Pilgrimage (Perseides, Chapter 3 of 7)
Title: Pilgrimage (Perseides, Chapter 3 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 our own world has been rent 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, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.
Notes: This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. Didn't think I could post today because I'm still giddy with feels for the S8 premiere, but here ya go.
“The Perseid meteor shower,” said Cas, pointing up to the shooting stars overhead.
He glanced over at Dean, lying in the field beside him, also staring up at the sky. Based on long experience, Cas thought it would be prudent to wait until daybreak to bring his new friend into town. Although he hadn't complained about it, Cas knew Dean's shoes were inadequate to the walk, and had been bothering him. Cas decided he would have his brother outfit the policeman with something a little more suitable for the journey ahead.
He had thought to let Dean sleep, but found the policeman was a little too hyped up for that. So he had decided to share the stars with him.
“There,” said Cas, tracing the sky with a finger.
“How do you know that?” asked Dean, as they watched a light flash across the darkened sky.
“Every year, at this time, the earth rotates through the orbit of the Swift-Tuttle comet. Meteor activity is generally high in pre-dawn hours.”
“You know, dude, you don't sound like a salvage yard worker. You sound like a book,” said Dean.
Cas cast a nervous glance at Dean, but Dean was smiling, so Cas decided maybe it was OK to sound like a book. Or at least OK for him to sound like a book.
“Tell me about the East, Dean,” said Cas.
“It’s pretty boring, actually,” said Dean.
“It won’t be boring to me,” said Cas, looking over to Dean. “Even the boring stuff won’t be boring. I’ve never been there.”
“I suppose so,” said Dean.
“And besides, you are my salvage. I should know everything about you!”
Dean burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re not gonna keep harping on that are you?” He looked at Cas, who was perfectly serious. “OK, so you are. Just do me a favor, OK? Don’t mention it in front of my brother. He’ll never stop giving me shit.”
“All right. I will not mention this fact in front of Sam Winchester.” Cas smiled faintly. Although they had promised only to pinpoint Sam’s location and then hurry back to Bobby and No Man’s Land, Cas had already decided he was not returning without Sam in tow. He suspected Dean felt the same way. How hard could it be? After all, everyone knew Lucifer had a bunch of demons working for him. Between him and his brother, they could probably smite enough enemy soldiers to free an entire camp.
“Can I ask you one thing?” said Dean.
“Yes?”
“The whole blow up between Michael and Lucifer....”
“This inquiry might be better to ask of my brother. As I have said, I was quite young.”
“No, it's.... Where was your dad, in all of this?”
“Where is God?” Cas repeated, and suddenly the weight of the universe was upon him.
“Well.... Yeah.”
Cas grew thoughtful. “That is a very good question, Dean.”
Dean sat up. “Wait. You don't know?”
“No one knows,” said Cas, tracing the stars with his hands. “At least, that is what my brother tells me.”
“God skipped town? What, did he have alimony payments?”
Cas took his eyes from the sky and gazed over at his friend, sensing his unease. “You are concerned,” he told Dean. “You needn't be. The world is no different from what it was. I just supplied you with some information.”
“There are angels … but no God,” repeated Dean, lying back down.
“My Father abides!” insisted Cas, going up on one elbow.
“Like the Dude?” smiled Dean.
“I don’t know what you mean. My father is here. He is simply … elusive.”
Dean sighed. “And no one has seen hide nor hair of Michael lately?”
“I have never seen him, not that I can recall, so it has made minimal difference in my life.”
“But he's supposed to be leading the fight! People are dying in his name!” said Dean. “My brother got caught. In his name!”
Cas studied Dean. “Your brother notwithstanding, please understand, I do not have the sympathies you might expect in this fight. Michaelistas and Luciferites: they are all my brothers and sisters. And they are set upon each other.”
“So to you it's like … what? A big argument at the dinner table?” asked Dean.
“It is a bit like that, yes,” said Cas. “We are different, we angels, but there are analogies to a human family.” He looked upwards, and just then, a meteor sparked against the sky, leaving a graceful trail of light.
Sam was carrying contraband, so he hurried on his way. But tried not to seem as though he was hurrying.
Since the night of the fateful poker game, his life had turned into one big scavenger hunt. Not that he minded: it staved off the boredom and longing for home.
The camp was self-supporting. Word was because Lucifer had no food to spare, having spent rather a lot of time torching farmland in the wake of his advance. But this meant that certain trusted prisoners spent part of their days out toiling in the fields. And another set of model prisoners was actually afforded contact with the townsfolk.
Sam, as it happened, was every inch the model prisoner. The status was, unfortunately, not earned so much as bought, thanks to innumerable poker game losses to a guard named Asmodeus. He once again stopped to wonder about the guards: the red-eyed ones would sell their mother for a pack of smokes. If demons had mothers, that is.
He had just come back from a successful transaction in town, where in exchange for some of Rufus’ most perfect tomatoes, he’d gotten a big old sack of fertilizer.
Thing was, the sack said fertilizer. But it was no such thing.
He was just waddling out to visit Rufus, who was in the middle of a vast field of sunflowers fussing over something that looked to Sam every bit a nasty weed.
“What you got there, Rufus?” he asked, after making sure there were no listening ears.
“Artemisia absinthium. Some as call it wormwood. Good for what ails you. And maybe giving some supernatural mofos something to think about. You got something for me?”
Sam looked around one more time, and then dropped the heavy sack he had hidden under his jacket.
“Ah!” said Rufus. He knelt down and opened the sack, sticking a finger in to taste. “Oh, that is tasty.”
“Demons can’t take a little rock salt?” asked Sam, hunkering down next to him. “Really?”
“None of the minor ranks, so most everybody we’re likely to meet,” said Rufus, “You got firearms, which unfortunately we don’t, you can pack it in the ammo. But it’s a pretty trusty barrier, given there’s not a high wind that night.” He looked up at Sam. “You’re a little late,” he said to Sam.
“Yeah, I got to talking,” said Sam.
“Anyone I know?” asked Rufus, narrowing his eyes. “Ash has told me you got a new friend in town.”
“Ash has a big fucking mouth.” Sam shrugged. “It’s just this girl in town. Ruby, her name was. Her folks own the general store where I’ve gotten some of my stuff.”
“Ruby, huh? This a human girl?”
“What?” sputtered Sam. “Rufus! You’re paranoid. Of course she's human!”
“Paranoid folks are live folks. She the one give you the salt?”
“No, they were out. I had to go….” Sam thought it over. He had been flirting with the saucy brunette since he’d been given leave to go to town. But every time he’d brought up the subject of salt, she had started to act weird. Well, weirder than usual.
“You got a cute little clerk at a general store who don’t stock salt. Yeah, that makes sense,” smiled Rufus. “Bet they don’t stock any iron either.”
“Rufus,” said Sam. “You’re off base here. There is no way that girl is a demon.”
“Because…?”
Sam shrugged.
“Too pretty?” laughed Rufus.
“Rufus! That’s crazy. Ruby is not a demon. And even if she is….” Whoa, wait, thought Sam.
“At least I know you’re human then, kid,” laughed Rufus. “Do us a favor then. Keep flirting with her, don’t let her know you’ve caught on. Or rather, don’t let her know I caught on.” He took out a small container and filled it with rock salt. “You can give that to her as a present, she gives you any trouble.”
Sam nodded, suddenly wondering if that was why the guys in the camp had conspired to get him on the trading runs into town.
Rufus carefully rolled up the bag of salt and then placed it inside a metal container. Sparing one more careful glance around, the two men lowered the container into a hole in the ground, and then carefully covered it over, stomping in the dirt. “Now to just make sure I don’t blank out on all my damn hidey holes,” laughed Rufus. “Anyway. We better hit the road after this. Don’t wanna miss dinner roll call.”
They walked in silence for a while, and Rufus lit a stubby end of a hand-rolled cigarette. “So if I’m not prying, kid, what’s your story?” Rufus asked. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing girls. Of the human, normal-eyed kind?”
“I was. Believe me, I was,” said Sam, ruefully. “I guess I believed like my brother did, that this isn’t our fight. I was in college, and I was gonna get married. But….” He trailed off, and walked in silence for a moment. “You must have heard of the Valentine’s Day bombing?”
“We all did. Blamed it on Luciferites.”
“But it was never clear. Yeah.” Sam took a deep breath. “Anyway, my fiancée worked in that building.”
“Aw, hell, I’m sorry, kid!”
“Well, anyway, I know what my brother thinks, but I just couldn’t accept that what goes on over here wasn’t my business.
“This fucking war. It’s made a mess of us all,” sighed Rufus, who took a puff of his cigarette butt.
They walked in silence for a while more. “Rufus, what really happened up there?” Sam nodded upwards. “What the hell are we fighting for? What the hell started it?”
“Well, I’m not sure anyone really knows it all. I’m not sure any human could fully comprehend anyway. But from what I can make out it’s all down to a family feud.”
“What, like the Borgias?”
“More like Cain and Abel, what I hear. My read is it started out pretty much a fight for succession. The old man stepped out,”
“Wait, God?”
“Yep, God. No one knows when or why, so the heirs were squabbling to divide up what’s left. Michael and Lucifer were next in line, and the rest of them lined up on either side or just got out of there.”
“Somehow, that’s not the way I pictured angels,” said Sam.
“They’re warriors, you know. The angels. Not the lovey dovey crap you get in the New Age salons.”
“And Lucifer is winning?”
“Seems like. Of course, you don’t always get the greatest intel, where we’re stuck right now. But you feed a red-eye demon enough booze, they get chatty, and it sounds like both sides are worn pretty thin. No one’s actually seen Michael in quite a while. And Lucy started recruiting demons to his side. But, of course, like anything supernatural, there’s conflicting stories like crazy.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Well, I don’t give too much stock to babble from drunk demons, but one tale I’ve heard from a number is that Mike and Lucy between the two of them took a shiv to the rest of the royal family, or whatever the hell you call the angel equivalent.”
“So. Some angels are more equal than others?”
“Sure thing. There’s archangels, and they’re like ten of the regular guys. The Father’s favorites. Anyway, there’s some as say Lucy did it, some say Mike, but the long and the short of it is, anyone who might have threatened them for the leadership is in a celestial body bag.”
“That’s harsh,” said Sam.
“Well, remember, they ain’t like us, kid. Angels can be a bunch of murderous sonsabitches.”
“If you say so,” said Sam, who couldn’t help but remember his mother’s tales of guardian angels and suchlike.
“Now of course, there’s also some as say, there may have been a brother who skipped out and escaped. Rogue archangel.”
“Oh, so you mean the Romanov angel family had an Anastasia?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, something like that. Prince Anastasia,” laughed Rufus.
They had hidden out just outside of town until daybreak. “Curfew,” Cas had explained. At the first sign of dawn, they headed in, though Dean noticed Cas stayed away from the main roads.
The town wasn’t what Dean had been expecting. Funny, it seemed like it had been caught in a time capsule maybe a decade or two earlier. Well, the portions that were still standing. There were also whole neighborhoods that had been reduced to rubble, and it didn’t seem as if anybody had even attempted to rebuild. But the technology was all mid to late Twentieth Century, if that. Most of the cars were still the four wheeled kind, and the few that flew looked just a tick better than the one he'd seen the Mammonites pilot. Bobby had been right, even if Dean had somehow flown his police cruiser into this territory, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb.
Cas seemed to know his way around, so Dean just stuck close, and, as Bobby had instructed them, tried to look like he belonged there.
Dean’s feet were getting sore after walking on hard pavement for a couple hours. These shoes were not meant for foot patrol, he thought wryly. They ended up at a dilapidated strip mall in what appeared to Dean to be a rather shady portion of the town.
“You sure this is it?” Dan asked.
“I’m sure,” said Cas. He approached a storefront that looked closed. The sign up above had fallen off, probably years ago, but on the door was a sign that said “Freelance Shaman for hire.” And then underneath that a list of maladies the shaman claimed to cure, including gout, ague, boils, and demon possessions large and small.
“Looks closed,” said Dean, peering into the dusty plate glass window.
“He’s here,” said Cas.
“You gonna knock?”
“He knows we’re out here,” Cas assured him.
“Are you-?” Dean started. But just then the door opened to reveal a short, slight guy. He didn't much resemble Cas, but he had the same wry grin, which broke out as soon as he spotted his brother.
“Cas? Is that you?”
Though he wasn't a big guy, he gripped Cas in a great bear hug, actually lifting him off his feet. Cas grinned and ambled on past him into the storefront.
“Uh, I’m Dean,” said Dean, introducing himself as Cas hadn’t bothered.
“You better come inside,” said the guy, looking around suspiciously. Dean entered and he closed the door. “You can call me Gabe,” he said, gripping Dean’s hand with surprising strength.
“The place looks great as always,” cracked Cas.
“Cas, sit!” ordered Gabe as Cas was crouching on one of the threadbare couches in what looked like a waiting room area. Cas grinned, but then let his butt drop down to the couch. “Don’t act like a Nephil in front of company,” groused Gabriel.
“He’s not company. He’s my salvage!” bragged Cas.
“Your … what?”
“Long story,” Dean apologized. Gabe raised an expectant eyebrow, so Dean continued. “I was trying to get over here from the Free States, but ended up getting shot down near Bobby’s salvage yard.”
“Oh, how the hell is Bobby?” asked Gabe, offering Dean a pack of licorice whips. Dean waved them away.
“He’s an idiot,” said Cas.
“How so, idiot?” asked Gabe.
“Still hasn’t married Jody,” said Cas, taking a long licorice whip.
“Oh, yeah, he is an idiot,” allowed Gabe. “And what's with the suit? You getting married now?” he asked Cas.
Cas flipped his twisted tie. “Had to testify before Swearengen.”
“Swearengen? That old drunk still swinging the gavel?”
“It was in the matter of Mr. Winchester,” said Cas, indicating Dean.
“So, I see you got yourself into our fair country … uh, Dean was it?” Dean nodded. “Now what?”
“I’m trying to find my brother. Cas says you can help,” Dean told Gabe.
“I can locate people,” said Gabe, flopping onto a couch and starting to chew his licorice. “What, is he a runaway?”
“Uh, kind of.”
“Michaelista!” said Cas.
“Oh, holy fuck,” said Gabe. “Well, I’m sorry, Dean, but whatever my half-witted brother told you, he was wrong. No can do!”
Dean’s heart sunk. He sat down beside Cas. “Really?”
“Oh, sure you can, Gabriel. Don’t be a pussy,” Cas rasped at him. Dean noticed he was not eating his licorice whip, but rather twisting it around in a knot.
“I am not a pussy, Castiel,” shot back Gabe. “You know what the fuck you’re asking me? Your brother, Dean? He’s in a POW camp, right?”
“Last I heard, yeah,” said Dean.
“Yeah. And last I heard, Lucifer isn’t an idiot. I look for him, they’re gonna look right back at me,” he insisted, poking a thumb at his own chest.
“Yes. It would be a real shame if you had to give all this up, brother,” said Cas, casting his eyes around the shabby room.
“Don’t knock it! It’s a living!”
“Offering consultation regarding hammer toes?” asked Cas.
“Just stow it, Cas. Besides, I’m doing you a favor! You want Lucifer’s demons coming down on your head? Because that’s what it’s gonna be like. Look, you were too small, but I remember this crap from up there!” said Gabe, pointing upwards with his licorice. “That’s why we got out, you and me. So you won’t ever have to deal with it.”
“Lucifer and Michael have broken the human world,” growled Cas. “How would I not be affected. Look,” he said. “We are supposed to help people, right?”
“Not exactly,” said Gabe.
“Cas, just forget it,” said Dean. “He obviously doesn’t want to get involved.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you here, Dean,” said Cas, scowling at Gabriel.
“I’ll just gank a car and go after him myself,” said Dean.
“What? You’re insane!” said Gabe. “You don’t even know which camp!”
“Because you refuse to help us!” Cas reminded him.
“Look, Dean,” said Gabe, whose teeth were now somewhat blackened from the licorice. “I sympathize. You wanna help your brother. I’d wanna help this little shit, if he was in trouble. But you’re no help if you’re dead. And if you do this, that’s how you’re gonna end up, on a slab somewhere.”
“He’s my blood. This is what I gotta do,” said Dean, who was standing.
“I’ll go with you,” said Cas, who stood as well. He set down his licorice whip. It was now somehow twisted into a little balloon animal.
“What?” asked Dean.
“Oh no fucking way, Cas!” said Gabe.
“I said, I am going with Dean,” said Cas.
Gabe grabbed Cas by the shoulders. “You know what they do to angels. Out there.”
“I thought it was none of our business,” said Cas, crossing his arms.
“Castiel. Please.”
“Dean is my salvage,” insisted Cas.
“Stubborn little shit!” grumbled Gabe, who suddenly started pacing up and down, madly waving his licorice. “OK, OK, look, what about this? Say I try for a general location? There’s a limited number of POW camps. Maybe if I just narrow it down to a region, that would be enough.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?” asked Dean.
“But you guys gotta do something for me!” said Gabriel. “I don’t work for free, even for my brother. I wanna be paid,” he insisted, tapping his finger on his palm.
“I didn’t bring any money, Gabe,” Cas told him.
“I don’t want your money. I’m getting low on stocks. Can’t be a shaman without your supplies, your eye of newt, toe of frog, vampire's tears.”
“Wait, there's … vampires here?” asked Dean.
“Why wouldn't there be vampires here?” Cas asked him as both he and Gabe looked at Dean like he was slightly slow.
“There's no vampires in the East!” Dean protested. Which caused Cas and Gabe to smirk at each other.
“I don't know...” Cas told Gabe.
“C'mon Cas! You've always been my best scrounger!” Gabe was suddenly holding something that looked like a grocery list in his hand. Dean blinked. It seemed like it hadn't been there before. “You just go right down, bing bing bing!”
Cas frowned and gestured for the list. Gabe, seeming reluctant, gave it over. It suddenly unfolded to many times its original length, actually fanning out all the way down to the floor. “Gabe. This is an obvious delaying tactic.”
“No no no no no no! Would I do that?” asked Gabe.
“Yes. You would.”
“OK. I would. But seriously. You boys turn up a few items for me, we'll go find your brother, everybody will end up happy!”
“We can spend a certain amount of time on this,” said Cas, ripping off the end of the list and letting it fall to the floor as Gabe cringed. “In addition, Dean needs new shoes. The pair he is presently wearing is giving him blisters.”
Gabe looked shrewd. “Your cop shoes not made for walking?” he asked.
“No, they're.... Wait, how did you know?” asked Dean.
Gabe smiled smugly. “I'll grab you some clothes that don't give you away, officer. But meantime, I think I got something better for the shoe situation.” He inclined his head, and Cas and Dean followed him through the office and out a back door. There was evidently another parking lot in back of the building, although, oddly enough, it looked like the front of the building.
Dean turned around. This was a completely different strip mall, somewhat less dilapidated than the one he remembered. And it looked to be located in a different part of town. “How did he...?” he started. He turned and ran over to where Cas and Gabe were taking a cover off a big old car.
“Oh, sweet,” said Dean, running a reverent hand over the fender of a huge black car.
“67 Impala. And it is cherry,” grinned Gabe.
“How did you get your hands on something like this?” asked Dean.
“Oh, a trade deal. I should have sold her, but I thought it might come in handy. Gabe grinned at Dean, who looked like he had been transported to another realm. A realm of automotive perfection.
“What do you say, Dean? Just drive around, a few errands?” asked Gabe. “I got a few odds and ends, I could start poking around for your brother right away.” He held up the car keys, jingling them.
Dean stuck out his hand. Gabe tossed him the keys. Cas rolled his eyes.
“OK! Get on the road, errand boys,” said Gabe.
Sam was standing by a truck waiting to be driven into town for another round of wheeling and dealing. And maybe a visit to a cute girl. Who was definitely not a demon. Probably. Rufus stood nearby, the inevitable smoke in his hands, doing not much of anything. Ash and Victor were already sitting on the bed of the truck.
Sam hadn't been able to keep a thought intruding on his mind: do I really want to escape? A few weeks ago the answer would have been clear. But his life right now: well, it wasn't great, obviously, but the runs into town provided a modicum of interest to his day. He thought of Dean, and how he wanted to live to see his pigheaded brother again. He smiled. The war couldn't last forever, right? He had had enough of adventure, he thought. Maybe he should just tough it out here, and then after the war, he could do the white picket fence thing. And then, well, Dean would get the pleasure of kicking his ass, as he’d threatened to when Sam joined the Michaelistas.
He heard the creak as some of the guards started to pull the main gate open. Rufus ditched his cigarette butt. Sam noticed a couple of guys were filing out of Balthazar's building over on the other side of the camp. They were trying to be low key about it, but he recognized the faces. They must have just had a meeting of the top guys.
One of them came over close to where he and Rufus were standing. He didn't look good. In fact, he looked like shit. Sam tried to remember his name: this guy often sat in on the poker games, though he usually didn't say much.
“Uh, Camaeus?” said Sam.
The guy didn't respond. Instead, he stared out the gate.
Sam elbowed Rufus, who was instantly at attention. “Camaeus,” he said, softly but distinctly. But once again, the guy paid him no attention.
“Camaeus,” said Rufus. “Look at me.”
“Camaeus?” asked Sam, who was now growing concerned.
“Rufus,” muttered Camaeus absently.
“What's going on, buddy?” asked Rufus.
“Bad news,” Camaeus whispered. Sam noticed both Victor and Ash were leaning over, trying to catch what he said.
“Now, why don't you talk about it. Can't be that bad,” said Rufus.
Camaeus finally looked over to Sam and Rufus. His expression made Sam's heart stop.
“Yes it can,” he said.
And then he was running.
“Camaeus!' said Sam. Rufus reached over and grabbed Sam to prevent him from running after. But Camaeus was already at the gate, and then streaking past the surprised guards.
One of the guards - Sam recognized him as one of the red-eyed ones - raised his rifle, but another guard, a black-eye, pushed it down. And then, to Sam's astonishment, the black-eyed demon actually smiled. Sam gulped. He had never seen one of them smile before, and now he never wanted to see it again.
Camaeus was a little ways down the road, but then, like someone had snapped their fingers, he was on fire, as if he’d been splashed with gasoline and lit with a match. He screamed, an anguished wail. He ran a few more steps, and then he collapsed. He writhed, and made a feeble attempt at rolling on the ground.
And then he went utterly still.
“Help him!” said Sam.
One of the guards turned and smirked at Sam. And then, like it was nothing, a couple of them wandered casually out to what was left of Camaeus. He had burnt out by that time, nothing but a twisted, charred thing that didn't even much resemble a man. The guards came up to him and gave him a little kick, to see if there was some life in him.
There was not.
The guards made a point of looking back at the crowd that was now gathered at the gate. Just about everyone was out by that time, standing in silent horror.
“They want us to see. Bastards,” muttered Rufus.
“Balthazar,” said Sam.
Balthazar, who had run out to see, looked at Sam and Rufus, his face a mask of pain.
“What the hell happened to him?” asked Sam. “What the fuck?”
“Sometimes, guys just go stir crazy. It happens,” said Rufus.
“No,” said Balthazar.
“What?” asked Sam.
Balthazar shook his head. “We've had some bad news.”
Sam and Rufus looked at each other. The smell of charred flesh hung in the air.
Dean was never quite as happy as when he was behind the wheel.
But this car? Holy Jesus!
He admitted to himself, he should probably be in a crap mood right now. Instead of the heroic rescue mission he had fantasized, here he was being an errand boy for some two-bit fake witch doctor. What the hell kind of angel worked out of a fucking strip mall? Angels! They were just … weird.
Cas, who had readily agreed to letting Dean drive, was sitting in the passenger seat, rifling through the bags and boxes and bins of stuff they'd already acquired, ticking off the seemingly endless list.
“Remember to check off that eye of newt!” suggested Dean.
“I have already checked it,” Cas told him.
“Sure you don’t wanna drive?”
“I find driving … mildly annoying actually,” said Cas, tugging at his tie.
Dean frowned. “So, we gonna go after those vampire tears now?”
“I think we can skip that item,” said Cas, crossing it out.
“Hey, why? I thought you and your brother said there were vampires!”
“Yes,” said Cas. He looked at Dean. “As Bobby might say, they are unpleasant shitheads.”
“I haven't met a vampire before.”
“You have not encountered one that you have recognized as such,” said Cas. “And here is the unpleasant thing: in order to collect vampire tears, you need to leave the things … alive. Or rather, animated. Or … whatever they are.”
“Sooooo. You telling me you can't handle a live vampire?”
Cas drew up, as if offended. “Naturally I can 'handle' a vampire. They are no match for us.”
Dean shrugged.
“All right, Dean,” said Cas. “We will seek out a vampire. But do not feel entitled to lodge complaint afterwards that the encounter was unpleasant.”
“Sure thing, dude,” smiled Dean. “Which way, Van Helsing?”
“Left ahead,” said Cas. “That book contained innumerable inaccuracies!”
“Oh, like what?”
“Wooden stakes are not terribly useful against the undead. Here,” he added, rummaging through a bag and tossing something small to Dean.
Dean glanced down at it. It was a small vial filled with a yellowy powder. “Am I supposed to snort this?” he asked.
“Just put some on. It interferes with the vampire's sense of smell.”
Dean shrugged and popped the top. “Smells like an Indian restaurant. So, vampire fact: vampires do not like curry!” After sprinkling some over his head, he handed the vial back to Cas.
“Do you not take anything seriously?” asked Cas.
“Dean fact: Dean does not take anything seriously.” He glanced over at Cas. “But what about you? You seem like you've lost the funny bone. Is the necktie too tight?”
“Encounters with the undead seem to pique my irritability,” said Cas, self-consciously pulling at his rumpled necktie.
“You've dealt with Bela Lugosi before?”
Cas nodded. He pointed, and they turned into a strip mall. It looked a little classier than any of the ones Gabriel occupied.
“Where are we going?” asked Dean.
Cas inclined his head. Dean looked over, blinking.
“The tanning salon?” Dean asked. “You're joking, right?”
The grin was back. “So, where are you least likely to go looking for a vampire, Dean?” asked Cas.
“Well....” said Dean.
“And, what do those booths look like to you?”
“Well, big coffins,” said Dean. “Huh. So it's like, hide in plain sight?”
“They are annoying. Not stupid.”
“So,” said Dean, noticing Cas shuffling in the bags. “What's the plan?”
“Usually, I run into difficulties with these sorts of errands. Evidently, angelic blood is not palatable to them, so my presence does not tempt them. Secondly, the power differential with these creatures is too wide, so I will often end up smiting them when I only mean to incapacitate them temporarily.”
“Don't know you're own strength, huh?” asked Dean. Cas nodded smugly. “But I thought vampires were supposed to be strong?”
Cas actually snorted. “They're stronger than humans. But that's not saying much.”
“Nice. I think I've just been insulted,” said Dean. “By an angel.” Cas chuckled, but didn't deny it. “So, OK, smart guy, what do we do?”
“Well, now I have some nice human blood to offer them.”
“You...? Oh, wait a minute! Hang on there! I'm gonna be vampire McNuggets?” asked Dean.
“I don’t understand that reference, Dean. But may I remind you, who wanted to see a vampire?” asked Cas.
“You don’t eat fast food?” asked Dean.
“That sort of thing would not be readily accessible in No Man’s Land,” said Cas.
“OK, we’ll gather vamp tears, and then we’ll go get burgers!” said Dean.
“Well. All right. Now, here is what I want you to do. I hope this will not go against your no doubt closely held principles as an officer of the law,” said Castiel.
Some minutes later, Dean was around back, trying to look casual. As it looked like the coast was clear, he took out his pick and started in on the door. It yielded quickly. “Now I just hope vamps don’t have alarm systems,” he whispered to himself as he gently pushed the door open.
It was dark, so he turned on the flashlight Cas had loaned him and headed for the register up front, trying to look for all the world like a normal burglar. “Uh, here I am, all full of tasty hemoglobin and stuff,” he muttered, looking around nervously. There was silence. He suddenly wondered if he had used too much saffron, self-consciously sniffing an armpit to make sure.
He pretended to be baffled by the register, but finally popped it open, and was momentarily distracted by the take. “Damn, why did I go into law enforcement instead of frying people into crispy critters?” he muttered, pulling out an impressive was of cash.
He froze. He wasn’t sure what made him do it: he hadn’t heard a sound.
No, he smelled it. There was something in the room that was not alive.
Something behind him.
He leaned over the cash drawer, pretending to be fiddling with it. Suddenly he yanked it out, the whole drawer, turned and hurled it at whatever was standing behind him.
He let out a gasp. It had been hovering right over him. He should have felt the breath on his neck. Oh, that’s right, they didn’t breathe.
It took a half step back, looking annoyed, but was on him in a flash, slamming him down on the counter, pinning him. He instantly saw what Cas meant about these things being annoying. It just didn’t look alive, with horrible waxy skin, and, Dean now found out, the world’s worst breath.
Oh, that's right: they didn't breathe. It just plain stunk.
Remembering his experience with the demons, Dean went for a sensitive point, bringing his knee up right in its crotch.
The thing frowned slightly.
And then, with a little click, it extended a pair of fangs, yellowy as the rest of its sorry teeth.
“Cas!” shouted Dean. But suddenly the thing went into a spasm. Its body jerked, and then there was a white light shooting out of its eyes and mouth. It keeled over, plopping on the floor, to reveal Cas standing behind it.
“Dammit!” said Cas, who stooped down to examine the creature. “I didn’t mean to smite him.”
“Do you think you cut it a little close there?” asked Dean, rubbing his still pristine neck. “I was gonna be vamp kibble!”
“You were in no danger. What is kibble?” But Dean had no time for an explanation, as he found himself suddenly flung against a wall. Somehow, some more vampires had appeared, silently as the first.
Struggling to keep his feet, Dean reached for his belt as one of them charged him. He pulled out the iron knife Cas had loaned him and brought it straight up into the creature’s lower jaw, where it stuck into its mouth. The vampire reeled back. “Bit me now, bitch!” Dean taunted. But it didn’t have a chance, as Cas now had it by the scruff of the neck.
“Look at that! He just gave all your friends a good smiting!” said Dean, indicating the vampires Cas had just evidently left lying, limp, on the floor.
“Eh,” said the vampire, knife still in its jaw, who didn’t look terribly concerned.
Dean looked questioningly at Cas, who was sneering at the vampire. “And now we’re gonna take your money,” Cas told it, picking up a wad of cash and waving it at the vamp.
“Wha-? Noooo!” it gurgled.
“Get the vial,” Cas told Dean.
“We had news,” said Balthazar.
The mood in the camp had been strained since Camaeus's sudden death. Sam sat on a packing crate, wishing he smoked cigarettes so he would have something to do with his hands. And here he had stupidly considered himself safe.
“What kinda news, Balthy?” asked Rufus, as they watched Chuck and Ash spread lines of rock salt at the doorway and across the windowsills of the common room.
“There are rumblings that the powers that be are going to do some … consolidation,” said Balthazar. “Among the various detainees. They shall pack up this entire camp, and send us on to a more … central location.”
“Are they gonna mix us in with the political prisoners?” asked Sam.
“They might consider sending us to Tucson,” said Balthazar.
“Oh. Fuck,” said Rufus. “Balthy, you gotta get outta here.”
“We all need to get out of here,” said Balthazar.
“What's going on?” asked Sam.
“There's rumors about that place,” said Rufus. “Bad ones.”
“Lucifer has certain grievances against various races,” explained Balthazar. “He has never cared for humans: that is one of the seeds of the present confilct.”
“He's got a grudge against angels,” said Rufus.
“Wait? Other angels?” said Sam.
“Hates ‘em worse than humans, for selling him out I guess,” said Rufus. “There’s entire neighborhoods, angel ones, where everybody has just disappeared.”
“Scuttlebutt has it that Tucson is not a proper internment camp,” said Balthazar. “But rather, a death camp.”
“OK. Absolutely no part of that sounds good,” said Sam.
“So what are we doin’, boss?” asked Rufus.
“We need to move up the timeline,” said Balthazar. “Spread the word.”
Rufus nodded, and he and Sam left the room, being careful not to break any of the salt lines.
“Rufus,” whispered Sam when they were between cabins.
“I don’t like this,” said Rufus. “Better to wait for a full moon, when we got the maximum power from everything.”
“Rufus,” Sam repeated. “Balthazar…?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s an angel. Right?”
Rufus looked right and left, and then hustled Sam over into the shadows. He nodded. “Kid, that entire bunk house full of guys. They ain’t troublemakers. They’re all angels. Camaeus too. Or at least he was.”
Sam’s eyes widened. It was difficult to keep his voice down. “What…. All of them? But they’re all foreigners. Like me.”
“Yeah. Only thing keeping ‘em alive, I’d think.”
“There’s angels living outside the West?” Sam searched his memories, wondering now about pretty much everyone he’d ever met.
“Of course. You just gotta know where to look. But one thing is clear here: Balthazar or any of those folks go to Tucson, they’re as good as dead. I’ve heard stories: you think Camaeus was bad, you ain’t seen nothing.”
Sam nodded glumly. It seemed unfair: he was just learning about magic, and now the world seemed bound and determined to snuff it out.
“Come on,” said Rufus. “We don’t want any attention.” Without waiting for Sam, Rufus turned and stalked off towards their bunkhouse. Sam followed him, more slowly, lost in thought.
“Hi, honey, we're home!” bellowed Dean as he and Cas came in one of the back doors of Gabe’s office. “And we got vampire tears!” he added, waving a bag.
Cas followed Dean in the door. He was carrying a number of bags, and had his mouth around a Big Mac.
“What’s that stench?” asked Dean, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like a dead skunk taking a shit.” Cas pushed ahead, indicating that Dean should follow, and they passed through a door hung with beaded curtains.
Gabe was inside, hunched over a bowl filled with something that he’d set afire. He seemed to be in some kind of trance. His eyes were closed, and he was muttering in a strange language.
“Is that Enochian?” Dean asked Cas.
“Yes,” said Cas, dumping his bags on an already cluttered table, and indicating Dean should do the same. Cas thumped down on a divan and began devote his complete attention to his hamburger. “These represent a pleasant diversion following an encounter with the undead.”
“How can you eat with that stink?” asked Dean.
Cas shrugged and grinned. “Used to it I guess.”
Dean wasn’t certain how anyone could become used to an odor like that. He considered moving to another room for the duration when he heard Gabe suddenly shout something. It sounded like cursing, but it wasn’t in English.
Gabe threw a towel over the bowl, extinguishing the flames. He sat back, a look of horror on his face. He looked up, and seemed to realize that Cas and Dean were in the room with him.
He sat forward and said something to Cas in Enochian. Cas actually looked up from his meal and replied in kind. This went back and forth a few rounds.
“What’s up?” asked Dean.
“Uriel,” Gabe told Dean.
“A urinal?” asked Dean. “Sure smells like a men’s room.”
“Uriel,” repeated Gabe. “I caught sight of him. His presence is … strong.”
“Who the hell is he, and why should I care?” asked Dean.
“He's an angel. Like us. Or not like us,” said Gabe. “A real hard liner.”
“What is he doing over here? I thought he was one of Michael’s soldiers?” asked Cas.
“I don’t know,” muttered Gabriel. “But I know one thing. He had a specialty.”
“What kinda specialty?” asked Dean.
“Well, you had situations where you’d get a whole town or village disobedient, Uriel was the go to guy,” said Gabe as Cas handed him a McFlurry with Oreo cookies.
“He’d get them in line?” asked Dean.
“No. He’d smite them,” said Gabe, taking the plastic lid off his ice cream and carelessly tossing it aside.
“He’d smite whole towns?” asked Dean.
“Haven’t you read the bible, kiddo?” asked Gabe, spooning ice cream. “Our Father was big on the smiting.”
“Does this mean my brother is in danger?” asked Dean.
“It means we’re all in danger,” said Gabe, who seemed serious. He pointed with his pink ice cream spoon. “Look, I think what we do is, I’ll do a location spell for your brother, and then we’ll take a road trip.”
“What, all of us?” asked Dean.
“All of us,” said Gabe. “It’ll cost me a couple days business, but I need to follow up on this.” He was rummaging through the bags of ingredients, dripping melted ice cream on them. “You guys bring me the vampires tears?”
Dean held up a baggie containing a vial.
“Excellent,” said Gabe.
“Vampires are assholes,” said Dean.
“I warned you, Dean,” said Cas. Cas dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to Gabe. It was a wad of cash.
“Is that from the cash drawer?” asked Dean.
“Yeah,” said Cas.
“I don’t believe you robbed them!” said Dean.
“They’re vampires,” laughed Gabe.
“But…” said Dean. “I’m a cop.”
“Oh, reminds me, I found you these,” said Gabe, hauling out a stack of clothing.
Dean picked through them. Well worn jeans, a sturdy pair of shoes, some soft cotton shirts. “I’ll have to see if they fit,” he said, picking up the stack.
“Of course they fit,” said Gabe.
“Is there some place I could change?” asked Dean, who wanted to get away from the stench of Gabe’s smell more than anything. Cas grinned and inclined his head, and Dean followed him out of the room and down the hallway. “So, is this place bigger on the inside than on the outside or something?”
“It depends on which location you deem the outside, Dean,” said Cas, who flicked on the lights an entered a room with more couches in the middle and a bunch of cabinets pushed against the walls. Dean tossed the stack of clothing down on a couch, sat down and gratefully untied off his painful shoes. He pulled off his socks and wriggled his toes.
“You have blisters,” said Cas. “My brother has something for that,” he said.
“That would be great,” said Dean. Cas went to a big cabinet on the back wall that had about a hundred tiny drawers in it. Cas set down his hamburger and started to poke around in the cabinet, nosing into drawers.
Dean threw off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. “So, are you sure about this Cas?”
“Sure about which herb?” muttered Cas, all of whose attention seemed now focused on the little vials of ingredients.
“Gabe just seems a little…. Um….”
“We will guide you to your brother, and then we will rescue your brother.”
“You seem awfully confident.”
“Demons are no match for us. And they are far less wily than vampires.”
“If you say so.”
“This is the one,” said Cas triumphantly. He turned to face Dean, holding up a small bottle. “Uh….”
“What do you think?” asked Dean, who was just zipping up his newly acquired jeans. Said jeans, parenthetically, also happened to be the only item of clothing he was now wearing. “I’ll say one thing, I think I’m gonna let your brother get all my clothes now. I fucking hate shopping for pants. Huh, Cas? Cas?”
Dean looked up from his spiffy jeans to Cas, who was staring dumbly. Cas’ face had turned a rather fetching shade of crimson.
“Cas, you OK?” asked Dean.
“I’ll, uh, leave this,” said Cas, who, lowering his eyes, handed Dean the bottle and then started to bolt towards the door.
“Cas!” said Dean, grabbing his arm, restraining him. He could feel the angel trembling.
“Uh. What?” Cas slowly raised his eyes to meet Dean’s.
Dean stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was going on. Cas suddenly looked terrified. “You OK?” asked Dean.
Cas nodded, his eyes flicking up and down Dean’s body.
Dean nodded over towards the cabinet. “You left your burger,” he said softly.
“Oh,” said Cas, whirling around towards the cabinet. He leapt over, grabbed his burger, and then was out of the room in a split second.
Dean stood for a moment, shaking his head. “Angels,” he muttered, unfolding a well worn T shirt. “Hey, cool, Metallica!”
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/123242.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 our own world has been rent 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, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.
Notes: This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. Didn't think I could post today because I'm still giddy with feels for the S8 premiere, but here ya go.
“The Perseid meteor shower,” said Cas, pointing up to the shooting stars overhead.
He glanced over at Dean, lying in the field beside him, also staring up at the sky. Based on long experience, Cas thought it would be prudent to wait until daybreak to bring his new friend into town. Although he hadn't complained about it, Cas knew Dean's shoes were inadequate to the walk, and had been bothering him. Cas decided he would have his brother outfit the policeman with something a little more suitable for the journey ahead.
He had thought to let Dean sleep, but found the policeman was a little too hyped up for that. So he had decided to share the stars with him.
“There,” said Cas, tracing the sky with a finger.
“How do you know that?” asked Dean, as they watched a light flash across the darkened sky.
“Every year, at this time, the earth rotates through the orbit of the Swift-Tuttle comet. Meteor activity is generally high in pre-dawn hours.”
“You know, dude, you don't sound like a salvage yard worker. You sound like a book,” said Dean.
Cas cast a nervous glance at Dean, but Dean was smiling, so Cas decided maybe it was OK to sound like a book. Or at least OK for him to sound like a book.
“Tell me about the East, Dean,” said Cas.
“It’s pretty boring, actually,” said Dean.
“It won’t be boring to me,” said Cas, looking over to Dean. “Even the boring stuff won’t be boring. I’ve never been there.”
“I suppose so,” said Dean.
“And besides, you are my salvage. I should know everything about you!”
Dean burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re not gonna keep harping on that are you?” He looked at Cas, who was perfectly serious. “OK, so you are. Just do me a favor, OK? Don’t mention it in front of my brother. He’ll never stop giving me shit.”
“All right. I will not mention this fact in front of Sam Winchester.” Cas smiled faintly. Although they had promised only to pinpoint Sam’s location and then hurry back to Bobby and No Man’s Land, Cas had already decided he was not returning without Sam in tow. He suspected Dean felt the same way. How hard could it be? After all, everyone knew Lucifer had a bunch of demons working for him. Between him and his brother, they could probably smite enough enemy soldiers to free an entire camp.
“Can I ask you one thing?” said Dean.
“Yes?”
“The whole blow up between Michael and Lucifer....”
“This inquiry might be better to ask of my brother. As I have said, I was quite young.”
“No, it's.... Where was your dad, in all of this?”
“Where is God?” Cas repeated, and suddenly the weight of the universe was upon him.
“Well.... Yeah.”
Cas grew thoughtful. “That is a very good question, Dean.”
Dean sat up. “Wait. You don't know?”
“No one knows,” said Cas, tracing the stars with his hands. “At least, that is what my brother tells me.”
“God skipped town? What, did he have alimony payments?”
Cas took his eyes from the sky and gazed over at his friend, sensing his unease. “You are concerned,” he told Dean. “You needn't be. The world is no different from what it was. I just supplied you with some information.”
“There are angels … but no God,” repeated Dean, lying back down.
“My Father abides!” insisted Cas, going up on one elbow.
“Like the Dude?” smiled Dean.
“I don’t know what you mean. My father is here. He is simply … elusive.”
Dean sighed. “And no one has seen hide nor hair of Michael lately?”
“I have never seen him, not that I can recall, so it has made minimal difference in my life.”
“But he's supposed to be leading the fight! People are dying in his name!” said Dean. “My brother got caught. In his name!”
Cas studied Dean. “Your brother notwithstanding, please understand, I do not have the sympathies you might expect in this fight. Michaelistas and Luciferites: they are all my brothers and sisters. And they are set upon each other.”
“So to you it's like … what? A big argument at the dinner table?” asked Dean.
“It is a bit like that, yes,” said Cas. “We are different, we angels, but there are analogies to a human family.” He looked upwards, and just then, a meteor sparked against the sky, leaving a graceful trail of light.
Sam was carrying contraband, so he hurried on his way. But tried not to seem as though he was hurrying.
Since the night of the fateful poker game, his life had turned into one big scavenger hunt. Not that he minded: it staved off the boredom and longing for home.
The camp was self-supporting. Word was because Lucifer had no food to spare, having spent rather a lot of time torching farmland in the wake of his advance. But this meant that certain trusted prisoners spent part of their days out toiling in the fields. And another set of model prisoners was actually afforded contact with the townsfolk.
Sam, as it happened, was every inch the model prisoner. The status was, unfortunately, not earned so much as bought, thanks to innumerable poker game losses to a guard named Asmodeus. He once again stopped to wonder about the guards: the red-eyed ones would sell their mother for a pack of smokes. If demons had mothers, that is.
He had just come back from a successful transaction in town, where in exchange for some of Rufus’ most perfect tomatoes, he’d gotten a big old sack of fertilizer.
Thing was, the sack said fertilizer. But it was no such thing.
He was just waddling out to visit Rufus, who was in the middle of a vast field of sunflowers fussing over something that looked to Sam every bit a nasty weed.
“What you got there, Rufus?” he asked, after making sure there were no listening ears.
“Artemisia absinthium. Some as call it wormwood. Good for what ails you. And maybe giving some supernatural mofos something to think about. You got something for me?”
Sam looked around one more time, and then dropped the heavy sack he had hidden under his jacket.
“Ah!” said Rufus. He knelt down and opened the sack, sticking a finger in to taste. “Oh, that is tasty.”
“Demons can’t take a little rock salt?” asked Sam, hunkering down next to him. “Really?”
“None of the minor ranks, so most everybody we’re likely to meet,” said Rufus, “You got firearms, which unfortunately we don’t, you can pack it in the ammo. But it’s a pretty trusty barrier, given there’s not a high wind that night.” He looked up at Sam. “You’re a little late,” he said to Sam.
“Yeah, I got to talking,” said Sam.
“Anyone I know?” asked Rufus, narrowing his eyes. “Ash has told me you got a new friend in town.”
“Ash has a big fucking mouth.” Sam shrugged. “It’s just this girl in town. Ruby, her name was. Her folks own the general store where I’ve gotten some of my stuff.”
“Ruby, huh? This a human girl?”
“What?” sputtered Sam. “Rufus! You’re paranoid. Of course she's human!”
“Paranoid folks are live folks. She the one give you the salt?”
“No, they were out. I had to go….” Sam thought it over. He had been flirting with the saucy brunette since he’d been given leave to go to town. But every time he’d brought up the subject of salt, she had started to act weird. Well, weirder than usual.
“You got a cute little clerk at a general store who don’t stock salt. Yeah, that makes sense,” smiled Rufus. “Bet they don’t stock any iron either.”
“Rufus,” said Sam. “You’re off base here. There is no way that girl is a demon.”
“Because…?”
Sam shrugged.
“Too pretty?” laughed Rufus.
“Rufus! That’s crazy. Ruby is not a demon. And even if she is….” Whoa, wait, thought Sam.
“At least I know you’re human then, kid,” laughed Rufus. “Do us a favor then. Keep flirting with her, don’t let her know you’ve caught on. Or rather, don’t let her know I caught on.” He took out a small container and filled it with rock salt. “You can give that to her as a present, she gives you any trouble.”
Sam nodded, suddenly wondering if that was why the guys in the camp had conspired to get him on the trading runs into town.
Rufus carefully rolled up the bag of salt and then placed it inside a metal container. Sparing one more careful glance around, the two men lowered the container into a hole in the ground, and then carefully covered it over, stomping in the dirt. “Now to just make sure I don’t blank out on all my damn hidey holes,” laughed Rufus. “Anyway. We better hit the road after this. Don’t wanna miss dinner roll call.”
They walked in silence for a while, and Rufus lit a stubby end of a hand-rolled cigarette. “So if I’m not prying, kid, what’s your story?” Rufus asked. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing girls. Of the human, normal-eyed kind?”
“I was. Believe me, I was,” said Sam, ruefully. “I guess I believed like my brother did, that this isn’t our fight. I was in college, and I was gonna get married. But….” He trailed off, and walked in silence for a moment. “You must have heard of the Valentine’s Day bombing?”
“We all did. Blamed it on Luciferites.”
“But it was never clear. Yeah.” Sam took a deep breath. “Anyway, my fiancée worked in that building.”
“Aw, hell, I’m sorry, kid!”
“Well, anyway, I know what my brother thinks, but I just couldn’t accept that what goes on over here wasn’t my business.
“This fucking war. It’s made a mess of us all,” sighed Rufus, who took a puff of his cigarette butt.
They walked in silence for a while more. “Rufus, what really happened up there?” Sam nodded upwards. “What the hell are we fighting for? What the hell started it?”
“Well, I’m not sure anyone really knows it all. I’m not sure any human could fully comprehend anyway. But from what I can make out it’s all down to a family feud.”
“What, like the Borgias?”
“More like Cain and Abel, what I hear. My read is it started out pretty much a fight for succession. The old man stepped out,”
“Wait, God?”
“Yep, God. No one knows when or why, so the heirs were squabbling to divide up what’s left. Michael and Lucifer were next in line, and the rest of them lined up on either side or just got out of there.”
“Somehow, that’s not the way I pictured angels,” said Sam.
“They’re warriors, you know. The angels. Not the lovey dovey crap you get in the New Age salons.”
“And Lucifer is winning?”
“Seems like. Of course, you don’t always get the greatest intel, where we’re stuck right now. But you feed a red-eye demon enough booze, they get chatty, and it sounds like both sides are worn pretty thin. No one’s actually seen Michael in quite a while. And Lucy started recruiting demons to his side. But, of course, like anything supernatural, there’s conflicting stories like crazy.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Well, I don’t give too much stock to babble from drunk demons, but one tale I’ve heard from a number is that Mike and Lucy between the two of them took a shiv to the rest of the royal family, or whatever the hell you call the angel equivalent.”
“So. Some angels are more equal than others?”
“Sure thing. There’s archangels, and they’re like ten of the regular guys. The Father’s favorites. Anyway, there’s some as say Lucy did it, some say Mike, but the long and the short of it is, anyone who might have threatened them for the leadership is in a celestial body bag.”
“That’s harsh,” said Sam.
“Well, remember, they ain’t like us, kid. Angels can be a bunch of murderous sonsabitches.”
“If you say so,” said Sam, who couldn’t help but remember his mother’s tales of guardian angels and suchlike.
“Now of course, there’s also some as say, there may have been a brother who skipped out and escaped. Rogue archangel.”
“Oh, so you mean the Romanov angel family had an Anastasia?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, something like that. Prince Anastasia,” laughed Rufus.
They had hidden out just outside of town until daybreak. “Curfew,” Cas had explained. At the first sign of dawn, they headed in, though Dean noticed Cas stayed away from the main roads.
The town wasn’t what Dean had been expecting. Funny, it seemed like it had been caught in a time capsule maybe a decade or two earlier. Well, the portions that were still standing. There were also whole neighborhoods that had been reduced to rubble, and it didn’t seem as if anybody had even attempted to rebuild. But the technology was all mid to late Twentieth Century, if that. Most of the cars were still the four wheeled kind, and the few that flew looked just a tick better than the one he'd seen the Mammonites pilot. Bobby had been right, even if Dean had somehow flown his police cruiser into this territory, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb.
Cas seemed to know his way around, so Dean just stuck close, and, as Bobby had instructed them, tried to look like he belonged there.
Dean’s feet were getting sore after walking on hard pavement for a couple hours. These shoes were not meant for foot patrol, he thought wryly. They ended up at a dilapidated strip mall in what appeared to Dean to be a rather shady portion of the town.
“You sure this is it?” Dan asked.
“I’m sure,” said Cas. He approached a storefront that looked closed. The sign up above had fallen off, probably years ago, but on the door was a sign that said “Freelance Shaman for hire.” And then underneath that a list of maladies the shaman claimed to cure, including gout, ague, boils, and demon possessions large and small.
“Looks closed,” said Dean, peering into the dusty plate glass window.
“He’s here,” said Cas.
“You gonna knock?”
“He knows we’re out here,” Cas assured him.
“Are you-?” Dean started. But just then the door opened to reveal a short, slight guy. He didn't much resemble Cas, but he had the same wry grin, which broke out as soon as he spotted his brother.
“Cas? Is that you?”
Though he wasn't a big guy, he gripped Cas in a great bear hug, actually lifting him off his feet. Cas grinned and ambled on past him into the storefront.
“Uh, I’m Dean,” said Dean, introducing himself as Cas hadn’t bothered.
“You better come inside,” said the guy, looking around suspiciously. Dean entered and he closed the door. “You can call me Gabe,” he said, gripping Dean’s hand with surprising strength.
“The place looks great as always,” cracked Cas.
“Cas, sit!” ordered Gabe as Cas was crouching on one of the threadbare couches in what looked like a waiting room area. Cas grinned, but then let his butt drop down to the couch. “Don’t act like a Nephil in front of company,” groused Gabriel.
“He’s not company. He’s my salvage!” bragged Cas.
“Your … what?”
“Long story,” Dean apologized. Gabe raised an expectant eyebrow, so Dean continued. “I was trying to get over here from the Free States, but ended up getting shot down near Bobby’s salvage yard.”
“Oh, how the hell is Bobby?” asked Gabe, offering Dean a pack of licorice whips. Dean waved them away.
“He’s an idiot,” said Cas.
“How so, idiot?” asked Gabe.
“Still hasn’t married Jody,” said Cas, taking a long licorice whip.
“Oh, yeah, he is an idiot,” allowed Gabe. “And what's with the suit? You getting married now?” he asked Cas.
Cas flipped his twisted tie. “Had to testify before Swearengen.”
“Swearengen? That old drunk still swinging the gavel?”
“It was in the matter of Mr. Winchester,” said Cas, indicating Dean.
“So, I see you got yourself into our fair country … uh, Dean was it?” Dean nodded. “Now what?”
“I’m trying to find my brother. Cas says you can help,” Dean told Gabe.
“I can locate people,” said Gabe, flopping onto a couch and starting to chew his licorice. “What, is he a runaway?”
“Uh, kind of.”
“Michaelista!” said Cas.
“Oh, holy fuck,” said Gabe. “Well, I’m sorry, Dean, but whatever my half-witted brother told you, he was wrong. No can do!”
Dean’s heart sunk. He sat down beside Cas. “Really?”
“Oh, sure you can, Gabriel. Don’t be a pussy,” Cas rasped at him. Dean noticed he was not eating his licorice whip, but rather twisting it around in a knot.
“I am not a pussy, Castiel,” shot back Gabe. “You know what the fuck you’re asking me? Your brother, Dean? He’s in a POW camp, right?”
“Last I heard, yeah,” said Dean.
“Yeah. And last I heard, Lucifer isn’t an idiot. I look for him, they’re gonna look right back at me,” he insisted, poking a thumb at his own chest.
“Yes. It would be a real shame if you had to give all this up, brother,” said Cas, casting his eyes around the shabby room.
“Don’t knock it! It’s a living!”
“Offering consultation regarding hammer toes?” asked Cas.
“Just stow it, Cas. Besides, I’m doing you a favor! You want Lucifer’s demons coming down on your head? Because that’s what it’s gonna be like. Look, you were too small, but I remember this crap from up there!” said Gabe, pointing upwards with his licorice. “That’s why we got out, you and me. So you won’t ever have to deal with it.”
“Lucifer and Michael have broken the human world,” growled Cas. “How would I not be affected. Look,” he said. “We are supposed to help people, right?”
“Not exactly,” said Gabe.
“Cas, just forget it,” said Dean. “He obviously doesn’t want to get involved.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you here, Dean,” said Cas, scowling at Gabriel.
“I’ll just gank a car and go after him myself,” said Dean.
“What? You’re insane!” said Gabe. “You don’t even know which camp!”
“Because you refuse to help us!” Cas reminded him.
“Look, Dean,” said Gabe, whose teeth were now somewhat blackened from the licorice. “I sympathize. You wanna help your brother. I’d wanna help this little shit, if he was in trouble. But you’re no help if you’re dead. And if you do this, that’s how you’re gonna end up, on a slab somewhere.”
“He’s my blood. This is what I gotta do,” said Dean, who was standing.
“I’ll go with you,” said Cas, who stood as well. He set down his licorice whip. It was now somehow twisted into a little balloon animal.
“What?” asked Dean.
“Oh no fucking way, Cas!” said Gabe.
“I said, I am going with Dean,” said Cas.
Gabe grabbed Cas by the shoulders. “You know what they do to angels. Out there.”
“I thought it was none of our business,” said Cas, crossing his arms.
“Castiel. Please.”
“Dean is my salvage,” insisted Cas.
“Stubborn little shit!” grumbled Gabe, who suddenly started pacing up and down, madly waving his licorice. “OK, OK, look, what about this? Say I try for a general location? There’s a limited number of POW camps. Maybe if I just narrow it down to a region, that would be enough.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?” asked Dean.
“But you guys gotta do something for me!” said Gabriel. “I don’t work for free, even for my brother. I wanna be paid,” he insisted, tapping his finger on his palm.
“I didn’t bring any money, Gabe,” Cas told him.
“I don’t want your money. I’m getting low on stocks. Can’t be a shaman without your supplies, your eye of newt, toe of frog, vampire's tears.”
“Wait, there's … vampires here?” asked Dean.
“Why wouldn't there be vampires here?” Cas asked him as both he and Gabe looked at Dean like he was slightly slow.
“There's no vampires in the East!” Dean protested. Which caused Cas and Gabe to smirk at each other.
“I don't know...” Cas told Gabe.
“C'mon Cas! You've always been my best scrounger!” Gabe was suddenly holding something that looked like a grocery list in his hand. Dean blinked. It seemed like it hadn't been there before. “You just go right down, bing bing bing!”
Cas frowned and gestured for the list. Gabe, seeming reluctant, gave it over. It suddenly unfolded to many times its original length, actually fanning out all the way down to the floor. “Gabe. This is an obvious delaying tactic.”
“No no no no no no! Would I do that?” asked Gabe.
“Yes. You would.”
“OK. I would. But seriously. You boys turn up a few items for me, we'll go find your brother, everybody will end up happy!”
“We can spend a certain amount of time on this,” said Cas, ripping off the end of the list and letting it fall to the floor as Gabe cringed. “In addition, Dean needs new shoes. The pair he is presently wearing is giving him blisters.”
Gabe looked shrewd. “Your cop shoes not made for walking?” he asked.
“No, they're.... Wait, how did you know?” asked Dean.
Gabe smiled smugly. “I'll grab you some clothes that don't give you away, officer. But meantime, I think I got something better for the shoe situation.” He inclined his head, and Cas and Dean followed him through the office and out a back door. There was evidently another parking lot in back of the building, although, oddly enough, it looked like the front of the building.
Dean turned around. This was a completely different strip mall, somewhat less dilapidated than the one he remembered. And it looked to be located in a different part of town. “How did he...?” he started. He turned and ran over to where Cas and Gabe were taking a cover off a big old car.
“Oh, sweet,” said Dean, running a reverent hand over the fender of a huge black car.
“67 Impala. And it is cherry,” grinned Gabe.
“How did you get your hands on something like this?” asked Dean.
“Oh, a trade deal. I should have sold her, but I thought it might come in handy. Gabe grinned at Dean, who looked like he had been transported to another realm. A realm of automotive perfection.
“What do you say, Dean? Just drive around, a few errands?” asked Gabe. “I got a few odds and ends, I could start poking around for your brother right away.” He held up the car keys, jingling them.
Dean stuck out his hand. Gabe tossed him the keys. Cas rolled his eyes.
“OK! Get on the road, errand boys,” said Gabe.
Sam was standing by a truck waiting to be driven into town for another round of wheeling and dealing. And maybe a visit to a cute girl. Who was definitely not a demon. Probably. Rufus stood nearby, the inevitable smoke in his hands, doing not much of anything. Ash and Victor were already sitting on the bed of the truck.
Sam hadn't been able to keep a thought intruding on his mind: do I really want to escape? A few weeks ago the answer would have been clear. But his life right now: well, it wasn't great, obviously, but the runs into town provided a modicum of interest to his day. He thought of Dean, and how he wanted to live to see his pigheaded brother again. He smiled. The war couldn't last forever, right? He had had enough of adventure, he thought. Maybe he should just tough it out here, and then after the war, he could do the white picket fence thing. And then, well, Dean would get the pleasure of kicking his ass, as he’d threatened to when Sam joined the Michaelistas.
He heard the creak as some of the guards started to pull the main gate open. Rufus ditched his cigarette butt. Sam noticed a couple of guys were filing out of Balthazar's building over on the other side of the camp. They were trying to be low key about it, but he recognized the faces. They must have just had a meeting of the top guys.
One of them came over close to where he and Rufus were standing. He didn't look good. In fact, he looked like shit. Sam tried to remember his name: this guy often sat in on the poker games, though he usually didn't say much.
“Uh, Camaeus?” said Sam.
The guy didn't respond. Instead, he stared out the gate.
Sam elbowed Rufus, who was instantly at attention. “Camaeus,” he said, softly but distinctly. But once again, the guy paid him no attention.
“Camaeus,” said Rufus. “Look at me.”
“Camaeus?” asked Sam, who was now growing concerned.
“Rufus,” muttered Camaeus absently.
“What's going on, buddy?” asked Rufus.
“Bad news,” Camaeus whispered. Sam noticed both Victor and Ash were leaning over, trying to catch what he said.
“Now, why don't you talk about it. Can't be that bad,” said Rufus.
Camaeus finally looked over to Sam and Rufus. His expression made Sam's heart stop.
“Yes it can,” he said.
And then he was running.
“Camaeus!' said Sam. Rufus reached over and grabbed Sam to prevent him from running after. But Camaeus was already at the gate, and then streaking past the surprised guards.
One of the guards - Sam recognized him as one of the red-eyed ones - raised his rifle, but another guard, a black-eye, pushed it down. And then, to Sam's astonishment, the black-eyed demon actually smiled. Sam gulped. He had never seen one of them smile before, and now he never wanted to see it again.
Camaeus was a little ways down the road, but then, like someone had snapped their fingers, he was on fire, as if he’d been splashed with gasoline and lit with a match. He screamed, an anguished wail. He ran a few more steps, and then he collapsed. He writhed, and made a feeble attempt at rolling on the ground.
And then he went utterly still.
“Help him!” said Sam.
One of the guards turned and smirked at Sam. And then, like it was nothing, a couple of them wandered casually out to what was left of Camaeus. He had burnt out by that time, nothing but a twisted, charred thing that didn't even much resemble a man. The guards came up to him and gave him a little kick, to see if there was some life in him.
There was not.
The guards made a point of looking back at the crowd that was now gathered at the gate. Just about everyone was out by that time, standing in silent horror.
“They want us to see. Bastards,” muttered Rufus.
“Balthazar,” said Sam.
Balthazar, who had run out to see, looked at Sam and Rufus, his face a mask of pain.
“What the hell happened to him?” asked Sam. “What the fuck?”
“Sometimes, guys just go stir crazy. It happens,” said Rufus.
“No,” said Balthazar.
“What?” asked Sam.
Balthazar shook his head. “We've had some bad news.”
Sam and Rufus looked at each other. The smell of charred flesh hung in the air.
Dean was never quite as happy as when he was behind the wheel.
But this car? Holy Jesus!
He admitted to himself, he should probably be in a crap mood right now. Instead of the heroic rescue mission he had fantasized, here he was being an errand boy for some two-bit fake witch doctor. What the hell kind of angel worked out of a fucking strip mall? Angels! They were just … weird.
Cas, who had readily agreed to letting Dean drive, was sitting in the passenger seat, rifling through the bags and boxes and bins of stuff they'd already acquired, ticking off the seemingly endless list.
“Remember to check off that eye of newt!” suggested Dean.
“I have already checked it,” Cas told him.
“Sure you don’t wanna drive?”
“I find driving … mildly annoying actually,” said Cas, tugging at his tie.
Dean frowned. “So, we gonna go after those vampire tears now?”
“I think we can skip that item,” said Cas, crossing it out.
“Hey, why? I thought you and your brother said there were vampires!”
“Yes,” said Cas. He looked at Dean. “As Bobby might say, they are unpleasant shitheads.”
“I haven't met a vampire before.”
“You have not encountered one that you have recognized as such,” said Cas. “And here is the unpleasant thing: in order to collect vampire tears, you need to leave the things … alive. Or rather, animated. Or … whatever they are.”
“Sooooo. You telling me you can't handle a live vampire?”
Cas drew up, as if offended. “Naturally I can 'handle' a vampire. They are no match for us.”
Dean shrugged.
“All right, Dean,” said Cas. “We will seek out a vampire. But do not feel entitled to lodge complaint afterwards that the encounter was unpleasant.”
“Sure thing, dude,” smiled Dean. “Which way, Van Helsing?”
“Left ahead,” said Cas. “That book contained innumerable inaccuracies!”
“Oh, like what?”
“Wooden stakes are not terribly useful against the undead. Here,” he added, rummaging through a bag and tossing something small to Dean.
Dean glanced down at it. It was a small vial filled with a yellowy powder. “Am I supposed to snort this?” he asked.
“Just put some on. It interferes with the vampire's sense of smell.”
Dean shrugged and popped the top. “Smells like an Indian restaurant. So, vampire fact: vampires do not like curry!” After sprinkling some over his head, he handed the vial back to Cas.
“Do you not take anything seriously?” asked Cas.
“Dean fact: Dean does not take anything seriously.” He glanced over at Cas. “But what about you? You seem like you've lost the funny bone. Is the necktie too tight?”
“Encounters with the undead seem to pique my irritability,” said Cas, self-consciously pulling at his rumpled necktie.
“You've dealt with Bela Lugosi before?”
Cas nodded. He pointed, and they turned into a strip mall. It looked a little classier than any of the ones Gabriel occupied.
“Where are we going?” asked Dean.
Cas inclined his head. Dean looked over, blinking.
“The tanning salon?” Dean asked. “You're joking, right?”
The grin was back. “So, where are you least likely to go looking for a vampire, Dean?” asked Cas.
“Well....” said Dean.
“And, what do those booths look like to you?”
“Well, big coffins,” said Dean. “Huh. So it's like, hide in plain sight?”
“They are annoying. Not stupid.”
“So,” said Dean, noticing Cas shuffling in the bags. “What's the plan?”
“Usually, I run into difficulties with these sorts of errands. Evidently, angelic blood is not palatable to them, so my presence does not tempt them. Secondly, the power differential with these creatures is too wide, so I will often end up smiting them when I only mean to incapacitate them temporarily.”
“Don't know you're own strength, huh?” asked Dean. Cas nodded smugly. “But I thought vampires were supposed to be strong?”
Cas actually snorted. “They're stronger than humans. But that's not saying much.”
“Nice. I think I've just been insulted,” said Dean. “By an angel.” Cas chuckled, but didn't deny it. “So, OK, smart guy, what do we do?”
“Well, now I have some nice human blood to offer them.”
“You...? Oh, wait a minute! Hang on there! I'm gonna be vampire McNuggets?” asked Dean.
“I don’t understand that reference, Dean. But may I remind you, who wanted to see a vampire?” asked Cas.
“You don’t eat fast food?” asked Dean.
“That sort of thing would not be readily accessible in No Man’s Land,” said Cas.
“OK, we’ll gather vamp tears, and then we’ll go get burgers!” said Dean.
“Well. All right. Now, here is what I want you to do. I hope this will not go against your no doubt closely held principles as an officer of the law,” said Castiel.
Some minutes later, Dean was around back, trying to look casual. As it looked like the coast was clear, he took out his pick and started in on the door. It yielded quickly. “Now I just hope vamps don’t have alarm systems,” he whispered to himself as he gently pushed the door open.
It was dark, so he turned on the flashlight Cas had loaned him and headed for the register up front, trying to look for all the world like a normal burglar. “Uh, here I am, all full of tasty hemoglobin and stuff,” he muttered, looking around nervously. There was silence. He suddenly wondered if he had used too much saffron, self-consciously sniffing an armpit to make sure.
He pretended to be baffled by the register, but finally popped it open, and was momentarily distracted by the take. “Damn, why did I go into law enforcement instead of frying people into crispy critters?” he muttered, pulling out an impressive was of cash.
He froze. He wasn’t sure what made him do it: he hadn’t heard a sound.
No, he smelled it. There was something in the room that was not alive.
Something behind him.
He leaned over the cash drawer, pretending to be fiddling with it. Suddenly he yanked it out, the whole drawer, turned and hurled it at whatever was standing behind him.
He let out a gasp. It had been hovering right over him. He should have felt the breath on his neck. Oh, that’s right, they didn’t breathe.
It took a half step back, looking annoyed, but was on him in a flash, slamming him down on the counter, pinning him. He instantly saw what Cas meant about these things being annoying. It just didn’t look alive, with horrible waxy skin, and, Dean now found out, the world’s worst breath.
Oh, that's right: they didn't breathe. It just plain stunk.
Remembering his experience with the demons, Dean went for a sensitive point, bringing his knee up right in its crotch.
The thing frowned slightly.
And then, with a little click, it extended a pair of fangs, yellowy as the rest of its sorry teeth.
“Cas!” shouted Dean. But suddenly the thing went into a spasm. Its body jerked, and then there was a white light shooting out of its eyes and mouth. It keeled over, plopping on the floor, to reveal Cas standing behind it.
“Dammit!” said Cas, who stooped down to examine the creature. “I didn’t mean to smite him.”
“Do you think you cut it a little close there?” asked Dean, rubbing his still pristine neck. “I was gonna be vamp kibble!”
“You were in no danger. What is kibble?” But Dean had no time for an explanation, as he found himself suddenly flung against a wall. Somehow, some more vampires had appeared, silently as the first.
Struggling to keep his feet, Dean reached for his belt as one of them charged him. He pulled out the iron knife Cas had loaned him and brought it straight up into the creature’s lower jaw, where it stuck into its mouth. The vampire reeled back. “Bit me now, bitch!” Dean taunted. But it didn’t have a chance, as Cas now had it by the scruff of the neck.
“Look at that! He just gave all your friends a good smiting!” said Dean, indicating the vampires Cas had just evidently left lying, limp, on the floor.
“Eh,” said the vampire, knife still in its jaw, who didn’t look terribly concerned.
Dean looked questioningly at Cas, who was sneering at the vampire. “And now we’re gonna take your money,” Cas told it, picking up a wad of cash and waving it at the vamp.
“Wha-? Noooo!” it gurgled.
“Get the vial,” Cas told Dean.
“We had news,” said Balthazar.
The mood in the camp had been strained since Camaeus's sudden death. Sam sat on a packing crate, wishing he smoked cigarettes so he would have something to do with his hands. And here he had stupidly considered himself safe.
“What kinda news, Balthy?” asked Rufus, as they watched Chuck and Ash spread lines of rock salt at the doorway and across the windowsills of the common room.
“There are rumblings that the powers that be are going to do some … consolidation,” said Balthazar. “Among the various detainees. They shall pack up this entire camp, and send us on to a more … central location.”
“Are they gonna mix us in with the political prisoners?” asked Sam.
“They might consider sending us to Tucson,” said Balthazar.
“Oh. Fuck,” said Rufus. “Balthy, you gotta get outta here.”
“We all need to get out of here,” said Balthazar.
“What's going on?” asked Sam.
“There's rumors about that place,” said Rufus. “Bad ones.”
“Lucifer has certain grievances against various races,” explained Balthazar. “He has never cared for humans: that is one of the seeds of the present confilct.”
“He's got a grudge against angels,” said Rufus.
“Wait? Other angels?” said Sam.
“Hates ‘em worse than humans, for selling him out I guess,” said Rufus. “There’s entire neighborhoods, angel ones, where everybody has just disappeared.”
“Scuttlebutt has it that Tucson is not a proper internment camp,” said Balthazar. “But rather, a death camp.”
“OK. Absolutely no part of that sounds good,” said Sam.
“So what are we doin’, boss?” asked Rufus.
“We need to move up the timeline,” said Balthazar. “Spread the word.”
Rufus nodded, and he and Sam left the room, being careful not to break any of the salt lines.
“Rufus,” whispered Sam when they were between cabins.
“I don’t like this,” said Rufus. “Better to wait for a full moon, when we got the maximum power from everything.”
“Rufus,” Sam repeated. “Balthazar…?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s an angel. Right?”
Rufus looked right and left, and then hustled Sam over into the shadows. He nodded. “Kid, that entire bunk house full of guys. They ain’t troublemakers. They’re all angels. Camaeus too. Or at least he was.”
Sam’s eyes widened. It was difficult to keep his voice down. “What…. All of them? But they’re all foreigners. Like me.”
“Yeah. Only thing keeping ‘em alive, I’d think.”
“There’s angels living outside the West?” Sam searched his memories, wondering now about pretty much everyone he’d ever met.
“Of course. You just gotta know where to look. But one thing is clear here: Balthazar or any of those folks go to Tucson, they’re as good as dead. I’ve heard stories: you think Camaeus was bad, you ain’t seen nothing.”
Sam nodded glumly. It seemed unfair: he was just learning about magic, and now the world seemed bound and determined to snuff it out.
“Come on,” said Rufus. “We don’t want any attention.” Without waiting for Sam, Rufus turned and stalked off towards their bunkhouse. Sam followed him, more slowly, lost in thought.
“Hi, honey, we're home!” bellowed Dean as he and Cas came in one of the back doors of Gabe’s office. “And we got vampire tears!” he added, waving a bag.
Cas followed Dean in the door. He was carrying a number of bags, and had his mouth around a Big Mac.
“What’s that stench?” asked Dean, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like a dead skunk taking a shit.” Cas pushed ahead, indicating that Dean should follow, and they passed through a door hung with beaded curtains.
Gabe was inside, hunched over a bowl filled with something that he’d set afire. He seemed to be in some kind of trance. His eyes were closed, and he was muttering in a strange language.
“Is that Enochian?” Dean asked Cas.
“Yes,” said Cas, dumping his bags on an already cluttered table, and indicating Dean should do the same. Cas thumped down on a divan and began devote his complete attention to his hamburger. “These represent a pleasant diversion following an encounter with the undead.”
“How can you eat with that stink?” asked Dean.
Cas shrugged and grinned. “Used to it I guess.”
Dean wasn’t certain how anyone could become used to an odor like that. He considered moving to another room for the duration when he heard Gabe suddenly shout something. It sounded like cursing, but it wasn’t in English.
Gabe threw a towel over the bowl, extinguishing the flames. He sat back, a look of horror on his face. He looked up, and seemed to realize that Cas and Dean were in the room with him.
He sat forward and said something to Cas in Enochian. Cas actually looked up from his meal and replied in kind. This went back and forth a few rounds.
“What’s up?” asked Dean.
“Uriel,” Gabe told Dean.
“A urinal?” asked Dean. “Sure smells like a men’s room.”
“Uriel,” repeated Gabe. “I caught sight of him. His presence is … strong.”
“Who the hell is he, and why should I care?” asked Dean.
“He's an angel. Like us. Or not like us,” said Gabe. “A real hard liner.”
“What is he doing over here? I thought he was one of Michael’s soldiers?” asked Cas.
“I don’t know,” muttered Gabriel. “But I know one thing. He had a specialty.”
“What kinda specialty?” asked Dean.
“Well, you had situations where you’d get a whole town or village disobedient, Uriel was the go to guy,” said Gabe as Cas handed him a McFlurry with Oreo cookies.
“He’d get them in line?” asked Dean.
“No. He’d smite them,” said Gabe, taking the plastic lid off his ice cream and carelessly tossing it aside.
“He’d smite whole towns?” asked Dean.
“Haven’t you read the bible, kiddo?” asked Gabe, spooning ice cream. “Our Father was big on the smiting.”
“Does this mean my brother is in danger?” asked Dean.
“It means we’re all in danger,” said Gabe, who seemed serious. He pointed with his pink ice cream spoon. “Look, I think what we do is, I’ll do a location spell for your brother, and then we’ll take a road trip.”
“What, all of us?” asked Dean.
“All of us,” said Gabe. “It’ll cost me a couple days business, but I need to follow up on this.” He was rummaging through the bags of ingredients, dripping melted ice cream on them. “You guys bring me the vampires tears?”
Dean held up a baggie containing a vial.
“Excellent,” said Gabe.
“Vampires are assholes,” said Dean.
“I warned you, Dean,” said Cas. Cas dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to Gabe. It was a wad of cash.
“Is that from the cash drawer?” asked Dean.
“Yeah,” said Cas.
“I don’t believe you robbed them!” said Dean.
“They’re vampires,” laughed Gabe.
“But…” said Dean. “I’m a cop.”
“Oh, reminds me, I found you these,” said Gabe, hauling out a stack of clothing.
Dean picked through them. Well worn jeans, a sturdy pair of shoes, some soft cotton shirts. “I’ll have to see if they fit,” he said, picking up the stack.
“Of course they fit,” said Gabe.
“Is there some place I could change?” asked Dean, who wanted to get away from the stench of Gabe’s smell more than anything. Cas grinned and inclined his head, and Dean followed him out of the room and down the hallway. “So, is this place bigger on the inside than on the outside or something?”
“It depends on which location you deem the outside, Dean,” said Cas, who flicked on the lights an entered a room with more couches in the middle and a bunch of cabinets pushed against the walls. Dean tossed the stack of clothing down on a couch, sat down and gratefully untied off his painful shoes. He pulled off his socks and wriggled his toes.
“You have blisters,” said Cas. “My brother has something for that,” he said.
“That would be great,” said Dean. Cas went to a big cabinet on the back wall that had about a hundred tiny drawers in it. Cas set down his hamburger and started to poke around in the cabinet, nosing into drawers.
Dean threw off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. “So, are you sure about this Cas?”
“Sure about which herb?” muttered Cas, all of whose attention seemed now focused on the little vials of ingredients.
“Gabe just seems a little…. Um….”
“We will guide you to your brother, and then we will rescue your brother.”
“You seem awfully confident.”
“Demons are no match for us. And they are far less wily than vampires.”
“If you say so.”
“This is the one,” said Cas triumphantly. He turned to face Dean, holding up a small bottle. “Uh….”
“What do you think?” asked Dean, who was just zipping up his newly acquired jeans. Said jeans, parenthetically, also happened to be the only item of clothing he was now wearing. “I’ll say one thing, I think I’m gonna let your brother get all my clothes now. I fucking hate shopping for pants. Huh, Cas? Cas?”
Dean looked up from his spiffy jeans to Cas, who was staring dumbly. Cas’ face had turned a rather fetching shade of crimson.
“Cas, you OK?” asked Dean.
“I’ll, uh, leave this,” said Cas, who, lowering his eyes, handed Dean the bottle and then started to bolt towards the door.
“Cas!” said Dean, grabbing his arm, restraining him. He could feel the angel trembling.
“Uh. What?” Cas slowly raised his eyes to meet Dean’s.
Dean stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was going on. Cas suddenly looked terrified. “You OK?” asked Dean.
Cas nodded, his eyes flicking up and down Dean’s body.
Dean nodded over towards the cabinet. “You left your burger,” he said softly.
“Oh,” said Cas, whirling around towards the cabinet. He leapt over, grabbed his burger, and then was out of the room in a split second.
Dean stood for a moment, shaking his head. “Angels,” he muttered, unfolding a well worn T shirt. “Hey, cool, Metallica!”
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