Chapter 3
Evie woke the next morning in Cas' arms. Although he didn't sleep, he chose to stay with her through the night, watching her sleep. He found it very peaceful.
She stretched a little and opened her eyes, craning her neck to look into his face. He looked down at her, smiling, and hugged her tightly.
"Mmmm," Evie sighed. "What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock," Cas replied.
"We'd better go," she said. "The boys'll be ready to hit the road soon."
"I wish we could stay here forever," Cas said.
Evie smiled up at him. "Well, I'm free tonight."
Cas grinned and moved in for a kiss. Their lips had barely met when there was a knock at the door. Evie closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Cas crossed the room, naked. He opened the door, barely hiding his privates behind it. Evie could just see Sam's embarrassed face though the crack.
She had to stifle laughter to hear the awkward mumbling and mention of breakfast. She rose and began to dress as soon as the door closed and was packed and ready to go five minutes later.
She and Cas walked out to the Impala, both glowing a little. Sam and Dean were waiting by the car. Sam seemed nervous, hands in his pockets, eyes looking anywhere but at the lovers. Dean, on the other hand, was too still, almost taut. He wouldn't look at Evie, but his eye contact with Cas was uncomfortably direct. Everyone else was too busy with someone or something else to notice, though: Cas with Evie, Evie with Cas, and Sam with his shoes, the trunk, a semi-interesting rock, or that pile of dog crap over there. What kind of dog had crapped that?
They all piled into the car. Dean pulled away from the motel after a long, hard look at Cas in the rearview.
They sat in a diner, again, eating breakfast, drinking coffee, reading the local newspaper. This time, they were in Pennsylvania.
"Two similar, accidental deaths … teenage girl texting her BFF, walked right into an open manhole," Sam read.
"OK, so she fell into the sewer. That'll break your leg, not kill ya," Dean said.
"Yeah, except she was electrocuted almost immediately after she landed," Sam said.
Dean frowned. "You said two deaths?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, clearing his throat. "The other is a 65-year-old man, who had a heart attack after receiving a text on his brand-new smart phone. The article said the text was explicit in nature."
"Hmm," Dean grunted, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe. … What about you two? Got anything?"
He looked up expectantly at Evie and Cas, who were grinning and giggling amongst themselves. Cas had a hand on Evie's leg under the table.
"Hey!" Dean rose his voice authoritatively. Evie and Cas both straightened up like children caught messing around in church.
"Oh, yeah," Evie cleared her throat and returned her attention to the newspaper in front of her. "Uh …" Evie scanned the stories again to find her spot. "Three bodies found highly decomposed, but their families and friends all said they were home until mere hours before the bodies were found."
"Weird," Sam asked.
"She wins," Dean said. "Let's finish up and get going to …"
"Jersey Shore, PA," Evie said.
"Jersey Shore! Ha!" Dean laughed. "Wonder if we'll run into a 'situation'?" Dean flashed a childish grin and waited for Sam and Evie to join him.
"Dean, it's not that Jersey Shore," Sam said.
Pause.
"I know!" Dean said, now frowning.
Sam and Evie walked into the morgue and flashed FBI badges. The clerk at the front desk nearly cowered. The badge usually had that effect on people. The suits didn't hurt, either.
"We're here to see the bodies on the serial murder case," Sam said.
"Of course!" the clerk stammered. He hurried around to let Sam and Evie into the back of the morgue.
"Kent! Who are these people?" a confident female voice called from down the hall. A tall, thin woman with bright red hair in a bun, wearing scrubs and a lab coat approached the trio. She looked questioningly at Kent—a hunchbacked nerd wearing thick, black glasses—who froze.
"Agents Sambora and Wilson," Sam spoke up. He and Evie flashed their badges like pros. The woman eyed the badges more closely than most people did.
"Sambora and Wilson, huh?" she questioned. "You two rock groupies or something?"
"It's just a coincidence," Evie said. "Actually, a big joke back at headquarters."
"Uh huh," said the woman, obviously unimpressed.
"So, we're here to see the bodies on the serial murder case, Doctor…" Sam said.
"Harding," the woman answered. She pursed her lips and threw a glance at her watch. "You do realize it's quittin' time."
"Sorry, late flight," Evie said, feigning an apologetic smile.
"OK, come on," Harding said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. She led Sam and Evie through the double doors down a hallway and into the cold storage room. She opened one of the lockers, pulled out the sliding tray, and unzipped the body bag.
"Body number two," she said, handing Sam the case file. "Hannah Jenkins, age 26. Campers found her by the river about a week ago."
"She's got to be several weeks decomposed, at least," Evie said calmly.
"Hair and nails falling out, skin cracked open and breaking down," Harding said. "My estimate was three to four weeks, taking into account the cooler temperatures lately."
Harding looked at her watch again. "Look, agents, it's 5:10 and I have a date at 6:00. I assume you know your way around a morgue," she said, eyes shifting between Sam and Evie. "Kent can see you out when you're done."
"Of course," Sam said. "Thank you, Doctor."
Sam and Evie turned back to the case file as the door swung shut behind Dr. Harding, who left in a hurry.
"This is nasty," Evie said.
"Yep," Sam agreed. "Let's check out the other one."
They put everything back where it belonged, and opened locker number 8.
"Haskell Jenkins, age 62, found three days ago, within one mile of Hannah Jenkins … his daughter," Sam read, as Evie unzipped the bag. They both examined the dead girl's face closely. "This one's fresh," Sam said, confused.
"So, we've got two bodies found highly decomposed and a fresh one? Weird," Evie said, zipping the bag. "Twenty bucks says body number one is related to the Jenkinses."
Sam opened the case file. "You owe me twenty bucks. Genevieve Summers, age 26, found a month ago, also in an advanced state of decomp, same area," Sam read.
Evie rolled her eyes, pulling a $20 bill from her pocket. "So what's the connection?" she asked.
"Maybe Dean and Cas can shed some light on that," Sam said. Sam pulled out his cell phone and held down number 2, Dean's speed dial. "Hey. Yeah, we're done here. OK. We'll see you back at the motel. K." He flipped the phone closed and put it back in his pocket. "Let's make copies of these and get going."
Evie started gathering the files.
"Hey, so, your FBI cover is Agent Wilson?" Sam asked with a grin.
"Yeah, why?" Evie said, stopping before heading toward the door.
"Ann, or Nancy?"
"Nancy," Evie said, grinning. "I guess Dean started me on the rock shout outs. Be right back, Agent Sambora."
Evie crossed to the office next door and copied the case files quickly and quietly. She returned in less than ninety seconds and replaced the files, then she and Sam left the morgue.
Dean handed Cas a forged FBI badge, the same one he had used several years ago: Eddie Moscone. Dean had held onto it.
"This time, hold it the right way," Dean said. "And, let me do the talking, OK?"
Cas didn't consider himself a sensitive fellow, but lately Dean seemed to be harsher toward him. He had studied human behavior for years, and he liked to think he had learned a bit. There seemed to be tension between Dean and Evie, probably because they used to date. Evie had briefly mentioned it, but Cas wasn't sure he wanted or needed to know much about their past relationship; all he needed to know was that she didn't seem interested in Dean anymore. She liked Cas now, and he liked her.
"Hey!" Dean called from across the street. "You coming, Colombo?"
Cas returned to reality and jogged across the street to meet Dean. They entered the sheriff's station and flashed their badges to the desk clerk. This time, Cas held his badge correctly. He was proud of himself. He looked over at Dean like a child looking for his big brother's approval, but Dean wasn't paying him any attention.
"You guys are here about the bodies, huh?" the clerk, who couldn't be a day over 20, asked. His nametag indicated that his name was Alec.
Dean stared at him, drawing out the awkward moment on purpose. "Yeah," he finally affirmed.
"Wicked, huh?" Alec said, impishly impressed. The look on his face brought to mind images of the metal head Alec probably thought he was.
"Yes, whoever committed these crimes must be truly amoral," Cas volunteered
"No, Alec, serial murder is not 'wicked!'" Dean chastised. "Where's the sheriff?"
"I'm Sheriff Bauer," said an overweight, graying man in his upper fifties. He wore a wide-brimmed tan hat that matched his long-sleeved, button-down shirt.
"Agents Anderson and Moscone," Dean said, as he and Cas again flashed their badges (correctly).
"Uh huh … Feds," Sheriff Bauer said with a hint of disdain. "Knew you guy would show up soon."
"Yeah, well, that happens when bodies are dropping like flies," Dean quipped.
"Look, Agent …" Sheriff Bauer began.
"Anderson," Dean finished arrogantly.
"Right," Bauer said. "We've got things under control here."
"Oh, you do?" Dean asked incredulously,
"That's right," said Sheriff Bauer, grasping his rodeo belt buckle as if it gave him superiority over this manicured, big-city slicker.
Both men stood a few inches taller as they eyed each other in stoic silence. Castel sensed a wordless competition between the two men. If the Sheriff was anything like Dean, this could continue for hours with neither man backing down.
"Gentlemen," Cas stepped in. "We're not here to step on anyone's toes, to use the colloquial phrase. We only want to help find out what happened to those poor people and stop whoever is committing these crimes."
The Sheriff eyed Castiel, hands still firmly holding his superior buckle. After a few seconds, his posture relaxed, and he released his hold on his pants. "Alright, Agent," he said, addressing Cas. "Case files are in my office." He set off in the direction he had come from. Dean shot a glance at Cas, brow furrowed. Cas shrugged, innocently, and turned to follow the Sheriff to his office.
"Wait. So you're saying the families were with each of the victims until just a few hours before the bodies were found in advanced stages of decomposition?" Dean asked skeptically.
"That's what they said," Sheriff Bauer said.
"You don't seem to believe them," Cas said.
"Who could?" he exclaimed. "Take Genny Summers. Doc Harding put her dead at least a month, maybe more, before they found her: a month ago. Her best friend, Hannah Jenkins …"
"Victim number two," Dean interjected.
"Yeah," Sheriff Bauer continued. "She swore up and down she and Genny were still hanging out, or whatever the kids call it these days, right up until the day those campers found her body in the woods."
"OK," Dean said. "Did she say anything about Genny acting strangely?"
"As a matter of fact, she did," the Sheriff said, with a hint of suspicion. "She said Genny was, and I quote 'acting like Genny on the surface, but she didn't talk like Genny did when we were alone. It was like she was pretending to be Genny.'"
"Not weird at all," Dean said. "What about Hannah?"
"Same story," the Sheriff said. "Hannah was still reporting to work until the day before her body was found. Her father, Haskell, the third victim, said she was acting strangely after the discovery of Genny's body, though."
"Strangely, how?" Cas asked.
"Well, these two girls were inseparable since they were little. Hell, everyone in town knew that," Sheriff Bauer said. "After Genny's body was found, Hannah didn't seem broken up about it. She was cold, callous. You'd have thought she was mad at Genny or something."
"Then, we found her body, decomposed like it had been there for weeks," Sheriff Bauer said. He sighed. "Then, three days ago, Haskell turns up dead in the woods."
"Let me guess … decomposed," Dean said.
"No, fresh kill, fresh dump," Sheriff Bauer said. "But, there is a weird part. Witnesses claim they saw Haskell walking and talking hours after his body had been found. We were still canvasing the scene, Doc Harding was still examining the body!"
"Are these witnesses reliable?" Dean asked.
"They're upstanding citizens, pillars of the community," Sheriff Bauer said. "No reason they'd make this up. It just don't make sense."
"What happened to Mr. Jenkins? The still walking and talking one?" Cas asked.
"After the story leaked about his body being found, he disappeared," said the Sheriff.
Dean's phone began to spew rock guitar riffs. "Excuse me," he said, walking to the wall for privacy.
"Yeah? Yeah, us, too. Sounds good."
Finishing his conversation with Sam, he walked back to where Cas was sitting quietly with the Sheriff.
"Sheriff, can we get copies of those files? We need to meet up with our team," Dean said.
"A whole team? For little old Jersey Shore?" Sheriff Bauer said.
"For a string of murders that makes no sense, Sheriff," Dean said.
"Yeah, alright," the Sheriff replied. "Alec!"
Alec came running from his perch at the front desk. "Alec, I need you to copy these files for the agents."
"Yes, sir!" Alec chirped, excitedly.
Sam and Evie walked through the door of Sam and Dean's motel room. Evie grasped two greasy paper bags full of fast-food burgers and fries. Sam balanced three large drinks in Styrofoam cups.
"Aw, that's what I'm talking about!" Dean exclaimed. He rose from the dingy, two-seater table near the far window and took a bag from Evie.
"So, the bodies are thoroughly nasty," Evie said. "Victims two and three are a father and daughter, but vic number one is …"
"Daughter's BFF," Dean mumbled through a mouthful of burger.
"There's your connection," Sam said to Evie. "But, why were the girls in advanced states of decomp and the last one fresh?"
"Maybe someone found Mr. Jenkins before they were meant to," Cas volunteered. Evie grinned at him and plopped down next to him on the bed, burger in her hands.
"Yeah, maybe, but how do we explain the fact that the vics were all seen around town right up until their bodies were found decomposed in the woods," Sam asked, befuddled.
"We thinking shifter?" Evie asked through a mouthful of burger.
"Could be," Sam agreed.
"A shifter serial killer?" Dean asked, with a grin.
"We've seen weirder," Sam stated flatly.
Dean shrugged in agreement. "OK, going on that assumption, where do we start? Everyone the shifter wore is dead."
"We interview the witnesses, gather information," Evie said. "Good old-fashioned police work."
"Thanks, Mr. Carmichael," Sam said, quickly turning away as Mr. Carmichael closed his front door. "Well, that's all of Haskell's friends. … I wonder how Evie and Cas are making out."
"Yeah, I bet they are."
"Dude, again with that?" Sam asked.
Dean shot Sam a sideways glance. "Shut up. Let's just meet up and compare notes."
They met Cas and Evie at a diner. When Sam and Dean arrived, Cas and Evie were already sitting in a booth in the back. They were smiling and talking quietly as if they were sharing secrets. They looked like a couple of school kids.
Dean rolled his eyes as he and Sam made their way to the booth.
"Hey," Sam interrupted the couple's moment.
Cas smiled broadly at the brothers, genuinely happy to see them.
"Hey. We interviewed Hannah and Genevieve's friends," Evie said as the boys sat down. "Pretty much the same crowd. Nothing weird that we could see. Just co-workers left."
Sam sighed audibly.
"I don't see this going anywhere," Dean said. "We're just spinning our wheels. With us sniffing around, the shifter's probably long gone by now, anyway. Hell, he was probably gone the day we rolled into town."
"You want to stop searching when there's a monster killing people?" Cas asked.
"You have a better idea? I'm all ears, Colombo," Dean said, not hiding his sarcasm.
Cas looked visibly hurt. Evie shot sour eyes at Dean.
"Evie, is there any other angle we can take, here?" Sam asked.
She was silent for a moment, clearly deep in thought. Then, her face lightened, her eyes widening, lips curling upward in a slight smile.
"You still like camping?" Evie asked Dean.
"Up ahead." Evie pointed straight ahead down a small embankment, closer to the water. "That's a nice place to dump a body."
"You know, it's a little creepy that you know that," Sam said.
"I was a cop, Sam," she said. "Besides, it's no creepier than the crap I know now."
"Yeah, I guess not," Sam admitted.
The quartet shuffled their way down the slope. Once near the stream, they split in three directions to canvas the area. Sam went north, Dean went south, Evie went east, and Cas followed Evie. She was closely examining a skinny tree where some twigs had apparently been broken; Cas was closely examining her face. Dean spotted this from several feet away.
"Hey, Cas! You wanna help?" Dean called rudely.
Cas's head snapped in Dean's direction. "Oh, yeah! Of course!" He trotted eagerly toward his best friend.
"Then, why don't start looking at the scenery," Dean said, indicating the surroundings with his eyes, "instead of the scenery." He nodded at Evie.
"Ah," Cas nodded excitedly. He was happy to be in on something, even if it was only a play on words.
Their feet crunched on dull tan and brown leaves, twigs, and other underbrush as they searched for any signs of foul play.
"I don't know if we're looking in the right place," Sam said. "None of the other bodies were found this close to the stream."
Evie sighed. "Maybe not. It just looked like a good dump site."
"Let's go check closer to the rail line," Dean suggested. "Shifter could have dumped the body and hopped a train."
Now, it was Sam's turn to sigh. "Then, he could be anywhere."
They all started in that direction, following the stream, when something caught Evie's eye. She stopped. Sam, Dean, and Cas continued walking, not noticing that she was no longer following. She squatted, staring intently at a section of leaves that looked to a casual observer like any other pile of leaves in the miles of leaves covering the ground.
Evie's trained eyes spotted the tiniest discontinuity in the pattern: straight, thin, uniform lines amongst fat, curvy, blocks. Using the side of her hand, she gingerly brushed leaves aside. She brushed in one direction, creating a small pile directly under her squatting form. The straight, thin, uniform lines grew longer, redder, a warm color against the dead leaves. Eventually, those warm, red lines gave way to a cold, bloated mass.
Evie brushed leaves in the opposite direction, the edge of her hand grazing a tiny mountain under the leaves: a nose. The sea of leaves parted and revealed a face: the corpse of a woman with bright red hair.
Evie's breath caught in realization. She stood abruptly. "Guys!" she called loudly.
The boys were at least thirty feet ahead by now. They turned, startled.
"I got it!"
The Impala's engine revved as it sped past 80 miles per hour.
"Are you sure it's the coroner?" Dean asked. "It's not just some other chick with red hair?"
"Dean, I saw her face! I'm sure," Evie said.
"That's why she was so eager to get out of there," Sam reasoned.
"Let's hope she's still at the morgue," Dean said, gripping the wheel tightly. "We bust in, catch her by surprise, gank her … easy as pie."
"No, Dean, we can't just go in guns blazing," Sam said. "There's a clerk at the front desk."
"So, we distract him," Dean suggested.
"Sam and I will go in and test her with silver," Evie said. "They already know us. You two hold back."
Dean frowned, glancing at Cas. He didn't like the plan, but it made sense. "OK. We'll be right outside."
He pulled the car to a quick but semi-quiet stop and shut it down. Sam and Evie exited the car, opened the trunk, and removed what they needed, carefully hiding silver knives in the arms of their suit jackets, in addition to the weapons they already carried. They closed the trunk and made a swift line to the front door of the morgue.
Kent sat at the front desk, reading a People magazine. He nearly dropped it and sat up extra straight when Sam and Evie walked in.
"Agents!" he said. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon."
"Yeah, hey, Kent, right?" Evie smiled. "We need to see Dr. Harding."
"Oh, she went home for the night," Kent said. The tone of his voice had changed. He seemed on edge.
"Can you give her a call?" Sam asked. "It's important."
"Uh ... OK," Kent said suspiciously. He turned to the phone and dialed a number, but his eyes were glued to Sam and Evie. He hung up the receiver without speaking. "No answer."
"Can you do me a solid, and write down her address?" Sam asked.
Kent eyed them. "Why?"
"We have reason to believe she may be in danger," Sam said.
"I'm really not supposed to," Kent said.
"Please, Kent," Sam said. "It's very important."
"OK," Kent relented. His hand shook as he reached for a pen, clumsily knocking over the cup with the 'My other car is a hears' sticker on it, as well as his glasses. Sam bent down to retrieve the glasses, but Evie watched Kent as he wrote an address on a scrap of paper without any difficulty. He didn't move closer to the paper. He didn't squint. There were no signs of bad vision. Sam returned his glasses and took the piece of paper.
"Thanks a lot," Evie said. She stuck out her hand. Kent shook it instinctively … and the tip of the silver knife hidden in Evie's sleeve touched his palm. His skin burned, and he pulled back quickly. Evie revealed the silver knife. Sam pulled his gun, which was loaded with silver bullets. Kent was already exploding from behind the front desk. Evie swung the knife at Kent's stomach, but he backhanded her across the face, and she fell to the floor. Sam fired two shots as Kent flew through the front door.
In the car Dean and Cas sat in utter silence. For Dean it was a purposeful silence; he was sending Cas a message, but Cas only barely noticed. He was slightly concerned with Dean's demeanor as of late. Dean seemed to be shorter with him than usual – a little ruder, too. Cas thought he should talk to Dean about this tension between them, but at the moment, he was more concerned with what was happening inside the morgue. He was watching the door intently, so he was on a hair trigger when the shifter burst out the door into the parking lot, running at full sprint, with Sam not far behind.
Cas teleported out of the car before Dean even noticed the commotion. Cas appeared directly in the shifter's path. Kent stopped short. His momentum caused him to slide forward several inches. A bullet from Sam's gun made its way through the shifter's heart, exited his body, and hit Cas. Kent and Cas both looked down at their wounds, Kent in shock and Cas with an eerie calm.
The shifter fell to his knees, then face down on the concrete, blood pooling around him.
"Cas!" Evie screamed. She ran to him.
Sam knelt next to the shifter's body. Dean spared a frustrated glance at Evie and Cas, then went to meet his brother.
Evie approached Cas, visibly worried. Cas opened his coat so Evie could see his wound heal right before her eyes. He smiled as his eyes rose to meet hers. Then, he noticed the cut and bruise on her cheek. Now it was he who was worried.
"I'm fine," she said as she touched her cheek. She felt blood. "Oh."
Cas moved her hand and touched her cheek, healing the wound.
"Oh," she said, touching her smooth cheek. She smiled. "Wow."
"Let's go, chick flick," Dean said, as he and Sam hefted the body past Evie and Cas toward the car. "We've got work to do here."
They buried the body, called in an anonymous tip about Dr. Harding's body, and left town. They drove through the night, not stopping until the sun rose and they were in Vermont. They stopped for breakfast at a diner/motel called The Night Owl. After breakfast they checked into the motel – two rooms, as usual: one for Sam and Dean, one for Evie.
Evie had already gone into her room and closed the door. Cas lingered outside, alternating between staring at his feet and raising his fist to knock then dropping it to his side. Sam unlocked the door and went in; Dean remained outside, watching Cas's awkward display. He eventually walked over. He said nothing when he reached Cas, just gave his best look of disapproval.
Cas felt that tension again. He almost faltered from it, but he decided to mention it. "Dean …" he started.
"Cas," Dean interrupted. "What are you doing, man?"
"I am talking to you."
"No, I mean …" Dean pointed a thumb toward Evie's door.
Cas opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"You'd better just leave that alone," Dean said, as if he were in on something Cas wasn't. "Trust me. You can't handle her. She's a wild cat." Dean was determined to turn Cas off the Evie trail.
Cas frowned slightly, then his face brightened again. "I think I …"
"Do you love her?" Dean interrupted. This would get the angel. He's incapable of love, Dean thought. Logic: flawless.
Cas hesitated for a long time before answering. "Yeah, I think I do," he said with a growing smile. "I have to tell her."
"No!" Dean exclaimed a little too loudly. Neither of them realized that this caught Evie's attention inside her room. She was now poised against the door, listening intently to every word they said. "You can't tell her. She'd be pissed," Dean continued, playing it as far as he could. "Trust me, I know her."
Cas's face fell into confusion. "Oh."
"You have to keep this to yourself," Dean counseled.
Evie's ear pressed against the door.
"I feel … compelled to tell her," Cas said.
"There's a time and a place, Cas, and believe me, this is not the place or the time," Dean said with certainty. "We'll all get along a lot better if you just keep your mouth shut, OK?"
Evie's stomach sank.
"Alright," Cas relented. "I suppose you know more about these matters than I do."
Evie stood back from the door and tried to breathe. Was Cas breaking up with her?
Evie sat at the tiny, round, wooden table at one of two chairs; she sat precariously in the chair with four good legs. The other chair leaned noticeably to the left. It looked like a parakeet's breath could knock it over. A set of five knives were perfectly lined up in front of her, and one was in her hand. She had been sharpening the same side of the same blade for thirty minutes, mindlessly running the knife along the whetstone again and again, staring blankly at an out-of-focus scratch on the surface of the table.
She had spent the day stewing over the conversation she had overheard. Dean had invited her to grab dinner with them, but she had declined in an effort to avoid Cas. But, now, she was waiting for him, partly hoping he'd show and partly hoping he'd stay away.
Every second the room echoed with the slicing sound of the blade. Between slices, the air was deathly silent. Then, suddenly, Evie heard the tell-tale flutter. She glanced upward only with her eyes; their eyes locked. Her hands continued to sharpen her knife, never missing a beat.
They stared into each other's eyes in awkward silence for the longest five seconds of Cas' existence.
"Uh, hi," he attempted a smile. It came across as hesitant, uncertain.
Evie's eyes returned to her work as she turned the knife over to sharpen the dull side. At this point the side she had been working on could have drawn blood if someone looked at if the wrong way.
"Hi," she responded, tersely.
"What are you working on?" Cas tried to make conversation. His 'people skills' had never been 'good,' per se, but he felt more inept now than he ever had. Dean had advised him against revealing his feelings for her, but he felt compelled to say those three little words that weighed so heavily on humans. He pulled out the chair that leaned noticeably to the left and lowered his weight into the seat, never breaking eye contact with Evie. He could do this! He tumbled out of the chair to the left but caught himself before falling to the floor. He let out a nervous breath of a laugh and quickly stood up. He pushed the chair in quietly, frowning.
Evie raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes slightly.
"Sharpening knives," Cas offered.
"Mmm hmm."
"I would be happy to help …"
"That's OK," Evie interrupted. "I think I'm actually gonna turn in early tonight."
She stood and swiftly crossed to the bed to turn down the covers.
"Oh, well, then I'll watch over you while you sleep."
"No, that's OK."
Another long, awkward silence ensued. Evie stood with her arms across her chest, eyes diverted; Cas, with his hands at his sides, shoulders hunched a little, confused. He looked at the floor. The Cas he was before he met Evie would have simply left without another word, but the Cas he became after meeting Evie couldn't leave without telling her.
He took a deep breath. "Did I do something wrong?"
Evie thought about just asking Cas to leave, but her curiosity got the better of her.
"What were you and Dean talking about?"
"What?"
"Outside my door earlier…" Evie glared accusingly at her angelic boyfriend. "What can't you tell me, Cas?"
Evie caught Cas off guard, which didn't happen often – so far, Dean had been the only human to really surprise him. That was a characteristic that had attracted him to Evie. He exhaled sharply.
"You're done with me, right?" Evie scowled. "That's it? Just like that?"
As Evie spewed her accusation, her skin began to itch. She tried to hide it as best she could. Aafter all, this was a serious moment, but she was so damned itchy!
"What?" Cas smiled and grimaced, simultaneously. "No! … No. That's not it."
He crossed the room to where Evie stood with her arms across her chest in a very sullen fashion, scratching at her neck or arms once in a while. Now, her eyes were on the floor, her shoulders hunched. She couldn't look at Cas. He gently caressed her shoulders.
"I'm not … breaking up with you. I believe that is the term," Cas tried to look down into Evie's eyes, but she still wouldn't look up. He noticed the itching, but he felt this was a serious and potentially romantic moment, so he didn't mention it. He gently raised Evie's chin with his index finger. A single tear made its way down her cheek. Cas brushed it away, then he noticed what appeared to be a rash appearing along Evie's neck.
"Um, I don't wish to ruin the moment, but you appear to be having an allergic reaction."
"Yeah, I don't know what's going on," Evie replied, embarrassed as Hell. She scratched at her arms vigorously for a few seconds then stopped suddenly.
"What were you going to tell me?"
"Oh," Cas was suddenly very nervous again. "I was going to say … that I …" He paused. He looked at his shoes and tried to breath. It was difficult. This time, it was Evie who lifted his chin.
"I love you," Cas said. He watched her, carefully, eagerly, awaiting her reaction.
Evie smiled. "I love you, too, Castiel."
Cas, breathing a sigh of relief, moved closer to Evie and leaned in slowly for a kiss.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Evie and Cas both stopped just before their lips met. Cas sighed. Evie closed her eyes and exhaled sharply.
"Oh my God," she muttered, her teeth clasped tightly.
Crossing the room swiftly, she yelled, "Really?! Dean …" She jerked the door ajar and stopped short. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped. She froze for a brief moment. First, panic, then instinct took over … she moved for the shotgun behind the door.
Crowley tossed Evie across the room like a rag doll with the slightest flick of his wrist – the wrist that was holding a knife to Dean's taut throat.
"Feisty," Crowley smirked, as Evie's helpless form flew against the wall, knocking down the lopsided chair that Cas had awkwardly stumbled from just minutes earlier. Evie crumbled to the floor, struggling for air. Cas was drawn to two places at once: help Evie or kill Crowley? He stole a quick glance toward his woman. Their eyes met and the look there said "Get him." Cas' eyes darted toward Crowley.
"Ah ah ah, my old friend." Crowley brandished a pistol before Cas could move. He sauntered through the door, urging Dean along, knife remaining tightly bound to his hostage's carotid artery. The demon flamboyantly slammed the door with his mind. He never broke eye contact with Cas.
"Recognize this?" Crowley wiggled the gun, the one Crowley had casted from an angel blade.
Cas glared daggers at Crowley. His body remained perfectly still and calm, yet tense, ready to pounce, like an animal on the hunt.
"Of course, you do," said Crowley. He turned his gaze toward Evie, who was deliberately and silently rising to a standing position. She felt the presence of her knives on the table, though she dared not look.
"To you, though, lovely, this likely looks like your run-of-the-mill handgun. Well, let me tell you, dear, it most certainly is not," he grinned. He waited for a reaction. He didn't get one. He frowned almost indistinctly. Most people wouldn't have noticed. Evie noticed.
"Would you get to the damned point, already?" Dean hissed. Every word grated against Crowley's knife.
"Oh, I think we've got the point …" Crowley smirked as he poked the knifepoint against Dean's Adam's apple. Dean tried to pull his throat into itself, but no matter how far he pulled, Crowley's knife followed.
"CROWLEY!" Cas's angelic voice boomed. Cas's eyes began to glow. His anger was building.
Suddenly, Evie sneezed loudly four times in quick succession. She scratched violently at the rash on her chest.
The angel, the demon, and the hostage all stopped. The aura around Cas faded; Crowley's pressure on Dean's throat loosened slightly; even Dean's tension eased a bit. They all looked at the woman sneezing and scratching.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?" Crowley asked, a bit disgusted.
"Id dat Sulfur?" Evie asked through a congested nose.
Confusion painted the men's faces. Crowley's confusion quickly gave way to a knowing leer. He began to snigger. Within seconds he was howling with hoarse laughter.
"A hunter who's allergic to demons! That's the best thing I've ever heard!"
Dean and Cas looked at each other then back to Evie, who was wiping her nose on her sleeve and trying not to scratch at her rash.
"Oh! Here, love, I think I may have some Benadryl," Crowley said, laughter trailing off. He started to move toward Evie. Cas was in front of Crowley, within an inch of his face, staring down at the demon's forehead before Crowley could lift his foot from the floor.
Crowley peeled his eyes up Cas' collar, up his neck, up his face, to his smoldering eyes.
"You will not touch her," Cas stated simply. He sounded like old Castiel – pre-Apocalypse Castiel.
Crowley sneered and stepped back one step. But only one step. He glanced at Dean, still with the knife to his neck. Then, he glanced around the angel at Evie.
"So," Crowley said quietly, nodding faintly to Dean. "You're done with this one, then?"
Confusion and awareness nearly simultaneously struck Cas, the first like a vague wave, the second like a sudden avalanche. Crowley saw. He beamed.
In a blink Crowley disappeared and reappeared behind Evie. He wrapped his arms around her.
"CAS!" Evie screamed.
In a blink, they were gone.
"EVIE!" Cas called.
Dean and Cas were silent for a moment. Neither breathed. Then, Cas screamed, not in a human voice, but in a piercing angelic shriek. The aura that grew around him was blinding; the light was pure white.
"Oh, no!" Dean cried.
The entire motel was flattened, along with its four occupants, but not before the shockwave blew out all the walls, windows and doors. Cars flew for miles like toys. The lopsided chair incinerated, and so did Dean. He lived long enough to hear the high-pitched wail and flash back to the gas station after he climbed from his grave all those years ago: the first time he heard Cas' real voice. Then blackness.