the living room is full,” said Dean. And he was pretty sure too that not all of them were even in English.
“There are more in back. More books,” grinned Cas.
“And you've read all of them?”
“Some of them multiple times,” Cas told Dean.
“Really?” asked Dean, who had never been much for reading, but suddenly found himself reconsidering.
“Because of an accident of birth, I find to my dismay I have a paucity of knowledge regarding the world. Bobby's place is a repository of knowledge, from quotidian to arcane lore.”
“Have you been outside the Territories before?” Dean asked.
“I have been to see my brother in the West on a number of occasions. But that is the limit to my experience beyond No Man’s Land.
“Oh, I hadn't thought of it that way,” said Dean, who had a book open on his lap. He realized he couldn't read it. And in fact, he had never seen these particular symbols before. “What is this anyway?” He looked up in astonishment, as Cas was suddenly sitting right beside him, leaning over the book, his head just inches from Dean's.
“This is Enochian,” said Cas, running his fingers reverently over the pages. “It's our language.”
“This is the angel language?” asked Dean, glancing to the side. “Could you read some of it?”
Cas pulled the book into his lap. As his fingers danced along the pages, he began to mutter in a strange, unearthly sounding language. It sounded … old, although Dean couldn’t actually put his finger on why.
Cas stopped abruptly. Dean glanced over to see Cas was staring at him, though for once, he wasn’t wearing that cocky grin. Dean at once realized why Bobby had thought he might have recognized Cas for an angel: he really didn’t look quite human. The unnerving way he held your gaze was part of it.
“Do you remember heaven?” Dean asked.
The eyes dropped, and Cas closed up the book, as if closing off the memories. Cas shook his head. “Not well. I was…” he looked back up, into Dean’s eyes. “Very young.”
Dean couldn’t help staring. Did any humans have eyes that particular shade of blue? It was like small panes of the sky, staring back at him.
There was a loud thunk at the window. Cas immediately hopped up and looked outside. Dean hastened after him. It was the Mammonites: they were standing outside the fence, along with a small but angry looking posse.
“Cas!” Bobby yelled from another room. “You kids ready!”
“We’ve got to go,” said Cas, grabbing his pack. “Come on.”
They ran back down to the living room where, to Dean’s surprise, Bobby opened a door that led to the basement level. He helped Bobby and Cas move some furniture and the inevitable books away from what looked like a random section of the basement floor. There was a trap door underneath the rug, signs and squiggles scribbled all over it. Bobby paused and said something that sounded like Latin, and some of the signs started to glow. Then Cas said a few more words, and Dean heard what sounded like a lock clicking. Cas pulled up the door: there was a ladder going straight down. He couldn’t see the end of the ladder, which was lost down in the darkness.
“Be sure to lock it from your side once you’re down,” said Bobby, handing Dean a flashlight.
“Will you be OK?” Dean asked Bobby.
“I’ll be fine. Jody’s already gone for reinforcements. But they’ll lose interest once they see you’re not here. You boys be careful! Don’t trust anyone on that other side of Lucy’s wall.”
“Except my brother,” said Cas.
“Especially your damn brother,” grumbled Bobby.
Cas made to step on the ladder, but suddenly turned back. He looked uncertainly at Bobby. And for once, he looked very young, Dean thought.
“Yeah. C’mere,” said Bobby, holding out his arms.
And then Cas was over embracing Bobby. “Be careful, you little shit,” said Bobby, patting his back. “And you, too!” he warned Dean. “Anything happens, I’ll come after you and kick both your asses.”
Cas nodded. He gestured for Dean to take the ladder, and then he followed after. Dean looked up as Bobby lowered the trap door, and the world turned dark. He clicked on his flashlight and stuck it in his mouth. The ladder led down to a small passageway, only a few inches higher than Dean’s head, and barely wide enough for the two of them to walk through abreast.
“Tunnel?” asked Dean.
“Yeah,” said Cas. “Bobby is a paranoid bastard.”
“Bobby is awesome,” said Dean.
“Yeah. That too.” Cas smiled. Dean noticed he didn’t bother with a flashlight.
“So, this doesn’t go…?” asked Dean.
“It comes up on our side of the wall. Bobby isn’t quite so omnipotent as that. But don’t worry, Dean. I know how to get through.”
After they walked for what may have been a mile, the tunnel ended in yet another ladder, and they emerged in a stand of scrub right in the shadow of the wall. Dean stared up at it as Cas fixed down the hatch. And Dean had thought to stupidly fly right over this thing? It was a lot taller than he had expected. He felt a little like he was standing at the bottom of a dam. And maybe waiting to get flooded.
“It’s this way. Come on,” said Cas. He frowned down at Dean’s feet. “Are you going to obtain sufficient support from that footwear?” he asked.
Dean shrugged. He looked Cas up and down and laughed. “Dude. You never changed out of your suit!”
Cas flipped his tie. “It is of little consequence for me. Let me know if you are experiencing difficulty. Perhaps my brother will outfit you when we reach him.”
“I feel like we’re going to see the Wizard of Oz,” laughed Dean as they both started walking.
Cas thought it over for a moment. “Oh, yes, I’ve read those books.”
“There are books?” asked Dean.
Castiel looked confused. “But my brother, unlike the Wizard, is not a fraud,” he assured Dean.
What we need is a dog, thought Sam.
Whatever wheeling and dealing Balthazar had pulled backstage, it had worked, and Sam had suddenly showed up on the list of prisoners assigned to trading with the nearby towns.
He sat in the back of the heavily laden pickup truck, watching the world go by. It felt strange to be beyond the bounds of the camp. How long had he been here? Six months? That sounded about right. He seemed to be living outside time.
It was also weird to not have Rufus hovering nearby. When he’d asked the older man why he wasn’t on the list for trading duty, Rufus had just laughed and said, “Frankly, would you trust me? Because I wouldn’t.” Rufus had actually managed a pretty sweet deal, where he got to work in one of the gardens, puttering around growing something he called heirloom tomatoes and suchlike. It was all more or less under the table, but the red-eyes liked it since a big cut (ie, most of it) got kicked back to them. They were supposed to be delivering bulk items, like the bags of sunflower seeds piled around Sam. So it was Sam plus goofy Ash and serious Victor in the back of the truck.
The truck jerked to a halt, and Sam was nearly thrown out. Demons can’t fucking drive, he mused, thinking about how disgusted Dean would be.
“Hey, start unloading up there!” one of the guards yelled. Sam smiled. This was the last stop today, so that barked order would be the last you’d see of those guys for several hours. He watched the driver and the other guard wander off to find a bar, and grabbed a bag of seeds.
“Catch you on the rebound, Mr. Big!” hailed Ash, who hopped down and disappeared, as he always did. Victor rolled his eyes, hefted a bag, and went his own way, making a delivery.
Sam noticed a customer walking up. Still lost in thought, he grabbed a bag and held it out over the edge of the truck bed.
“Hey, tall dark and gruesome!”
Sam looked down, around the big burlap bag he was holding. There was a tiny brunette standing down there, hands on her hips, scowling up at him, foot tapping impatiently.
She was really cute.
Really, really cute.
“You expect me to carry that shit or what?” she asked, gesturing at the bag. “I’m just a frail girl, dumbass.”
“Well, since you asked so charmingly,” grinned Sam, hopping down. “Where are we headed?”
“Just down the street,” she said, nodding her head, and acting slightly more friendly. “My folks own a general store.”
“General store?” asked Sam. Jackpot. He hefted the bag. “That sounds nice.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s about as thrilling as watching paint dry.” He followed her down the street. Nice ass. Not that he was noticing.
“So, I’m Sam,” he said.
“Did I ask?”
“No. But I answered anyway,” he told her.
She huffed impatiently and looked back, shaking her head. She opened the door of a small storefront, and gestured for Sam to come inside. “Just dump it any old where, I don’t care,” she told him. Sam put the bag down on the floor and looked around, wiping his hands. It all looked a bit dusty. Maybe that was why she was in such a bad mood?
“Don’t get much business these days?” asked Sam.
“Oh, yeah, customers are breaking down the doors to come to my store in the middle of a fucking war zone,” she grumbled. She scribbled out a note and handed it to him. “Your receipt.”
“I don’t need one,” said Sam.
“Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“First bag, on the house,” he smiled. And then he nodded and made for the door. He exited, and walked back down the block. He was about halfway back when he heard the door slam again.
“Hey, Sam!” she shouted.
“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.
“Ruby,” she shouted. “The name’s Ruby.”
“Ruby,” repeated Sam, grinning and ambling off.
The walk to Cas' supposed wall crossing point was not a short one, but Dean was surprised to find that the wall actually petered out as you got north. It got noticeably shorter, with much fewer markings. And then the concrete wall stopped completely.
“A chain link fence?” asked Dean. “Really? I mean, really?”
“It isn’t merely a chain link fence,” smiled Cas. “As you probably realize by now. Here is a good place,” he said, stopping at a spot that looked very much like the rest of it. “Stand back a little,” he told Dean. He closed his eyes and held out a hand, palm outwards, towards the fence. The fence glowed softly, and Dean was pretty sure he heard a slight hum.
“This won’t last long. Come on,” said Cas, hastening up a small incline towards the fence. He and Dean stood on the hill, the fence at about their eye level. As it turned out, the bottom of the fence wasn’t well attached to the ground here, so Dean helped Cas pull out a section big enough for a man to scramble through. He gave Cas a leg up, and the angel easily slipped through.
And then Cas turned around and extended a hand to help Dean up.
“Hurry. My spell won’t last long.”
Dean took a last look around. Well, we’re off to see the wizard, he thought.
And then he grabbed on to Cas’ hand, and wriggled under the fence, and into Lucifer’s domain.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/122840.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.
Word Count: 45,000 total
Summary: The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and then rent our world in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, a tough ex-cop, risks everything to search for him.
Notes: This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. The character of Al Swearengen has been shamelessly stolen, with love, from the Deadwood 'verse.
Dean didn't much remember his own mother, but he had decided that if he did, Sheriff Mills would have reminded him of her. She slightly resembled the one picture he had kept, a fine-boned, smiling-eyed woman. If what Cas kept implying was right, and Bobby was a little sweet on her, well, then Bobby was a man with good taste.
“Bobby, can’t you stay out of trouble even a week?” she had mock-sighed when she had shown up that morning, clattering in in her jeep. She hauled in a great pile of clothes.
“I'm lost without you. Oh, this is great,” said Bobby, picking up a black suit. “Cas has gotten too damned tall for anything I own.”
“I don't see why I need to wear a suit for Swearengen,” Cas muttered darkly.
“Castiel,” said Jody softly. He looked at her, evidently startled at the sound of his full name. “Be an angel for Bobby? For me?”
Cas' cheeks blazed a bright pink, and he silently took up the suit and left the room, Bobby dogging his tracks. “I don't need help!” Cas was muttering.
“Kid, you can't tie a tie to save your immortal soul!” laughed Bobby.
“Castiel?” Dean asked Jody.
“That's his proper angel name. Not that there's a ton of proper folks in this neck of the woods,” laughed Jody. “The -el part means 'of God.'”
“Oh, I didn't know.”
“They're a little shy about it, those angels. And for good reason. It’s funny, really,” she said, as her eyes got a far off look. “But when Cas first came to live with Bobby, we had him in my son’s clothes.”
“Your son?” he asked.
“My … late son,” she said. “I lost my family, my son and my husband, just before I came out here.”
“You’re from the West?”
“Yes, originally. And Bobby: his wife had just passed away, about the same time.”
“A lot of people … lost someone,” Dean said awkwardly.
“But then his brother showed up with Cas, and that’s kept us busy. Now,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “I don't have a suit that would fit you, but it might be good to put on something that isn't...” she waved her hand at his uniform.
“Doesn't look quite so conspicuous?” asked Dean. He nodded. He shrugged out of his charred uniform jacket and tugged on a couple of jackets Jody had brought over. “I think this one fits OK,” he said, flexing his arms in the weather-beaten old leather jacket. “Your husband’s?” he asked. Jody nodded. “I'll get it back to you!”
“Naw. Keep it. He can't use it where he is,” Jody said sadly, but any further conversation was interrupted by then entrance of Bobby, who was fussing over Cas.
“Will you quit fiddlin’ with your damned tie, kid?”
“I cannot testify if I am the victim of strangulation,” grumbled Cas, loosening the tie. Dean whistled low. The suit was about a size too big, but Bobby had managed to transform the angel from some kind of feral creature to a kid you wouldn’t think twice about if he showed up on your doorstep peddling Bible magazines.
“Come on now,” said Jody, re-straightening Cas’ tie. “I gotta get your asses to court, or Al will have my ass.”
After a dusty ride in Jody’s jeep, Cas and Bobby following behind in a rattletrap pickup truck, Dean found that “court,” such as it was, was located in a prefab sheet metal structure situated, as was most everything here, nearby to absolutely nothing at all. Dean entered along with Jody and Bobby and Cas, expecting to find it was deserted, and was dumbstruck by the number of people bustling around.
“Where the hell did all these … people come from?” he asked.
“They come from hundreds of miles for Al’s court,” laughed Bobby.
Someone had rustled up an actual antique oak desk and chair for the judge, but the rest looked catch as catch can, and the public seating area was filled with locals perched on anything from old lawn chairs to milk crates to tarps spread out right on the floor. Dean spotted picnic baskets, and an array of beverages, more than a few of which were alcoholic. There was more than one guy circulating with a milk crate full of cold beer, and in one section, people were actually batting around a beach ball.
Dean decided the locals must regard this as a combination ball game/day at the circus. Jody led him to a seat (a folding chair) up near the front, and then sat beside him. On the other side of what was more or less an aisle, he saw the demon brothers, the Mammonites, sitting and scowling at him. They wore their human eyes, leading Dean to wonder how much of the crowd was human, and how many other demons were there.
“All rise!” bellowed the bailiff, and, to Dean’s surprise, the sorry crowd managed to quiet down somewhat get itself more or less on its feet. “The Court of the Honorable Judge Albert Swearengen, Magistrate of the Southwest Division of the Union of Unincorporated Free Territories, is now in session.”
Swearengen was clad in a black judge’s robe, though from his bloodshot eyes Dean wondered if he may have downed a bloody Mary for breakfast. Swearengen smashed his gavel on his desk, and with a curt, “Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, everybody,” court was in session.
The bailiff put a sheet of paper before Swearengen, and he donned half glasses to read it. After giving it a thorough perusal, he raised his eyes at the courtroom. He glared at Dean, who cringed, and then fixed his stare at the demons, who also shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
Swearengen held up the paper between two fingers, as if he intended to toss it away. “I got a complaint here about a fugitive from justice. You Mammonite boys now acting as employees of the Territories? ‘Cause if so I got some work for you, picking up trash around my residence.”
There were unmuffled guffaws from the audience. The smaller demon - Dean realized he didn’t know a name for either of them - rose and tried to salvage a shred of dignity. “Your honor. My brother and I, we were essaying the local surroundings….”
“Essaying? You were putting the local grounds to the test?”
“We was lookin’ around, Al,” said the smaller Mammonite. “Like we do.”
“You were surveying, you jackass! Now, don’t use a five dollar word with fifty cents of brains.”
The audience laughed again, and Dean struggled not to grin.
“An’ we came upon him!” said the smaller demon, making a dramatic sweeping gesture towards Dean. “He was lurking! Obviously not from these parts, and inveigling stolen merchandise from the East!”
“Inveigling?” sighed the judge.
“He stole a cop car, judge!”
“Why didn’t you just say that, you fucking moron!”
The audience was now openly roaring with laughter, and Dean noticed somewhere behind him the beach ball was back in the air.
“Judge,” said the larger Mammonite brother, who rose and put a big hand on his brother’s shoulder, shoving the smaller demon into his seat. “This man is clearly a fugitive! The Singer boy was trying to aid and abet this criminal. I say we need to hand him over to the authorities!”
“You want me to send him back East?” asked the judge. “You chipping in for a bus ticket?”
“Not at all, Judge Swearengen. I want us to think how this could put us in good stead with the authorities on the other side of the wall.”
The audience quieted down upon mention of Lucifer's wall.
“Ah. You want us to hand his ass over to Lucy,” said Swearengen. This time there was no laughing, just hushed murmurs from the audience. Dean gulped. Jody surreptitiously reached over and patted his leg.
“It’s no secret that those to the West have their eye out over the Unincorporated Territories,” the big Mammonite continued as the hushed conversations in the audience continued. “The war won’t last forever. And afterwards, they may look favorably towards those of us who have recognized their authority.”
“Aw. So this is gonna make Lucy our newest fucking friend?” asked the judge.
“It’s no secret: the angels have vast and unknowable powers. Powers they can selfishly keep for their own gains,” he said shooting a scowl at Castiel, who glowered back, “or powers they can share, powers that could turn this shithole into a decent town.”
“Won’t be decent with you in it,” someone snarked from the audience.
“Hey, I could have you removed!” yelled Swearengen, banging his gavel. “And then you’d have to entertain your damn fool self for the rest of the morning.”
“Think of the bargain!” continued the Mammonite. “One Eastern traitor, for the potential of untold wealth and glory!”
Dean found he was slumping in his seat. He really had no idea why Lucifer would have the slightest interest in him, but he had absolutely no inclination to find out. Whose idea had it been to crash the wall and go get Sammy? Oh....
“All right! Enough fucking riches. I wanna see what Singer has to say about this. Bobby,” said Swearengen. “Bobby! You found this guy?”
“My boy fround him! Cas did!”
“Did you bring your boy here today?”
“Cas is right here,” said Bobby, pointing to the chair next to him.
“That’s Cas?” asked Swearengen, looking the angel, who was still irritably yanking at his tie. “What the fuck did you do to him? Boy looks almost human.”
“Of course it’s me, Al,” grumbled Cas as the audience chuckled.
“Then get your ass in the witness chair, boy!” ordered Swearengen. Cas rose to his feet and ambled over to the witness stand, pulling uncomfortably on his tie.
The bailiff held up a bible, and Cas put a hand on it. “You’re Castiel, the Singer kid?” demanded Swearengen.
“I am none other,” said Cas. For once, Dean thought, he seemed almost equal to that voice. He noticed the people listening had quieted down again.
“Then sit your ass down. And don’t fucking lie, or I’ll come and kick the tar out of you,” warned Swearengen.
Cas cast a distinctly unpleasant glance at Swearengen, but sat down without making the comeback that was doubtless on the tip of his tongue. He also glanced at Dean and nodded slightly.
“Now,” said Swearengen, “you are the individual who found Mr. Winchester?”
“I am,” said Cas.
“Well, don’t just sit there, tell us what happened!” said the judge.
“I viewed Mr. Winchester’s vehicle descending from the heavens, looking for all the world like a lost shooting star.”
“WHAT?” shouted the big Mammonite. “What is this bullshit?”
“Aw shut your face, we already heard from you, dickless,” said Swearengen, pounding his gavel. “Go on, kid.”
“I arrived at the site, to find a once proud ship lying broken on the desert, the wreckage licked by flames of a terrible nature. In the soft orange glow, weird against the early dawn, I affixed the legal markers of my employer, Singer Salvage, to the perimeter, as specified by the International Code of Salvage Law, subsection 4-v-b-iii.”
“That's a damn good subsection,” commented Swearengen. “Go on.”
“It was at this point,” Cas told the now fairly hushed audience, “in the cold light of the desert, an awareness of a living presence, a beating heart, trapped inside the wreckage permeated my consciousness. I worked swiftly, and retrieved the man you see before you today, Dean Winchester, from the bowels of the wreckage and certain death.”
“Now, see, you dumb bastards, that's testimony!” said Swearengen, who had retrieved a flask from his robes and was unscrewing it.
“It is for this reason,” Castiel continued when the scattered applause and whoops from the gallery had subsided, “Mr. Winchester's presence inside my legally placed markers, that I declare him to be part and parcel of our lawful salvage.”
Dean blinked. This was news to him. He glanced over at Bobby, who was nodding.
“WHAT!” screamed the big Mammonite, who had leapt to his feet. “That's ridiculous.”
“What I said!” Swearengen yelled back at him. “Sit the fuck down, or I'll have the bailiff do it for you. That's loaded with rock salt, you dumb motherfucker.” And, indeed, the bailiff had a shotgun he was pointing directly at the big Mammonite's gut. The Mammonite frowned, but sat down again.
Swearengen turned to Cas. “So. You say he's your salvage?” he asked, generously lacing his coffee with something from the flask.
“That is my claim,” said Castiel.
“Well,” said Swearengen, “sounds reasonable to me.”
Both Mammonite brothers began to protest again, but the judge just pointed a gavel in his direction. “All right then, enough of this bullshit,” said Swearengen, taking a big gulp of his spiked coffee. “I now declare the pilot, Mr. Dean Winchester, the legal property of Singer Salvage. You do what you want with him, kid,” he added to Cas.
“Thank you, your honor,” Cas told Swearengen, but he was grinning at Dean.
Sam Winchester was playing poker.
And, as had often happened to him lately, he was losing.
Badly.
“Aw, it just isn’t my night,” he sighed, throwing his hand on the table, face down.
“You are the worst fucking poker player in existence,” sighed Rufus, who threw his own cards down as well. “The worst in existence.”
“Well, I gotta blame my shithead brother. He taught me everything I know!” said Sam.
“Please convey our thanks to your brother,” laughed one of Sam’s opponents, a red-eyed demon named Asmodeus.
“Well, I’m tapped,” said Sam, standing up.
“You know, it's really too bad,” mused Balthazar, who was somehow neither winning nor losing.
“How is that?” asked Asmodeus.
“Our charming young friend,” said Balthazar, raising a hand to indicate Sam. “Wasting his time at the poker table....”
“I wouldn't call it wasted, friend,” said Asmodeus, holding up his chips.
“....when I'm sure the townsfolk would be favorably inclined towards him. Especially, if I may say so, the young ladies.”
Asmodeus was quiet, his eyes now flicking between Sam and Balthazar. Sam smiled sweetly, trying to look a little oblivious.
“He's new here,” said Asmodeus. “A little soon to be put on the trustees list.”
“Oh, that's too bad. And who makes up this list?” asked Balthazar.
“You know damned well who makes the list, Balthazar,” said Asmodeus.
“Well, you would only be doing yourself a favor, my friend,” Balthazar told Asmodeus. “I know the vendors in town would most definitely give this young man some fair-minded trades.”
“Oh, like you don’t charm the pants off them already, Balthy,” said Asmodeus.
“It’s a curse!” sighed Balthazar.
Asmodeus gave Sam a searching look. “You wouldn't run off on me, would you?” Asmodeus asked him.
“Uh. What would happen if I even tried?” asked Sam.
“Well, your skin would be boiled off. For one thing,” said Asmodeus. “But it doesn't keep some idiots from trying!”
“Huh. Skin boiling doesn't sound like that matches my present ambitions. To, uh, live,” grinned Sam.
“You're not gonna fuck me, are you, Balthazar?” asked Asmodeus.
“Oh, my dear, you are quite comely for a prison guard, but unfortunately, not my type,” winked Balthazar.
Sam nodded to the group, and then he and Rufus took their leave. This was not a bunkhouse; it was actually a guard house, so it was a little more comfortable, with a real poker table and actual chairs. The black-eyes weren't much in evidence around the camp tonight. It had taken Sam a while, as their uniforms often didn't indicate it, but Rufus had advised him early on that a lot of surviving was “knowing your demon sons a bitches.” Everybody (including Balthazar, he suspected, though the guy seemed to know everything) was pretty vague on why the differences. Rumor was that the black-eyes answered directly to Lucifer, or one of his lieutenants. The red-eyes seemed to have different loyalties. Sam had observed that it was pretty easy to reason with the red-eyes, especially if there was money or goods in it for them.
“So, um, Rufus?”
“Yeah?”
“That's whole deal about getting your skin boiled off. Was that guy on the level?”
“I honestly don't know. It's the black-eyes who do the anti-escape spells. And they have, what do you call it, a sense of humor about it.”
“You ever seen anybody try to escape?”
Rufus nodded. “Yeah, it wasn't pretty. Wasn't much left of him, truth be told. And they never fired a shot.”
“Sounds horrible,” said Sam. He didn't really know what else to say. And the unspoken question, we're all trying to get out of here?
Rufus nodded, perhaps sensing what was on Sam's mind. “When I say, be careful, kid,” said Rufus. “Then you'll know I mean it.”
Jody had insisted on escorting them back to Singer Salvage. Dean noticed that she, Bobby and Cas were all openly carrying arms.
When they all stopped at the gate, Bobby asked, “How long you think we've got?”
“I dunno,” said Jody, shaking her head. “By the look of those Mammonites, maybe nightfall. I'll do what I can. I got calls out for some law enforcement folks in the surrounding territories. But you need to get your salvage to higher ground, if you know what I mean,” she added, glancing at Dean.
Bobby nodded. Pausing just to give Dean a hug, Jody departed.
“Can I ask what's going on?” said Dean as they entered the salvage yard. Bobby locked the gate, but they left Cas there. Cas held out a hand, and seemed to be muttering some kind of chant at the gate.
“Looks like we just bought you some time, kid,” said Bobby. “Cas can shore up our defenses. But the Mammonites smell a reward, and now they've got a few allies. We gotta find a place for you to go to ground. At least 'til this blows over.”
“We will take him to find his brother,” said Cas, who was striding up behind them.
“Kid, are you out of your motherfucking mind?” asked Bobby.
“I have a plan,” said Castiel.
“You? A plan? Well, I gotta hear this!” said Bobby.
“I will take Dean to my brother.”
“Oh, that's just brilliant, Cas! One dumb ass takes another dumb ass to see the world's biggest dumb ass!”
“My brother will doubtlessly be able to divine where Sam is being held,” said Cas. “He is very powerful. And wise,” he told Dean.
“He's a idjit!” said Bobby. “An angel idjit is still a idjit!”
“Wait,” said Dean. “This guy, your brother: you say he can locate Sammy?”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Cas.
“Of that I have every goddam doubt,” grumbled Bobby.
“Would he be able to tell...” Dean looked at Cas, his eyes pleading. “I just wanna know if he's OK.”
Now both Dean and Cas were staring at Bobby. “Oh for the love of...” he muttered. “You wanna crawl through enemy territory, check on your brother, and then just amble on back?”
“I have made the journey numerous times, Bobby,” Cas told him.
“Not with a damn fugitive cop from the East you haven't,” Bobby reminded him.
“We will go, and determine the status of Sam Winchester. This will have the added effect of removing Dean from a potentially volatile situation,” said Cas.
“Damn jailhouse lawyer,” said Bobby. “Well, if I had a better plan, I'd offer it up.” He aimed a scowl at Cas. “Pack up.”
Dean and Cas looked at each other as if they were two kids who Dad had just cleared to take the family car.
Cas inclined his head at Dean, and ran off, Dean at his heels.
The room that was evidently Castiel's shared décor with Bobby's living room: there were books literally everywhere, including piled up on top of the bed. Dean pushed a stack aside and sat down there while Cas threw things in his pack.
“Uh, Cas?”
“Yes Dean?”
“Do you … sleep?” Dean winced, as he didn't want to offend. But angels were strange, so he thought it was a fair question. Or at least the one angel he knew was pretty strange.
“Of course,” said Cas. “Not so much as I did when I was younger. But that's one way we talk to each other. Dreams.” He considered a pistol, frowned, put it back on the shelf, and took a knife instead.
“Uh. You can talk … in dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know,” said Dean. He looked at the high stack of literature beside him. “So. You read all these books?”
“I have read all of Bobby's books.”
“Wait, all of them? I mean, the living room is full,” said Dean. And he was pretty sure too that not all of them were even in English.
“There are more in back. More books,” grinned Cas.
“And you've read all of them?”
“Some of them multiple times,” Cas told Dean.
“Really?” asked Dean, who had never been much for reading, but suddenly found himself reconsidering.
“Because of an accident of birth, I find to my dismay I have a paucity of knowledge regarding the world. Bobby's place is a repository of knowledge, from quotidian to arcane lore.”
“Have you been outside the Territories before?” Dean asked.
“I have been to see my brother in the West on a number of occasions. But that is the limit to my experience beyond No Man’s Land.
“Oh, I hadn't thought of it that way,” said Dean, who had a book open on his lap. He realized he couldn't read it. And in fact, he had never seen these particular symbols before. “What is this anyway?” He looked up in astonishment, as Cas was suddenly sitting right beside him, leaning over the book, his head just inches from Dean's.
“This is Enochian,” said Cas, running his fingers reverently over the pages. “It's our language.”
“This is the angel language?” asked Dean, glancing to the side. “Could you read some of it?”
Cas pulled the book into his lap. As his fingers danced along the pages, he began to mutter in a strange, unearthly sounding language. It sounded … old, although Dean couldn’t actually put his finger on why.
Cas stopped abruptly. Dean glanced over to see Cas was staring at him, though for once, he wasn’t wearing that cocky grin. Dean at once realized why Bobby had thought he might have recognized Cas for an angel: he really didn’t look quite human. The unnerving way he held your gaze was part of it.
“Do you remember heaven?” Dean asked.
The eyes dropped, and Cas closed up the book, as if closing off the memories. Cas shook his head. “Not well. I was…” he looked back up, into Dean’s eyes. “Very young.”
Dean couldn’t help staring. Did any humans have eyes that particular shade of blue? It was like small panes of the sky, staring back at him.
There was a loud thunk at the window. Cas immediately hopped up and looked outside. Dean hastened after him. It was the Mammonites: they were standing outside the fence, along with a small but angry looking posse.
“Cas!” Bobby yelled from another room. “You kids ready!”
“We’ve got to go,” said Cas, grabbing his pack. “Come on.”
They ran back down to the living room where, to Dean’s surprise, Bobby opened a door that led to the basement level. He helped Bobby and Cas move some furniture and the inevitable books away from what looked like a random section of the basement floor. There was a trap door underneath the rug, signs and squiggles scribbled all over it. Bobby paused and said something that sounded like Latin, and some of the signs started to glow. Then Cas said a few more words, and Dean heard what sounded like a lock clicking. Cas pulled up the door: there was a ladder going straight down. He couldn’t see the end of the ladder, which was lost down in the darkness.
“Be sure to lock it from your side once you’re down,” said Bobby, handing Dean a flashlight.
“Will you be OK?” Dean asked Bobby.
“I’ll be fine. Jody’s already gone for reinforcements. But they’ll lose interest once they see you’re not here. You boys be careful! Don’t trust anyone on that other side of Lucy’s wall.”
“Except my brother,” said Cas.
“Especially your damn brother,” grumbled Bobby.
Cas made to step on the ladder, but suddenly turned back. He looked uncertainly at Bobby. And for once, he looked very young, Dean thought.
“Yeah. C’mere,” said Bobby, holding out his arms.
And then Cas was over embracing Bobby. “Be careful, you little shit,” said Bobby, patting his back. “And you, too!” he warned Dean. “Anything happens, I’ll come after you and kick both your asses.”
Cas nodded. He gestured for Dean to take the ladder, and then he followed after. Dean looked up as Bobby lowered the trap door, and the world turned dark. He clicked on his flashlight and stuck it in his mouth. The ladder led down to a small passageway, only a few inches higher than Dean’s head, and barely wide enough for the two of them to walk through abreast.
“Tunnel?” asked Dean.
“Yeah,” said Cas. “Bobby is a paranoid bastard.”
“Bobby is awesome,” said Dean.
“Yeah. That too.” Cas smiled. Dean noticed he didn’t bother with a flashlight.
“So, this doesn’t go…?” asked Dean.
“It comes up on our side of the wall. Bobby isn’t quite so omnipotent as that. But don’t worry, Dean. I know how to get through.”
After they walked for what may have been a mile, the tunnel ended in yet another ladder, and they emerged in a stand of scrub right in the shadow of the wall. Dean stared up at it as Cas fixed down the hatch. And Dean had thought to stupidly fly right over this thing? It was a lot taller than he had expected. He felt a little like he was standing at the bottom of a dam. And maybe waiting to get flooded.
“It’s this way. Come on,” said Cas. He frowned down at Dean’s feet. “Are you going to obtain sufficient support from that footwear?” he asked.
Dean shrugged. He looked Cas up and down and laughed. “Dude. You never changed out of your suit!”
Cas flipped his tie. “It is of little consequence for me. Let me know if you are experiencing difficulty. Perhaps my brother will outfit you when we reach him.”
“I feel like we’re going to see the Wizard of Oz,” laughed Dean as they both started walking.
Cas thought it over for a moment. “Oh, yes, I’ve read those books.”
“There are books?” asked Dean.
Castiel looked confused. “But my brother, unlike the Wizard, is not a fraud,” he assured Dean.
What we need is a dog, thought Sam.
Whatever wheeling and dealing Balthazar had pulled backstage, it had worked, and Sam had suddenly showed up on the list of prisoners assigned to trading with the nearby towns.
He sat in the back of the heavily laden pickup truck, watching the world go by. It felt strange to be beyond the bounds of the camp. How long had he been here? Six months? That sounded about right. He seemed to be living outside time.
It was also weird to not have Rufus hovering nearby. When he’d asked the older man why he wasn’t on the list for trading duty, Rufus had just laughed and said, “Frankly, would you trust me? Because I wouldn’t.” Rufus had actually managed a pretty sweet deal, where he got to work in one of the gardens, puttering around growing something he called heirloom tomatoes and suchlike. It was all more or less under the table, but the red-eyes liked it since a big cut (ie, most of it) got kicked back to them. They were supposed to be delivering bulk items, like the bags of sunflower seeds piled around Sam. So it was Sam plus goofy Ash and serious Victor in the back of the truck.
The truck jerked to a halt, and Sam was nearly thrown out. Demons can’t fucking drive, he mused, thinking about how disgusted Dean would be.
“Hey, start unloading up there!” one of the guards yelled. Sam smiled. This was the last stop today, so that barked order would be the last you’d see of those guys for several hours. He watched the driver and the other guard wander off to find a bar, and grabbed a bag of seeds.
“Catch you on the rebound, Mr. Big!” hailed Ash, who hopped down and disappeared, as he always did. Victor rolled his eyes, hefted a bag, and went his own way, making a delivery.
Sam noticed a customer walking up. Still lost in thought, he grabbed a bag and held it out over the edge of the truck bed.
“Hey, tall dark and gruesome!”
Sam looked down, around the big burlap bag he was holding. There was a tiny brunette standing down there, hands on her hips, scowling up at him, foot tapping impatiently.
She was really cute.
Really, really cute.
“You expect me to carry that shit or what?” she asked, gesturing at the bag. “I’m just a frail girl, dumbass.”
“Well, since you asked so charmingly,” grinned Sam, hopping down. “Where are we headed?”
“Just down the street,” she said, nodding her head, and acting slightly more friendly. “My folks own a general store.”
“General store?” asked Sam. Jackpot. He hefted the bag. “That sounds nice.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s about as thrilling as watching paint dry.” He followed her down the street. Nice ass. Not that he was noticing.
“So, I’m Sam,” he said.
“Did I ask?”
“No. But I answered anyway,” he told her.
She huffed impatiently and looked back, shaking her head. She opened the door of a small storefront, and gestured for Sam to come inside. “Just dump it any old where, I don’t care,” she told him. Sam put the bag down on the floor and looked around, wiping his hands. It all looked a bit dusty. Maybe that was why she was in such a bad mood?
“Don’t get much business these days?” asked Sam.
“Oh, yeah, customers are breaking down the doors to come to my store in the middle of a fucking war zone,” she grumbled. She scribbled out a note and handed it to him. “Your receipt.”
“I don’t need one,” said Sam.
“Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“First bag, on the house,” he smiled. And then he nodded and made for the door. He exited, and walked back down the block. He was about halfway back when he heard the door slam again.
“Hey, Sam!” she shouted.
“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.
“Ruby,” she shouted. “The name’s Ruby.”
“Ruby,” repeated Sam, grinning and ambling off.
The walk to Cas' supposed wall crossing point was not a short one, but Dean was surprised to find that the wall actually petered out as you got north. It got noticeably shorter, with much fewer markings. And then the concrete wall stopped completely.
“A chain link fence?” asked Dean. “Really? I mean, really?”
“It isn’t merely a chain link fence,” smiled Cas. “As you probably realize by now. Here is a good place,” he said, stopping at a spot that looked very much like the rest of it. “Stand back a little,” he told Dean. He closed his eyes and held out a hand, palm outwards, towards the fence. The fence glowed softly, and Dean was pretty sure he heard a slight hum.
“This won’t last long. Come on,” said Cas, hastening up a small incline towards the fence. He and Dean stood on the hill, the fence at about their eye level. As it turned out, the bottom of the fence wasn’t well attached to the ground here, so Dean helped Cas pull out a section big enough for a man to scramble through. He gave Cas a leg up, and the angel easily slipped through.
And then Cas turned around and extended a hand to help Dean up.
“Hurry. My spell won’t last long.”
Dean took a last look around. Well, we’re off to see the wizard, he thought.
And then he grabbed on to Cas’ hand, and wriggled under the fence, and into Lucifer’s domain.
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