a/n: Hi again, dear readers. I'm glad so many of you are excited about this story! I know I am. Let's get started...
Chapter 2: A Psychopomp
You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.
-Neil Gaiman, American Gods
Kevin looked even worse than he had a few days ago, and Dean thought maybe Sam had been right about the pills. The kid was pale and jittery, and it was obvious he hadn't been sleeping. Again. Still.
"Kev, man. When was the last time you ate?" Dean said.
He ran a hand through his short black hair and shook his head in a quick, jerky way. "Um, I don't know. You told me to eat a banana, but we were out of bananas. Garth stopped by yesterday, or maybe two days ago, and got some supplies for me, but I ate everything, and he forgot to get bananas. If you have any bananas here I'll eat one. I'm allergic to tomatoes, though, so not tomatoes. What is this place?"
"Whoa, buddy, take a breath!" Dean said. "Here, sit down." He cast a loaded glance at Sam, and he grimaced.
"He's been like this since we got there. You turned him into a speed freak, Dean. His mom is gonna kick your ass."
Dean looked so alarmed at the idea that Meg snorted. "What, his mom some sort of body builder chick or something?"
Sam's face creased. "About your size," he said. At Meg's incredulous look, he held up his hands. "She punched Crowley in the face once."
"She hired a witch off Craig's List," Kevin said.
"She kidnapped a demon and trapped him in the trunk of her car," said Sam.
"She's really scary," Dean said with a wince.
She gave Cas an are these three kidding me with this shit? look, but Cas merely blinked at her.
"Mrs. Tran is a formidable woman," he said.
"No one's calling my mom. She's fine where she is. I'm not hungry. I've got a lot to tell you guys, and I don't really have time to eat."
"Hey," Dean said with a careless shrug, "it's fine. We get it. Work's important. You're a driven guy. I was just gonna pop to the kitchen and whip up some burgers. I make awesome burgers. You don't want one, that's cool. More for me and Sam, since the other two don't eat."
"I would enjoy a burger," said Cas.
"What the hell. If the winged avenger's eating, I might as well, too," Meg drawled. "Since he's cooking for everybody, I think I'm safe from Deano tryin' to poison me."
Kevin's eyes darted back and forth between them. "I remember you," he said. "Aren't you a demon?"
Her mouth curved and she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I'm flattered, sweet cheeks. You've grown up since the last time I saw you."
"Yeah. Two years on the run will do that."
"Tell me about it." She jerked her chin toward the bag he clutched like a lifeline. "That thing's burnin' you up, kid. You should listen to big brother Dean and take a break. There's nothin' you have to say that can't be said over a nice cheeseburger."
He cradled the bag against his chest and glared at her. "What would you know about it?"
"I'm a demon, honey. What's more, I was Alastair's golden girl for more centuries than you got fingers and toes. When it comes to burning people up, a better question would be what don't I know about it." She tilted her head toward Cas. "Ask the angel. He can see it, too."
"It's true, Kevin. To be a prophet is a grave responsibility. Most of them have, as Meg says, burned out before their time. I remember Luke—"
"Yeah, yeah, always with the stories about Luke," Dean said. "Why don't you put the bag down and go get cleaned up. Nothing can get in here. No one can find you here. You have my personal guarantee. Okay?"
He blinked hard at Dean, his pupils tiny and eyes roaming Dean's face like searchlights. Finally he handed the bag over to Sam. "Every time you see me you're making me shower and eat. It's ridiculous."
"What's ridiculous is that I have to make you do those things. The bathroom's that way." He jerked his thumb behind him, and after a moment Kevin shuffled off, his shoulders slumped and his hands jammed in his pockets. Dean rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.
Sam set the duffle on the table next to Remy's lockbox and went to find his laptop. Meg shrugged her good shoulder at Cas and wandered into the stacks to find the book they'd need to undo the wards on the box. Cas started opening some of the nearby storage drawers and poking around their contents.
A few moments later Kevin stuck his head around the bathroom door. "What the hell happened in here?" he said. "I stepped on a bottle of Old Spice body wash and nearly broke my neck."
There was the sound of a book hitting the ground and then Meg's voice, low and smoky with barely contained mirth. "Oops."
They had burgers and chips with beer (even Kevin had a beer, because, Jesus, if a kid has to suddenly devote his life to deciphering the Word of God and outrunning angels and demons he can have a fucking beer), and for nearly an hour no one mentioned tablets or Gates or mind control. They made jokes and told stories and actually laughed.
Meg teased Sam about his fashion sense (or, in her opinion, lack thereof). Dean gave her shit about all the new chick stuff in the shower. Kevin made some obscure math joke that only Cas got, because, he said, math was a universal language that governed the spheres. ("Whatever" was the general consensus to that one.)
When they were finished, Sam collected the dishes and dropped them in the kitchen sink with a clatter they could hear out in the common room. When he got back he passed out another round of beer—a Coke for Kevin this time—and settled down in his chair. He reached out a long arm and dragged Kevin's bag to the center of the table, and suddenly the tablet was very much in focus again.
"Okay, kid," Dean said, "lay it on us. What's up with this second trial?"
Kevin set his drink aside and leaned forward, expression eager and hands moving as he spoke. "It's a hairy one, you guys. I mean, not hair like the last one. No dogs involved. Just hairy as in…really scary and weird."
Dean made a get on with it gesture. "We get it."
"Right. So. Assuming I'm reading it right—and I am—then the second trial is freeing an innocent soul from Hell. Sam has to go down there and get someone out, like an actual, full-on rescue mission." He paused. Glanced around to make sure they were all listening. They were. "To Hell. And back."
There was a long silence as they all absorbed the announcement and tried to make sense of it. Dean recovered first.
"An innocent soul?" he said. "You mean like Adam?"
"Who's Adam?" Meg said.
"Their brother," said Cas. "He was Michael's vessel when Sam pulled Lucifer and Michael into the cage."
Her eyes went wide. "You're fucking kidding me."
"What?" Dean said. "He's innocent. He doesn't deserve to be in Hell."
"No shit. I get that part. That's not what I'm talking about."
"What, then?" Sam said.
She waved an impatient hand. "Your brother isn't just chillin' in the lobby, boys. He's down in the cage. The fucking cage. You can't get him out."
Sam got that stubborn look on his face, all tight jaw and narrow eyes. "I can try. If I have to go down there and get someone out, then I want it to be him. He shouldn't be there."
"No, Sam, you can't." The Winchesters both glared at her, and she let out a short sigh. "I'm not trying to be a bitch here. I'm being realistic. Look, there's a saying we have down there—all the levels of Dante's Hell. You guys have read Dante, right?"
Blank looks all around, except from Cas and Kevin. "Sam, really? You haven't read Dante?"
He shrugged. "I was pre-law."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Dante was this guy back in Florence who was in love with this chick Beatrice, like crazy in love. She died, and he lost his shit. He was also exiled from Florence for…well basically for calling some important city guys out on their bullshit, so he was sorta bitter about it. Anyway, this douchebag angel called Virgil—"
"Hey, Virgil!" Dean said. "We met him. He was a douche."
"Right? Anyway, he gave Dante a tour of Hell, and Dante wrote this fuckin' book about it. Holy shit, the reno we had to go through after all that fucking bullshit.…Anyway, point is, one thing didn't change, and still hasn't changed even after all of Crowley's 'improvements.' The cage is still at the bottom. The very fucking bottom beneath the torture chambers and the rivers and the damned souls and the frozen lake. No, you won't find a giant frozen three-headed effigy with Judas in one mouth and poor little Adam Winchester in the other, but still. You can't get there."
"I can try!" Sam said again, voice rising and nearly breaking on the last word.
"Sam, for fuck's sake, listen to me! You can't. You can't get there, and even if you could, you couldn't get inside the cage. And even if you could, you wouldn't want to. And even if you did, you couldn't." She leaned across the table and looked him square in the eye. "There. Is. No. Way." Her voice softened. "I'm sorry, Sam. It's just not possible."
There was a long silence while Sam brooded and Dean fiddled with the cap from his beer.
"We don't have Death's ring anymore anyway," Sam finally said.
She flicked her fingers. "Matter settled. Trust me, Sam. I know how this bugs you, but let it go."
"I feel like an asshole."
"Of course you do. Your brother's burning in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Poor kid. But even if you did get him out now, how long has he been down there? You were in that cage a year and look at the state your soul was in when you got it back. I sat with this bozo for months while he worked through all your cage-induced issues."
Meg shook her head and sat back. "There's nothing left of Adam, Sam. Rings or no rings, even if you could just walk into Mordor, all you'd find is two really pissed off archangels ready to buttfuck you into the next millennium."
"Yeah," he said, his voice hollow. "I get it." He paused. "It was a nice idea, though."
"Yeah," she echoed. "It was a perfectly Winchester idea."
Dean cut his eyes over at Cas. "Does it ever freak you out how these two are sorta Vulcan mind melded?"
He shifted in his seat. "I don't understand that reference…but, yes. Their connection can be unnerving."
"Okay, so, no Adam," Dean said. "Who, then? Does the tablet have anything specific?"
"No," Kevin said with a regretful shake of his head. "It just says an innocent soul. You guys have to know someone who went to Hell and didn't deserve it."
"It happens all the time," Meg said.
Their eyes swiveled toward her and she shrugged. "What? Don't look so surprised. People make deals for all sorts of reasons. Some of them are shit like a bigger dick, but others are genuinely selfless. A dad wants his sick kid to get better. Or a wife wants her husband to come home safe from war. And if you make a deal as a kid, it isn't supposed to count at all. Too innocent to know what you're doing." Her head tilted as she considered. "Those are just the deals, but it's harder to wrongly end up in Hell without a deal. Maybe if you piss off the wrong demon…or the wrong angel."
"Didn't Bela make her deal when she was just a kid? Wasn't it to save herself from her rapist dad?" Sam said.
"Ugh," said Meg. "Yeah, that deal was a stinker. She probably shouldn't be downstairs, depending."
"She was a professional thief and con artist," Dean said. "I think she earned it."
"It's much harder to get into Hell than many believe," Cas said. "Thievery ranks very low on damnable sins."
"Seriously? Bela Talbot is our innocent soul? That's what we're goin' with?"
"What's the matter, Deanikins? Is it because she was a thief, or because she was a lady thief? Did she make you feel all tingly in your naughty bits? Or maybe she—gasp—outsmarted the great Dean Winchester, while making you feel all tingly in your naughty bits, and that was just so confusing for you that there's no way such a crazy bitch deserves your big bad Winchester Hell save."
She stood up and tossed her hair back. "You know what? I think I'm done with this conversation. Why don't you boys just let me know when you decide who's worthy of your help, and I'll come a-runnin'. In the meantime I'll be in my room with my stupid cat." She snagged the books she'd found and sauntered toward her door.
Sam pulled a face at his brother and made a small, exasperated noise. "Meg—"
"Forget it, Sammy," she said over her shoulder. "Like I said, work it out. You know where I'll be." The door slammed behind her, and a strained silence fell.
"I just think there are probably people more deserving than Bela. That's all I meant," Dean said with a grumble.
"Kevin, how do we even figure it out? Do we just go to Hell with some sort of innocent soul divining rod? Do we pull names out of a hat?"
"I would recognize an innocent soul," Cas said. "Unfortunately, my presence in Hell would be detected immediately. I would be more hindrance than help to you there."
Dean drummed his fingers against the table. "What about Meg?"
"She would know as well, especially considering what she used to do there."
Dean remembered, briefly and unpleasantly, his time as Alastair's apprentice. Part of the job had been, as Cas said, assessing the souls. You had to know their sins before you started, because that's how you knew how to hurt them the most. He remembered the way Meg had ripped him apart over not being there when Cas needed him, how perfectly each word had sliced into him until he'd bled. He cleared his throat and looked away, and his voice was rough when he finally found it again.
"Yeah, Meg would know."
"She knows her way around Hell, too," Sam said.
"Does the tablet say if this has to be a solo gig?" Dean said.
Kevin shook his head. "Sam has to do the heavy lifting, but it doesn't say anything about not having a guide." His mouth lifted. "Isn't that how it's supposed to be anyway? Dante had Virgil, right? She can be your psychopomp."
"My…what?" Sam said.
"Psychopomp. Guide to the afterlife. The psychopomp escorts the newly deceased soul to…wherever they're going."
"I'm not gonna be dead, Kevin." He paled and his eyes darted from the prophet to Dean and back again. "Am I?" he said in a strained voice.
"You gotta come back," Kevin said, "so I'd say no. Definitely not." He glanced down at his notebook. "Really probably not."
"Oh God," Sam muttered.
Dean waved a hand. "No one's dying. We'll figure out how to get you to Hell alive, and you'll probably need one of these…psychopomps to do that. Douchebag angel or demon with an attitude problem. Choice's yours, Sammy."
"Perhaps we should ask Meg before we make plans on her behalf," Cas said with an uneasy glance at her closed door. "I'm sure she won't be eager to return to Hell, considering Crowley is hunting her and her previous experience was…hardly pleasant."
"She said she wanted to help, didn't she?" Dean said.
"Cas's right, Dean. It's asking a lot."
He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Jesus fucking Christ, how had his life come to this? "Yeah, fine, you're right. Maybe you could ask her, Cas. Sweet talk her or somethin'. Surely you've got some tricks up your khaki sleeve."
"I will do what I can."
There was an expectant silence as they stared at him. He stared back, expression mild and guileless. Finally Dean said, "Maybe you should start now."
"Ah." Cas rose from his chair and started toward the door. Stopped part way there and made a half turn back. "Meg is not overly fond of 'sweet talk.'"
"Cas, Jesus. Just go ask her."
He hesitated before he returned to the table and carefully placed his angel blade on it. "It would be best if I were unarmed."
Dean and Sam shared a glance that fell somewhere between amused and exasperated, but before either of them could think of anything to say, Cas had knocked on the door and gone in.
Dean sat back in his chair and swallowed the last of his beer. "I don't know, man. I think I'm beginnin' to get what he sees in her."
I have a feeling this is another one of my fics that's gonna get kinda weird before all's said and done, e.g. "Into the Blue", "Isn't it Wonderful?", and "The Girl Without a Name". I'm cool with that. Hope you guys are, too.
Reviews will get you a Dean Winchester cheeseburger, served by a proud-as-punch Dean Winchester. Sammy can serve the salad, if yer so inclined.
