Sam blinks. Once, twice, then it finally sinks in. "Wait, you mean…?"
"Yes." Carter states it with confidence. "24 hours, at most, and his heart and chest will be fixed. So let's not provoke him. If he decides to rip it out because he's being followed, that's a lot harder to come back from."
Sam's still processing, trying to figure out what to make of it. Cas narrows his eyes. "The fact still remains that as of now, Dean is once again a demon. And missing. Last time he managed to evade us for months, and that isn't what we came to you for."
A defensive scowl settles on Carter's face as she gives a dismissive roll of her eyes. "Relax, feathers. Him being a demon is exactly what's going to make him easier to find."
They both blink at her once again in confusion, but she's already striding back out into the hallway. There's a sense of purpose to her step as she ignores them both, heading back in the direction of the kitchen while Sam and Cas make the quick decision to follow. They exchange a glance, and for a moment it's clear Sam is still considering going after Dean. Then in the distance, there comes the unmistakable sound of the revving engine of a 1967 Impala.
Sam's eyes fly wide, panicked. "Shit," he murmurs, looking even more like he wants to bolt for the parking lot.
"I said we'll find him," Carter says tersely without even glancing at him, stepping over the debris on the floor to throw open several cupboards. She begins to gather several items, chemicals and powders and herbs, and amasses them on the central island counter.
Cas watches in agitated curiosity as she sets down a pestle and mortar. "How?"
"Business cards," Carter says without breaking her stride, and that causes both of them to blink.
"Excuse me?"
"You think I get my business just by word of mouth? I move cities every few months," Carter says, pulling open a drawer and taking out what appears to be a cheap, fold-out tourist map of Chicago. From what Sam can glimpse inside the drawer, she has several. "Each new place, I do a quick spell that finds the approximate location of any relevant parties in the area, usually demons, so I can send out business cards." She opens the map and spreads it across the countertop before turning her attention to the mortar.
Sam raises an eyebrow. "You have business cards?"
She looks up, disgruntled, then reaches a hand behind her to pull open a second drawer. She snatches a few white, rectangular cards from the top of a pile and flings them at him. "Here."
A couple of them land on the floor. A few on the counter top. Sam bites his tongue and picks one up.
It's plain and unembellished: an unfussy sans serif font across a few lines.
Dr. Carter
Demon physician and alchemist
Followed by a phone number and a two line address. Sam frowns at it. "What is it you even do? It doesn't say."
Carter shrugs, not looking up from the mixture she's currently grinding into a paste. "No, but one of those mysteriously appears in their back pocket, a lot of demons are curious enough to find out."
That only raises more questions. Ones that Sam doesn't have time for. "And how does this help Dean?" he asks instead. "We find him, and then what?"
"You're the expert on that. You've cured him before. You tell me." She adds something to the concoction and a pale, yellowish gas begins to drift up from the mortar with a hiss. The smell is acrid and bitter.
Sam wrinkles his nose. "It needs a ritual. Purified blood."
"I'm an alchemist. I think I know a purification procedure or two."
"And the blood?"
She pauses, looks up at him. "Well, you have eight pints."
That's at least one way they're on the same page, then.
Carter snatches up a handful of powder and drops it into the mix, causing the whole thing to sizzle before sparking with a bang.
Cas squints at the smoke trail it leaves behind. "So this is alchemy?"
Carter pulls a face. "No," she sneers. "This is witchcraft. Alchemy is a lot harder."
The concoction sizzles again. Carter takes that as her cue to add another ingredient. Sam looks down at the map. "You said it can trace all demons in an area. So, what? We're meant to go through all of them one by one? I'm not seeing how that helps."
"You want to find demons, you add sulfur," she says, emphasising that by adding a pinch of the yellow powder. "You want to find something more specific, well, you have to be a little more specific. Add something unique."
Sam swallows. "Like blood."
Her silence confirms it. There's enough of that left in the operating room, probably still clinging to the tubes of the bypass machine. It's enough to make Sam's stomach turn, but he knows what needs to be done. "I'll go get it."
He's about to leave, but Carter cuts him off. "No need."
Sam glances back, a questioning eyebrow raised.
She at least looks a little sheepish as she turns away and heads to the fridge, allowing Sam to see the rack of test tubes kept on a shelf before she selects one and brings it over. Sam can see the deep crimson liquid inside, and just about make out the text on the handwritten sticky label reading 'D. Winchester.' "Got that covered," Carter says, opening the vial and allowing a few drops to spill into the mortar.
It immediately leaves a sour taste in Sam's mouth. "Why do you have my brother's blood?"
"First time he came here, I ran a blood test."
"Does he know you have it?"
"Of course he does," she snaps, then hesitates. "Well, he sure knew I took it. Didn't tell him I kept it, but I thought that went without saying."
She picks up a spatula from the side and gives the mixture a final stir, then ladles out a small blob of thick black goop that she allows to drip onto the map. It takes Sam a second to realise it's over her address.
"Alright, here we go," Carter says as she takes a box of matches from one of the drawers. She strikes one and holds it over the globule of viscous black fluid. "Igne, in quo mihi." The flame touches the substance.
There's another brief flash, a tiny white spark where the match makes contact, then Carter steps back. The black goo starts to glow, a hot orange-red like molten rock as it slowly begins to creep across the map. Tendrils of black spread out from the central point. It takes a few seconds for one of them to establish dominance, then a clear line begins to inch along Carter's road.
"He's heading that way," she says. "Give it a couple of hours, should have him pinpointed."
Sam looks up, frowning. "A couple of hours?"
"It's not instantaneous. Besides, what's the point in tracking him while he's on the move? Let him settle somewhere he thinks he's safe."
"I could start tracking him him with GPS and traffic cameras in that time."
"Do it, then." She fixes him with a glare. "I do things my way; you're entitled to do them yours. But that doesn't involve me and I'm not about to argue over it."
Sam grits his teeth. Every second that ticks by is a second that Dean gets further away, and Sam isn't about to sit and twiddle his thumbs when he could already be searching. He especially isn't about to start taking orders from her. "Fine," he growls, then turns and strides for the door. He only hesitates when he realises he isn't being followed. There's a pause, and Sam glances back. "Cas?"
The angel looks uncomfortable. Apologetic. "Sam, my grace," he tries to explain. "I think I should wait with Dr Carter. I'd only slow you down."
Frustration tugs on Sam's fingers and makes his fists clench. He wants to argue, except he remembers last time all too well. Cas without his grace, though it pains Sam to admit it, is more a hindrance than a help. "Alright," he sighs, and doesn't miss the way Cas bows his head in shame. "I guess we'll see which of us find him first, then."
"If you're gonna jack a car, leave the Jeep," he hears Carter call out after him when he's back in the corridor. "It's mine."
If it didn't appear that, in some way, she's still trying to help, Sam's sure he'd make a point of taking it.
Carter pours herself another drink after Sam's gone. Vodka this time, one shot of Stolichnaya in the bottom of a glass before she decides to go straight to the bottle and necks it. Cas gets offered some as a seeming afterthought, the bottle thrust half-heartedly in his direction, and he turns it down with a shake of his head and a look of distaste.
Carter shrugs. "Suit yourself."
On the table, the line of goop, glowing like a filament, continues to inch further along the map. Cas steps closer, brow furrowing as he studies it. "Is this in real time?"
"Nope. Waiting for it to catch up."
She's back to leaning casually against the countertop again, though there's still a disgruntled frown on her face that says she's feeling the stress as much as he is. Well, not that much. Most likely not even close.
Cas straightens up again to fix her with a stare. His head tilts to one side, watching her bring the bottle to her lips again as the muscles in her throat work to swallow. There's a beat before she seems to notice and aims that ever-present glare in his direction. "What? Got something on my face?"
"You're unhappy about failing." He says it bluntly. Perhaps it should have occurred to him to have more tact, but from her reaction, the observation is accurate.
She pouts, drinks again. "Wouldn't anyone be?"
"Perhaps. But why, exactly, did you care to help Dean at all? He's a hunter. You've allied yourself with demons. Everything says he should be your enemy."
Carter shrugs. "He offered to pay."
"Is the loss of income really so distressing for you?"
"No. I fucked up a surgery I'm supposed to be good at. Bruised ego, I guess."
Cas isn't sure how much he believes that.
Carter finishes what's left in the bottle with a final gulp before tossing it onto the side and heading for another of the cupboards. This time she pulls out what looks like a steel briefcase from somewhere close to the floor before setting it down beside the used beakers on the countertop and flipping open the clasps. The top gets lifted up and propped open, allowing Cas to see the plastic placeholders inside making space for three syringes and accompanying vials of medication and hypodermic needles, situated below panels of blue insulating material in the lid. What she intends to fill it with, Cas figures the next few seconds will eliminate the need to guess.
It's entirely expected when she goes for the fridge as her next target, pulling out several vials of clear liquid and inspecting the labels. "I presume you aren't debating how best to treat Dean with some combination of saline and sugar solutions?" Cas prompts.
Carter chooses one of the bottles then sets the others back inside the fridge door, before reaching for a conical flask from beside the sink and setting both containers down beside each other. "When we're dealing with an uber-powerful demon, it's gonna take more than a bog standard sedative to bring him down."
He watches her throw open yet another cabinet to reveal rows of bottles and flasks, many of them with peeling yellow labels that he suspects must be over half a century old. Carter plucks more ingredients from the array of bases and reagents and starts mixing.
He eyes her cautiously. "Just how powerful of a sedative are we talking about?"
"Something powerful enough I'm sure it would knock even your socks off."
A frown creases his brow. "A sedative, no matter how powerful, shouldn't possess explosive capabilities."
"No, it's…" Carter rolls her eyes in exasperation. "I'm being figurative. Could you pass the nitroglycerin?"
She jerks her head in the direction of the shelf beside his right shoulder. Cas turns to it, scanning the array of evidently stolen medicine bottles with an eyebrow raised. "Figurative?" he challenges as he selects the relevant bottle and holds it out to her. "Yet you want nitroglycerin."
"It's good for treating heart conditions," she retorts. "Thought he could use some of that."
The concoction is surprisingly unreactive as she continues to mix, exhibiting no bubbling or hissing or puffs of smoke. By the time Carter finishes up and reaches for a syringe to draw it into a vial, the liquid is still thin, watery and crystal clear.
"Ought to do it," Carter murmurs, measuring out a dose and depositing it into the carry case. When she returns to the fridge, it draws a raised eyebrow from Cas.
"So, you've clearly anticipated the need to sedate Dean," he remarks, watching her draw a tube ready-filled with an inky black substance from the top shelf, then set it down in the second slot. There's a label attached where Cas can just about make out a handwritten scrawl. In normal circumstances he'd be able to read it without issue even at 500 yards, but with his grace waning, everything is fuzzy. "And what exactly do you intend to do to him with that one?"
Carter chuckles, a wry smile spreading over her face as she equips a needle than snaps the case shut. "Nothing. That one's for me."
"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I've fought Dean once before. Back then he was human, and already difficult enough to overpower with that thing on his arm. This should put us on more even footing."
That throws Cas for a loop. "You've fought Dean?"
"He didn't tell you? Son of a bitch came at me with my own scalpel. Didn't exactly leave me much choice."
Dean hadn't told him. It makes Cas' stomach churn uncomfortably as he wonders what else his friend had been hiding. "So what is it?"
"The alchemical term is Azoth. Also known as…"
"The Ultimate Cure." He interrupts her, and gets a look of both annoyance and surprise.
"When did you become an alchemist?"
"I'm an angel. I was there when humans first discovered alchemy."
"Huh." A disgruntled look crosses her face. "Perhaps you could tell me the perfect recipe then. I've only spent decades trying to find it."
"I'm afraid I don't know. I believe that was something my father intended for humankind to discover for itself."
Carter scoffs. "I think humankind dropped the ball on that front. These days I feel like I'm going at it solo." Irritated, she returns her attention to watching the spell at work atop the table.
A few seconds pass in silence, both of them lost in thought. From everything Cas has seen of the past few centuries, he supposes she isn't far from the truth. Alchemy is a dying art. Arguably, for good reason. Cas has seen the vacant spots in Heaven once meant to be occupied by Edward Kelly and John Dee, but right now, he really can't bring himself to care too deeply about the fate of Carter's soul.
"Can it be used to cure Dean?" he eventually asks, drawing her attention again and prompting the return of the characteristic scowl.
"Doesn't work like that. Being a demon isn't a disease."
"After everything you must have seen of demons, you truly believe that?"
Indifferent as ever, Carter only shrugs. "It's not an illness. It doesn't compromise the body's ability to function; decrease its efficiency in any way. It's just a change of state. A demon isn't a diseased human any more than ice is diseased water. It's just a different way of existing."
"I'm sure Dean would beg to differ."
"Well, he can differ once we've found him." Carter reaches for the bottle of vodka on the side, then remembers that she finished it and instead goes for the kettle. "Fuck it, I'm making tea."
Again, she only seems to offer him some as an afterthought, grabbing a mug and waving it vaguely towards him. He turns it down, eyes fixed on the orange line crawling over the map atop the island instead.
"They say Azoth in its true form is the cure to death itself," he muses aloud, not really paying attention as she busies herself.
"Supposedly. Though, if I've not distilled the true form yet, I doubt anyone has."
There's one pertinent question he still hasn't asked. "What use do you have for Azoth?"
"Are you seriously asking what use I have for the ultimate cure to any ailment?" Her tone is biting. Defensive.
Cas' eyes narrow. There's clearly a lot she isn't telling him, yet even now, he doesn't get the sense she's untrustworthy. Not truly. Her desire to help Dean, at the very least, seems genuine. "Forgive my curiosity. I've learned a great deal about humanity since I encountered the Winchesters, but you're the first human I've met who seems to be able to strike deals with demons on equal footing. Add to that, you appear to have achieved one of the great goals of alchemy and admit to having the intent to use the product on yourself. Yet, despite being a doctor, it would also appear you have no intent to use it on anyone else. I do have questions."
"I'd say you have too many." She keeps her back to him as she pours the tea, shoulders hunched.
He asks the next question abruptly, drawing a scowl as she finally turns and fixes her gaze on him, eyes hard. "How old are you?"
"And there's another one."
Cas isn't backing down. "Older than you look." It's said as a statement, not a question.
Carter huffs, looking like she's about to retaliate further, but then realises he has her. No point trying to evade it now. "I'm 91."
Somehow, Cas doubts even Dean knew that. "Then I'd say your formula has been...effective."
Carter sips at her tea, hiding her face in the mug. "I used that stuff to bring myself back from death's door. Been trying to tweak the formula ever since so one day I won't have to keep topping it up just avoid regressing into the state of 'dying from radiation sickness'. Not there yet, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."
"Tricks such as what you put in that box?"
She stops mumbling into the mug just enough that he can see her grin. "That particular variant has an incredibly high potency matched only by the shortness of its half life. It wears off fast. I take that, it'll ramp me up to a state where I could probably take on the Devil himself without breaking a sweat, but it only gives me a window of about half an hour to bring Dean in."
"What if you miss the window?"
"I won't."
"You seem very confident."
"Well, if I do, I have neither the means nor the inclination to gather the ingredients to make more, so it isn't really an option. I don't intend to fuck up twice in one day." It's said in a tone of bitter self-deprecation, but it further stokes Cas' curiosity. Even for an angel, alchemy is a mysterious field.
"And what exactly is the process for distilling Azoth?"
She ignores him, looking instead at the map. "Huh." Her eyebrow raises as she sips again at her tea.
It's obvious she's avoiding the question, but as Cas follows her gaze, he very quickly finds he doesn't care. The fluid has ceased creeping like molten lava over the paper, and instead has solidified into what looks more like a black, glassy pebble resting atop the map somewhere in the region of downtown.
"Would you look at that," Carter says. "We've got him."
