Supernatural, fictitious Season 5

This is my attempt at maybe a season 5 opener, or anyways, a story set after season 4.
I have previously only mulled this over in my mind. I don't know if this will work out, because these are stories I tell myself when I can't sleep... actually have never put any of them in writing yet. So, welcome to one of my good night stories.

Episode 1 - Ain't Found A Way To Kill Me Yet

*Soundtrack*
Phantom/Ghost – Born with a nervous breakdown
Alice in Chains – Rooster
Napoleon's Ghost – They're coming to take me away, haha
David Bowie – Little Wonder
Doors – Back Door Man
Frank Zappa – Bobby Brown goes down

Chapter 1

There was something he was supposed to do, somewhere he should be, but it was all so hazy. His world seemed engulfed in a strange kind of fog and he just couldn't concentrate.
Someone was talking, somewhere far away. Woman… sweet Southern drawl. Nice voice. Nice….

"Mr. Hagar, look at me, please."

Catherine du Lac was rapidly reaching the end of her tether. How on earth was she supposed to get this guy out of the funny farm, if they had drugged him to the gills?
Hell, he wasn't even looking at her, not even after she'd been talking to him for 5 minutes.
And why on earth did he have to pick such an idiotic alias for his fake id? She felt so stupid calling him Mr. Hagar over and over again.
Her mind was racing. There simply was no time for this. The whole plan depended on her ability to get him out of there before the real shrink arrived.
10 minutes and counting. No time for dilly dally. No time for the "nice" approach.
She braced herself, put her hand on his bandaged arm and squeezed. Hard.
He hissed. His head whipped around and he looked into her eyes for the first time.
Excellent. Now for step two.
She leaned closer. "We need to leave here. Fast."
"Wh-what?" His voice sounded soft and uncertain, as if speaking was something he only vaguely remembered, as if he were out of practice.

"You need to get up. Now. And walk out of here with me. Don't argue, I'll explain everything later. There is no time now. Come on."
He mumbled something indistinct.

Catherine let out an annoyed sigh, as she watched his eyes haze over again.
For Pete's sake, this just couldn't be true. What kind of a fucked up assignment was this? But then again, the Council had never given her anything BUT fucked up assignments in the first place, so why should this one be any different? Never mind, this was the last one, anyway. Just get this man out of here safely and she and the Council would finally be quits.

ETA Dr. Lebowski 8 more minutes.
4 minutes until they would be outside, in the best case. But this was just anything but the best case. It wasn't even a good case. It was just plain hopeless.
Catherine tried not to let show just how frantically she was looking for… well, anything at all that would help. One patient was in a wheel chair and for a fleeting moment Catherine contemplated using that for the escape. But how would she get the other patient out of it and her charge in it and how would she explain that to the orderly? Let's face it, Catherine, she thought, there just is no other way. She would have to do it her way.
Magic in plain sight of a gadzillion people. Just perfect. Just what she needed. But maybe the state he was in would be an advantage here, after all. He might just be so much more susceptible to her "persuasion". Maybe she wouldn't need anything flashy at all and nobody would notice.

"Come!"
The art of it all lay in giving the verbal command and pushing him at the same time with magic. Catherine had always frowned upon all those pretentious people who kept trying to do magic with Latin incantations. It just plain wasn't necessary, any odd language would do and in actual fact one which you really speak well would work heaps better. But no, they would insist on chanting nonsense in broken Latin…
"COME!"
She put a little more push into it.
He got up - a little unsteadily, but he did it.
"Walk with me."
She just kept on walking, nodded at the orderly and steered her charge towards the first of many doors. Locked, of course.

The orderly had been told as she arrived that she would try to take her patient outside to try out some confrontation therapy approach. He opened the door without further ado.
"Could you come with us and open the rest of the doors for us, too, please?" She gave him her most simpering girlie smile. Worked like a charm, even though there actually was none involved at all. Ah, hormones. Just as reliable as her other powers.
Powered on by a few more smiles, the orderly did a great job.

He not only dutifully unlocked all doors and held them open so she could steer her charge through them without it being too obvious that she was pulling his strings and he was doing the obedient little muppet dance, no, the orderly also told the guard at the front door to let them through.
"Where you takin' him?" the grumpy old man asked.
"Just outside to his car. It's a new approach, kind of like shock therapy, if you know what I mean."
The guy obviously didn't, but felt he had done his duty by asking the question in the first place. Thank God for small mercies and people who don't get paid enough to do a good job.
He unlocked the door so slowly that Catherine thought she was going to have to beat him to a bloody pulp with his huge key ring. The seconds were ticking by and still she was nowhere near the damned car.
Finally the door opened.
Now don't screw this up, Catherine. Say goodbye nicely and thank the guys.

They made it to the car just as Dr. Lebowski's beige Honda pulled into the parking lot.
Catherine shoved her charge inside the black '67 Impala and slammed the door shut. You had to hand it to the man, that car kicked ass, she thought as they drove off.
The engine was giving off a steady, post-orgasmic purr and she could feel the power as she accelerated onto the freeway.

"this old road
leads to the palace of wisdom
I still miss them

their names are legion on my way
come in and stay all through the night
and hold me tight

please do not leave me anymore
it's such a bore
and believe me

you never know when it's enough
until you know when it's more than enough
born with a nervous breakdown"

Chapter 2

Dean groaned.
He had just tried to open his eyes to what appeared to be the worst hangover of his career. Light was dancing on the Impala's dashboard. He could hear traffic roaring close by, loud as thunder. Birds were chirping and it felt like they were driving spikes into his temples.
He moved in the seat a little and discovered that movement was making things worse. His head seemed to be filled with some unpleasant liquid and even the tiniest motion upset the delicate balance and caused the liquid to slosh around. Sloshing lead to nausea and nausea lead to lightspeed opening of the car door. Good thing they were parked.
As he was losing stuff from way down deep inside his digestive system, a cool hand touched his forehead.
A vaguely familiar female voice said: "Easy, Dean, easy."
Brilliant. What's worse than the hangover from hell? Living the consequences in front of a woman. Possibly last night's conquest.
Or not?
Dean just couldn't remember. Even trying to get his brain to work was instantly punished by more nausea.

Sweating, he finally sank back in the seat and tentatively opened his eyes again. He was looking at an exceptionally beautiful woman. Hair like polished chestnuts.
"Out of your league, boy, way out of your league", he thought.
Grey eyes swept over him.
"Better?"
"Kinda. Must've been some night, eh?"
"Not really. Mostly, I was driving and you were sleeping your meds off."
Meds?
She walked around the car and got in.
Wait a minute, what was she doing, driving the Impala?
Dean sat upright. Nobody drove the Impala, except him and… never mind.
What the hell was going on?
Then he noticed his bandaged arms and suddenly wished he still wouldn't remember.

Better do this right, bitch.
Car's in storage. Got a letter saying I want to be cremated. Money for it, too.
Motel room, nobody's going to come in here until the morning.

Bobby, should write to Bobby, at least.
No. No way.
What would I say, anyway? That I can't do this anymore? That it is too difficult to even get up in the morning these days? That there is nothing left for me in this world?
Yeah, right, Bobby would totally get that.

Quit whining, bitch.
I'll take the shotgun.
Mouthful of water, big caliber bullet, bang, end of story.

I just can't do this anymore.
I don't care if anyone will say I took the coward's way out. I'm just past giving a crap about what other people say.
I can't do this anymore.
What if I screw it up? What if I end up being a vegetable in some stupid ass hospital. If I as much as twitch, I might not kill myself, I'll just end up a basket case.

If I take my knife and slice down deep from the crook of my arm to my wrist, I'll bleed dry real quick. Nobody's gonna come in here until the morning, nobody. No way would they find me in time.

God, that hurts……………………………………………………………………………………..

He swallowed convulsively.
What had happened then? There were just some hazy images of hospital rooms and such. Dean just couldn't remember anything clearly after he had blacked out from blood loss.
"You damned fool" he thought, "can't even get that right, can you? Simple job of offing yourself and with all the equipment you had at hand, you just couldn't get the job done, could you?"

"Who are you and where are you taking me?" he asked.
"Well, when I first introduced myself, the lights were on, but there was nobody home so, hello, my name is Catherine du Lac and I am taking you to see some people who need your help."
"In case you haven't noticed, I am in no shape to help anyone and I am actually not even interested in that kind of gig anymore."
Dean watched her handle the car. She was driving fast and looked like she belonged at the wheel of the old muscle car. He was impressed despite himself.
She frowned and said: "I actually don't much care about what you want at this point. I have a job to do and that is to bring you to Savannah to talk to people. What happens then is none of my business."
"And these people are….?"
"They will tell you. Or not. But I for sure won't."
"Then what makes you think I'll come along peacefully?"
"Oh, let me see… maybe the fact that right now, I am at the wheel, plus I got you into the car, plus I might be armed and dangerous and a black belt to boot? Or maybe I'm someTHING else entirely?"
Dean chewed on his lip.
It didn't much matter anyway. Whatever would happen, there was just nothing left that hadn't been done to him already, nothing that could scare him, except having to go on with his life as it was.
It had all gone to pieces. What right did he have to live in the first place? He had done awful things. There just was no forgiving all that. He couldn't live with himself, he couldn't bear to look at Sammy, it was just all over. What good was he still? He might as well just let that woman take him wherever and with a little luck, the job they wanted him on would finish him off without much of an effort.
Dean leaned back and closed his eyes.
The drone of the Impala's engine sang him to sleep.

When he awoke, they were parked again. Catherine was sitting on the hood, eating a sandwich. Dean got out of the car. His stomach had settled and he suddenly noticed how hungry he was. Catherine wordlessly nudged a bag towards him and handed him a coffee.
Half way through his sandwich, Dean looked at her.
"Are you someTHING?"
She laughed.
"It all depends." She said.
"On what?"
"On how black and white your world is, Dean. Hunters have an unfortunate tendency to see things neatly categorized like that. Either you're good, or you're evil. You're human, or you're not. No room for shades of grey, no room for how things really are."
"I can see black alright; it's just the white that is gone. Or maybe it's not black I see after all, maybe everything is just indistinct shades of really, really dark grey."
"Well, Dean, that's reality for you. Finding out that life just isn't that easy, that clear cut. Sometimes, it's just not going to be a call between 'either' and 'or', sometimes it might be 'and' or something else entirely."
Dean laughed. It was a hard, unpleasant laugh. "Catherine, just tell me what the hell you are and quit the fucking philosophy prep talk."
"Thing is, I am something you have never encountered before and I don't want you to go to full hunter mode on me."
Catherine paused briefly.
"I'm a witch."
Dean laughed again in disbelief. "Doll, I have met more witches than I can count."
"No, Dean, you really haven't. We keep ourselves apart. We try our utmost not to get noticed."
"I have hunted wi…" Catherine made a sharp, cutting gesture with her hand, cutting him short.
"You have hunted spellmongers. People who run on borrowed powers. People who try to wrangle some juice from any source they can lay their hands on, even from demons. Those aren't witches, believe me."
Catherine paused.
How dare he think he knew the first thing about witches. And why the hell was she telling him in the first place, when all her life she had been protecting herself?

Dean was unsure what to make of this. The sources they had been using didn't say anything about witches being something other than what they had hunted so far. And what then did "real" witches do then, if not use spells?
"A witch, as opposed to those people you have encountered so far, runs on his or her own power. Yes, we do use spells to focus our power, but we are running the show, not profiting from someone else's knowledge or power. We make spells, not memorize other people's. We all got a gift. It's hereditary and we are really a very tightly knit community. There are different sorts of power a witch can have. I can't tell you about all that – in fact, I've already said too much as it is."
"And these people who so desperately want to see me that you abducted me from a mental hospital are..?"
"The Witches' Council. Kind of like the elders, or the witches' senate, or something like that. They are the law and I owed them. I bring you to them, then we're quits."
Dean thought this was all so much crap. What was the difference, really? The women they had met before had done magic.
Why should it be something else entirely with the "real" witches? Power is power, no matter the source.
Well, whatever. At the end, it all didn't matter much anymore.
Catherine kept her eyes on the road. Just a little bit longer and she would be free to leave.
Finally.

Chapter 3

Catherine parked the Impala in front of a picture-book Southern mansion.
As she killed the engine, she turned to Dean and said: "Do yourself a favour, Dean. Negotiate a good price for your services. These people can pay you in currency or other things and no matter what you choose, they are loaded."
"Yeah, whatever." Dean wondered how these Council guys would feel about just letting him die in peace, like he set out to do.
They walked up the porch and Catherine rang the bell.
A liveried butler opened the door, gave a short bow and led them wordlessly into the hall.
He took their jackets and Dean marveled at the way Catherine could be utterly sexy in an outfit that left not even the tiniest stretch of skin bare.
His mouth watered at the sight of her in a tight black long-sleeved top and black jeans. Must be getting a tad better, he thought wryly, if he noticed that again.

A woman walked down the stairs.
Late fifties, Dean thought. Well-preserved, coiffed and pampered - complete with expensive designer dress and a string of pearls that could have kept team Winchester in bread and board for a year - and cold as ice.
She inclined her head in greeting, said "Catherine." She managed to convey such loathing wrapped in the utmost politeness that Dean marveled at how that was possible.
"Helen." said Catherine and Dean realized it must be a female thing, because Catherine was just as icily polite and was yet oozing such loathing at the same time that he shivered.
Somehow, he wished he hadn't changed into jeans, shirt and leather jacket, but had dug up one of the cheap suits from the trunk when they had stopped for lunch. But then again, what the heck. That woman's disapproval meant nothing to him.
"Dominic awaits you." said Frosty the Snowbitch with a curt gesture towards a door to the right.
They went inside.
Well, here's Mr. Snowbitch, thought Dean as the tall, grey haired man behind the oak desk rose to greet them.
"There he is, Dominic," said Catherine and turned to go.
"Your job is not done yet," said the man coldly.
"Yes it is," spat Catherine, "the deal was I bring you Dean Winchester, nothing more, nothing less."
"Wrong. The deal is Winchester brings back the codex with you and then and only then will you be free to go."
Dean expected Catherine to go ballistic, but she was silent. Her jaw was clenched, as were here fists.
"Bully for her then, old man, since I have no intention of bringing back some codex from somewhere, with or without her." Dean snapped.
"Oh yes, you will," said Mr. Snowbitch silkily. "You see, Mr. Winchester, if you don't, our lovely Catherine will be sent back to her family, gagged and bound. Tell our guest what they will do with you, Catherine."
Catherine swallowed, white as a sheet, but said "That is nothing that concerns you, Dean."
"I tend to disagree, Catherine. Hold her!" At the barked order, two burly men came out of nowhere and took hold of Catherine.
"Hey, you, what the fuck are you playing at!" Dean yelled and started to turn to help her, as he himself was grabbed from behind by two more bullies in black.
"Take a look, Mr. Winchester."
With that, Dominic sliced Catherine's top open with a mean-looking knife.
Dean gasped.
Catherine's torso was covered in scars. Deliberate scars, as if someone had sliced into her to cut a geometric pattern. Dean was appalled, shocked beyond words.
"This is what her father did the last time. Can you imagine what will happen when we deposit her on their porch, all tied up and helpless?"
Dean couldn't say a word.
"You, Mr. Winchester, WILL bring back the Scaglia codex and you, Catherine, WILL help him do it. Our future depends on it – and so does yours, make no mistake."
Dominic motioned for the brutes to let go. Dean swore and shrugged out of his denim shirt and wordlessly handed it to Catherine.
"Where is that bloody codex and how do we get it?" Dean snapped.
"A Council member stole it. Last we heard, he is in Sinai, South Dakota."
Dean looked at Catherine.
She was still pale, but shot him a look that was clearly shouting "no".
He didn't care.
He couldn't risk the old man making good on his ugly words and sending her back to where she clearly was tortured by a madman that happened to be her father and might be killed next time around.
"Okay. I'll do it. She goes free when she shows up with the codex. Deal?"
"Deal, Mr. Winchester." The bastard had the chutzpah to smile.
Dean wanted to ram his fist right into that smile.
Badly.

Out in the hall, the silent butler handed them their jackets and opened the door for them.
"Where to now?" Dean asked.
Catherine shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, I'm beat. Know any cheap, clean hotels around?"
"I thought cheap and clean was mutually exclusive", Catherine smiled. "But we can crash at a friend's place. He's out of town."
They drove in silence.
Dean was quiet, because he simply didn't know what to say. How do you carry out a conversation with someone about whom you just learned something so shocking? Plus, there was that codex issue. He'd have to call Bobby about that. He needed some research done and fast.
Catherine didn't speak, because if she did, she might just lose it so badly, she couldn't guarantee for anything anymore.
She should have known how devious and utterly unscrupulous Dominic was. Yet, the Council wasn't even remotely the bad guys in this game.
Her family was.
They had gone so far off what was good and right that even power-hungry Dominic and his stuck-up bitch of a wife looked like angels next to them.

They arrived at Catherine's friend's place within a few minutes. Catherine unlocked the door. As the lights came on, Dean found himself standing in a very nice apartment. Bookshelves lined the wall, but there was also a large flatscreen tv.
"Bedroom or sofa?" Catherine asked wearily.
Dean started to raise an eyebrow, but then thought better of it and said "Sofa. That way I can watch some tv."
"Goodnight then", said Catherine and went into the bedroom.
Dean found some beer in the fridge and settled down on the sofa with the remote control.
"Cool, football…."

Chapter 4

"Come on, Bobby, pick up the freakin' phone!"
Dean was pacing. Finally, he heard Bobby's voice. "Yeah?"
"S'me, Dean. I need you to do some research for me."
"Dean, for fuck's sake, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for weeks!"
"Bobby, got no time for this discussion now. Can you look something up for me? Awesome. The Scaglia codex. No, that's all I know. Call me back when you find something, 'kay? Yeah, thanks, bye"
Dean took a deep breath. He couldn't talk to Bobby. Bobby would know he wasn't okay. Bobby always knew too much for his own good.
All Dean wanted, really, was to crawl back under the covers and the rest of the world be damned.
The darkness was threatening to swallow him again, but he couldn't let it, not now, anyway. He was just exhausted, so exhausted. Bone weary, that was the right expression.
He needed to find that damned codex, so Catherine could be safe. And maybe with one more person saved, his overall good deeds bank account would suffice so he would be at peace after someone salted and burned his remains.
Catherine came out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee.
"Who was that?"
"An old friend. He'll do some research for us. What can you tell me about the Scaglia codex?"
"That is seems to be so important that Dominic Dupree forgets his manners because it's gone."
"Oh come on, Cat, you can do better than that!"

"No, sorry, I can't and that's the truth. The codex is nothing more than a rumour to me. It was kept in the restricted area of the Council library and its use was limited to the Council members. Rumour has it that it contains information on the true source of magic, which – if it should fall into the wrong hands – could lead to disaster. And here's where the rumours diverge. One school of gossip says the disaster would be that all magic would be killed, the other says that magic would become a free-for-all and then – and here the two schools agree again - the world would likely come to an end. That's all I can tell you."
Dean nodded, then stared into his coffee.
The outside world went away.

Catherine watched as Dean slipped away again. He did that a lot. In between, he would seem fine. Normal. But then he would start to stare at something and he would be so far gone inside himself it scared her.
How could she try to retrieve the codex with someone who was most likely still suicidal, or at the very least seriously depressed and bordering on a nervous breakdown. Of course, she knew the stories about how Dean and his brother had stopped Lucifer from rising, but the mere basics didn't say anything about the price they paid.

You think you can stop me?

The voice echoed inside his head. There just was no stopping it. He could hear Sammy screaming, but there was nothing he could do for his brother anymore. Nothing left to do but …

Brimstone smell. Pain. Despair.

Catherine put her hand on Dean's shoulder.
He flinched.
"Another coffee, Dean?"
"Ah… yeah, thanks, Cat."
Nobody had called her that since her grandmother passed away.
She liked it.
It sounded good, the way he said it.
He had looked shocked at her scars, but not disgusted, like everyone else. And there had been no pity in his eyes, just rage. That was good, too. Maybe she could work with him after all. It seemed to be getting easier to call him out of this hole he crawled into.
His cell rang.
"Bobby?" His voice sounded alert again. Good.
"Okay. Yeah, got some paper right here. Okay. How the fuck do you spell that? G-U-I-S-E-P-P-E. Yeah, got that. Guiseppe Scaglia. Italian alchemist you say? Renaissance Florence? Okay, what else? Rumoured to possess inside knowledge of demons, witches, all things that go bump in the night. And the codex? Something like dad's diary, listing all things he ever learned? Okay. Sinai, South Dakota, as far as we know. Yeah, thanks. Much appreciated. No, I'm fine. I AM FINE, BOBBY! Yeah, bye."
He turned to Catherine.
"We go pick up Bobby. This codex thing could be huge. Very useful. We need backup, I think."
"Can he be trusted?"
"Cat, he's the closest thing to a father I have, as I keep telling people. I trust him absolutely." Even after all that. They had done what needed to be done. No blame calling, no nothing.

Cat was driving again. She had cut short his protests by demanding he make a fist. He couldn't. His arms hurt like blazes.

"Ain't found a way to kill me yet
Eyes burn with stinging sweat
Seems every path leads me to nowhere"

He loved that song. The way it slowly built, the driving power of it.

"Here they come to snuff the rooster
Yeah here come the rooster, yeah
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, no, ya know he ain't gonna die"

Cat was singing along with it. And boy, did she have pipes.
Dean grinned.
"What?"
"Nothing, please continue. I like it."
"Yeah, right."
"No, seriously. Rooster's one of my fav songs. And you REALLY know how to sing!"
"Had to. I ran away from home when I was 16. Sang in bars to make a living."
"Wow. I bet you made a killing."
"I did alright."
Fields and woods flew by, occasional towns and villages. When dusk fell, they tried to find a motel for the night. No single rooms available anywhere. They at least found a twin in some really banged up place. The night was short and uncomfortable.
As they neared Sinai the day after, Dean's phone rang.
"Bobby? Which motel? The Truman's, just off Main Street? What room? 'kay, meet you there."

Catherine parked the Impala in front of the dingy motel.
"Room 2-12, that's it." Dean knocked.
A tall young man with tousled hair opened the door and said "Hiya, Dean."
Dean turned on his heels and went back to the car.
The young man looked pained and said to Catherine "Hi, I'm Sam. Dean's brother."
"Hi Sam. I'll be right back, let me just check on Dean, please."
Dean sat in the car. The 1000 mile stare again.

"I need this, Dean. I need this. Please. Let me go. Oh God, it hurts. Please…. Please, Dean….."
The screams. They just wouldn't stop.
"And if he dies?" "Then he'll at least die as a man."

Screams. Going on and on.

"Dean? Dean, look at me, will ya?"
His eyes slowly focused on Catherine.
"Can you stay with me now? They are waiting for us at the motel. I think your brother Sam wants to help."
"He should get lost."
"Dean…."
"I don't want to see him."
"Okay. I'll tell him. Stay here, okay? Don't… just don't, Dean, please."
Cat was… it was strange. She could reach him, even when he got lost.
Dean rubbed his forehead. He had a splitting headache and just wanted some peace and quiet and a beer.
Oh yes, a nice, cold beer.

Chapter 5

Catherine kept a close watch on Dean in his chair by the window. He was clutching a bottle of beer like a life saver. He was pointedly staring out of the window, but she was glad to see that he at least hadn't wandered off into the dark recesses of his mind again.
"Come on, Catherine, stop that Florence Nightingale shit. You can't afford to care about the guy, you have far too much problems of your own", she thought.
Still, there was something about him that pushed at her defenses. Something whispered that Dean was important in some way and that she should make sure he was okay.
Catherine determinedly ignored that whisper.
Dean Winchester clearly was an SEP, a somebody else's problem – and the sooner she got that thought fixed in her brain, the healthier for her.

Sam was sitting at this laptop, doing some more research and Bobby had gone for some supplies – whatever that might mean in Hunter terms.
They had gotten the last room in the motel, a big family suite - oh Lord, how grand that sounded and how banged up the reality of it really was - with two bedrooms, kitchenette and living room. There was some sort of farmers' convention going on in town and even had they had the money to spare, there just wasn't any other room available anywhere. In fact, they had been lucky that Bobby and Sam had gotten into town earlier and secured this one.
Did that stubborn prick know how to bow to necessity? No. Catherine had had to run from the Impala to the room to deliver carefully edited versions of Dean's snide remarks.
After a while, she had just refused to take this stupidity one single step further and had told Dean that he could sleep in the car, if he liked, but she for sure wouldn't.
Strangely enough, at that point Dean gave up arguing and simply started to pretend his brother wasn't there.

Catherine sighed and considered just how effective the whole thing was going to be. Okay, the badly damaged leftovers of a hunter she was forced to work with had at least had enough brains left to call in the cavalry, but she didn't know Bobby and with Dean refusing to even speak to Sam, he was pretty much out of the picture altogether.
And how should they be able to retrieve the codex from Danny Larson, when he had apparently already left town? At least, they had checked all accommodation, they had asked at the gas station, the diner and the stores, but nobody had seen the man.
Well, if she was going to be spending the day in a lousy motel room with these two, at least she would have some music.
Catherine plugged her iPod into its mobile sound dock and turned her favourite playlist on.

"Stinky weather, Fat shaky hands
Dopey morning Doc, Grumpy gnomes
Little wonder then, little wonder
you little wonder, little wonder you"

Dean jumped.
What on earth was that?????? Was that supposed to be music? Some crazy fuck's idea of music? Drum and base and, like, the screechiest guitar, ever. Strange voice with a British accent singing some lyrics that made no sense at all.
He turned around to tell Cat to turn the damn noise down, but she had her back turned to him and was actually dancing.
She shimmied, damn it. SHIMMIED. And it did funny things to his stomach.

Little wonder then, little wonder, you little wonder, little wonder you….

Catherine did a little hop and turned around, to see Dean staring at her, expression unreadable.
"What?" she snapped.
"Nothin'. Just enjoying the show, sister."
He did the eyebrow on her. Jesus, that man was just too much.
Judging from the tape collection – yeah, that's right, tape collection, could he be more caveman, if he tried? – in the car, Dean apparently had never listened to anything that came out later than the 80ies.
Okay, no, cut that, one song from the friggin' 90ies at least he seemed to know, he had proven that already. But still. She was stuck in a dingy motel room with the king of mullet rock.
Catherine yanked the pod out of the dock and started digging through her bag for her headphones.
"Since I got your attention for a change, what are we going to do next? I mean, we don't even know if Danny ever was here in the first place and he sure as hell doesn't seem to be here now."
"Well, we would have a better chance of finding this… Danny… if you would give us some more info on the dude. What does he do, what does he like, who does he hang with?"
Danny was about the last thing she wanted to be talking about. Ever. But he did have a point.
"Danny likes loud music, fast women and hard liquor. Sound like anyone you know?"
Dean pointedly toasted her with his beer. "Nah."
Sam looked up from his laptop and said "Guess the best bet then would be to wait until tonight and hit the bars. Right?"
Dean kept staring at Catherine. The silence spoke volumes.
"Sounds like a plan," she said.
"Whatever." Dean turned towards the window again. His vision blurred.

"What do you want Dean? Just tell me. Anything. I'll make it happen."
The voice was so persuasive. It engulfed him, made him feel safe, happy even. It would be so easy to just give in to the silky tones, so easy to just ask for… that….
"Ah. Yes. I see. I can give you that, Dean. All you ever wanted. I can make all the pain go away."
NO!
No.
No bargaining. No surrendering to evil this time.
No.
Not again. Nothing good would come of it.
Ah, but the pain was so bad.
Please, please, let me be strong enough.
Please.
PLEASE!
God.
NO.

Somebody was talking. Bobby was back with the supplies. Good.
Catherine was looking at him strangely. So she had noticed he had had another of those episodes, then.
Dean didn't know what she was all about.
Sometimes, she seemed to want to bitch slap him three ways from Sunday and then she seemed concerned.
Given the situation she was in, the former sentiment was probably genuine and the latter merely due to the fact that he was supposed to help her get free of the Council.
Whatever.
Word of the day, eh? He could make that his new motto. Hell, it was short enough so he could remember and it really expressed neatly how he felt about the world at large.
Whatever.

Chapter 6

"You man, eat your dinner
eat your pork and beans
I eat more chicken
than any man ever seen
yeah, yeah
I'm a back door man, wha
The men don't know
But the little girl understand"

That was their 6th bar now.
Who'd have thought that a mean little town like this would be so rich in watering holes?
Apart from the fact that Catherine had been groped by desperate men pretending to be studs more often than she cared to remember, was desperately wishing she could just turn the next guy who leered at her into a toad with diarrhea and that Dean had gotten himself consecutively more drunk with each stop, they had achieved nothing.
At least here, the music was decent. She prayed fervently to Jimmy Morrison's ghost that it would stay that way.
Dean came back, drinks in hands. "Beer for Bobby, beer for Dean and… a Coke for Cat. There ya go."
He gave Cat a puppy dog look, as if he expected to be applauded for the huge feat of buying them drinks. Well, as long as he didn't start wagging his tail, they'd all be right as rain. Good boy, Dean, good boy.
"Hey, c'mon, Cat, how about some dancin'?"
Dean grinned at her lopsidedly.
She was about to tell him to go stuff himself, when some huge biker brute made a grab for her.
She quickly moved out of the way, grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt and dragged him over to the tiny, crowded dance floor. Well, maybe it wasn't even a proper dance floor, maybe it was just some drunks getting in the mood for dancing and deciding that this was the spot for it.
Never mind, anything away from those groping hands and leering eyes would do.

The next song came on and Cat started laughing out loud when she recognized it.
Dean looked at her uncomprehendingly.
"Never mind, Dean," she said, put her arms on his shoulders and started to move with him to the music.

"Hey there, people, I'm Bobby Brown
They say I'm the cutest boy in town
My car is fast, my teeth are shiny
I tell all the girls they can kiss my heinie"

Dean moved with her.
It felt good beyond belief.
For the first time since he woke up with his entrails in a twist, he felt actually something like normal. He took a deep breath.
Catherine briefly contemplated pointing the lyrics out to Dean, but then again, given the popularity of the song in bars around the world and the way men tried to make their move in time with the music, it was doubtful that Zappa could be understood by your average white male at all. Still, it felt good to be dancing with him. He was keeping his hands where they should be, didn't try anything funny and looked.. calm, she thought. He had even closed his eyes.
When the song ended, she was sorry that she had to let go of him. He had made her feel safe – and she hadn't felt that in a very long time.
They went back to Bobby.
"I go talk to the guy tending bar. See if he has seen our man." Bobby said, looking a little less worried than he had before.
"Let me do it, Bobby," Catherine said. "If I lay on a big sob story, he might tell me something, even if he wouldn't tell you a thing."

She finally caught the bartender's eye.
"'Scuse me, did you happen to see this man?"
For the umpteenth time this night, she shoved Danny's photo from their holidays in Florida at a total stranger.
"What if I did, doll?"
"He's my fiancé, I need to find him."
"Why?"
"None of your business."
"Well, doll, then I guess it's none of my business to tell you squat."
"He ditched me at the altar. I am pregnant. I am broke. Zat good enough for ya?"
Cat sniffled a bit for show, neatly conveying the impression that she was half furious and half desperate and fully emotional. In short, one helluva scary woman.
The Bartender nodded.
"Good. Now cut the crap and just tell me: Yes or no, have you seen this man?"
"Yeah, he was here, about an hour ago. With two biker types and a chick in leather."
"Did they say anything about where they were going?"
"Something about going back to Looshes' place? That's what it sounded like, I think."
"Any idea where that is?"
"Sorry, doll, ain't got a clue."

Catherine made her way back across the crowded room to Dean and Bobby.
"C'mon, we got a lead."
"What's the friggin' hurry, I haven't even finished my beer yet!"
Dean was swaying slightly. The evening started to look better and better. Why spoil this with going off on a wild goose chase now? Especially when Cat might dance with him again, if he played his cards right.
Cat turned around without a word and started to march out of the bar.
Bobby grabbed Dean by the scruff, dragged him out and stuffed him unceremoniously into the backseat of the Impala.
Catherine drove back to the motel.
She was strumming her fingers on the wheel impatiently.
Sam would have to check for "Looshes' place" whatever that was.
Loosh. Okay. They finally had a lead.
Yes, things were decidedly looking up.

"I just don't know, did you hear that right?"
"Well, it's what the bartender heard, but it was damned noisy in that place."
Sam sighed, sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin.
Catherine also sighed, then frowned. "Wait a minute, Sam, try L-U-C-I-U-S. Lucius. It's a pretty rare first name, so if that's what it is, we should…"
"Got it. Lucius Wainwright, one of the town's founding fathers. He built a house and it's right here." Sam tapped the laptop screen.
"'Kay, team, less go." Dean was on his feet already, heading towards the door.
Bobby shot a look at Catherine, clearly doubting the wisdom of letting Dean come along.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then shrugged and walked out after Dean.
Yes, okay, the man could get his butt kicked, there could even be terrible things happening to him. But better that then have him sit there with his brain in neutral again.

Sam followed Catherine out.
As she passed Dean standing next to the Impala, she leaned over quickly and opened the door.
Dean got in wordlessly.
Sam didn't really know what to make of this, but he didn't comment.

Dean groaned inwardly.
So she had noticed how he had fumbled with the door handle. His hands just wouldn't do what he wanted them to. Still hurt like blazes whenever he moved his arms.
Why on earth was he insisting on going with them in the first place? He was more than a little drunk and totally useless in anything involving his hands.
"Good thinking, Dean. Can't use your hands, so you go and incapacitate your head, too, to even things out. Shit."
And what had Sammy done to deserve riding shotgun? He shouldn't even be with them.
Bobby sat in the back seat next to him and Dean swore he could feel the anger oozing from the man. Bobby was mad as hell, Dean knew.
He didn't take disappearing acts well and Dean's had even been intended to be a permanent one. He just couldn't talk to Bobby, no way.
What should he tell him?
"Bobby, I couldn't take the whole shit anymore and so I tried to off myself? But, see I fucked up even that and here I am, a total mess that got rescued from the funny farm by Cat?"
No way. No effing way.
He stared out of the window.

Chapter 7

The house looked spooky.
No, Catherine corrected herself, it made spooky-looking houses look like Barbie's dreamhouse.
"Bobby, check the front, I'm gonna take the back." With that, Dean pushed past her.
Yeah, right, good idea, Dean. Brilliant. Cat nodded to Bobby and ran after Dean.
She caught up with him halfway around the house.
"Are you nuts?" she hissed
"Why? I've done this a thousand times, I know what I'm doing."
"Yeah, right. Only you seem to have conveniently forgotten that you can hardly move your hands and are three sheets to the wind to boot. So, were you planning on TALKING the bad guys to death? For you sure as hell can't fire a gun and wouldn't last a minute in a hand to hand!"
Catherine couldn't remember ever being this angry. She paused to draw a breath. When she opened her mouth to continue, Dean shushed her with an impatient move of his hands.
"Look. A light in the basement."
He hunkered down to peer through the dirty window.
Cat went down next to him.
Danny and a sallow-faced man in black were having an argument, while the biker guys the bartender had mentioned were messing with the girl.
There was a wrapped parcel on the table. Cat could only assume this was the codex.
Cat strained to watch the men's faces. Lip reading would be so much easier if those two would simply keep looking at the window. But no such luck.
They seemed to be arguing about whether to sell or use the codex. Danny seemed to be arguing for making a profit. No surprise there. Some things never change, do they?
"Whaddaya think? They gonna sell or use?" whispered Dean next to her. Okay, so he lip read too.
"Whatever they want, we need to get to the codex before they start doing what they want to do!" She urgently whispered back.
"Come on." Dean vanished in the dark once more and Cat had no choice but to run after him.

They found an old storm shelter entrance in the garden.
Locked, of course.
Dean was pissed off.
Couldn't anything ever be easy?
Dean swore and pushed a small package into Cat's hand.
"Ever used these before?"
Oh great. Picklocks.
"Nope."
"Perfect. Juuuust perfect."
Dean swore again.
"Open the bag. Take the wriggly one there. Yeah, that's the one. And the straight one here, take that in your other hand. Now insert that one in the lock here and the other one across from there."
He put his hands on hers and started guiding her through the motions, listening intently to the sounds the old padlock made.
"More to the left there, Cat."
His hands were warm and felt nice on her skin, she thought.
"Yes, that's it, Cat. Now turn the one in your right hand carefully clockwise until you feel the resistance give."
With a determined snap, the lock opened.
"Good work, kitten. Guess you're now officially a felon, too."
His hot breath was caressing her ear. He chuckled quietly.
"Guess I'm a bad influence."
They carefully crept down the rickety old stairs.
Dean moved ahead of her with the certainty probably born of years of breaking and entering. Catherine followed quietly, paying close attention to his lead. He seemed to just know which floorboards might be creaking, seemed to guess at where to put his feet. You had to hand it to the man, he could move almost silently, even in the state he was in.
She felt his hand on her stomach, stopping her.
He lifted his hand with one raised finger, pointing ahead.
She listened intently and caught the heated voices in the room they had looked into from the outside.
Danny was shouting now.
He seemed to be losing his argument. Bummer for him, good for them.
Even if one of the ancient floorboards would creak right now, Catherine doubted anyone would hear it over the fight.
Dean turned to her and whispered in her ear "They don't know I probably can't aim my goddamn gun straight, so unless you give me away or they do something incredibly stupid, we should do okay. Let's just march in there, threaten them a bit and waltz right out again with the codex. 'Kay?"
His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke. Cat felt that touch all the way, complete with freaky butterflies in her stomach. No, no, not good. Very distracting, lousy timing, entirely wrong guy.
"Okay." She whispered.
He glided onwards and Cat had no choice but to follow.
They looked into the room now.
Danny and Sallow Face were still arguing, the bikers were taking turns with the girls at the back of the room.
Dean sauntered into the room, gun in hand. He took a stand at the door, where he could cover both the two arguing men and the gang in the back easily.
He cleared his throat and suddenly had the full attention of a room full of people.
"Good evening, gentlemen. You have something that I want. Hand it over now and nobody needs tp get hurt."
Where the hell was Bobby? He should have found a way in by now. Bobby and…
Sammy, too.
Sammy should be there.
Bull.
Why should he, after everything that…. ?

Dean determinedly left this train of thought and turned his attention back on the present.
Things were moving very quickly very suddenly.
The bikers moved towards Dean and the two arguing men both tried to grab the codex at the same time.
Dean pulled the trigger and was very surprised when he actually hit the biker to the left. Never mind that he had aimed for the one in the middle, it was results that counted.
And the shot and subsequent hit stopped the bikers cold.
He heard Catherine say "Don't move, Dan. No, you neither!" in a very cold voice.
Dean just knew from the look on the other man's face that Danny Larson was not going to heed that warning. And as expected, the man kept moving towards the codex on the table.
Catherine said "FREEZE!" and Dean could feel something incredibly cold and powerful rushing past him.
Danny Larson and Sallow Face were standing there, motionless, small icicles hanging from their noses, arms, and various other body parts.
Cat moved past Dean and took the parcel from the table.
She unwrapped it, checked the contents carefully and nodded to Dean that they could go.
Bobby and Sam chose that precise moment to finally also burst into the room.
"Oh. Errrm. You got it already, have you?" said Sam. "We couldn't get the front door open, they had a safety lock installed."

Back at the motel, Dean opened another beer. He felt alive, exhilarated, the same way he had always felt after a job well done.
He looked at Bobby, nodded and saluted him with his beer.

"Ain't found a way to kill me yet. "

Yeah, right. Not even in this job. Not even when he had made it so easy for the baddies to get at him. Not even when he was more dead than alive.
He was fucked up beyond belief, but he was still standing.
Yeah, right.
Whatever.