Scavengers
K Hanna Korossy
"Feels weird not to be driving Baby," Dean muttered as they were getting close.
Sam glanced over at him; it was weird there wasn't a bench seat between them, too. "You want me to drive?" he offered with a grin.
"No!" The answer came instantly and with some disgust. Dean curled his hands possessively around the rental truck's steering wheel. "I'm just sayin'."
Sam turned to look out the window at the passing empty scenery. "Yeah, I miss her, too."
The Impala was back at the bunker, still "recovering"—Dean's word, not his—from the message that had been scratched into her side for Crowley. Dean had gotten to work sanding and painting as soon as they returned to the bunker, but Sam knew that was only in part because of his outrage over his baby's defacement. It also gave him something to think about other than the burning Mark on his arm and how the First Blade had felt in his hand. And as soon as the paintwork was finished, Dean had hit the books with a fervor Sam found disquieting. He'd had to pry Dean away for this trip, but even his driven brother had to concede the importance of the errand.
Sam had thought the bunker had the greatest collection of supernatural artifacts and antiquities in the world. Turned out, that paled in comparison to the hoard of a former Men of Letters: Cuthbert Sinclair, or "Magnus," as he preferred. They'd only gotten a glimpse on their previous visit, but considering the house was hidden by elaborate spellwork and now ownerless, it seemed a no-brainer to go back and loot the place. Sam was itching to get his hands on Magnus' research materials, and he could tell Dean was salivating over the thought of the weapons.
Even if the First Blade he knew his brother craved most wasn't there anymore. Maybe something in all of Magnus' stores would give Sam a clue as to what to do about that.
"This is the place, right?" Dean asked, turning them off the road onto a little traveled path. He had good reason for asking; there were no signs pointing to this museum, nothing to see but more of the trees they'd been passing for the last hour.
"Uh." Sam checked the coordinates on his phone. "Yeah."
"Awesome." Dean pulled the truck up near where the Impala last stood—the reminder probably causing the scowl that chased across his face—and parked. They got out silently, Sam carrying the supplies for the entrance spell, while Dean toted a duffel full of weapons.
Magnus had had a zoo as well as a museum.
Sam performed the rite, no less awed than the previous two times when the doorway appeared out of nothing. Dean was tense as a drawn bow beside him. They shared a glance, then strode through the doorway.
The zoo came first; they didn't need any more unpleasant surprises like the vampires and shapeshifter Magnus had unleashed on them earlier. The rawheads and ghouls and chupacabras were easy. The leviathan and djinn and a few other monsters that needed specialized weapons took more effort, but it turned out Magnus had been prepared and stored all the equipment required to subdue his specimens. There were even a couple of things they had to look up how to kill. And then there were a few innocents like the psychic or the fairy who were just different, not evil, whom they released. Dean took care of the rest with disturbing relish, while Sam got a turn at the wheel, driving a small group of pseudo-humans to the outskirts of the nearest town to try to resume their lives.
He returned to find Dean staring at the pedestal where the First Blade had sat. He blinked at Sam's arrival and, without a word, turned to packing up the joint.
There were no curse boxes; every potentially dangerous object was openly on display. Sam pulled on gloves before he started gathering things, making mental notes of the ones he'd have to do more research on. Magnus' books and records would be next.
He paused at one exhibit, a simple square amulet about the size of the one he'd once given Dean. Memory Eradicating Talisman, the card below it read in flowing script. Memory erasure: probably targeted memories, controlled by the spellcaster. Sam had considered looking for something like this earlier, after Dean returned from Hell, after Dean took Lisa's memories but kept his painful own, after yet another agonizing "I can't live without you, Sam" conversation with Dean. It would be too easy: steal his brother's memories of Sam, give him a blank slate on which to build a new life. No more deals or losses or pain. No possession by rogue angels in order to bring back what should have been left to die.
Throat clenched, Sam looked across the room at his brother.
Dean was similarly enthralled by a glass flask in a case in front of him. Even as Sam watched, Dean swallowed hard and pushed away from the pedestal, reaching instead for the set of jagged blades on a stand a few feet away. He began bundling them with terse, jerky movements rather than the reverence he usually showed old weapons.
Curious, Sam forgot about the amulet and moved closer to his brother.
The flask was clear and held what looked like purple salt. Sam was a dozen feet away before he could read the placard below it. To Channel a Vessel was all it said.
Vessel channels? Like, human vessels?
The memory, slightly out of focus like all those he had through Gadreel, surfaced. Overhearing Dean ask Kevin for a spell that would let him talk to an angel's vessel without the angel overhearing. The spellwork painted on the doors and walls that Gadreel smudged just so. Dean thinking he was talking to his brother when it was really Gadreel pretending to be Sam. And then Kevin…
Right. Apparently Sam wasn't the only one for whom these mystical objects were hitting home.
Dean had noticed him hovering nearby and stopped mid-packing to give him a long look. "What?"
"Uh…" Sam's mind swam with what-ifs. "Kitchen?"
Dean lifted an eyebrow in an unspoken random much?
"I mean, lunch break? Magnus probably still had to eat, right?"
Dean's tense shoulders uncurled a little. "Dude, you'd trust something from Magnus' kitchen?"
Sam snorted. "Dude, why would he booby-trap his food?"
Dean visibly struggled a moment, wanting to finish up and get back to the books—and if ever Sam had reason to be disturbed, that was it—but then shrugged, conceding the point. He set down the sword he was holding. "I could eat." He dusted his hands down the front of his shirt and jeans. "If we had friends helping us move, we'd have to get pizza and beer, right?"
He was trying, at least. Sam mustered a laugh in response. "'Friends?'" he echoed doubtfully.
"Hey, Jody and Cas and Garth would totally help if we asked," Dean warmed to the subject.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Garth would want cow hearts. And Cas doesn't eat."
"We're packin' up cursed objects and weapons and fetishes," Dean pointed out. "It's not exactly moving into a new apartment."
True, Sam tipped his head. His eyes landed on the memory charm and he quickly looked away. Just in time to see Dean jerk his gaze from the flask.
"So, pizza?" Dean said with forced liveliness, the darkness back in his eyes.
"Sounds good," Sam answered with equal bravado.
And when they rushed through the rest of the packing that afternoon, Sam sure wasn't going to complain about it.
The End