Team Meetings

"Where?" Dean asked, rubbing at his red eyes. He had been trying to get in a bit of rest. Everyone was. They were in sorry shape after the flight back from Scotland. Yeah, well, being chained to a wall in a wet dungeon for a week will do that to a guy, Dean griped to himself. He glanced up at the Big Board, which was covered with news streams from every major network. Chuck and Sam were seated at the large conference table, pouring over maps on Sam's laptop. The table behind it was cluttered with various folders and the small travel suitcase that Dean had pulled out of the Impala once they had gotten back to Atlanta. Dean looked around the room wearily. Jesse was leaning back in a chair at the head of the table, watching the news quietly, his face somber. Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

"Minnesota," Castiel answered dryly. "The attack was in Minnesota. At the Mall of America."

Dean felt his blood run cold. He glanced back at the news tickers and let out a deep breath.

"How many?" he asked, voice cracking.

Castiel met his eyes, not speaking. He shook his head slightly. Dean watched him for a few seconds, understanding.

"Godammit!" Dean exploded, turning away from the screens and slapping his hand hard against the wall. Chuck jumped a little. Sam nodded to himself.

"Well, they didn't waste any damned time, that's for sure," Dean grumbled. "What the hell were they after? Just mass casualties?"

Castiel shook his head again. "We can't be sure. The news isn't reporting anything usable at the moment. The number of dead is greatly varied. There isn't much else."

Dean squinted. "That's weird. Middle of a mall that size...no cell phone videos? Nothing on Twitter or YouTube?"

"Yeah, I thought that was weird too," Sam replied. His shoved his glasses back up on his nose and let out a deep breath. "We're going to have to get on scene. Looks like there's a pretty serious clamp-down on information. Fed-level."

"So, we're going with FBI?" Dean asked, walking over to the travel suitcase. He zipped it open and started sorting through several badges and shields that were in it.

Sam shook his head. "No. Probably Federal Marshalls this time."

Dean looked up and whistled softly, shaking his head.

"Heavy ammo."

"Yeah, well, we're going to need to seriously annihilate some jurisdiction issues if the CIA or Homeland Security is already involved." He turned and gave an appraising glance at the Big Board. "And I think they are. The lack of video footage makes that pretty obvious."

Dean followed his gaze. He nodded and turned back to the suitcase and opened a side pouch. He pulled out a leather case and unzipped it, shaking out two shields and ID badges.

"So, Def Leppard?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Motley Crue."

Dean made a face. "Ugh. Heavy Metal?"

Sam twisted up the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm feeling particularly aggressive at the moment."

"Well, at least make it classic metal..." he pulled out a small stamp device and began dialing letters on it. When he was done, he turned it over and checked the letters carefully. He then pressed it against an ink pad and leaned over one of the IDs. Very slowly, he stamped it in the name field. He pulled back the stamp and examined the badge. He nodded in satisfaction and pulled out a spray can from the case. He stepped back and blasted the card on both sides. Sam wrinkled up his nose.

"Geez, you gotta do that in here? That stuff stinks!"

"Sorry Sammy, but time is a factor," Dean said, smiling. He picked up the card after a minute or so and shook it in the air, handing it over with a flourish. "Here you go, Agent Cooper."

Sam frowned and read the badge. "Well, at least you didn't actually make my first name Alice..." he grumbled. "Who're you gonna be?"

"Agent Roth," Dena said, dialing the letters on the stamp.

Sam rolled his eyes at him. "Please tell me you're not going to name yourself 'David-Lee'."

Dean gave him a sour look. "What'dya think I'm stupid?" he grunted, looking down at the pad. He inked it up and pressed it onto the badge. "I used 'Lee-David', moron..." he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Where's Crowley anyway?" Dean asked, repeating the process with the second Marshall's badge. "We're going to need him for transportation. Baby ain't gonna get there fast enough."

"I could transport..." Castiel began.

Dean held up a hand, stopping him. He raised his eyes to Castiel from his work. "Cas. We've talked about this..."

Realization crossed Castiel's face and he leaned back. "Oh. Right. Poop. You like to be able to poop."

Sam let out a bark of laughter and Dean watched Castiel for a short time in wonder before shaking his head. "You're one of a kind, man. One of a damned kind."

Sam let out a little hiccup and took in a deep breath. "Crowley said he had some business to take care of with his staff. He'll be back in a little bit."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Not sure I like leaving him...unobserved, you know what I mean?"

Sam sighed again. "Yeah. I know. Last time we did that..."

"...he practically fed us to the Angel and Demon," Dean finished. He shook his head. "I still can't believe we haven't even figured out their damned names yet..." He glanced at Chuck. "Yo, writer boy, you and the Angel had some words. You get anything out of that?"

Chuck glanced up and gave Dean a weak smile. "Ummm..."

"Why don't you just tell them?" Jesse spoke up, staring hard at Chuck.

Chuck looked at him in confusion. "Um...sorry?"

Jesse rolled his eyes and stood up. "That you're God."

Chuck's expression didn't change. He continued to smile at Jesse in confusion. "What?" he asked in squeaky voice.

"Please," Jesse replied. "I'm the Anti-Christ. You might be able to mask it from everyone else, but me? Try again."

Dean let out a bark of laughter. "God? Chuck? This guy? Seriously?!" Sam was also smiling, but looked unsure. Castiel was watching Chuck very carefully.

"Um...Jesse?" Chuck asked.

Jesse frowned. "What? What's the big deal? Prophet, God, what's the difference?"

Chuck's smile began to sink. "Jesse..." he answered, with a little more warning in his voice.

"Is he...is he actually serious?" Dean asked pointing a finger between Chuck and Jesse.

"I am not having this conversation again..." Chuck sighed, now glaring at Jesse.

"What the hell?! He's right about...?" Sam began, standing up.

He froze in place halfway up. Dean was also not moving, his finger in mid-wag. Castiel's mouth was hanging open,

Jesse looked around at them and sighed. "Nice. You stopped time?"

"Jesse...stop."

Jesse shrugged. "Like I could stop you" He frowned and looked at Chuck quizzically. "Could I?"

Chuck shrugged back. "Actually, I wouldn't like to find that out. You at full power..." he shook his head. "Could be close," he smiled grimly.

Jesse smiled tightly in return.

"How long have you known? Chuck asked.

Jesse smiled. "First second I saw you in that other dimension."

"And you didn't say anything?" Chuck frowned. "Why?"

"I didn't know what you wanted with me. I figured...'Hey. God came to visit me'. Gotta be some deeper meaning there."

Chuck smiled, looking at the table. "Actually, no. I got caught. Same as you."

Jesse grimaced. "How? You're God, right?"

Chuck shook his head. "Yes...also no. Right now I'm Chuck the Prophet - alcoholic and not very successful writer."

"Just like that? You can just...what? Transform? Decide to be someone or something else?

"Rules are rules," Chuck answered, eyes smiling.

Jesse frowned, considering.

"So...what's with the big act? Why hide this from them?"

Chuck sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. "There was a...confrontation. With the Darkness. I actually revealed myself to them."

"And then, what? You made them forget again?"

Chuck nodded.

"Why?"

Chuck sighed. "Because of what's happening right now. No one should know who or rather, what I am. Too much is at stake."

Jesse braced himself on the table, head down, not looking at him. "Chuck, if you could stop this..."

Chuck shook his head. "I can't. Don't you think that I would if I actually could?" He sighed and rubbed his forehead slowly. "Everyone thinks that. That I don't care." He stared at Jesse, a hint of anger, mixed with a hint of sadness showing around his eyes. "Jesse, the universe exists in a very careful balance. It has to maintain this balance or the whole thing blows up. And I mean that literally." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "You wouldn't believe the mess that that makes...anyway, considering the forces at play here now, if I got involved directly...Jesse, I wish I could help, you have no idea how much I wish that." He hung his head, then raised it, meeting Jesse's eye directly and holding them firm. "Do you have any idea what it's like to know that you are literally responsible for every nightmarish thing, horror, torture and pain that has ever existed? And have no ability to do anything about it, because you know that their existence and balance they create allows life and love and beauty to exist as well?"

Jesse stared back and then shook his head.

Chuck sighed. "I tried to just give it all up last time. I got dragged back into caring again. I'm not about to give up again so soon. Just...trust me when I say this, it has to be allowed to play out."

"Even if the bad-guys win?" Jesse asked softly. "Is that what you're telling me?"

Chuck didn't answer him for awhile, then he just nodded. "I'm sorry, but yes."

Jesse was silent for a while then he sat down heavily. "That sucks, man."

"Yes. Yes it does."

They sat in silence for several minutes before Jesse sighed loudly and looked around the room. Chuck was still watching him with guarded interest.

"I guess we need to do our best to frikkin' win then. So...what do we do about this?" Jesse asked, waving his hand around the room.

"Easy, I snap my fingers, or some other random gesture, and we go back to the exact moment right before you started telling them who I am," Chuck answered.

Jesse nodded. "Allright, do it then."

Chuck waved his hand.

"Well?" Dean asked, impatient.

Chuck looked up at him. "No, Dean. I think...I think he knew that I was a Prophet. It...it kinda freaked him out. But I didn't get anything else." He turned his eyes back to Jesse, who sighed and looked away.

Dean considered that for a moment before grunting in disappointment. "Huh. Well, that sucks." Jesse stared pointedly at Chuck, who looked a bit uncomfortable.

At that moment Crowley walked in, looking at the Big Board, and then around the room.

"So, what did I miss?"

"Whole lotta nothing," Jesse grumbled. Crowley crooked an eyebrow at him.

"Well, we're just about ready to go to Minnesota, there's nothing we can determine from here," Sam answered, standing up and closing the laptop. He attached the now dry Marshall's ID to a suit jacket hanging over his chair and put it on, straightening his tie. Dean was doing the same, also checking his sidearm in his holster. "If...I mean...if it's OK and all...we never really asked, right?" Sam hesitated, looking at Chuck.

Chuck waved a tired hand in the air. "Doesn't matter anymore," he sighed. "The main point of the vision about you two staying out of this was to keep Archangels from getting killed." He looked up at Sam and Dean and gave them a grim smile. "Oops."

Dean frowned and Sam, exasperated, hung his head. "Yeah, well...we'll leave the big decisions to Castiel and Crowley anyway, just to be safe. We're on a fact-finding mission." He raised his eyebrows and looked over at his brother. "Right?"

"Sure thing," Dean grunted in reply. "So, we gonna stand around here all day, or what?"

Crowley looked back and forth between the two of them. "Well, jet's all fueled. Head to the roof and the helicopter will take you to Hartsfield. We'll be here monitoring via closed circuit."

Sam nodded and pressed a pin to his lapel. "Wanna test it?"

Crowley smiled. "Moose, at four-thousand dollars a pop, if those button cameras don't work, someone's going to be in big trouble over at the KGB." He picked up a remote control off of the table and clicked a button with his thumb. A video feed coming from Dean and Sam's point of view showed up in two separate windows on the screen. "But, here you go - just for your peace of mind."

Sam nodded and with another nod to Dean, headed out of the door towards the roof.

The black-clothed agent wearing a badge marked with the large blue capital letters 'FBI' held up his hand as Sam and Dean approached the mall's cordoned off barrier. They whipped out their IDs and held them up for inspection.

The agent leaned in close and looked at them, nodding.

"Well, someone's awfully nervous..." he said, nodding. He touched his earpiece. "Yeah, command...two, count 'em, two Wyatt Earps here on the perimeter. Marshalls..." He paused, squinting at the badges again. "Cooper and Roth. Yep. Sending 'em in."

Sam and Dean took the badges back and ducked under the crime scene tape.

"Straight through the East entrance, Marshalls. There's a CIC set up in the Food Court."

Sam nodded. "Thanks," he grunted.

They strode into the mall through a sea of emergency vehicles, mobile command posts and large canvas sheets set up to prevent the media or anyone from the crowd gathered on the perimeter from filming. Sam scanned the sky.

"No-Fly Zone, too. No news-copters," he grunted, looking over at Dean.

Dean nodded, not breaking stride. "Counted three CIA spook-mobiles, an FBI forensics unit and about twenty honchos from Homeland Security. Better avoid those."

Sam grunted. "Yeah, at least one of those probably knows the actual names of the 94 active US Marshalls. Probably BBQ's on the weekend at some of their houses." He scanned the parking lot again before they pushed through the entrance. "This is some pretty serious action, Dean."

Dean gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment as they walked in. Another FBI agent pointed them on to the Command and Control center, a makeshift series of tables with laptops and communication equipment. The tables were also covered with several coffee cups and plates of half-eaten pizza and donuts. Several officers from various agencies were engaged there in various conversations and activities. A couple of them glanced up as Sam and Dean approached. Sam took a deep breath.

"Head-honcho here?" he grunted.

One of the FBI agents, a balding man with horn-rimmed glasses, sipped at his coffee and watched them over the cup's rim.

"Geez, over-kill much, Marshalls?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

The agent shook his head. "No one just talks to each other anymore," he grumbled. He put down the cup and shoved his hands in his pocket. "The HAIC is another one of you guys," he said, pulling out a hand and jerking his thumb in the direction of several floodlights and forensic agents swarming over the open floor under the roller coaster. "Skinny guy. Cowboy hat. Can't miss him."

Dean looked quizzically at Sam. Sam looked worried.

"Thanks," he said, smiling at the agent and walking in that direction. When they were a few paces away, he leaned towards Dean, whispering.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Dean nodded, smiling tightly. "Knowing our luck? Absolutely."

They reached the agents and spotted the other 'Marshall' instantly. He was scarecrow-skinny and wearing an absurdly wide cowboy hat. He was busy pointing around at the forensic team excitedly and scribbling down notes occasionally on a small notepad. Dean sidled up behind him without him seemingly noticing and leaned towards his ear.

"Hi Garth," he whispered. The skinny man didn't react.

"'Bout time," Garth answered, smiling. Dean looked a bit surprised. Garth kept smiling. "What? You were trying to sneak up? On me? I smelt you two idiots ten minutes ago." He looked at Dean's badge and rolled his eyes. "Oh, you too? Why can't I be the only Federal Marshall for a change?"

"Actually, last time it was a Texas Ranger, Marshall...'Norris'?" Dean grunted as he looked at Garth's ID, rolling his eyes. "Seriously?" He looked up at Sam as he walked up. "Looks like we're sharing today, Marshall Cooper. Play nice."

Sam nodded, reaching out and chucking Garth on the shoulder. "Nice to see you, big guy. How're things?"

"Oh, you know, apocalypse this, apocalypse that," Garth quipped.

"Yeah, working on that," Dean replied, looking around.

"No, I meant my kids," Garth replied.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? You...you never said anything."

Garth smiled back toothily. "Yeah, well, they kind of all sprung up at once, you know."

"Oh my God, seriously, a litter?" Sam asked, smiling.

"Yeah, Bess delivered just about two weeks ago." He frowned, shaking his head. "Haven't slept much since."

"How many?"

"Eight," Garth moaned. "And they are all...and I mean, all shriekers. They coordinate it, I swear."

"So this is kinda of a vacation," Dean said, looking around.

Garth's look turned serious. "Hardly, fellas. This is some pretty serious mojo."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I think we might know who's behind it, too."

"Well, that's something, at least," Garth nodded.

"What're we looking at?" Dean asked.

"Over a hundred dead, we're still checking...the bodies...they were everywhere."

Sam nodded. "And the video, it's all on lockdown?"

"See, that's another thing, first thing we did was gather up all the smartphones and closed-circuit around here."

"And?"

"And...zip. Everything's fried. It's like a damned EMP went off, but all the other electronics in the area are working."

Sam frowned. "Where are the phones? Maybe I can rebuild the memory from one of the chips."

"FBI's got 'em all over there for now," Garth answered, gesturing towards a table near the roller coasters. "Maybe we can sneak a couple out."

"Good idea," Dean answered. The three of them worked their way over to the table and started looking at the phones, examining the tags on them and placing them back carefully.

"Hey, check this out," Sam whispered. "This one was found in one of the roller coaster cars, one that was separated from the ride and on the mall floor."

"Yeah, so? There were lots of phones in the cars," Garth shrugged.

"Yeah, but this tag says that there was no body with this one," Sam answered. "Maybe a survivor." He pocketed the phone stealthily and they all turned away from the table.

And froze.

"Where do you think you're going with that?" the red-haired FBI agent was asking them, her arms crossed over her chest and staring at them with one eyebrow raised. She tapped her rainbow-colored sneaker impatiently on the floor. "That's evidence, you know."

"Charlie?" Dean answered, smiling.

"You bet your sweet bibble, sweetie," she answered, striding up and giving him a big hug. "Can't stay apart for long, looks like."

Sam smiled and got a hug of his own. Garth went in for one also, but Charlie gave him a polite smile and a warning glare and he settled for a handshake.

"So, gangs all here," Sam sighed. "Anyone else around we don't know about yet?"

"Ummmm," Charlie answered, smiling. She turned and pointed towards a group from the Sheriff's Department over by the donut stand.

"Is that Jody? And Donna?", Dean said eyebrows raising. Donna and Jody noticed them and waved back. They nodded at each other and started to walk over.

Dean looked at Sam. "Coincidence?"

Sam raised his eyebrows back. "With our luck?" he replied simply.

Dean nodded grimly. Charlie watched them, her head turning from one to the other. Her smile began to fade. "What? What's up guys? More help is a good thing, right?"

Sam shifted his shoulder holster, making sure the gun was clear. "No. I think we're being...herded."

"Huh?"

Garth growled.

"Creating an incident that we absolutely can't ignore...getting everyone in one place...", Sam said, looking around the mall.

Dean started scanning as well. "Trap?"

Sam nodded. "Trap."

He sucked in his breath in a hiss and froze.

"They're still here," he whispered.

Dean paled and followed Sam's gaze. There, at the corner of the Food Court, stood six figures, four teenagers in a row standing in front of two teenage boys, whose eyes were glowing red and blue, respectively.

"Crowley, we're gonna need backup," Sam whispered into his coat pin.

The six figures took a step forward as one. The two in back raised their hands up, and swirling energy started flowing from their hands.

"Fast, Crowley, really, really fast," Sam said breathlessly, drawing his pistol.