Everyone froze. Including me, because I didn't want to startle Cas into doing something I'd regret.
The first guy did not lower his gun, but after a second he said, "Well, that's really interesting, lady, because I'm pretty sure I'd know if I had a sister."
That was when it hit me; it clicked into place like one of those magic eye posters that made my head hurt. He looked so familiar? Because make my jaw a little squarer and give me some stubble and he'd be what I saw when I looked in the mirror. His gigantic buddy was slightly longer hair and maybe some eyeliner away from being Sam. "Holy shit," I said. "You're Sam and...Dean?"
"Sam, get some handcuffs," the first guy, OK Dean, said shortly, just like I would've said it. Sam said, "Yeah, on it," in precisely the tone of fascination I expected and vanished for a second. He came back with handcuffs in one hand and a flannel shirt in the other.
Cas really didn't want to back off enough for me to put the shirt on but Dean talked him into it and got Cas's version of what had happened while I did the buttons. The damn shirt fell to my knees, because apparently as a guy Sam has shoulders like a friggin' linebacker. I didn't get the chance to roll up the sleeves, though; as soon as the buttons were done Dean spun me and cuffed my hands behind my back. Then we all marched out into the room proper and they sat me on one of the kitchenette chairs.
Dean pulled the other chair around and sat straddling it with his arms folded over the back, still with his gun casually in hand. I didn't like the look on his face. I knew that look; I spent ten years wearing it—still would be if it wasn't for Cas. Sam leaned on the wall, watching me like I was a particularly interesting bug, and Cas stood off to one side glowering. At least he'd put the sword away. Someday I'm gonna find out where those go when the angels aren't using them.
"So I think I've seen porn that starts like this," I said, when no one else talked at first.
"I'm just wondering who you really are," Dean said. "You got my scars, Cas says you have his Grace, but what're you doing here?"
"Your guess is seriously as good as mine," I said. "I woke up with the mother of all hangovers, wouldn't mind some aspirin for that by the way, and I was getting all set to take a shower when Cas showed up. And then you two." I tried to shrug, which isn't as easy as you think with your hands at the small of your back. "Look, run the drill if you want but if I'm a shapeshifter I'm pretty friggin' incompetent and Cas'd be able to tell if I was a demon. And by the way unless you were smarter than I was you did not know you had a sister." That still stung, that Dad hadn't told us about Evie. If he had we might've been able to save her, damn it.
"Ours was a brother," Sam said. He and Dean shared a look that was as good as a full-body flinch. "Adam, his name was Adam."
"Wow. Way more dick in my family around here," I said. Silence fell.
"How did you get here?" Cas asked suddenly. He still sounded unhappy, but not at me anymore (and yeah, I think it's weird as hell that I get those distinctions out of the King of the Poker Face).
"Cas, you're buying this?" Dean said, twisting a little in his chair to look at the angel. He was thawing, willing to consider the possibility, and I was kind of embarrassingly relieved; I knew exactly what Dean was capable of getting up to if he decided I needed encouragement to tell the truth.
"I don't think we have much choice, Dean," Cas said. "She bears my mark, just like you do. It's my Grace. It's very...unsettling." Which, OK, kind of insulting. Especially when Dean looked gratified. But that was Cas all over, so what was I complaining about? He's just like that.
"Fine," Dean said, and turned his attention back to me. "Tell me something only I would know."
"Um...yeah, I guess Rhonda Hurley isn't gonna work this time," I said, and Dean's eyes widened. "Really? But it wouldn't be weird for you to, I mean unless you're gay here or something...?" Dean's expression was sliding from horrified into pissed off—not gay after all, I decided—so I said quickly, "Dad! In the djinn dream. The picture with the stupid Christmas sweater? And instead of my necklace I had a Saint Christopher's medal." Dean looked a little more convinced, and I continued, "Come on, I swear. Dina Winchester, that's all. I don't even remember what I did last night to get the hangover, OK? So how I got here, I got no clue. I'm betting it's not Zachariah at least. Nothing in it for him. Plus he hasn't showed up to gloat." I paused. Sam and Dean were looking at each other, exchanging opinions just like Sammy and I would've. Cas was watching Dean.
So here's the thing. I knew that look—the way Cas was watching Dean. That look was the reason I took him to the hotel when he told me Raphael was probably going to kill him in the morning. I know what it looks like when a guy wants me. Dean seemed to be oblivious. But after a second Cas turned and looked at me and I felt that shock when our eyes met. Because apparently it doesn't matter which Cas it is, it's just Cas for me now.
I want to know when I turned into a character on Dr. Sexy. (Which, damn, I was gonna miss the new episode unless I got home, unless they had it here and since they had basically me here it wasn't a bad bet. Have to see if this Sammy was willing to watch it with me too.) For a girl who used to be a total slut (and occasionally a whore, when the pool tables were slow—seriously not a big deal; I like fucking anyway, might as well cover the rent), it was kind of a shock to suddenly only want the one guy. Fortunately Cas had gotten with the program on the whole sex thing, once he worked out it was awesome—though now it was kind of harder to explain why it wasn't cool to just show up when I was in the bathroom. Once we met back up with Sam we took to getting two rooms because otherwise you would not believe the bitching I got from her. Like she'd never ever hung a sock on the door herself.
Anyway. I'm a total pussy these days, Cas-here was pining for Dean like Jimmy (poor bastard) had pined for hamburgers, and clearly Dean was in total denial. I mean I couldn't really blame him—it took me long enough to figure it out, and I like guys.
Seriously, it was after Alastair before I got a clue. At first I thought Cas just looked at everyone like that.
I know. What can I say? He's an angel, you don't expect it, OK?
But the thing was, I'd caught Dean a couple times too now, looking at Cas, and it's not just my lying faces I can see on other versions of me, even when the other version has five-o'clock shadow. I'd have bet Rudy's knife that Dean wanted Cas too, and since he was straight he had that want so far in the closet it was in fucking Narnia. (Yes, I read those books. Try not to faint.)
I was distracted from thinking over what I should be doing about that when Sam shrugged and Dean made my "If you're sure" face. Sam said, "Man, she's you. I can be wrong about a lot of things, but not this."
"I agree with Sam," Cas said. He didn't sound happy about it. Dean glanced at his angel, then turned to me. I tried to look trustworthy.
"OK," Dean said, and put his gun away. "Let's get you that aspirin."
My clothes went in the laundry pile with tags of dental floss to identify them. It turned out Dean's jeans fit me fine, and the extra give in his t-shirt that he needed for his shoulders made room for my tits so that worked out too (and he still had my favorite Van Halen shirt, the bastard, the one that had gotten ripped right before Hell). Of course I had to put my only bra back on, and he drew the line at lending me underpants, but within an hour I was clothed, clean, and about as ready to face the day as I was gonna get. Sam even went out again to get me coffee.
When he got back, Dean and I were deep in a discussion of why The Elder was a better concept album than Imaginos. (Quick answer: because it's not a pretentious piece of crap, "Odyssey" notwithstanding.) "Any song with an eleven-word title, dude," I said, as Sam pushed back into the room, and Dean nodded and replied, "It's not even a good song."
"BOC is hit-or-miss anyway," I said. Sam handed me the cardboard cup and I smiled at him as I ripped the lid off. "You have saved my life," I said, and gulped. The coffee was almost hot enough to scald, and I didn't care. It was caffeine.
"No problem," Sam said. He took a seat on one of the beds, since Dean and I were using both the kitchenette chairs (Cas was leaning against the wall, watching me and Dean alternately and brooding.) "I just got it like Dean, uh…"
"'S perfect," I said, kind of not too distinctly around my coffee. "You're the best little brother ever."
Sam gave his brother a triumphant look and said, "See? Someone appreciates me."
"Shut up, bitch," Dean said. His heart wasn't in it, but it made me laugh anyway and I almost choked on my coffee when Sam rolled his eyes and replied, "Make me, jerk."
I mean it was eerie. Their voices were lower, but otherwise? Perfect.
"So we have to figure out how to get me back," I said, when I was sure I could do it without spitting coffee all over everything, which would have been a waste of good caffeine. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's kind of awesome to see I'm just as hot as a guy. But I can't leave Sammy alone, and Cas is probably going crazy." I glanced at the angel, who still looked deeply disturbed. "My Cas. They won't know if something got me or if I ditched them or what." I met Dean's eyes as I said it, and I knew he understood.
If Sam thought I'd ditched her, well, I said some things when we split up that I didn't like thinking about, and Sam...doesn't hold grudges exactly, but she remembers everything. It was one of the reasons she and Dad fought so much—every little criticism stayed in her memory where she could obsess over it years later. What it boiled down to was I didn't want Sam to think I didn't trust her.
"Where you come from," Cas said suddenly. "You didn't stop Lucifer from rising." He said it like he hoped I'd contradict him, and I wanted to, but, well.
"He...yeah, no. Lilith and that douchebag Rudy conned us, with some help from Zach. And now Satan wants to get all up inside my baby sister, and I'm pretty sure it's part of my contract that I don't let that kind of crap happen, you know? I mean talk about inappropriate boyfriends." Sam slouched on the bed as I talked until he was folded practically double, looking miserable; Dean was watching me with the same kind of pissed off that I always got when I thought about this. "So Cas, my Cas, is trying to find God. He has my necklace." And sure enough, the angel's face shut down in just exactly the right way, and I had to remind myself that this wasn't my Castiel, and he wouldn't like it if I got up and kissed him till he felt better. I mean, I thought the God hunt was dumb, but it was important to Cas.
"I'm searching for God as well," he said, flat. He was trying to be a good little soldier. I saw Dean look at him, with concern flashing over his face, fast so Sam wouldn't catch it.
"OK," I said. "Sounds like things went a lot the same here as they did at home. Man, this is freaky. What was the last hunt you had?"
Dean shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and Sam suddenly looked less unhappy; on my Sam I'd have called the expression he adopted smug. "We played poker," he said.
Oh. So yeah, it was smug.
"Was yours Patrick too, or did you guys have a Patricia?"
"Ours was Patrick too," Dean said. "Damn leprechaun. We should've ganked him."
I actually only half agreed with that. "It's not like he was forcing anyone to play," I said. "Bobby's own fault for getting into it. And seriously, why'd he think being younger was gonna fix his legs?"
"Speaking of Bobby, we should probably get him in on this," Sam said.
I nodded and finished the last of my coffee. "This is totally gonna rock his world. It'll be awesome. Dude! We should tell him you got turned into a girl."
Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh, but he said, "I think he'll do better helping if we tell him what's actually going on."
"Well, we'd tell him eventually," I said. "I mean, just picture his face if I got out of the car."
"We are not telling Bobby I'm a girl," Dean said, trying not to let it show that he thought it was hilarious too.
"Oh come on, you know I could do it." I ducked my head, rubbed a hand over the back of my neck and lowered my voice a little. "Uh, so we ran into this witch. Think you can help me out?"
Sam made a strangled noise that, from my Sam, would have meant she was failing to not laugh; I glanced at him and sure enough he was choking even as he rolled his eyes at me. Dean, meanwhile, totally lost it.
He was actually even hotter when he was laughing. Made me wonder if it worked for me too.
When we all wound down I said, "So, is this Ohio? The Hulk thing?" I waved my hand around. "I mean this looks like the room I fell asleep in last night." The wallpaper had probably been eye-searing when it was new, but now the white flowers were gray and the yellow, blue and green had faded.
"Yeah, that one's just too weird," Dean said. "Of course now they're saying it was a bear attack."
"I don't understand that," Cas said suddenly, and the three of us turned to look at him. I hadn't forgotten he was there, exactly, but he'd looked like he was settling in to brood for a while.
"Don't under—" Dean and I began simultaneously; we looked at each other and I shrugged. Dean went on, "Don't understand what?"
"Why humans refuse to acknowledge what's there," Cas said. It was one of his many frustrated voices, this one Humanity persists in not being as logical as I would like. Dean and Sam and I swapped glances, and Sam and I both got out of it by communicating Hey, he's your angel. Dean looked a little pissed, and I didn't blame him; it was one of the things I'd never really gotten myself, so trying to explain it to Cas was gonna be entertaining.
"I dunno, dude," Dean said after a second. "People get taught that there's no such thing as ghosts and werewolves and whatever."
"Yes, but why?" Cas asked. "If they knew, they could protect themselves better."
Sam decided to help after all. He said, "But it's scary. Most people have enough to worry about with, I don't know, being mugged and whether or not they can pay the mortgage. They don't want to think about getting possessed too."
"Sometimes even the people we save don't believe us," I said. "They're like, OK, so I had a ghost in my house, but there's still no such thing as a changeling. Or whatever. It's kinda creepy." Cas still looked frustrated; I didn't blame him. It frustrated me too. We all thought it over for a second. I came up with my usual answer, which is "People are crazy".
"OK!" I said. "Hulk thing. We on that?"
"We were gonna go to the police station today," Sam said. "But, well, you're here."
"Yeah, but I can't exactly go to the cop shop with you. Dean and I look too much alike, even townies wouldn't buy us as partners, and it's not like I've got a suit that fits. I can do some looking from here on the laptop, and you can get Bobby in on it. I don't mean we ignore the whole different-universe thing, but the guy did get smashed."
Sam still looked a little iffy, but Dean seemed to think it was a good idea. Cas (Castiel, I should think of him as Castiel) didn't offer an opinion except to say that he would "conduct his own inquiries" and do the annoying disappearing thing.
So the guys put their suits on. I turned on the TV, because it was the right time of day. It was "Hearts Burn", the episode where P-squared were trying to cool off their relationship, but of course it wasn't working and they were making out pretty much any time they were behind closed doors. Even in the elevator. Dean came out of the bathroom all suited up, and sat next to me. I elbowed him in the ribs and he looked at me sideways. "Don't tell Sam," he said softly.
"Huh. Mine watches it with me."
"Are you gonna hit me if I say you can get away with it 'cause you're a girl?"
I shrugged and said, "Nah. Here, your tie's crooked." I fixed it for him, then we sat and watched in silence until Sam was dressed. He came out snugging his tie and asked, "What're you watching?"
"Hospital show," Dean said.
"Dr. Sexy, MD," I put in. "It's based on a book. Sam and I love it." Not strictly true; Sam thought it was kind of dumb, but she watched it with me anyway and in return I let her subject me to her depressing art films and way too much Joss Whedon.
Sam gave his brother a skeptical look and Dean stared back. "Are you ready?" he asked, and Sam said, "Are you?"
"We'll be back," Dean told me, and got up to snag his keys.
I remembered to ask Sam for the laptop password before they were out the door. It was the same one my Sam was currently using, which was just creepy. Even worse was listening to my car's engine come to life, because it wasn't my car; that was Dean's baby, not mine, even if I'd have bet a lot that his had Legos in the heat vents too (though possibly not the Herself the Elf figure stuck in the one backseat ashtray).
I tried to research, but I had no idea where to even start. There are some hunter resources on the Internet these days, if you know where to look and have the passwords, but it's not like "I woke up on the wrong side of the universe" is a common problem, even for hunters. Even for me and Sam specifically, and we have frickin' angels to deal with. I ended up kind of just poking around, trying to figure out what was different; it turned out to be not a lot. That guy in San Francisco who'd been a werewolf was a chick here, and weirdly so was Gumby Guy—instead of Misha the yoga instructor, here it was Lisa. She was hot, too. I wondered if she had a kid. Misha'd been so great with Beth. The lost angel here had been Anna, not Andrew (but still redheaded).
I did not leave any posts on the Ghostfacers forum, even though I really wanted to. Apparently those guys being jerks was cross-universal. The ship captain on Sam's space cowboy show was a guy here (he was hot). There was a Dr. Sexy ripoff called Grey's Anatomy. The covers of Chuck's stupid books made me about choke laughing when I dug up a couple images; sure, ours showed way too much skin but at least they got my hair right. The painted version of Dean had hair like Fabio. The weird obsession with me and Sam having sex was present here too. (Seriously—I like guys, OK, and also she's my sister.)
About then I heard the Impala's engine. Dean pushed into the room with his arms full of takeout bags. "Hey," he said, and I nodded.
"So what's the word?" I asked, closing windows on the computer; wasn't like they'd been anything useful.
"Well, once we got her to say what she really saw…she says it was the Hulk," Dean said. "The TV Hulk. She was really specific about that."
"Lou Ferrigno?"
"Yep. Purple pants and all. I'm gonna want to look into the vic a little. Sam went to check out the house, he'll be back soon."
I started up a new web search. "His name still Bill Randolph?"
By the time Sam got back we had a couple of articles and some public records about Randolph, and they made an interesting picture. We both looked up as Sam came into the room, and he paused for just a second. "OK, you two are kind of scary," he said, and Dean and I looked at each other and shrugged.
"You find anything?" Dean asked.
"Well, I saw the house." Sam always backed into descriptions, and it was just as annoying when it was a male Sam.
"And?" I asked.
Sam sighed. "And there is a giant, eight-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like…"
"A Hulk-sized hole," Dean said.
"Maybe. What d'you two have?"
"Well, it turns out that Bill Randolph had quite the temper," Dean said.
"Two counts of spousal battery, court-ordered anger management," I said. "You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry." Dean grinned at me and we high-fived.
Sam rolled his eyes at us, but said, "So a hothead, getting killed by TV's greatest hothead. Kind of sounds like just desserts, doesn't it?"
Dean and I exchanged dubious looks, and Sam continued, "No, really. It's all starting to make sense."
"How is this making sense?" Dean asked.
"Well, I found something else at the crime scene," Sam said, and reached into his pocket. He drew out a crinkling handful and dropped it on the table. "Candy wrappers, lots of them."
"Just desserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before you kill them…" Dean said, and I groaned and put a hand over my eyes as he went on, "We're dealing with the Trickster, aren't we?"
"Sure looks like it," Sam agreed. He peeled out of his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his dress shirt, and I made myself look away. I mean, the kid was built, but ogling someone who was essentially my baby sister? So many kinds of wrong.
"Good," Dean said. We both stopped to look at him. "I've wanted to gank that mother since the Mystery Spot."
"You sure?"
I stared at Sam, and Dean did the same. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said.
"No, I mean are you sure you want to kill him?"
Dean's eyebrows headed for his hairline and he said, "Not like he thought twice about icing me a thousand times." I nodded. I mean, I didn't remember any of it—as far as I was concerned, we spent one night in Broward County and then Sam hauled me out like her hair was on fire and her ass was catching—but I saw what it did to her afterwards. She was just starting to get back to talking like a normal person when the hellhounds came, and catching that one Asia song on the radio would leave her twitchy and pissed off for hours.
"No, I know, I mean, I'm just saying— " Sam started, tripping over his words.
"What are you saying?" Dean said, a little testy. "If you don't want to kill him, then what?" The pronoun finally caught me and I thought Him, huh? but it didn't seem like a good time to comment on interdimensional differences.
Sam laid his shirt on his bed and grabbed a tee from his bag. "Talk to him?" he said, muffled as he pulled the shirt over his face.
"What?" Dean and I said in unison.
Sam sounded painfully sincere when he answered. "Think about it, Dean. He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him." I recognized the tone, even in this Sam's deeper voice. It was Sam's I Have A Plan voice, which had never failed to get me in trouble since the age of ten and the thing with the cornflakes.
"For what?" Dean asked.
"Okay, Trickster's like a Hugh Hefner type, right?" Dean nodded. "Wine, women, song—maybe he doesn't want the party to end. Maybe he hates this angels-and-demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us." I had to admit, barring the whole gender-swap thing it sounded...not entirely crazy, but still.
"You're serious," Dean said, and Sam answered, "Yeah."
"Ally with the Trickster."
"Yeah."
Dean shook his head and said, "A bloody, violent monster, and you wanna be Facebook friends with him? Nice, Sammy." And that would be the "still". This was a chick—or apparently a guy—who killed people for, well, whatever he wanted. Even granting that most of my version's victims had at least half deserved it, sort of, I was having a hard time picturing Sam forgiving the Trickster.
"The world is gonna end, Dean. We don't have the luxury of a moral stand." Sam shrugged, looking tired. "Look, I'm just saying it's worth a shot. That's all. If it doesn't work, we'll kill him."
Dean sighed. I wasn't sure he was on board with the plan, and I knew I wasn't, entirely, but it wasn't really my call, not here. You don't horn in on someone else's hunt.
"How are we gonna find the guy, anyway?" Dean asked after a second.
"Well, he never takes just one victim, right? He'll show," Sam said.
"You guys got a police scanner?" I asked
We sat around for a couple hours. Dean made stakes, peeling strips of wood off into the trash basket. Sam messed around on his laptop. I tried to watch TV, though I wasn't really tracking the plot or anything; mostly I wondered what Sam and Cas were doing. Were they trying to find me? Was there anything to find, even? Maybe there was a double of me and they didn't even know I was gone. Maybe a version of my body was there, but in a coma.
At one point Bobby called, to deliver the shocking news that he had no idea what might've caused me to switch universes—it took him longer to say it than that, but that's what he meant. No one was surprised. Then we went back to waiting, and nothing went back to happening. Sam shut down his computer and took to just sitting there, staring at the police scanner.
An hour or so before dark, the scanner crackled into life, but this time it wasn't routine "I'm on shift" stuff. The voice sounded youngish, and excited-slash-nervous. "Um, Dispatch? I…got a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6?"
"Hey," Sam said. Dean paused in his carving to look over, and I muted the TV. 187 means a dead body and suspicion of foul play.
"Roger that," said the dispatcher's voice. "What are you looking at there, son?"
A brief pause, and then the cop said, "Honestly, Walt, I, I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just—send everybody." We all looked at each other. It's a little harder with three people than two, but we managed.
Dispatch replied, "All right, stay calm, stay by your car. Help's on the way." Sam leaned over and turned the scanner off as Dean said, "That? Sounds weird."
"Weird enough to be our guy," said Sam, and I nodded.
"OK, let's load up," Dean said. I started to stand and then thought better of it; he raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged.
"Sounds like the whole PD's gonna be there, and I still look like your twin sister," I said. "Leave me one of your cell phones and I'll stay here. You can call me if you need the extra backup." I hated staying out of the action, but we couldn't risk the cops getting suspicious.
"Doubt this town has a taxi service," Dean said. I grinned and shrugged again. "I'll sweet-talk the motel clerk if I have to." He snorted.
"We might be out all night," Sam said as he zipped a bag closed. "If they turn it into a circus, could take a while to get the place to ourselves."
"Yeah, but you know what to look for and they don't."
"True," Dean said. "OK, if it gets late you can take my bed." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to me.
"Thanks," I said.
They were out the door a second later. I watched it close behind them, feeling frickin' useless. I always hated it when Dad left me behind, at least once I was big enough to be helpful, and it wasn't any better watching myself go off. I mean, OK. He had Sam to watch his back, and this Sam had to be enough like my Sam that that wasn't a small thing. And this Sam had Dean, and I was damn sure he'd keep an eye on his little brother. It was just that more backup is never bad.
I paced for a few minutes, contemplating calling Cas to come and help me pass the time. Except the only Castiel I could reach wouldn't have any idea, which was seriously depressing—plus you don't move in on someone else's territory, and Castiel was totally Dean's territory no matter how much in denial Dean was. It wasn't like I could go out and pick up a guy, either, even if I'd wanted to, not when Dean and Sam might call me any second.
Damn it. I missed Cas. I missed Sam.
Eventually I rummaged through the laundry bag and found a roll of quarters right where I expected it. I shrugged into Dean's spare jacket, tucked cell phone and room key into my pocket, and headed to the laundromat I'd spotted two blocks away when Sam and I were on our way in.
Might as well get something useful done while I waited.
I watched my show by myself. Every time something cheesy happened—look, I like the show but I never claimed it was great TV—I caught myself glancing to the side to catch Sam rolling her eyes, and of course she wasn't there. When that was over I searched for something else to watch, but nothing grabbed me for more than a few seconds; I caught myself starting through the channels for the third time and turned it off in disgust.
I screwed around on the Internet until I couldn't stand it anymore, did pushups until my arms were trembling, took a shower I didn't really need, and wished desperately for them to call me and tell me they'd found something. Finally it got late enough that I could justify going to bed.
I wore my own t-shirt, because sleeping in one of Dean's seemed a little weird. The cell phone sat on the nightstand, where it couldn't help but wake me if it rang, and I had a little bag packed with a couple of useful things that I could grab if I had to.
It actually didn't take that long to fall asleep; I was still kind of wrung out from the epic hangover, or maybe it was a side-effect of jumping universes; what the hell do I know about this stuff? And I slept soundly. These days the nightmares don't come every night anymore, which I am totally in favor of, and I got lucky.
But when I woke not long after dawn, they weren't back.
I called Sam's phone as soon as I was awake enough to register what time it was; it dropped straight to voicemail (even his voicemail message was word-for-word the same). I muttered curse words as I struggled into my jeans and reached for my boots, punching Castiel's speed-dial one-handed.
"Hello, Dean," he said when he picked up. His voice made me pause for a second, because it was the right voice, and the connection was bad enough I could pretend he'd said my whole name. I wondered where he was. Whenever I asked Cas, he always gave me answers I wasn't sure I could believe.
"It's me," I said, and I didn't think I was imagining that he sounded disappointed when he replied, "Dina. Is something wrong?" He so had the hots for Dean.
"No. I mean, maybe? The guys went after a lead late yesterday afternoon and they aren't back yet, and I can't raise 'em on Sam's phone. I was gonna get dressed and go out there myself. The cops should be gone by now, one way or the other, so—"
The familiar sound of wings filled the room. He managed to appear in front of me for once, and I had to fight down a smile at the sight of him. Then I registered his expression, which wasn't the smiting face but right next door to it. "Where?" he demanded, dropping his phone away from his ear as if it was completely useless. I was pretty sure it ended up in a pocket, but I was busy with bootlaces.
"Lemme put my shoes on," I said. "I'm going with you." Castiel made the quiet noise that meant he was ticked but not arguing, and I tied my boots as fast as I could and grabbed my bag from its place. "OK. Abandoned papermill on Route 6, about three miles northwest."
Castiel put his fingers to my forehead and I braced myself. I really, really hate Angel Air. It feels like being stretched out to a thread by something pulling you through a little tiny hole. But at least it's fast; I blinked and we were outside a dilapidated industrial building. "Stay here," Castiel said grimly, and I was in the middle of saying Cas, wait when he popped out again.
Damn angel.
I waited, figuring he'd gone to scout the place out. A minute crawled by, then two, then five. Castiel didn't come back. By ten minutes I was bouncing up and down on my toes, trying not to curse Castiel out loud. I did a little scouting of my own and found a door; it had a window in it, but the glass was too dirty to make out the interior of the building, and though it was latched I could tell the whole thing was hanging by a thread.
At fifteen minutes I said, "Fuck it."
I pulled my flashlight from the bag, checked the safety on the gun I'd packed and stuck it in my waistband, and yanked on the doorknob. Sure enough, the whole thing popped loose with hardly more than a sharp tug. I stepped inside.
Where I was suddenly confronted with my own face in a mirror. I looked around frantically. I was in a tiny, tiny bathroom, basically a closet with just enough room to stand in front of the toilet. There was a rumbling noise that sounded like an engine, and the floor wasn't steady under my feet.
Suddenly someone knocked on the door, and a female voice that was only pretending to be calm said, "Ma'am? Ma'am, you need to return to your seat."
"Oh, son of a bitch," I whispered.
