PART THREE
Hastily, Dean grabbed his favourite gun from amongst the other weapons lying on the table where he had sat earlier to clean them. Back when he had still believed that this was a nice happy holiday they were having. Those were the moments... He pointed the gun at the stranger and growled, "Who are you?"
The stranger stayed silent and just stood patiently, looking almost curiously into the barrel of the gun as if he was it expecting to have Skittles or something equally harmless fall out of it. "Who! The! Hell! Are you? And how do you know my name?" Dean asked again stepping closer to his brother and this way putting himself between the man and Sam. For just a second he glanced down at him, blissfully unaware of what was happening. "What did you do to my brother?" "Me?"
The man made the perfect facial expression of innocence, eyes wide open and brows curved as if they wanted to wander off on their own but Dean didn't buy it. Wouldn't buy it if it was Mother Theresa herself who had come back from the dead to save their sorry souls. He needed to protect Sam. Had to. And with his brother sleeping away the danger, Dean didn't even have to worry about Sam scolding "What did I tell you about ask questions first, then shoot?" Dean pulled the trigger.
For a moment, the loud crash made his ears ring. To Dean's surprise, though, the bullet didn't kill the man. Actually, it didn't do anything but rip a hole into the front of the stranger's shirt. The stranger who looked at Dean with eyes that said "I can't believe you shot Bambi". His mouth though said something else. "Stop that! That is my only shirt."
Dean just stood there, mouth agape and eyes squinted tight in expectation of an attack that didn't come. His weapon was cold and heavy and totally useless in his hands.
"Dean, I'd suggest you get out of here. NOW!"
With that, the stranger moved forward and grabbed Dean's arm as if to pull him along with him.
"Hey, no touching!" Dean yelled and shook the hand off, torn between utter confusion and amusement about the demon's fruitless attempts to kidnap him. "This is ridiculous. What kind of a demon are you?"
"Dean, you are only making this harder for yourself," The stranger replied.
"Well, if you know me you also know that I hate the easy way out." Dean chuckled as he moved into a fight mode and beckoned to the stranger.
The stranger sighed and tried again, sounding as if he was trying to lure a child out of a Toy's R Us. "Dean, we need to go."
In response, Dean threw the first punch, getting him straight on the nose.
It didn't even faze the stranger. The man's head tilted backwards and when after straightening it again, he stared in wonder at Dean. "What was that for?" "My God, this is ridiculous," Dean sighed. "You're the worst demon-in-training I ever met." "Demon-in-training?" "Hey, we're supposed to fight now," Dean explained loud and clear now.
A second later, Dean felt the explosion of a fist on his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards against his still unmoving brother. Another punch hit him in the right eye, followed by a lax, "Can we go now?" Dean hit back and felt mildly satisfied when his fist hit the man right into the stomach. Normal people would now have doubled over in pain, remarkably close to having their lunch reappear. This man...apparently not. "Dean, please! This is a waste of time." Which didn't stop Dean from hitting again and again.
His next kick was hard enough to have the man floundering and he had to grip the edge of a bookshelf in order to not fall. This little proof of weakness was definitely more to Dean's liking and he attacked anew when his strike was answered by a series of punches. It felt nice to have an opponent answer in a proper way and since the man didn't show any signs of evil hand mojo, Dean was almost enjoying the little exchange of testosterone while luring the man out of the library and into the hallway. Away from his sleeping little brother.
Pretending to have lost his balance, he tripped hard and landed on his butt, scrambling backwards until he hit the wall. The demon followed, which was exactly what Dean had wanted him to do. The large devil's trap he had drawn on the very first day in this house was well hidden under a worn carpet and Dean expected the man to run against the invisible barrier any second now.
It didn't happen, though. Was it the wrong carpet? Was this some kind of a demon-update? Were they now unfazed by the strong sigil that had once made things a lot easier? That would be exceptionally bad, Dean pondered and aimed for his last option. The bottle of holy water was standing on his nightstand only a few meters away behind the door. Getting up from his sitting position he stumbled around the corner and into his room, grabbing for the small bottle, opening it while rolling over the bed so he would have at least one object between him and the stranger. The spray of water hit the man into the face and Dean expected, no, wanted to hear him scream and curse but the only it did was making him wet.
Huh, so he could rule out the demonic variety after all. Dean bent over, trying to catch his breath. "Dad sent you, didn't he?"
The stranger—not even huffing—just stood and gazed at Dean. "Uhhm, no."
"Then who the hell are you?"
"I'm an angel."
Dean snorted out loud at what had to have been the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. Angels were way up there along side unicorns. Sam would love that. The stranger stood silent, licking away the water that was dripping down his nose. "Come again?"
"I'm an angel. You know? Flapping wings, little naked putti with curly hair?"
Which was the furthest from the truth possible. Dean took a few seconds to look at the man. Really look at him. And he was surprised that he hadn't realized it earlier. This man, unlike any demons he had met, had style. He was about 6' feet tall, slender-built with shoulders that were hanging low, as if he was bored. Dark curly hair with every strand lying perfectly styled at its assigned position. His face had remarkably friendly features, brown eyes and soft, tight lips, which made it hard to tell his age. It could've been twenty, it could've been forty. The most surprising thing, though, were his clothes. Under a light beige-coloured jacket, Dean could read the glittering lettering of an R.E.M touring emblem from 2004. In fact, the hole he had made with the bullet was centered in the semi-circle of the R. "R.E.M?" He couldn't help but burst out amusedly. "What?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "The Ascent of Man is a sign of God. I swear."
Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. This being was convinced that he was an angel of the Lord. Angels were myths; they didn't exist. Dean refused to believe that they existed because if they did, why the hell hadn't they jumped in and saved his mother? She was the one who first told him about them and had believed in them with all her soul and look how that worked out.
Dean shook his head, "Yeah, whatever. I really appreciate the friendly small talk and all but how about you tell me the truth this time?"
With that, the angel let out a tiny sigh.
"I have been following you for weeks now and even tried to contact you a few times. You're one hard minded dude, Mister."
"Contact me? Never heard of a phone?" "How conventional." The man smirked. "No, I tried the more direct way but you don't seem to listen." "Listen? I..." Dean stopped, face falling in the moment of understanding. "Wait, you are the voice? Chatting off my ear with all that damn whispering?"
"Well, it was not just me," He defended himself with a pout. "I was chosen to reveal myself to you because you wouldn't listen to us."
"Heck of a way of contacting me! I still would have preferred the phone, man. It feels like I have a freaking baseball stadium in my head." Dean all but screamed, angry now.
Just then, the lights did a lovely display of flickering on and off. Dean immediately turned to go back into the library in order to check on Sam but was stopped as the angel stepped right in front of him, hindering his departure.
"Dean... !"
Dean just shook his head, "No, you listen! I'm not going anywhere. Especially with you. It's snowing heavily outside. And Sam is a little out of it, in case you haven't noticed. Oh, I forgot. You did notice because this is your fault."
"Dean, please ..." The lights went back to flickering and both men looked up. "I'm staying." Dean answered and tried to push past the man, still wary and expecting a new attack any second. A hand wrapped around his arm and even though Dean itched to respond with another punch, he was sick of dancing around the situation.
They looked into each other's eyes and Dean swallowed the uneasiness the man's proximity had managed to wake inside of him. "Let go of me." Dean growled between clenched teeth. "I need to go to my brother."
The hand around his arm was pulled back, slowly, and Dean waited another second before he dared to turn his back to the stranger. "There's something in the storm," he said when Dean was already out of the room and halfway to the library. The lights were still flickering, a rapid display of electricity-induced lightning and it hurt Dean's eyes. "And it comes closer every second."
Only now could Dean hear the angry howls of the wind again, as if the rush of adrenalin had somehow blanketed the things going on around him. The temperature seemed to have fallen a few degrees, even in the library where the fire was burning merrily in the fireplace.
"Dean, you have got to leave this place NOW! Leave Sam and GO!" The angel repeated, following behind Dean.
"Why? Because of the little storm outside? Hell no." Something heavy hit the house, breaking glass. The impact hard enough that Dean could feel it through the soles of his feet. "Not without Sam."
"You can't save him. You both will die here." "This is stupid. Stop that," Dean bellowed, surprised at his own rage. "Isn't it more than enough to drive me insane with your freaking mind messing? Now you want me to leave my brother? Fine angel you are."
That seemed to have hit a nerve since the man looked almost apologetic. Then he sighed another of his The world rests upon my shoulder-sighs and walked on. "Fine. Let's get Sam. We've got to hurry though. And don't blame me if you get hit over the head by an angry whizzing tree trunk and die from a skull fracture."
"You're one shiny little happy pill, aren't you?"
Dean led the way back into the library where Sam was still sleeping peacefully with his head pillowed on books and an arm. As he reached the table, Dean couldn't help but think to himself that this was a first in a long time that he had actually seen Sam sleep without the nightmares or worries that usually plagued his sleep.
But it didn't help his situation, which meant they needed Sam awake and kicking. "Wake him!" Dean demanded with the most menacing tone he could muster. "I can't." "What? You can't or don't want to?" "Look, Dean..." "No, you look. This is nuts. This is really nuts. Just wake him up and we're out of here. Where's the problem?"
Sam didn't even twitch at Dean's angry voice.
"Sam must not be allowed to awaken. The... being... get stronger by feeding on his energy, which is at its peak when he is awake."
"Wh...what?" That was just crazy shit load and Dean knew it. Or at least hoped so. Pinching his arm again, he regretted not waking up again. "You're not asleep. And you're as sane as I am." "Well, that's comforting, Mr. Basket Case." He replied and gestured to the angel to come and help him with Sam. "Could you at least help me get him to the car?" As much as Dean didn't want the angel to even be near Sam—much less touch him—Dean knew that he couldn't get Sam safely to the Impala all by himself with the storm raging outside.
Dean took hold of Sam's upper body while the angel took hold of Sam's legs. Finally, with a nod to the angel, Dean led the way to the Impala, struggling against the heavy winds whose strength felt like hundreds of thousands of fingernails scratching on Dean's skin. Despite the Impala being parked a relatively short distance away from the front door, the walk seemed like miles.
Just as the three of them finally reached the Impala, a large branch fell on to the wind shield, smashing it as another one was launched at them. Dean and the angel immediately lowered Sam to the ground in order to protect him. Dean turned to see if the coast was clear and was surprised to see the angel standing in front of him—protecting him as he was protecting Sam.
"Hey, you know that you don't need to protect me," He yelled over the gusts of wind roaring above their heads.
"It is my task to protect you from harm," The man replied. He stoically stood on guard as his jacket flapped frantically in the wind.
Not even a second later, a huge, thick branch came spinning out of control towards them. Immediately, the angel straightened up and absorbed the hit as if it were nothing. The branch pierced his side and to Dean's shock, the stranger wasn't fazed.
"Are you okay?" Dean yelled from his position lying on top of Sam where he had thrown himself to protect his sleeping sibling from the flying wood.
There was no reply, just a disbelieving glance down his body and a mildly annoyed frown. "Great! That was my favourite shirt." He tucked at the branch, pulling it out of his body. There was a small amount of blood from what Dean could see but not enough to be life threatening, not even if it had hit a human.
A few minutes later, the wind had died down, as had the wooden missiles. Still lying over Sam, Dean felt safe enough to get up and approach the self-appointed angel who was still standing in the same position he had assumed when they had reached the Impala.
"You okay?" Dean repeated as the angel slowly turned around to look at the damaged car for the first time.
"You can't drive like this." "Ya think?" Dean yelled back and bit back another tirade of cussing. Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean glanced at his four-wheeled baby whose wind shield was smashed, and sighed in sympathy. "We're sitting ducks out here," he snarled and grabbed Sam's torso again to stagger toward the house.
The angel wannabe nodded and picked up Sam's other arm.
Like hungry wolves, the storm was howling around them. Dean pinched his eyes against the biting cold. Snowflakes were stuck on his eyelashes and he tried to blink them away since he had his hands full with his brother's weight. Still supporting Sam's other side, the angel was barely visible, and when Dean yelled at him, his voice was almost swallowed by the ruckus around him.
"Back into the house!"
The angel must have understood, since they moved simultaneously into the same direction where Dean presumed the building to be, even though he couldn't really see it. The snow was melting in his shoes and in his soaked jeans, creating an icy and slippery substance in his socks. It was disgusting and freezing and Dean swore himself they were only taking jobs in Florida from now on. Somewhere warm. Hell fires sounded like Heaven for a moment.
Leaning heavily against the wind, the trek back to the house seemed to last for ages and only the dead weight of his brother made Dean stumble on tiredly. Luck, though, was on their side for a change because when they finally neared the building, they were actually right in front of the main entrance, where the door was wide open, the oak portal forcefully swinging open and close like it was a ball of wool in the paws of a little kitten. It almost hit him when he came close enough to hold it open for them.
"Go!" he ordered the angel to go in first and his brother's weight was lifted from him when he grabbed for the door to pull it closed behind them.
Unfortunately, it didn't get any warmer when he finally managed to shut the door. Instead, the only benefit was that the entrance hall in complete darkness, only disturbed by the stranger's heavy breathing. Since when do angels have to breathe anyway?
"Fine angel you are!" snorted Dean. He blinked a few times, hoping to make his eyes get used to the darkness faster but it didn't accomplish anything but a sudden rush of dizziness. "Don't you usually make frogs rain and oceans divide? What about you do your mojo about that storm out there like...say...now?" He didn't wait for an answer but stumbled on until his feet hit the side of someone's hip. Leaning down, he grabbed into the slowly receding darkness and lifted Sam back into his arms. "At least you could help me get him back into the library."
"I don't think..."
"Shut up, Casper!"
"Casper?"
"Forget it!"
"I'm not..."
Dean interrupted him impatiently, ruffling through his hair in utter annoyance "You do have a name, right?"
"Should I?"
Sam's weight lessened when indeed the other man took his brother's other arm.
"I don't know. You tell me! You're the freaking angel expert here."
"You sound angry."
In the distance, Dean could see the door frame of the library still illuminated by the light they hadn't switched off when they left the room. He hoped the fire hadn't burned down already. They were freezing and needed the warmth now more than ever. His brother's skin was cold and clammy under his fingers and the closer he got to the light, the more he realized that they were still covered in melting snow. It was running along Sam's neck and down his collar where it probably did not feel very comfortable. Not even when you were a sleeping giant unaware of being dragged through an unstable building while an avalanche seemed to want to stomp the house so deep it came out in hell.
"Angry? Me? Naaaah!" Oh, Dean was almost proud of how convincing he sounded. They had finally entered the library and he let Sam sink to the floor, cradling Sam's head before it could bump on the floor. Carefully, he pulled him a few inches closer to warmth before reaching for a few logs and putting them into the red glowing ashes. To his relief, the dry material crackled hungrily and a moment later, small flames were reaching up, appreciating the offered feed and thereby sending new waves of heat.
Finally, Dean let himself sink down next to his brother and put his hand on Sam's chest where he found a steady beat and the repeated movements of breathing. Almost—almost—he was jealous of Sam of not having to endure the miserable companion who was standing next to him like a grumpy old man he who had missed his very last bus.
"I'm not angry." Dean repeated. "Just...mildly irritated."
"Uhuuh!" The man nodded and looked so much like he wanted to add: "And how do you feel about that?" that Dean almost started laughing. It must have shown on his face because the man asked. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Dean answered and quickly averted his eyes to study his brother's sleeping form. "So, what am I supposed to call you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Casper..." He pronounced the name extra clear and his opponent made an offended face.
"Okay, I get it. Stop calling me like I'm transparent. Foremost, I'm not a ghost. You of all people should know that." Dean rolled his eyes. "And I actually do have more than four fingers on one hand."
Dean needed a few seconds before he understood that the angel actually knew what he was talking about.
"Wait! How come you know Casper? You got cable up there?" He made a gesture up.
"And how come you give me strange names of fictional characters?" The angel replied with a counter question.
"Okay, that's it!" Dean yelled and was surprised when the storm appeared to answer with a loud howling. "Stop playing games!" Slowly but surely this whole scene was getting surreal. "I want to know what the hell is going on here. Why can't you just wake up Sam? Running would be much easier if I didn't have to carry him around, you know."
"I told you I can't. It'd make things worse."
"Oh, worse?" Dean shrugged, noncommittally. "Worse than this?"
"Oh yes!" The angel replied.
There was a loud crashing noise from somewhere inside the house and seconds later, a cold wind swept over them. A window had shattered, letting the furious draught inside like a mob of starving people searching for food. The fire shrunk considerately and the temperature dropped a few degrees until Dean could see his breath form little clouds in front of his mouth. Quickly, he got up to close the door.
"This won't be sufficient, Dean." The angel said, sounding like a patient father with his son.
"It's a door and it will be closed. That's sufficient enough if you ask me." He returned back to Sam and poked around in the fire to get it back to burning. "So, it looks like I'm going to be stuck with you, here, for a while. So, how am I supposed to call you?"
"Well, you're showing a certain affinity to the name of Casper."
"That's not funny."
The angel snickered. "Matter of perspective."
"You're getting on my nerves."
Again, the angel grinned. "You're welcome." He sobered and looked around when his eyes fell on the stack of vinyl records that lay scattered in a shelf. "You can call me... Bob. Bob Marvin."
"You're serious?"
"Bob Dylan and Marvin Gaye were excellent singers and songwriters."
"Bob Marvin?" Dean sighed heavily. "Sure, why not. A name as good as any." It made no sense to be surprised about anything any more, Dean thought, and his gaze wandered back to the window. Behind the glass, the darkness was only disturbed by the twirling snowflakes rushing by so fast that the view could totally pass as a TV test pattern in the early morning hours. So, they had fire, an entertaining TV program and bad company. A night like any other, it seemed.
Except that the lights decided to start to flicker vehemently again, only to go out with a hiss. With the darkness came back voices, whispering, taunting and more than a little disturbing.
"Dude, could we please stop that whole whispering now. I can hear you just fine." Dean complained, even though deep down he had already guessed that it wasn't the angel who was responsible for the eerie sounds. His assumption was confirmed a second later.
"Sorry, Dean. But that's not my doing. And it's not anyone of the others either."
"Others?"
"Yes, Dean, others. Or do you think I'm the only angel in this hemisphere?"
"A man can hope..." muttered Dean. But he was still hearing voices and that fact did nothing to assure him. Maybe he still was going crazy and hearing angels was just a credible excuse for the time being. Now though...
A steady breeze filled the air even though the room they were in was still mostly secure. The wind outside was still picking up, hammering against the house, whistling through gaps between the windows and walls. Listening intently, he could hear a certain rhythm in it, a pattern, like music. Rattling, whooshing, scraping like someone was shaking a rice filled tin can. Words spoken in urgent whispers. A foreign language that Dean couldn't decipher.
He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He really had thought the whole spook thing was over. At first, he had only heard the angels talking, which in itself was grotesque enough for his liking but now there were still voices. Questioningly, he looked at Bob Marvin, who looked about as worried as Dean felt and apparently had disturbing ability to read minds.
"You're not crazy. I can hear them too."
"What? You do?"
"Yes, and I assure you it has got nothing to do with us."
"Us being you and your angel bros, you said that already."
"When you say it like that, it sounds awfully incriminating, you know?" Bob pointed his finger in Dean's direction.
"Fine, strike me with lightening, Boooob." Dean said, lengthening the 'o' in an almost obscene way. "God help me. I'm stuck with an angel who likes to hear himself talk. Awesome."
"Don't you think He knows who He set you up with? And I already regret having chosen that name." Bob sighed and stood up swiftly. "I'm afraid we can't stay here."
"What? Why not?"
In this moment, the window exploded inwards with a deafening crash. The fire was put out by a single blow of icy wind, taking the last source of light with it.