Chapter Two: The Gambler
Bobby needed an extra set of hands. And legs. Or an assistant. An assistant would be nice.
"Yes, she's my agent and you'd better back off, sheriff, or my boss will give your boss a talking to, and I think we both know that kinda crap don't run uphill," Bobby growled into his landline phone marked "FBI." He listened to the green police chief of Kansas City apologize profusely and then hung up. Tamara should know better than to piss off the locals. That's one of the reasons Bobby'd put her in charge of clean-up in the first place.
His regular landline clanged at him. "This better be good, I'm busy."
"Nice to talk to you again, too, Bobby."
"Tamara," Bobby tugged at the rim of his trucker cap. "What the hell are you thinking, pissing off the local PD?"
"Just trying to move things along a bit faster, Bobby," she replied, her clean accent breezing through the sentence.
"Well it ain't making my life any easier having to cover for you every ten minutes."
"Oh, don't be such a codger." Tamara paused, growing serious, "Listen, Bobby. Things are pretty well handled here, but your friends are making the other hunters nervous. And me as well. Can you do anything about it?"
Bobby leaned in his over his counter, fingers gripping the phone tighter. "They doing anything in particular that's making folks twitchy?"
Tamara clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Not exactly. It's more that they just never leave us alone. How would you like to be under constant surveillance?"
Bobby looked up, eyes going to his office, where Michael perused the spines on a bookshelf, casual as you please, and most certainly eavesdropped on every word of their conversation. "It's just peachy."
Tamara exhaled a gust of breath. "So yours stuck around, too, then."
Bobby grunted an affirmative. The angel's rigid stance, stiff as a statue, made Bobby's skin twitch. Dean never posed like he was the goddamn David.
"Bobby, what are we going to do if they become a problem?"
The older hunter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it." And we sure as well won't make plans within earshot of the problem.
"Right," Tamara said. "Well, take care of yourself, Bobby. I'll call if we have any other problems over here."
Bobby hung up, not in the mood for a goodbye. The way his life went, there'd be "other problems," so he'd probably be hearing from her again sooner rather than later, anyhow. He trudged into his office and plopped down behind his desk. After a (very short) moment of deliberation, he retrieved a tumbler and a bottle of whiskey out of the bottom right drawer. He poured himself a generous glass, then eyed his celestial roommate. A week and a half, and the archangel hadn't left him alone for more than five minutes put together.
"So," Bobby started. Michael turned to face him, and the incongruity of seeing his serious, emotionless expression on Dean's usually emotional, expressive face led to two large swallows of alcohol in quick succession. Bolstered, Bobby continued. "The undead are back to being regular dead and things seem pretty quiet around here."
Michael nodded. "Yes. Ishtar's hold over the dead of this world ended when she returned to Purgatory."
Bobby took another drink, then got to the point. "So what're you and your buddies still doing here?"
Michael's brow wrinkled. "The angels I called upon after we defeated Ishtar are accomplishing the task I set before them: watching over your fellow hunters as they ensure no restless spirits arise from Ishtar's disruption of the natural order. They are also protecting the hunters who remained at the site of Raphael's death from any attempted retribution from my brother's more fanatic followers."
"Uh huh." Bobby finished off his glass of whiskey. "And what are you still doing here?" The in Dean went unspoken, but not unheard, Bobby was certain. After all, Sam's comatose meatsuit was down in the panic room gathering dust. The archangel had put the brown-haired giant into some sort of suspended animation to prevent decay while the brothers' souls were off gallivanting through the monster afterlife. Just like he was supposed to do for Dean's body.
Michael paused, considering his words. "If I leave this vessel, I cannot reenter it without Dean's permission." Bobby shook his head and poured himself a second glass. He saw where this was going even before Michael finished. "If Dean is still in Purgatory and the need arises, I will have no way of intervening in this world."
"So lemme get this straight," Bobby said, pointing one finger at the archangel. "You just decided once Dean left that you'd keep on keepin' on with his body while it's unattended. Just in case you need it for something else he never gave you permission to do with it." Bobby sipped at his whiskey and settled back in his chair. "Your logic ain't winning me over, angel."
Michael straightened, chin high and eyes cold. "Then it is fortuitous I do not need to 'win you over,' as you say." He stepped toward the desk, towering over Bobby, reminding the hunter he was scowling at heaven's general. "I will remain in my true vessel until I see fit to leave it, and nothing you do or say will change that."
Summoning his courage – or perhaps channeling some of Dean's utter recklessness – Bobby took another sip of whiskey and stared the angel down. "You do anything to hurt that boy and you'll regret it. He's not a toy for you to play with."
Michael didn't waiver under Bobby's glare. "I don't play."
"Dean, that's not a toy. Quit playing with it!" Sam badgered him for the thousandth time, slapping his arm with the back of his hand before continuing to lead their aimless march through Purgatory's wilderness.
"I'm not playing with it," Dean grumbled, stowing the bowie knife Ellie was currently shaped as, dampening the temptation to stroke the handle. Dean couldn't help it. When he held the weapon, he felt safer. It was an echo of how he'd felt while she recharged using his soul. First Cas, then a badass weapon of heaven... Dean wondered if his soul was good for anything other than being a glorified battery.
"It sure looks like it," Sam said, pulling Dean away from his thoughts. "I mean, if you're going to get on my case for not paying attention, at least don't be a hypocrite about it."
Dean rolled his eyes, but he knew Sam was right. "Yeah, yeah. I just like holding it is all. I me c'mon, we're in the middle of friggin' Purgatory. I feel better having something pointy or shoot-y in my hands."
Sam turned to face Dean. "That's another thing, Dean." He tossed his (really too long) hair out of his face. "How much do you trust that thing? I mean, I get that we're not physically here so it can transform, but the way it's connected to you? It seems a little..." Sam shifted his grip on his new ax as he searched for the right word. "It seems a little intense." He looked back at Dean. "I'm just not sure how much you should be encouraging that."
Dean pulled an incredulous face at his brother. "I've freaking been inside Ellie powering her up, Sam. Of course we're connected, and yeah, it's intense."
Sam shook his head, unconvinced. "You've just gotten really comfortable with it really fast, Dean. I mean c'mon... 'Ellie'? It's a weapon, not a person."
For some reason, Dean took offense on Ellie's behalf. "Don't be like that Sammy, you'll hurt her feelings."
"Her? Now you're talking about it like you do the Impala," Sam huffed. "Got a new favorite inanimate object?"
Now that was going too far. "Bite your tongue, Sammy. I'd never cheat on Baby! She's still my best girl."
Sam rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips turned up a fraction and he started hiking again. Dean grinned. Brother annoyed; crisis averted.
Two hours later, they stopped by a shallow stream to rest for a bit. Despite trekking through a good 10-15 miles of woods, Dean wasn't thirsty (not having a body was weird), but the cool water felt good on his hands and face when he splashed himself. He stepped back from the water to keep watch while Sam did the same face-splashing routine. The grey trees on the opposite bank shaded the white, smooth river rock, letting tiny fragments of foggy light through their branches to glance off the water. It was beautiful, in an eerie way.
Dean wished Cas was there to see it. He imagined the angel hunkered over the water, his trench coat frayed and muddy at the edges from the endless miles they'd hiked. His black slacks would be ripped and dirty, and his tie would be loose (or looser than normal, anyway). Dean blinked, and he watch the scene play out like a movie. Cas squatted with his toes in the water, his slender fingers wiping away muddy water from his shaggy beard. Dean was surprised his imagination pictured Cas with a beard.
A figure emerged from the fog behind the angel. Dean clenched his fists. Ishtar put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. Dean watched her speak, but his mental movie was on mute, for some reason. The way Cas's eyes fell closed and the lines on his tired face grew deeper told Dean that whatever she said wasn't good. He could feel the angel's pain, exhaustion, and what Dean could only describe as mourning. Cas felt like he had nothing left to fight for.
Don't listen to her, Cas! he tried to shout. We're coming for you. He knew Cas couldn't hear him. I'll save you, I promise. Just keep fighting! Cas raised his head and his crystalline blue eyes pierced straight through Dean.
"Dean?"
Dean shook his head, blinking away the... what even was that? Daydream? Hallucination? He nodded to show Sam that he'd heard him and was still paying attention, then looked away from the creek. They needed a better plan to find Cas than wandering around and hoping for the best. Purgatory could be vast, for all they knew, a haystack far larger than anything they'd ever searched before. They weren't going to find their needle by chance.
"We need a different plan, Dean," Sam said, straightening up from the water's edge.
Dean chuckled. Sometimes he swore they could read each other's minds. "Yeah. I was just thinking that." He turned to look at his brother. "Any ideas? 'Cause I've got nothing."
Sam bit his lip. "I hate to even suggest it, but..." He took a breath. "Cas is an angel. If two humans are attracting attention, there's no way he's not making more waves than we are."
Dean cut his eyes up to meet Sam's gaze. "You mean we should interrogate the nasties we come across. Get them to tell us what they know, no matter what it takes." Sam looked down, and Dean nodded slowly. His face hardened. "Let's go find some monsters, then."
Monsters weren't exactly a rare commodity in Purgatory. All Sam and Dean needed to do was find a defensible location, hash out a plan, and wait.
So far, none of their quarry had known anything valuable. The three vampires, two werewolves, and single shtriga they'd roughed up hadn't been able to give them anything more than that the angel was a bright, strobing light in Purgatory's endless gray, but not every creature could sense where he was from a distance. While Sam found that a bit comforting (it upped the odds that Cas was okay), Dean found it frustrating.
"I think you mean he's got a case of the crazy-eyes, Sam," Lucifer drawled. Sam still couldn't see him, but he heard him clear as day, close enough behind his ear that he caught himself turning his head more than once, trying to catch a glimpse of the devil out of the corner of his eye.
Instead of answering, Sam focused on keeping watch while Dean questioned their current prisoner, a lone vampire.
"Where's the angel?" Grunt. "Oh, that was a nasty punch to the nose," Lucifer commented.
"Where's the angel?" A dull thud as Dean's boot hit soft flesh. Lucifer whistled, low. "That one's gonna leave a mark."
Sam tightened his grip on his new weapon. The rough hilt creaked. He looked down at the shining black blade of the ax. Though it was larger and its edge more jagged, it reminded Sam of how Ishtar's obsidian knife had glimmered, like a tarnished angel blade. He wondered where the werewolf he'd taken it from had gotten it.
"Where's the angel?!" Dean's voice was sharper than before. Sam turned in time to see Dean drag the vampire upright, pin him against a tree, and press the cutting edge of a machete (the Elhyim Yad's current shape) against the vampire's throat. Sam hurried over and stood close behind Dean, not stopping him, but close enough that Dean eased up slightly. Sam being close always toned Dean down a bit (unless he was mad at Sam, of course) as some kind of residual desire not to scare his little brother.
Dean leaned in toward the vampire, narrowing the empty space between their faces down to inches. "Listen close you son of a bitch," Dean growled. "You know how this works. I'm going to kill you either way, but you get to decides whether it's quick and painless or slow and definitely not painless." The vampire's eyes darted from Dean to Sam and back again. Sam kept his expression neutral, but steely.
"I don't know where he is now, but I might know where he's going," the fang gasped, rushing through the sentence so fast Sam almost couldn't distinguish the words.
Dean leaned on the weapon a fraction more. "Keep talking."
"He's with the goddess-"
"Ishtar?" Sam interrupted. The vampire's chin quivered, as close to a nod as he could get without slicing his throat open on the blade.
"From what I've heard, it looks like they're heading to the ravine."
Dean showed his teeth. "And where's that?"
The vampire looked between them again, then pointed behind Sam. "Go that way until you get to a large river. Follow the edge, going opposite the direction the water runs. It'll take you straight there."
Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam. Sam nodded. Dean swung the machete, and the vampire's head hit the ground. Dean wiped off the blade like he was smearing the last bits of butter off onto a bun. A moment later, the machete was back to looking like his handgun.
They started walking, and Sam kept pace with his brother's quick strides for a good mile and a half before he cracked.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You seem... I don't know, comfortable with this whole 'trap and interrogate' plan."
Dean didn't slow down or even glance at Sam. "So?"
"So you're a little rougher around the edges than normal and I'm worried that you're kind of enjoying this too much." He shrugged. "I thought you'd be more conflicted."
Dean gave him a look at that. It was his what the hell are you talking about look. "They're all monsters, Sam. What's there to be conflicted about? You're the one who always ends up sleeping with them."
"Do not bring Ruby, or Madison, into this Dean. I'm not talking about relationships. I'm talking about how much you seem to enjoy being here." Though, now that Dean brought it up... "Besides, you being pissy at me for that is kind of hypocritical, don't you think?"
Dean did stop then. He turned, mouth crooked and one eyebrow at his hairline. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Sam knew Dean wouldn't catch on unless Sam spelled it out for him, so he did. "Cas, that's what I'm talking about."
Dean looked from side to side for a moment, assessing their surroundings before looking back at Sam, completely befuddled. "What about him?"
Sam shrugged. "Before everything hit the fan in Kansas City, back in that warehouse where we were trying to trap Raphael, Cas and I talked."
Dean's eyebrows went up. "About me."
Sam huffed, exacerbated. "Yeah, Dean, because the guy has had a crush on you for like two years and you were using yourself as bait. It came up."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Dean held up a hand. "Lemme get this straight. You had a five-second conversation with Cas and you think that we're in some kind of relationship, like you and Ruby?"
"No!" Sam paused, looking for words that wouldn't piss Dean off. "I just think maybe it's a possibility and I told Cas I'd be okay with it."
Dean stared at him for longer than Sam was comfortable with, his face stony. Finally, he grunted out what might have been a laugh, or possibly a burp. "Don't give up your day job there, Dr. Phil." Dean shook his head. "That's just... no. Cas and me aren't like that, and never will be. Plus, you know, he's a guy."
"Cas obviously doesn't care..." Sam scratched the back of his head and rushed through the rest, "and he said you wouldn't either." Dean stared again, so Sam explained. "He said you'd... you know... with guys, before."
"Ugh." Dean looked up at the sky with a why me? expression, shut his eyes, and shook his head. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Listen, Sam, I don't know exactly what Cas said to you, but I'm only gonna have this conversation once." He looked Sam in the eyes. "I'm straight. I like girls. A little experimentation in high school under the bleachers with fifty bucks on the line does not make me gay."
It was Sam's turn to stare. "You had sex for money?" He couldn't believe it.
"No! Jesus, Sam. I hustled pool for money. I jacked off in front of Billy Thompson on a dare. Whoever chickened out had to pay the other guy. And now we are done talking about this." He turned and continued forward, this time setting a pace fast enough to make talking more trouble than it was worth.
Sam let his brother get a few steps ahead and used the time to process the conversation, with Lucifer color-commentating in the back of his mind.
Purgatory's ubiquitous fog and eternal dusk made telling time nearly impossible, but they kept Dean's furious pace long enough that Sam started really looking forward to a break. When they reached a stream, he relished the opportunity to wash the sweat and grime off his face. Just like before, Sam surveyed the banks for signs of trouble while Dean splashed himself, then he crouched and took his turn. They hadn't spoken since clearing the air earlier, and it wasn't a comfortable silence.
Dean squatted down and leaned back on his haunches. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then fidgeted with a pebble. Sam watched him. Dean frowned and chucked the pebble into the stream. "Listen, Sam. I'm not mad at you, okay?"
Sam waited. Dean tugged on a fray on his knee. "Cas is the best friend we've ever… that I've ever had. He's practically family, but..."
Sam shook excess water off his hands. "But what?"
Dean glanced over at him, then stood up. "But the guy practically stole my soul 'cause he thinks I'm an idiot, Sam. I just don't know where I stand with him sometimes." He clenched a fist and looked out over the water. "I don't want to screw things up with him. We're kind of the only friends he has, you know?"
Sam nodded, standing up himself. "I know. And I also know that you being less of a dick to him would go a long way toward 'not screwing it up'." Sam used the finger quotes just to annoy his brother, who scoffed.
"I'm not a dick to him."
Sam actually laughed at that. "Dean, you're kind of a dick to everyone. It's part of your personality."
Dean put a hand to his chest and gasped. "How dare you!" He made an exaggerated offended face at Sam, then smirked to show he was kidding. Sam rolled his eyes. The grin slid from Dean's face and he bit his lip. "Seriously, though. What do I do that's so bad?"
Sam shook his head, searching for the right words. "You're just... it's obvious when you're mad, but you never actually tell anyone that you're happy they're around, even me. To people who aren't used to it, that's kind of rough."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "So, what're you saying? I should just let something like stealing my soul slide?"
Sam rolled his eyes because of course that would be Dean's example scenario. "Cas had good intentions, Dean."
"Last time I checked, those don't pave the road to Heaven."
"Still, maybe he wouldn't think you're an idiot if you actually talked to him like an adult once in a while."
Now Dean genuinely did look offended. "I talk to Cas like an adult."
"Dean, you have literally called him, and I quote, a 'baby in a trench coat.'"
Dean frowned and shifted his shoulders, looking out across the stream again. "I was kidding."
"Yeah, but Cas might not know that. Maybe you should-"
"Son of a bitch!"
Sam started at Dean's outburst. "What?"
Dean gestured around them with both arms. "Look around. This is the same goddamn stream we were at before."
Sam looked, and his stomach sank. Dean was right. "We just walked in a giant circle."
"And didn't find any big-ass river. I'm gonna reattach that vamp's head and rip its lungs out through its teeth!" Dean kicked the rocky shore, launching a few of the pebbles far out into the stream. Sam's eyes followed their arc.
The stones disappeared under the water. Sam squinted. An inky black film crept over the surface. "Dean, are you seeing this?" Sam whispered.
"Yeah," he responded, hushed. "What the hell?"
Sam watched the darkness spread toward them. "Dean, I think we should go."
Dean grabbed Sam's jacket and backed away from the water's edge. "I think you're right, Sammy."
They turned to run. Sam heard a whoosh of displaced water an instant before two large gobs of black goo slammed into the ground in front of them. They rose up quickly into roughly human shapes and advanced. Sam stepped backward and bumped into Dean's back. Sam glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was facing down two goo-monsters of his own behind them.
"Any bright ideas, Sam?"
"Run or fight?"
Dean spared a half-second to give Sam a resigned look. "Here, it's always fight." Dean lunged, drawing the Elhyim Yad and firing at the nearest target in one smooth motion. Sam swung his ax in a large arc, trying to keep the two things from herding them into the water. As he readied his weapon for another swing the monster nearest to him unhinged its jaw. Sam held his ground, though his skin shivered when the thing let out a hissing roar and exposed rows upon rows of sabre-pointed teeth.
"Holy hell what the fuck are these things?!" Dean yelled, falling back into Sam's line of sight.
"I don't know, but they have way too many teeth to be friendly!" Sam answered, swinging the ax again.
"Ya think?" Dean fired off several more rounds of the gun-shaped weapon's never-ending supply. "Ellie's hurting them, but damn it they just keep coming. How the fuck do we kill these things?" Dean sounded desperate.
Sam couldn't answer, staring down the two things coming at him. He feinted to the side, pivoted and swung his ax toward the nearest one's neck like he was going for the fences. The head went flying, and the body fell to the ground.
"Huh." Sam hefted his weapon again. "Decapitation works!" he hollered at Dean.
Dean's grip on his weapon shifted slightly, Sam blinked and Dean now held a machete. It still creeped Sam out how in tune with the weapon his brother was, but when Dean gracefully spun and sliced through the neck of one of his opponents he decided he could get used to it. Sam took a deep breath. They could win this fight... Maybe.
One of the two remaining monsters tackled him into the water, and Sam's tentative confidence evaporated.
Cold water rushed over Sam's head, obscuring his vision. The blurred outline of the monster above him opened its gaping maw and Sam bucked with as much force as he could muster. He managed to dislodge the thing long enough to scrabble back out of the water, struggling to get to his feet and keep a solid grip on his weapon at the same time.
The thing kicked the back of Sam's knees and his feet slipped on the wet stones, but he managed to twist onto his back as he crashed onto the stoney shore. Sam tried to swing his ax again but even his arms didn't have the reach to do any damage from the ground. The monster towered above him, sneering.
"The goddess sends her regards," it hissed. The thing unhinged his jaw, lunged forward, and a machete separated its head from its shoulders.
The body fell, and a stocky, bearded guy in overalls stepped into view. He adjusted the collar of his dark wool jacket and touched the low rim of his black flat cap. "Hope you don't mind my butting in," he said in a slow, smooth southern drawl. Looks like you fellas need some help."
