Salt of the Earth, Part 2
“So what do we do?”
The bar smelled of smoke and whiskey and ten thousand games of pool. Rick searched the faces of his comrades gathered together in the back room: Shane, the one who had just voiced the question, and Glenn. Glenn still seemed a little out of it, but he was healthy, as far as Rick could determine given his limited medical training. The bloodstain trailing down his back was the only remnant of the day's events.
Rick took the wooziness for the reason Glenn was not furious at Shane. As, he had to admit to himself, he was furious with his partner. Shane was a man he'd long trusted with his life, but that now seemed a world away.
He wondered briefly about Daryl's opinion of the mess, but the taciturn redneck had simply muttered something about helping Dean change his tire and then slipped off.
Rick shook his head. “The brothers: they’re both good shots. And they come prepared. That’s clear.”
Shane huffed and rolled his eyes at his former partner. “Rick, be reasonable. Think! If you and me had pulled over these guys a month or so back, you know damn well we’d have arrested them on suspicion of intent to what-the-fuck. I’d be surprised if they’re not carrying their own mug shots in their wallets.”
Glenn put on his “be reasonable, Shane” face. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, Shane, it’s not last month. Or last week. Like Rick said, those dudes are packing a trunk full of ammo.”
Shane hunched his shoulders in a too-casual shrug. “So. We take the trunk. And the car. And send them packing.”
Rick narrowed his eyes. “Shane, that ain't what we do. The world has changed. But not that much.”
“Like the kid said, it's a brave new world!” Rick glared, and Shane didn't press it.
Shane looked side to side, and then lowered his voice. “Plus, they’re dragging along that crazy bastard. You heard him, raving about his angelic powers.”
“And how you know there aren’t angels out there?” asked Glenn. “I mean, a few months back, I thought the walking dead were a Saturday matinee kinda deal.”
“Are you kidding, boy? I think he scrambled your brain when he did that fake faith healing crap,” Shane declared.
As it often did these days, worry creased Rick’s forehead. “Shane. The crazy bastard healed Glenn. You saw him.”
“You even sure he got shot?” asked Shane. “I didn't see no bullet hole. I just winged him.” He ruffed Glenn's hair. Glenn, who had finally gotten annoyed, batted away the hand.
“Shane shot the kid in the back. I saw it. We all saw it.”
Shane glowered at Daryl, who had just come in from outside.
“Oh, you gonna come in and join the conversation, Green Arrow?”
Daryl dropped his eyes. “Ain't no comic book guy,” he mumbled.
“You get that tire fixed?” Rick asked.
Daryl shrugged and continued making eye contact only with the floor. “Dean and his brother are contemplatin’ headin’ out. Lookin’ for their friends. I suppose.”
“That what he told you, Daryl?” asked Rick.
Daryl nodded. “Might be a mind to join them. For a spell.”
“You still wanna find your brother, Daryl?” asked Glenn.
Daryl rearranged his shoulders and bobbed his head, which Rick took as the affirmative. “Yeah. That’s my intent,” he muttered.
“Look, no harm in us all spending the night here,” said Rick. “We've all had a day. Then they'll go their way, we'll go ours. Seems like the problem might work itself out.” He hoped this was true, but when he looked around, Daryl had finally raised his eyes, and his light eyes now bored like sharp arrow points into Shane.
Castiel awoke, his head pounding. They had laid him out on a pool table, the wrinkled trench coat now neatly folded beneath his head as a pillow. Someone had removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and then laid an old quilt crocheted in squares on top of him. He moaned and tried to rise.
“Cas! You’re awake. Are you okay?” Dean, who had evidently been hovering nearby, hopped up onto the pool table beside him and was gently assisting him to sit up.
“I feel terrible.” He raked fingers through his human hair. “Is the one named Glenn all right?”
Dean was pressing hands on his shoulders, gently supporting him. “Yeah. He’s completely recovered. Like it never happened.” He shook his head, trying to fix the memory of seeing the bullet hole and all the blood. That was what happened, right? “You need anything? Some apple juice maybe? I think I saw some cans behind the bar.”
Castiel considered Dean’s offer carefully. “This establishment is a bar? May I have a beer?”
Dean cracked a grin and sauntered over to the bar, where Sam, who appeared to be occupied searching for something, nodded silently to him. Dean returned with two bottles. “Sorry this is room temperature.” He flicked off the caps with his thumb and handed one over to Castiel. Castiel put it to his lips and began to drink and drink and drink.
“Hey, steady there,” laughed Dean as he realized the entire bottle was going down in one gulp.
“Are you all right, there, friend?” asked Rick. He and a couple others had just emerged from the back room, where they'd evidently been having some kind of confab.
“I am perfectly fine,” said Castiel. He didn't add anything about who or what he was, but stared at Rick.
“That guy, Glenn, is okay?” asked Dean.
“It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen,” said Rick, scratching his head. There's a bullet hole in his shirt, and blood down his back, but it's like he was never shot. I think he might have something to say to you.” He turned around. “Hey, Glenn?”
Glenn drew near, though he appeared somewhat shy and uncertain. “Hey, um, Castiel?”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you. For what you did. I thought for a minute I was a goner. Or maybe I'd end up never walking again.” Dean looked curiously at Shane, who was also now crowding nearby, rolled his eyes.
“I guess it happens,” said Dean told Shane.
“What happens?” Shane snapped back.
“Friendly fire,” said Dean.
“I didn't hit him,” said Shane. “You think you're crazy friend cured him?” He turned to Cas. “No offense, but I don't buy your line of bullshit.”
Cas didn't contradict Shane, but rather said, “I believe I need to depart this vicinity.” His voice was low, his manner all business.
Rick looked at Castiel with concern. “Well, it's getting kind of late. We were just talking, thinking it would be a good idea to hole up here for now. The walkers are worse after dark.”
“We planned on heading out in the morning,” said Dean.
Castiel looked outside: it was definitely getting dark. “That would be acceptable.”
“I'm of a mind to get back to the camp,” Rick admitted. “I'm anxious to see Lori and Carl. Um, maybe I shouldn't say anything. But, Lori is expecting.”
Glenn whirled around to face Rick.
It was Shane who spoke. “Wait, Rick. Really?”
The policeman shrugged and blushed slightly. “Uh. Yeah. We were waiting to tell. Actually. We just found out.”
“Dude! Congrats!” Glen slapped him cheerily on the back.
“Uh. Yeah. Congrats,” muttered Shane nervously.
“Lori is your wife?” The question was asked in Castiel's flat affect.
“Yeah, Lori's my wife.” Rick smiled shyly.
But Castiel was staring at Shane as if he were looking through him. “What is it, Cas?” asked Dean.
“She is not Shane's wife then?” Castiel asked, pointing an accusing finger at Shane, who stared stubbornly down at the floor.
“Uh, no, she's not Shane's wife,” said Rick. He flicked a glance over at Shane, who looked like he was trying to disappear.
“I was wondering because-”
“Hey, Cas, you look pale, let's get some air,” interjected Dean, who then frog-march the flustered angel out the back door.
They ended up in a small, cluttered back courtyard beside a full trash dumpster. “Why did you interrupt me?” Cas demanded.
“Cas-”
“It's confusing. Lori is Rick's wife, but Shane also harbors feelings towards her.”
“He does, does he?”
“It's written on his soul!”
Dean smiled and shook his head. “Holy shit, Cas. What the hell are you?”
Castiel screwed up his face. “I am unfamiliar with current human customs. Is this sort of situation normal for marital relations?”
Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder. “Cas, just take it from me. That's the last time we're with these people we mention what's written in whose soul. Okay? The guy's gonna have a baby, he's happy, leave it at that.”
Castiel nodded dubiously. “What is a … Cas?”
“You. Your name's too long.”
Castiel stiffened further (if that were possible), drawing himself up to his full height. “My name is precisely the right length. It is the name the Lord God bestowed upon me.”
“Yeah, right. So how did you cure the kid? I swear I saw a bullet hole! Was that some kind of magic trick?”
Castiel flashed a look of infinite sadness. “I have told you repeatedly what I am. You persist in not believing.”
Dean put a tentative hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Look, an angel … it's just a little out there. Are you a witch or something? My brother and I, we usually don't get along too good with your kind, but given the circumstances, it's fine if that's your deal.”
Castiel nearly spat. “My deal? I am not a witch! Witches are unclean. They are allies of demons. I came here.... Well, I don't remember. Something is interfering with my memories. And my powers. But I fully believe I needed to contact you.”
Dean guffawed. “Now why the hell would an angel have any business with me? I mean, look at me. Do I look like angel bait to you?”
Castiel stared at Dean. “Dean Winchester. You have a destiny.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Screw destiny. Listen, if this grand message isn't me winning Powerball and sailing to the South Seas, I'm not interested.”
“What is a powder ball?” Castiel looked thoughtful. “I wonder if that is the reason behind this eventuality. The forces of darkness may be converging to deprive you of your destiny.”
Dean's smile was genuine. “Cas, listen to me buddy! You seem like a good guy. But I'm Dean Winchester here! I hunt monsters with my brother, and sometimes we stop for a brew. There's not much else to me. Sure as hell not enough to rate a zombie outbreak.”
The back door opened and Daryl emerged, still holding his crossbow. “You looking for the undead out here?” joked Dean.
“Can't be too careful. Hey, I wanted to ask your angel guy somethin’.”
“I am Castiel. Or I supposed Cas would be acceptable.” Castiel shot a sideways glance at Dean, who grinned. “But, yes, I hear the prayers of the faithful.”
Daryl scratched the back of his neck. “You see, Cas, when shit all went down.... Oh, pardon my French!”
Castiel looked exasperated. “I am indifferent to colorful language. This is yet another thing that your bible has gotten wrong.”
“Uh, yeah, that must be annoying I guess,” Dean admitted. “And weren't you supposed to carry a horn or something?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes. “That's my elder brother.”
“Uh, don't get along?”
“He is … unconventional.” Castiel looked sour, so Dean decided not to press the issue. Castiel looked over to Daryl, who was shuffling his feet and staring at the ground. “What was your prayer to me?”
“Well, Cas, when … this all went down, I got separated from my brother. Merle.”
“And you wish to locate him?” Daryl nodded. “I am very sorry. If I was at full power, I could assist you in locating him. This is why I wish to travel forth from here tomorrow. I believe malevolent force in the vicinity is interfering with my power.”
Daryl scratched the back of his neck. “You think your powers, or whatever, will come on back?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, and we want to check the area for our friends, Jo and Ellen.”
Daryl flicked his eyes back towards the Roadhouse. “You take my advice, friend, that might be a good idea. Keep the peace.”
Dean crossed his arms. “Your crowd in there not feelin’ us?” he asked Daryl.
“Ain’t sure they’re exactly my crowd. But no. Anyway, you want, I know how to track.”
“You offering to come with?” Dean asked. Daryl nodded shyly.
“Oh, here you are!” Sam breezed out back.
“Just, uh, getting some air,” Dean told him.
“Check it out! I found Ellen's notebook.”
“Jackpot,” said Dean. “So. Any idea where they went?”
Sam opened the neat, leather-bound volume, and Dean and Daryl crowded around. “It's weird. The last entry says something about going on a routine salt and burn. Demon or spirit, it's not clear. But that was dated weeks ago.”
“Did it say anything about where they might have gone?”
“I dunno. There's a lot of stuff about a tree. Wish I had access to the internet to check into it.”
“Plenty of trees around these parts,” Daryl noted with a small smile.
“A tree?” asked Castiel, who suddenly drew closer as well. Sam showed him the pages. There was a crude pencil drawing of a tree.
“Ellen isn't much of an artist,” said Sam.
Castiel grabbed the notebook from Sam, running long, graceful fingers along the drawing. “You see something, Cas?” asked Dean.
“The serpent,” said Castiel, pointing to a rough squiggle in the tree roots. “The owl. I think this could be something … very old.” He turned the page, but it was blank. “There isn't anything else?”
“A serpent and an owl?” said Daryl. “Seems like a bible story.”
“If this is what I'm thinking, the story was not recorded in your canonical biblical text. It … it was one of my Father's missteps.” The angel looked contrite.
“Did you find Jo's notebook too?” Dean asked Sam.
Sam got a wry look on his face. “Jo keeps a notebook?”
“Yeah, well, stranger things.”
Sam laughed. “It's probably covered in, 'Mrs. Dean Winchester,' written with little hearts dotting the i's.”
Dean turned beet red. “She sweet on ya?” asked Daryl. Castiel too stared curiously.
Dean shook his head and marched back inside. With a ripe mix of amused and puzzled expressions, the others followed. Dean headed to the bar area, where he started to poke around under the counters, checking drawers and cabinets. “I already pretty much tossed this area, Dean,” Sam told him.
Rick, who was now standing alone, leaning against the much-stained bar, watched Dean for a long moment. “You boys looking for something?”
“Our friend Ellen had a journal,” Sam told him, tossing the volume on the counter. “I guess we can tell you, given the situation. Ellen was a hunter. Like us. We make a career of going after … creepy crawlies. Demons and vampires and such.”
“So you're telling me there are vampires?” asked Rick. “Real vampires?”
“Real vampires.”
“Well, don't that beat all.” His face nudged into a smile “Do the bastards sparkle?”
“Not hardly,” muttered Dean from beneath the cash register.
“We're looking to see if Ellen's daughter, Jo, had a journal,” Sam explained.
Rick looked thoughtful. “She's a kid? You think maybe she just kept it on the computer?”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “Duh!” said Sam.
Rick shrugged. “You gotta have a kid, I guess.”
Sam pulled a ratty old laptop out from under the counter and powered it up. “Hope they remembered to charge the batteries before the power went off.”
Dean peered over Sam's shoulder and watched the desktop come up. He groaned at the empty battery symbol in the corner. “Oh, great, three percent power. Good going, Jo!” He pointed to a file on the desktop and Sam slapped his hand away. “Hey!”
“I'm trying to work fast here, Dean,” Sam muttered as he clicked around. “Oh. Crap. It's password protected.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “REO Speedwagon.”
“What?”
“Just type it in!”
“Space or no space?”
“I dunno.” Sam started typing.
“How old was this gal?” asked Rick.
“Jo is Jo,” muttered Dean. “Hey! We're in!”
Sam began frantically scrolling.
“We're down to 2% power, Sammy.”
“Don't rush me! There's a lot of personal stuff here. And bitching about Ellen. Heh, and you Dean.”
Dean looked annoyed.
Sam was frantically pressing the down arrow. “Oh, here's the most recent entry. Her mom's obsessed with a spirit entity. Something called Lilly?” The screen went blank. “Dammit!”
Dean scratched his head. “Lilly? The only Lilly I know is a Potter. Are we hunting Voldemort?”
“Lilith,” said Castiel who had been awaiting silently nearby. Everyone turned around to regard the angel.
“And who or what exactly is Lilith?' asked Dean.
Castiel was gazing at the floor. “It's something we don't talk about. It was … an embarrassment. It's been left out of your canonical bible. Lilith is a very old creature. Even older than myself. I believe she may in fact be the entity behind the recent … tribulations. And the reason I have no access to my powers.”
Dean leaned in closer. “Tribulations? As in undead guys trying to use our brains as pizza snacks?”
“That's correct, Dean.”
Rick heaved a sigh. He crouched down below the bar and pulled out a fifth of whiskey, and then felt around for shot glasses. “All right. I'll play along here. So, who exactly was this Lilith gal?”
“She was the original bride of Adam.”
“Adam? Adam like in Adam and Eve?” asked Dean, who signaled Rick for a glass. Rick poured out shots for all of them.
Castiel nodded. “Yes. But as it turned out, Lilith had no wish to subjugate herself to Adam. She had her own ideas. Opinions.”
“They couldn't handle a woman with opinions?” asked Sam. His voice scaled up in pitch, though whether this was the result of the whiskey or the story, it was unclear.
“Lame,” said Dean. “No offense,” he added to Castiel.
“So Lilith was … replaced. She was expelled from the glory of the garden….”
“And what happened to her?”
“She was banished, to the abyss. And her house sank down unto death. But she carried the curse of her anger and pain. Every few centuries, she returns. To plague the world again.”
Dean raised his hands. “Wait, so you're saying you think, Zombieland out there is all over the First Wife's Club?”
“She is known to be a highly malevolent entity. On a number of occasions throughout history my brothers and I, those of us who watch mankind, have been called upon to drive her back into the earth. But she was not due to return for at least another century. This is … unsettling. And unexpected.” They were all leaning against the bar now. Dean tossed back his shot and pushed Castiel's closer to him. The angel gave it a glance, and then downed it in one go.
Rick chuckled softly and poured out another round.
“All right so, what's with the tree?” asked Sam, pointing to Ellen's drawing.
“That is how she manifests herself from the earth. The trees roots grow to the center of the earth. The owl and the serpent are her servants.”
“So, to take her out, we go get ourselves a chainsaw?” asked Rick, who seemed to be coming around to the mood of the company (with the help of a few shots of whiskey).
“Yes, we will need to destroy the tree. It is the heart of her power. I will go tomorrow, at the dawn, and strike out to find her.”
“Wait wait wait whoa!” said Dean, putting a hand on Castiel's arm. “You just said your mojo is flakey.” Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.
“My … mojo?” asked Cas, tilting his head and downing another shot. “I'm sorry, I don't understand.”
“You said your power's down, Cas,” supplied Daryl, who had been standing silently by.
“You can't just go running off,” said Dean definitively. “You need backup.”
“This is not your concern, Dean. It's mine. I have obviously … failed in some way.”
Rick rested his arms on the bar and gripped his empty shot glass. “Look, reluctant as I am to buy into this cock and bull story, if you boys think that's where your friends might have been headed, then I'm willing to go out, maybe take a look.”
“It's our best lead on Ellen and Jo,” Sam agreed, while giving Cas another skeptical look.
“This ain't too far,” said Daryl, who now had the journal spread out in front of him. “My brother and I used to head there to fish. A lot of walkers though, last time I passed.”
“That stands to reason. It is near the source of Lilith's power. The undead would be attracted to this realm.” Castiel looked around the bar. “But I cannot countenance you accompanying me on my mission. I must go alone.” He rose from his barstool, but overbalanced, and would have likely fallen onto his celestial ass if Dean hadn't caught him.
“Cas, we're gonna catch some shut eye, and then we'll head out first thing tomorrow.”
“I am a being of light. I do not require sleep!” Cas raved even as Dean walked him away.
Sam put his head down on the bar and heaved a great moose-y sigh. Rick sat back and, twisting the cap on the whiskey, let out a laugh. Daryl leaned over Sam and said, “We'll find your friends. Don't you worry.” He rose and followed Dean and Cas.
Rick fiddled with his empty shot glass. “Guess you boys have probably heard some strange stuff.”
Sam popped his head up and looked at Rick. “We live strange stuff,” he said with great weariness.
Rick bobbed his head. “Well, like you said, a few months back, if I got a call over the radio that the dead were dug out of their graves and walking around, I would have figured it was some kind of prank. I guess we all got to get used to a new way of thinking.”
Sam nodded. Although it wasn't exactly a new way of thinking for him, he tried to put himself in the place of a civilian. “I gotta admit, the way we grew up? When I told my dad I was scared of a monster in the closet, he gave me a .22.”
Rick regarded Sam. “So. Was there a monster in your closet?”
Sam shrugged, wide shoulders hunching apologetically. “Actually. Uh. Yes.”
“Damn.”
“Think it was a wraith. Though I'm not too sure any more. Dad and Dean finally jabbed the sucker with a silver knife.”
Rick rubbed his chin. “So, that tree your friend was looking for, and Lilith: do you honestly believe that's what's behind this state of affairs?”
Sam spread his large hands out on the bar and gazed into his fingers. He looked up to meet Rick's eyes. “Yeah. You'll probably think we're all raving lunatics, but yeah.”
“And you think if you find her, you and your brother, you'll be able to deal with her?”
“I think so. Though there's a certain sense that we're making this up as we go along.”
Rick nodded. “Been known to do that myself.”
Dean was learning that although angels of the Lord didn't sleep, they evidently snored. Castiel was lying swaddled in some blankets on the pool table.
“Yeah, Lilith was Adam's first wife. Ain't in the King James version. Something called the apocrypha.”
Dean looked back at Daryl, his expression turned from indulgent to grim. They were sitting at one of the booths, Dean cleaning his guns, Daryl doing some dang thing that you evidently had to do with arrows. It seemed to involve sticking in more feathers. Dean needed to ask him about that. Crossbows were fucking cool. They had been working in silence for a time. Dean appreciated someone who didn't try to talk your damn head off. “You grow up pretty religious?”
Daryl's fingers went unconsciously to tap the crucifix hanging on the sliver chain around his neck. “Me 'n my brother? Yeah. Maybe more'n some.” A pause. “You?”
Dean shrugged, snapping his 9mm back together. “I'll admit, we seem to have avoided most of it. Other than stealing rosary beads to make holy water. I think Sammy is still a believer. I'm not sure how that happened.” He glanced up to see Daryl regarding him closely.
“So. Him?” Daryl bounced his head once towards the slumbering Castiel.
“Haven't worked it out. I was thinking maybe he was some kind of witch, but I haven't seen him try to call a demon, and that's how those guys typically operate. I'm sort of kicking around the theory that he's a djinn who'd lost his marbles. That would explain the power.”
“Don't reckon he's an angel?”
Dean shook his head. “I don't believe in angels.”
“Huh.” And then Daryl went back to fiddling with the archery stuff.
“Okay, I take it you're the silent type. So what does, 'Huh' mean?”
A small smile. “Jus' 'Huh.' I guess.”
“I know what you're thinking, buddy. Go ahead and say it. I believe in djinn and vampires and demons and weird shit, but I don't believe in angels.”
A long pause. “Welp.”
“I can't argue with someone who doesn't argue.”
“Ain't arguing.”
Dean irritably set down his weapon and gazed at Cas, curled up under a ratty afghan as well as his faithful trench coat. “Look. About Cas. I don't know. There's something about him, you know? I should just figure he's another crazy person. Like my brother does. But I feel like I oughta … you know, help him out.” Daryl nodded, but didn't look up. “But what about you? You think Mr. Sinus Condition over there is an angel of the Lord?”
“Well. Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because he says so. Not inclined to disagree.”
NEXT