BOOK 1 – WAKE UP, EVERYBODY (HIVER)
Chapter 1 – Sabotage
The Angels had talked for most of the night, but no real consensus had been reached as to what they were going to do about the situation.
Bobby was prepared to accept that Damien was Vincent's son, not Sam's. The Winchesters' old family friend and paternal figure had been mainly happy when Becky had given birth to the baby they'd all thought was Sam's at the time. Neither Sam nor Dean were getting any younger, and Brian had been the closest to an actual grandson Bobby was probably ever gonna have. Frank's kids called him their Grandpa, but it just wasn't the same. But Becky was all wrong for Sam, and as it had turned out, Bobby had hardly seen Brian, once he'd been born. As far as Bobby knew, none of the rest of the family had seen the boy much either, not even Sam, himself.
But these three were insisting that Brian, or Damien, or whatever the hell they were supposed to call him now, was the Beast of the Apocalypse, and that was a much harder sell. Even if the kid did turn out to be Vincent's instead of Sam's, why would that mean that Damien was any more evil than Eric had been, or Rob, or even Gail, herself? Weren't they all Vincent's children, too? And, OK, that JD had been a real piece of work, but how about all of those innocent kids who had died at the compound?
Bobby had accused Cas of overselling his point. Up until just recently, the kid had been a baby. A helpless infant. Now he was suddenly older; chronologically, at least. But from what Bobby had observed so far, the kid was still an innocent, scared little boy. Bobby could only imagine how confusing this whole thing must be for him.
Cas was exasperated. Here they were, standing with God, the three highest-ranking Angels Heaven had, warning him about the Beast of the Apocalypse, and Bobby didn't believe them?
"Show me the proof," Bobby said, sighing. "Show me one single, solitary speck of evidence."
But the three of them were speechless on that score, because of course, they had none.
"Look; we'll keep an eye on him, but we're not gonna just assume the kid's bad just because the Dad is," Bobby told the trio firmly. "Are we, Gail?" he added with emphasis.
She eyed him balefully. "I see what you're doing there, Bobby. But we're not assuming he's bad because he's Vincent's kid, we're saying he's bad because he's the Beast of the damn Apocalypse!"
"How do you know that?" Bobby shot back. "Because Cas says so?"
She stood there, open-mouthed. "Well...yeah! But I believe him, and so should you. You know he knows what he's talking about," she retorted.
"Gabe? What do you have to say about all of this?" Bobby looked at the Archangel, frowning.
"What do you want me to say? He's the real deal, Bobby," Gabriel said, shrugging. "And if we don't deal with him before the anniversary of that stupid spell, we're all screwed."
On and on it went until the morning, but Bobby kept stubbornly insisting that, unless he had definitive proof to the contrary, it was his position that they needed to give Damien and Becky their protection.
Gabriel had thrown his hands up in frustration. "Fine. You're the boss. Just don't blame us when the kid eliminates the entire human race."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Spare me the dramatics." He was still frowning. "I guess we'll hafta have a little talk with Sam and Dean when they get up, though. If Damien isn't Sam's kid, he has the right to know."
"What about Becky?" Gail demanded.
"What about her?" Bobby asked.
"What about the fact that she's been passing him off as Sam's baby, all this time?" she said angrily.
"Look, Gail, I know that Becky can be a little...aggravating, sometimes," Bobby said diplomatically. "But we don't know that she DID do that. Didn't he spend the night with her? As far as we know, she thought he was the father, too."
"She's still insisting he IS the father," Gail pointed out.
"She's probably in denial about the whole thing," Gabriel said, putting his feet up on one of the kitchen table's chairs. "I've seen it before."
Gail was still looking at Bobby, shaking her head slowly. She couldn't believe it. After everything Becky had pulled, he was still defending her. This was unbelieveable.
"Good morning, everybody," Sam said, entering the kitchen. The Angels' hearts sank when they saw that he was holding Damien by the hand. "Somebody's hungry," Sam said affably. "Do you guys have any cereal?"
Cas and Gail exchanged glances with each other, and then with Gabriel. Were they really supposed to feed breakfast cereal to the Beast of the Apocalypse? Gabriel raised an eyebrow to the others. It looked like they were going to have to go behind God's back, on this one.
"I'll see what we have," Cas said coolly. But before he had the chance to check the cupboards, his cell phone rang.
"Call T.O.D. as 7:40 a.m.," Dr. Gatling said to his team.
He stepped back from the gurney, letting out a frustrated breath. They'd done everything they could, but the patient was gone. Well, at least he hadn't died until December 26th. That was a small consolation, but at least his family wouldn't have to hear that Andy had died on Christmas Day.
If he had any family, that was. Dr. Gatling was a fairly new addition to the staff, but he had been briefed about every patient that resided in their most secure ward, and their respective conditions. Andy was a "lifer", or so the notes in his chart said. He was a docile, shuffling old man with the heart and soul of a homicidal maniac. He was dangerously crazy. Gatling pulled the man's most recent file, once he got cleaned up and went back to his office. Maybe Andy didn't have a family. Maybe he'd killed them all, the doctor thought with black humour. But it was a shame nonetheless, no matter which way this went.
Andy sat on the bench in the mist, looking at his surroundings. Not that there was anything much to see. In fact, there was absolutely nothing to see. Everything around him was completely grey. Why was he sitting on a stone bench? Was this Heaven? Or Hell?
A tall, thin shape emerged from the fog, and the man sat next to Andy on the bench. Andy stared at him. He was very well-dressed: suit, tie, and a long overcoat. He even carried a walking stick in one hand. But his expression was dour as he looked at Andy.
"Who are you?" Andy blurted out. "Where are we?"
Death regarded him calmly. They all asked him that; every single one of them. He supposed he could understand why, but it all became quite tedious, after several dozen centuries.
He scrutinized Andy's face. It was curious, really. This man wasn't a homicidal maniac, at all. He was simply a pathetic figure who had been ill-used all his life, an impressionable man who had been persuaded to believe that he was psychotic. Death shook his head. Humans. They were so limited in their scope of understanding.
"Your story is not yet over," Death said to Andy. "I have a message for you to deliver." Then he touched Vincent's brother with his walking stick, and Andy disappeared.
As Christmas Day ended on Earth, Leah was reminiscing about her years spent with her husband and son, back in Biblical times. They had all been God's loyal servants, standing up for what was right. Even though they'd started off on the wrong foot, as the saying went, they had made their atonements. Hadn't they?
She opened the lid of her sewing box, pulling the quilt closer as the vision began to take over.
"You don't know me," Kay said to Cas. "I'm a friend of Andy's. Your wife's uncle. Dr. Gatling called me from the hospital, because I was still listed as next of kin on his file. I told the doctor I haven't seen Andy in years, and then he told me why he was calling." There was a pause. "Andy died."
Cas was surprised. "But...Gail phoned the hospital a week or so ago, to inquire about his condition. They said that he was fine. Then, she sent him his Christmas gift. When did he pass away?"
"This morning," Kay advised Cas, as Gail moved towards her husband. "Cas?" she said uncertainly. He put his arm around her. "Do you mind if I put you on Speaker?" Cas asked the woman. She assented, and he pressed the button, then put his phone on the counter.
Sam had found a box of cereal in the cupboards and poured a bowl of it for Damien, who was seated at the kitchen table. As Cas, Gail and Bobby were all looking at Cas's phone and Sam was heading to the fridge for the milk, Gabriel was eyeing the boy.
"What did he die of?" Gail said, agitated. "They said he was fine!" She didn't know why she was so upset, really. It wasn't as if she and her uncle had had any sort of a relationship, or anything. But she'd just sent him a Christmas present, and she had been considering a visit to him in the New Year. Despite the way her uncle had behaved when they'd been to see him at the sanitarium, Gail still felt sorry for him. This past year, they had lost so many friends and family members that she had thought... Oh, who the hell knew what she had thought?
"I'm sorry to have to tell you that he took an overdose of medication," Kay said sadly. "They tried to bring him back, but by the time he was found, it was already too late."
Something very chilling happened, then: as Cas and Bobby were looking at Gail with concern and Sam was reaching into the fridge for the milk, Damien's face broke into a wide grin. Gabriel's eyes narrowed. The little bastard. Gabe should just go into the dining room and get one of those gold candlesticks, right now. Stir Damien's cereal with it. See if he could choke it down, then.
"If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Gail said to the caller. "How do you know Andy?"
"Years ago, when we worked together, we were friends," Kay replied. "We even went out on a couple of dates." There was a pause for a moment, and Gail realized that their caller was in tears. That made Gail feel a little bit better, in a strange way. Somebody had cared about Andy.
"My number was on the file, as next of kin," Kay continued. "But that was from a long time ago. Dr. Gatling is new, so he wasn't aware that you're Andy's actual relative. But when he told me that Andy had died, I offered to call you. I thought the news should come from someone who cared about your uncle."
"That was very kind of you," Cas remarked soberly. "May I take down your number? We just need a minute, here."
As Kay was giving Cas her phone number to write down, Sam came back with the milk for Damien's cereal. The boy was no longer grinning, of course. Gail sat down slowly at the kitchen table, stunned. Sam put the milk down on the table next to the bowl. "You OK?" he asked Gail.
"What's going on?" Dean asked. He'd just entered the kitchen, overhearing Sam's question to her.
"Gail's Uncle Andy died," his brother told him.
"Uncle Andy? Chicken Wing Andy? The one we saw in the looney bin?" Dean said, surprised.
"Dean!" Cas admonished his friend, hanging up from Kay on his cell phone.
"Have some respect, Boy," Bobby added, frowning.
"Sorry," Dean said, approaching Gail. "I just thought - "
"I know, right?" she said. "I don't know why - " She gestured with her hands, unable to finish the sentence.
Cas went to where his wife was sitting, and he took her hand. Now what? He supposed, as Andy's next of kin, Gail should go to the sanitarium and speak to her uncle's doctor. If she wanted, they could arrange for a funeral service. Andy's friend Kay had expressed a desire to attend whatever kind of a service they might hold. It didn't really matter to Cas, one way or the other. He supposed he did feel a little sorry for the man. But Cas had not forgotten the threats that Andy had issued towards Gail, either. He was sure that was why his wife was feeling so conflicted, now. It was good of her to have compassion for her uncle, though. Except for this woman Kay, it didn't seem as though anyone else had.
The timing could certainly have been better, however. Cas glanced at Damien. He was eating his cereal now, looking just like any other little boy would. Gabriel was staring at the child with a look of utter contempt on his face.
"If you and Gail need to go there, we can hold down the fort for you, here," Bobby offered.
Now Cas was indecisive. They had the Beast of the Apocalypse here having breakfast at their table, wearing an oversized pair of George's pajamas that Ethan had brought from Heaven, and they were contemplating leaving the house?
Before Cas could say anything further, though, his cell phone rang again.
It was Kay, and she was weeping openly now. "You'll never believe it!" she exclaimed. "The doctor just called me back, and Andy is alive! Apparently, he just suddenly took a huge breath and sat up, asking why there was a sheet on his face!"
Cas was astounded. "Just a moment," he said to her. Gail's husband told her and the others the news, and then Kay went on: "And, there's more. Dr. Gatling said that Andy said he's got something to tell you both, and he needs to tell you right away."
Castiel's eyebrows rose. He stole another glance at Damien, but the boy was still working his way through his cereal, swinging his legs under the table. It was a good thing that Cas hadn't still had his phone on Speaker, though. Cas didn't think it would be advisable for Damien to hear that Andy had a message for the Angels. To Cas, that could mean only one thing: they were about to receive a little otherworldly assistance.
Gail tugged at Cas's sleeve. "Ask her if she wants to come with us, to see him," she said to her husband.
He looked at her, and she shrugged. "She sounded so upset. I just thought she might want to see for herself that he was OK."
Cas smiled warmly, touching her cheek. She was so considerate. He put the phone to his ear to extend the invitation to Kay, and then Cas noticed that Damien was staring at him intently. Cas stared back. If Damien thought he was going to intimidate Cas, he was very much mistaken. Castiel had of necessity killed children before, and he wouldn't hesitate to do so, again.
"Daddy, can I go play with the other kids?" Damien asked Sam, hopping off his chair.
"Sure," Sam said to the child. He glanced uncomfortably at the others. "I guess I should go see if Becky's up, anyway."
The two of them left the room hand in hand, and Gabriel let out a frustrated breath. "I'm on it," the Archangel said to Cas, striding out of the kitchen.
"We'll come there and pick you up," Cas said into the phone. "What's your address?"
After extracting Bobby's promise to call them immediately if there was any trouble, Cas and Gail left the house. Now that Christmas was over, the snow around their house was starting to melt. Despite the stressful atmosphere, Gail smiled at her brother as they moved into the driveway. They had to drive to Kay's house, of course, so Frank had pulled the Charger out in order to let them by. He rolled down the window before Cas pulled away.
"I think we're gonna take off shortly," Gail's brother told them. "Thanks for everything, but I think Rob and I have to have a little chat with Suzanne. She's still kind of freaked out, and it didn't exactly help when we had a few Angels popping out of here, this morning." Then he grinned. "Besides, you guys have your own little 'Maury' thing going on here, don't you? Geez. If I'm that kid, I'm praying on my hands and knees that Sam's my dad, 'cause it sure beats the alternative." Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to, as Gail frowned. "Oh. Sorry, kiddo."
She sighed. "That's OK. You go, and do what you have to do. I'm sorry Christmas got so messed up."
Frank shrugged. "Not your fault. See you later. Give me a call, and let me know how the Baby Drama works out."
Cas pulled out of the driveway, and Gail let out a frustrated breath. He looked at his wife. "Are you all right, my love?"
She frowned. "I guess so, Cas. I just don't even know what to do, any more. I feel like telling you to just keep on driving, till we run out of gas. Let our crazy family sort everything out for themselves." Then she sighed again. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm just venting. But, I swear, if Becky shows up next Christmas, we're moving."
Cas laughed softly. He reached for Gail's hand, and they drove to Kay's house, holding hands the entire way.
Andy was sitting up in bed, surprisingly alert considering the circumstances. He looked downcast when Cas and Gail entered the room, but his expression changed to one of astonishment when he saw Kay.
"Hi, Andy," the older woman said. Gail had initially been surprised when they'd picked Kay up. She was a short woman with steel-grey hair, and lines on her face. But then, Gail realized that Kay and Andy would be around the same age. Of course Kay would be an older woman.
Kay approached Andy's bedside. "What the hell were you thinking?!" she berated him, slapping at his arm. "You scared us!"
Andy went to raise his arm to ward off the blow, and there was a clanking sound. He was attached to the bedrail with handcuffs, and chains. "I'm sorry," he said in a subdued tone. "I'm sorry for what I did. I was just...so despondent. But it wasn't fair to any of you, especially at Christmastime. I apologize for having dragged you down here, for nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," Kay said softly. "And I need to apologize to you, too. I should have come to see you long before this. I told myself it was because I couldn't bear to see you in a place like this, but that was a cop-out. It was because I was too scared to come."
"Of course you were," Andy said, in a reasonable tone. "I don't blame you, Kay. Or you, Gail. I didn't even remember that you were still on my file, Kay. Before I knew about Gail, you were the only person they could possibly call. You know I didn't have any other friends. Oliver wouldn't have anything to do with me, and Vincent...well, Gail and Cas know all about him. I guess I could have reached out to you, Gail, but I behaved so badly the last time you were here that I was sure you hated me."
"I don't hate you, Andy," Gail said compassionately.
"I guess I brought it on myself, though," Andy said softly. "I used to have dreams of getting out of here, and living a normal life." He raised his arms again, showing them the shackles. "But I was only kidding myself. The only way I'm getting out of here is in a pine box."
Kay was crying silent tears. "Don't say that, Andy. You were out there, once. That's how we met, remember? If you work on yourself, like you did before..."
Now Andy was crying, too. "You shouldn't have come here, Kay. I'm crazy. Dangerous. Haven't you heard?"
"How are you so dangerous?" Kay shot back, and now she sounded almost angry. "What did you ever do? In all the time I knew you, I never once saw you do anything that made me feel unsafe. Not once."
"I had bad thoughts," he told her quietly.
"Well, so what?" Kay exclaimed. "Who doesn't?"
Andy sighed. "Do you mind if I talk to my niece, for a minute?"
Kay let out a breath. "No, of course I don't mind. I'll wait out in the hallway."
As Kay slipped out the door, Cas and Gail were looking at each other. This was a different Andy than they were used to seeing. This man sounded calm and reasonable. Sane, even. But they'd also seen that status change, in the blink of an eye.
"Cas, I'd like to speak to Gail alone, please," Andy stated.
"That is out of the question," Cas informed him.
"Please," Andy implored him.
There was silence for a moment, and then Gail said, "It's OK, Cas. I'll talk to him."
"I understand your concern, Cas, but you have nothing to worry about, I promise," Andy said mildly. "Besides..." He showed them the shackles again.
Cas stood there, frowning. He didn't like it, but he supposed he had no solid basis for objection, under the circumstances. He kissed his wife on the forehead. "I'll be right outside," he told her, but he was looking at Andy when he said it.
Once Cas had stepped into the hallway, Gail looked closely at her uncle's face. "You seem different," she remarked.
"I am. Gail. I really am," he said eagerly. "I died."
She continued to regard him, so Andy took a breath, and then he told her about the man with the walking stick. "He said my story wasn't over, yet. And, he said he had a message for me to give to you."
Gail's heart began to race. Death had a message for them?
"He said to tell you that the Chosen One is in Kansas City, at Mercy Hospital. He was crossing the street to board a bus that was going to take him to Lebanon, and then he was hit by a vehicle, and seriously injured. He's recuperating now, but he told the staff that his family may be looking for him: his brothers Cas and Gabe, and his sister, Gail." Andy smiled at the astonished look on her face. "Does any of that make sense to you?"
"Believe it or not, yes, it does," she said. So that's where Josiah has been, she thought.
"Then he touched me with the walking stick, and he cured me," Andy said matter-of-factly.
Gail looked at her uncle sharply. "He...what?" she said disbelievingly.
"He cured me," Andy repeated, and then he started to smile. "I'm sane now, Gail. I don't have bad thoughts, any more. I'm not delusional any more. It was Vincent, putting those thoughts in my head. It was never me. I wanted to apologize to you for my behaviour towards you, from the bottom of my heart. I know I can never make it up to you, but I just wanted you to know that I'm all right, now. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life here, I'm okay with that, because I know now that I'm not crazy. I'm OK, Gail." Tears pooled in his eyes. "I was feeling sorry for myself because I didn't get a Christmas present from you this year, but I realize now that I've gotten an even better gift. I've got my sanity back, and I also got to see Kay again."
Gail was quiet as she digested what Andy had told her. She didn't think he was lying to her about having been cured. His demeanour was entirely different, now. Nor did it surprise her that Death could cure mental illness, if he so chose. Obviously, Death wanted to help them deal with the Beast. That made sense to her, too. He'd helped them defeat Lucifer also, hadn't he? Death was a fan of the status quo, so if Vincent was going to use Damien somehow to bring about an apocalyptic event, it was only logical that Death would want to prevent that. What a weird way to send them assistance, though. Still, now they had a location for the Chosen One, and apparently, Andy had his sanity back. It was a win-win, in her book.
Of course, they still had a bunch of problems, going forward. For every win, there was also a loss. Andy had his sanity now, but he was chained to a bed in a mental institution, because they knew him to be crazy, here. Were they just going to take his word for it that he was fine? Oh, yeah. Right. Maybe Andy could tell them that Death had cured him of his insanity, so that he could come back from the dead, to give his Angel relatives a message about how to kill a nine-year-old child, who just happened to be the Beast of the Apocalypse. They'd be sure to release him from the mental hospital then, wouldn't they?
Maybe Gail could talk to Cas about that. See if there was anything they could do, to intervene on Andy's behalf. But, that was hardly the biggest problem they had right now. If the three of them went to see Josiah, the Chosen One, and if he had Gabriel's blade, and if he was aware that he was supposed to kill Damien with it, how were they supposed to convince Sam that the boy had to die?
Gail's head was spinning. Something else occurred to her now, too: another mystery, although this one wasn't nearly as thorny as the other ones. Still, she wanted to know. "Wait a minute," Gail said to her uncle. "You said you didn't get a Christmas present from us this year. But, I sent you one!"
"Actually, she did," Cedric said, striding into the room. As he pushed open the door, Cas and Kay came back into the room, behind him. Cas was looking at Gail, wondering if everything was all right. Yes, she told him on their frequency. Well, mostly. They'd talk in a minute.
Cedric was holding Andy's gift from Gail and Cas. He'd gone to see his co-worker, the guy who'd taken the old man's gift on Christmas morning, and told him he'd better give it back, or Ced was going to report him. The guy had done a bit of grumbling, but not too much. Everybody at the institution now knew that Andy had tried to kill himself that same day.
Ced had rewrapped the gift, and he had even put a brightly-coloured bow on the top. "Merry Christmas," he said to Andy, placing the gift on the bed next to the patient. "This is from your niece and nephew, here. Sorry you didn't get it, yesterday. Santa must have gone down the wrong chimney, or something. If you promise to behave, I'll take the cuffs off, so you can open it yourself."
Andy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The orderly freed the patient, stepping back to give him a little space. Andy put the box on his lap, and looked at it for a moment. His heart was so full right now that he didn't trust himself to speak.
He opened the wrapping, and lifted the box to reveal a pair of soft, fluffy slippers. "They're just what I wanted," Andy said in a trembling voice. Now, he started to cry. He couldn't help it. "Thank you," he said to the Angels. "This is the best Christmas I ever had."
Cedric's forehead wrinkled. Here this guy was, chained to a bed in a mental institution after having tried to kill himself, and he was saying that? Yeah, he was nuts, all right. Still, Ced was happy that everything had worked out all right in the end. Well, as well as it could have anyway, considering where they were.
"Cas and I have to leave," Gail told her uncle. "But we'll be in touch again, soon." She looked at Kay. "Would you like to come with us?"
But Andy's lady friend was shaking her head. She looked at Cedric. "Would it be all right if I visited with Andy for a while? I can take the bus home, afterwards."
Ced shrugged. "Sure, lady. It's fine by me. In fact, if you want to hang around for a bit, I'll snag some leftover turkey for you both."
Kay hugged the orderly impulsively. "Thank you. That would be wonderful." Then she hugged Cas and Gail, too. "You know what? In a lot of ways, this is turning out to be the best Christmas I've ever had, too!" Andy's friend told them.
A moment later, when the Angel couple said their goodbyes, Kay had pulled up a chair beside the bed, and she and Andy were smiling warmly at each other. Cas took Gail's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Merry Christmas, my love," he said over their frequency. "Merry Christmas, sweetie," she responded, and then they left the hospital.
The warm and fuzzy feeling didn't last, though. By the time Cas pulled the car into their driveway, the two of them had talked about the situation, and they were in agreement about what they were going to do, going forward. Regarding Andy's mental health, Castiel had no doubts that Death had cured Gail's uncle. The ancient entity would definitely have that power. And Cas agreed with his wife now that they should try to intervene on Andy's behalf. Once the urgent matter of the Beast was dealt with, the Angels agreed that if there had been no further incidents involving Andy, they would use their Angelic influence to get him released from the sanitarium.
But the much bigger problem was made even larger still by the fact that, when they got back to their house, the Impala was gone, and so was everyone else. All of them.
As soon as Castiel and Gail had left the house, Damien went to work on Sam. He'd climbed onto the younger Winchester's lap with a book, calling him Daddy, and asking if they could read together. Maybe his Dad could help him with some of the words. Mommy had tried to teach him how to read, but she had told him that his father knew way more words than she did. Sam had laughed softly and put his arms around the boy as Becky smiled at the two of them.
Dean felt like he was gonna throw up. After Cas and Gail had gone, the rest of the Angels left too, and so had Frank and his little crew. Bobby had taken the Canadian contingent home, and unfortunately, Nicole had opted to go with them. She'd pulled Dean aside and told him that she wanted to stay out of the whole Baby Drama situation. Nicole loved Dean, but it was her Christmas holiday too, and she didn't intend to spend it watching them all yell at each other. Dean had opened his mouth to protest, but then he had closed it again, admitting to himself that that was pretty much exactly what was going to happen.
Dean could see it on his brother's face: whether Sam believed that Vincent was Damien's father or not, Sam wanted to be the kid's dad. And whether Becky actually knew who Damien's real dad was or not, she was already adding the metaphorical second coat of paint to the proverbial white picket fence.
Bobby's expression was fairly neutral, but Dean was interested to see that Gabriel looked just as sickened as the elder Winchester felt by the sight. That was kind of weird. What did Gabriel care, one way or the other? Dean had also been surprised that Gabe was still hanging around. Christmas was over now, and Gabriel the Archangel wasn't exactly here for the leftover turkey sandwiches.
Then, Becky started in: Why were they hanging around here? she asked the men. Cas and Gail weren't even home, and everybody else had gone.
So...what? Gabriel had asked her. Did she have someplace she had to be, or something?
No, but...Becky had hesitated for a moment. Then she blurted out that Damien wasn't comfortable here. Her and Sam's son was still trying to adjust to being suddenly nine years old, and on the run from Vincent. And it didn't exactly help that every time Becky turned around, Gail was yelling at her. Neither she nor her son were comfortable in this house, and if Sam cared about Damien's well-being, he would take them to the bunker, where he would be safe from Vincent. The poor boy had had nightmares throughout most of the night, because he was so scared of Vincent.
Kid looked perfectly fine to him, Gabriel had remarked coolly, but now Sam was looking thoughtful. He had heard Becky, of course. She hadn't made any sort of effort not to be heard by him. Which, of course, had been by design.
And then, sure enough, Sam looked at Dean. "Could I talk to you for a minute?" he asked his brother.
And that had been that. Sam had made up his mind to bring Becky and Damien home to the bunker, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it. He didn't even bother trying to talk Sam out of it, because really, what was the alternative? No matter how Dean felt about Man-Trap Becky, there was no way Dean could let a little kid go unprotected. That was the bottom line. Dean really didn't know of Damien was Sam's kid or Vincent's, but he guessed that didn't matter; not ultimately. They all knew that Vincent wasn't the least bit shy when it came to killing children, not even when they were his own. Just look at what had happened at that compound. And, on the off chance that Damien really was Sam's son, Dean would die before he would let anything happen to him.
So when Cas and Gail returned from the mental hospital, they found their house empty, except for one very morose-looking Archangel, sitting alone at the kitchen table.
Vincent and Abbadon were relaxing in chaise loungers on the beach, being served cocktails by members of Vincent's flock. He noted with amusement that the men were all jostling with each other to be the one to replenish the shapely brunette's glass. Then, at a certain point, Abbadon had held up a tube of sunscreen and announced loudly that she needed someone to help her apply it. Vincent had grinned as a skirmish had nearly broken out among the men, with one of the young ladies in the mix, as well. Excellent. Abbadon had chosen an extremely well-built young man by the name of Franklin for the task, but the half-Demon woman had also winked at a couple of the others, including the girl, and promised them that she would be needing another re-application, very soon.
Damn, she was good. Vincent got up from his chair and stretched languorously, flashing her a grin. Then he went inside the cabana, leaving instructions with the young cabana staff that he did not want to be disturbed.
Vincent sat cross-legged on the feather bed he kept as a centrepiece in the large beach tent and closed his eyes, sending a message to Damien. Nothing. But instead of being angry about that, Papa Legba smiled. That meant that his son had successfully infiltrated the God Squad's inner sanctum. Not that Vincent had been too concerned about Damien's ability to charm Sam Winchester into taking the boy under his wing. The poor sap was probably posting pictures of the little tyke on Facebook and Instagram right now. Before sending mother and son off to the Angels' house for their heartwarming Christmas reunion, Vincent had given Becky a couple of very strict instructions. The first and most important thing was for her to keep on insisting that Damien was Sam's kid. It didn't matter what anybody else said, or did; little Damien was a Winchester boy. Period. End of story. Vincent now knew that his daughter Gail had taken a stroll in Becky's mostly empty head and found out that Sam wasn't the actual Baby Daddy. Luckily, that was all she'd found out. If Castiel knew how advanced the Beast's development had accelerated, Vincent's son-in-law would have made the elimination of the boy his Number One priority, Sam or no Sam. But by sending Damien and Becky right into the vipers' nest, as it were, Vincent had made the pre-emptive strike he'd needed to make. Now that the Winchesters had seen a frightened and bewildered little kid appealing to them with wide-eyed innocence to protect him from the Big Bad Wolf, there was no way they were going to let anyone harm a hair on the boy's head. Not that Papa believed they actually could. If the so-called Chosen One existed, Cas would have produced him by now.
Vincent had been hoping to have the Prophet in his stable by now too, but he was still in the dark about who that was, or where he was located. Oh, well. All in good time. It wasn't even the New Year, yet. Everything had been going his way, lately. He saw no reason for that to change.
Keeping his eyes closed, Vincent allowed his mind to wander. He pictured himself standing on a mountaintop with his arms open wide, watching them all emerge from the ground: his own personal Army of the Undead. The world was going to be Vincent's for the taking. Let the Angels stay in Heaven where they belonged, and Crowley and his low-rent Demons stay where they belonged. Vincent had no use for idiots, or thugs. He was going to cherry-pick the best of the worst, the crème de la crème of vicious, bloodthirsty killers right out from their graves. Once his Undead Army slew everyone that needed a good slaying, Vincent could decide where he went from there.
He patted his chest where the small vial rested under his shirt, hanging from a gold chain. "It won't be long, now," the Voodoo Priest said calmly. He frowned for a moment. He would have liked to have had JD, but Castiel had burned Vincent's son's body, and the ashes had been beyond salvage. Damien was an upgrade, but it never hurt to have another cold-blooded assassin in the ranks.
The one Vincent had around his neck would do just fine, though. And what was even better, this particular individual hated the Angel that Vincent wanted to target the most.
"Let this be a lesson to my dear daughter," Vincent said to Jason's ashes with the darkest of good humour. "The next time she's standing over the ashes of one of her worst enemies, she should finish the job."
Vincent chuckled at his little joke. He couldn't wait to see their faces.
Damien had taken a moment, before getting out of the car. Dean had rolled the Impala into the bunker's garage and shut off the engine, and the boy had sat there in the back seat, next to God himself, staring at the door that led inside the place. This was it. In a minute, he was going to see if he could walk right into that bunker, or if he was going to burst into flames.
During one of their constant beachside chats, Vincent had advised Damien that he could see no issue with the boy being able to enter the bunker. Despite the fact that he was the Beast of the Apocalypse, who had been foretold, currently Damien was a nine-year-old child who had never done anything so evil as to be prevented from passing through the bunker's protections. His mother had force-fed blood and human flesh to Damien, who had been a helpless little baby at the time. It wasn't like he could have done anything about it, floating knives and flying furniture aside. It could be argued that Damien had sent those projectiles to attack Becky, because the child had been trying to make her stop. Vincent had improvised that last part, but once he'd said it, the father had told the son that conviction was the key, here. If Damien believed that, the others would believe it, too. Then he had pictured Becky's face, if and when her son sold her out that way, and he'd thrown back his head and laughed. He laughed so hard and so long that the palm trees near the beach shook violently, so violently that coconuts began to drop to the ground.
It may not come to that, but Vincent had left the option to decide up to Damien, young as he may be. Becky meant nothing to Vincent, one way or the other. The important thing was to get Damien into that bunker. By whatever means necessary.
Damien was still sitting in the back of the Impala now, thinking about all that. His mother sighed, opening the back door and sliding out her side. Bobby had already gotten out on the other side, as had the Winchesters. That left Damien by himself, in the centre.
Both Sam and Becky poked their heads in the car. "It's okay, Damien. Don't be scared. You're safe, here," Sam said gently.
For a split second, Damien had a thought that was so disconcerting that he didn't know what to do: This must be what it was like to have real parents. A mother and a father who both loved him, and each other, and only cared about the well-being of their family.
Damien started to hyperventilate, and now Dean moved to the back and climbed in beside the boy. "Are you OK?" he asked the child.
"Yeah, I guess so," Damien said, but his head hurt, and his chest hurt, too.
Dean put his arm around the boy's thin shoulders. "Look, I know what happened to you really stinks. I know you must feel really weird, right now. But we're gonna help you, and we're gonna protect you. It's what me and your Dad do."
If Gail had been there, she probably would have hauled Dean away from Damien and smacked him right in the face. But Dean couldn't help it. The instant he had touched Damien, the boy's powers had taken over. Since he'd pictured Sam and Becky as his parents so strongly, the feeling had been transferred to Dean, and now the elder Winchester felt it, too.
"Come in, Damien," Sam said. "We want you to feel like this is your home. Right, Dean?"
"Right," Dean agreed, and Damien smiled, following his faux uncle out of the car. As he approached the door that led into the kitchen area, the young boy's smile widened into a grin. He felt just fine, now. This was going to be a piece of cake. It was just like his real father had said: The trick to running a good con was to believe in what you were trying to sell. If you believed it yourself, others would buy into it. He was going to slip right into that bunker like he had every right to be there.
But now, Becky's stomach was clenching. She felt the waves of power coming from the place, and it was like she was being pushed back with invisible hands. Her chest was tight, and she felt like she was going to throw up. There was no way. There was no way she was going to be able to go in there; not any more. She had killed people to feed Damien, and she had given in to the urges she'd felt when she'd been pregnant with him, and eaten some of it herself. She had killed Quinn, hacking the poor woman to pieces. She had helped Vincent by enabling his plan to decimate the human race. He'd told her what his intentions were, when he'd taken her and Damien to the Caribbean. Vincent intended to infest the Earth with an Unholy and bloodthirsty Undead Army. Just like in the movies, and that TV show, the one with the really scary guy who carried that barbed-wire bat. Then Vincent had released Becky and her son to the custody of God and the Angels at Christmas, after performing some kind of weirdo blood-and-bone ritual that he said was going to let her walk into the place. It had worked, although she'd felt like crap the whole time she'd been there. But it had obviously worn off, now. And the fact that Becky had done absolutely nothing and said even less to any of the people she had accepted "protection" from wasn't exactly helping.
Becky stopped short, about a foot from the door. She couldn't force herself to go any further. Her head swam, and her stomach was killing her. This was almost worse than the labour pains she'd had, when Damien had been ripping his way out of her.
The boy was looking up at her now with that strange little smile on his face, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Oh, who was she kidding? He probably did. She'd seen what he could do back at their house, before Vincent had even gotten there. And ever since the boy's real father had whisked them away to the Caribbean, Damien had gotten much, much worse. Becky had been scared of him before, and now she realized something else: she hated him. She hated her own son. Becky should just tell Sam to kill her, right now.
"Come on, Becky," Sam said softly. "It's OK. You're welcome, here."
Dean opened the door, and the pressure eased. The invitation to enter had been extended. Once one of the Men of Letters invited someone to enter, the warding powered down for that person, no matter how despicable they were. Crowley could definitely attest to that. As powerful an entity as the King of Hell was, he had always been unable to enter the bunker without one of the Winchesters' express invitation to do so.
They all entered the bunker then, Bobby bringing up the rear. He wasn't sure why he'd come, exactly. Maybe he'd just wanted to make sure that Damien was really able to enter the place, after what Cas had said. Well, the boy looked fine to him. Beast of the Apocalypse, his Aunt Fanny. Cas was in a froth about the kid, and Gail had bought into her husband's hysteria. And, Gabe? Who the hell knew? Since when was the Trickster an expert on the Apocalypse? He'd spent most of his existence in the modern era running away from any sign of a fight. Unlike Bobby, the Winchester boys, Cas, and more recently, Gail. They'd been boots on the ground, balls-to-the-wall showing up, every time they were called on to save the human race. And, many times, when they weren't.
But the buck stopped with Bobby as the current occupant of the High Office, and until he saw any reason to think otherwise, he was on board with the notion of protecting Becky and Damien from Vincent. Now, there was a Bad News Bear, if Bobby had ever seen one.
And as far as Brian, aka Damien's, true parentage went...well, maybe that was none of Bobby's business. Becky and Sam were both here now, exchanging awkward glances. Maybe Bobby should just let them alone, and let them have that conversation.
God put his hand on Damien's shoulder. "I'll be going, now," he started to say, and as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes, the reigning God realized something: Damien had Sam's eyes. Bobby felt a surge of love for the boy. Sam's son. Bobby's grandson, in every way that was important.
"Call me if ya need anything," Bobby said to Sam gruffly, a lump forming in his throat. With that, realizing he was alarmingly close to tears, Bobby winked himself out of the bunker.
He should have just quit while he was ahead, Vincent fumed. But he'd been all puffed up, carried away with his recent successes. So he had closed his eyes again and sent out the call to Andy, intending to needle his younger brother. This was a final offer: was he going to join Vincent, or was he going to just end his pathetic existence, once and for all? Vincent had no clue that Andy had actually done the latter at Christmas, and had been brought back by none other than Death, himself. None at all.
Their link had been severed when Death had done that, and now, it was Andy who was in control. But he had been keeping his mind wide open, much as Cas or Gail might leave their frequencies open to receive messages from each other.
Andy had been hoping that Vincent might call him again, because now that Andy had his sanity back, he had a thing or two he wanted to say to his brother.
"The only reason my life is pathetic is because you ruined it," Andy said bluntly. He was back in his hospital bed now, after Cedric had taken him for a bit of a wheelchair ride down the corridor, to the solarium. The temperature was still cold outside, but Ced had given the patient his robe and slippers to put on, and parked him in the sunlight by the window at the end of the hall. Andy still had the IV in his arm, and the orderly had half-apologetically cuffed his hands together, and attached them to leg shackles. Just because the old guy seemed docile didn't mean that Cedric was going to drop his guard. Dangerously crazy people could seem lucid one minute, and then go ape on you the next, with no notice whatsoever.
Andy didn't mind. He knew that Cedric was only doing his job. He'd just been so thrilled to find out that he was going to get even a glimpse of the outside world that Cedric could have slapped a full straitjacket on him, and he wouldn't have cared. When they'd arrived at the end of the hallway, the orderly had stopped the wheelchair beside the window, putting the brake on.
"I hope you understand, but I've gotta stay here with you," Ced had said to him. It was kind of weird, how he kept feeling the need to apologize. But there was just something about the patient ever since Christmas, something that was very different than the way he'd been before. Andy seemed to have a quiet dignity, now. His speech was calm, and this was the most lucid Ced had ever seen him.
Andy had smiled gently. "I do understand," he'd told Cedric. "I just appreciate your kindness in bringing me here. I haven't seen the outside in...I don't know how long. Is there snow?" he asked excitedly.
"There sure is," Cedric confirmed. "It looks just like a Christmas card, out there. Here; let me get you closer."
Then he'd kicked off the brake, wheeling Andy as close to the window as he could possibly get. There were iron bars across the windowpane, of course, but he could still see.
Andy gasped. Cedric was right. It was beautiful! His eyes drank in the sight. The snow was pristine white, and it sparkled in the sun. He had forgotten how much something simple like that could lift your spirits.
Cedric enjoyed seeing the ecstatic look on Andy's face. This was such a dark and depressing place to work most of the time that these kinds of moments were hard to come by. But after a minute, it started to feel like he was horning in on a very private moment, so he moved away slightly, keeping the patient in his sightline.
Andy had that memory to keep him calm now, as he spoke to Vincent. "This will be our last communication," he said to his brother. "I let you in, because I thought I needed you. You had me convinced that I was so worthless as a human being that you were the best companionship I could manage. But I have family and friends, good people who care about me. You're the one who's pathetic, Vincent, and you're going to lose."
Vincent had laughed scornfully, but he had also been very, very surprised. He had always been able to intimidate his younger brother, before. But Andy was talking as if HE was in the driver's seat now, not Vincent. Andy was talking as if he wasn't crazy any more.
"I'm not," Andy said, and Vincent was startled again. "I'm not crazy, Vincent," his little brother continued. "I never was. But YOU are, and you will lose."
Vincent was livid. "How DARE you talk to me like that?" he raged. "You're just a psychotic, broken-down old man, rotting away in a mental institution! Nobody cares about you! Nobody! You'll be dead soon, and no one will give a damn."
"You first, Vincent. If there's a God in Heaven, it'll be you, first," Andy said firmly, but he was still serene. Vincent sounded like the crazy person, now.
"God?!" Vincent exclaimed, and he was nearly screaming in his own head now. "How the hell can someone like YOU talk about God? What do you know about it?"
"A lot more than you do," Andy retorted. "I choose love, and kindness. I reject you, Vincent. You and I are done."
Then he closed his mind down and sealed it shut, picturing slamming a door and pulling a bolt lock across it.
"I choose love," Andy repeated softly, looking at his robe and slippers. "I choose kindness." He closed his eyes and pictured the winter scene he'd just been able to witness, courtesy of Cedric. The orderly wasn't even assigned to the hospital wing. He'd taken Andy there on his coffee break.
Finally, Andy pictured Kay, who had sat here for a long time that day, holding Andy's manacled hand, and feeding him turkey and mashed potatoes. She had told him that she would be back to see him soon, and the next time she came, she was going to bring a book, to read aloud to him from.
Oh, yes. Andy did have people who cared about him. It was just that now, without Vincent's poison in his brain and in his heart, Andy was finally able to open himself up to receive their help, and their love.
He fell asleep, smiling.
Vincent bounced off the bed and tore out of the cabana, looking around wildly. His eyes lit on Franklin, who was standing beside Abbadon. The Demon woman was smiling up at the muscular young man, who was dressed only in a tight bathing suit now that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Vincent wondered if anything had been going on between them, or if they hadn't gotten around to it yet. Oh, well. If they hadn't gotten busy, it was their loss. He snapped his fingers at Franklin.
"Grab a couple of tourists, and bleed them dry," Vincent said coldly. "It's time to get this show on the road."
Then he looked at Abbadon. "Get dressed," he ordered her. "Vacation's over. I'm in the mood for a little housecleaning."
Damien was in the kitchen of the bunker, having a sandwich and a glass of milk. Sam put a pot of coffee on for the adults. It was just him and Dean and Becky now.
"I'll make up a couple of rooms for you and Damien," Sam told Becky. "If we can figure out what sizes he takes, I can go to the mall and get him some more clothes. George's stuff is a little big on him."
"Why don't we just get Cas and Gail to pop over there?" Dean suggested.
"No!" Becky exclaimed, and the brothers looked at her in surprise. Crap. "I just meant...why would you ask them to do that?" she added, somewhat lamely.
Dean regarded her, trying not to roll his eyes. Brian – or Damien – might be a lot older now, but good old Becky was still stupid. "Uhhh...because they're Angels," he said to her, as if he were talking to a child. "They can pop over there, and pop back. If Vincent's out there waiting to snatch your kid, we've gotta stay holed up here, until we can figure out a plan."
Becky's lips pursed. That was logical; she just didn't want Cas and Gail around. Gabriel, either. All three of them had been looking at her and Damien like they couldn't wait to stick their Angel blades in them. Vincent had assured Becky that, because of who Damien was, they wouldn't be able to kill him with an ordinary blade. But they could kill HER, couldn't they?
It occurred to Becky now how royally screwed she really was. She would have no choice but to let them call on the Angels. If she left the bunker now, there was no way she was ever going to get back in. Where could she go, then? What would she do? She was a monster now. They would all hate her if they knew what she had done. Most of them hated her, already. Things hadn't been much better in the Caribbean, either. Everybody there had been nice enough to her, but that was only because Vincent said so, and because she was Damien's mother. Vincent didn't give a crap about Becky; he'd just wanted to keep Damien happy.
So far, her son was the only person who seemed to care whether Becky lived or died. But that could change, couldn't it? Vincent had taught Damien to look at people only in terms of how useful they were to him. Now that her son wasn't a baby any more, he didn't really need Becky for anything, did he? Now that he was eating normal food, anybody could feed him. There were no more poopy diapers to change. And now, whenever Damien was unhappy about something, all he had to do was open up his mouth and talk. Becky had thought that aging him was the smartest thing to do, but as it turned out, it had been the dumbest. No wonder Dean was looking at her like she was an idiot. She WAS one.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Becky blurted out. She rushed out of the kitchen, as the men stared after her.
"They hate me, you know," Damien piped up in a conversational tone.
The brothers turned around to look at him. "Who hates you?" Dean asked the boy.
"Uncle Cas and Aunt Gail," he said, taking another sip of his milk. "Uncle Gabe, too. They all hate me. They want me dead."
"No, they don't," Sam assured him. He and Dean exchanged a glance. "Why would you say something like that?"
"Because it's true," Damien said matter-of-factly. "Just ask them. You'll see." He put the empty glass down. "Can I watch some TV, Daddy?"
Sam was frowning. "Sure, Buddy. Come on." Damien hopped off his chair, and Sam gave Dean another look. "I'm on it," Dean said, taking out his cell phone. He hit Cas's number on the Speed Dial.