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CHAPTER SIX

Dean Winchester

'Cause your soul is on fire
A shot in the dark
What did they aim for
When they missed your heart?
~ "Shot in the Dark," Within Temptation

xxx

"There are a few things that I have to take care of before we just zip off in the machine, though," I remind the Doctor, glancing over at Sam, who's speaking softly to the pale, apparently resurrected man. "We got a friend waiting for us back at the motel—an angel, actually, and he's gonna be expecting us to come back unless we let him know where we are."

"An angel?" The self-proclaimed alien looks absolutely delighted. "As in—wings and a harp angel? Soldier of God angel? Never really believed in God myself, or at least not Earth's God, but if you've got a real angel to show me I suppose I'm open for—"

"Yeah, well—I don't think he'll necessarily want to be showed off," I mutter, "but the guy is a bit unpredictable. Don't be expecting much, he's not that impressive. A bit awkward, really. Awkward with puppy eyes. Sort of an unfortunate combination."

"Oh, I'm sure he's lovely." The Doctor waves a hand vaguely in my direction. "Off you go, fetch your angel—I could give you a ride, if you'd like…"

I glance quickly around the wide walls of the TARDIS, balling my hands up into fists at my sides. It's a spaceship, fundamentally, no matter how odd it might look on the outside. And a spaceship, no matter how try I hard to separate them in my mind, can't help but draw rather extreme parallels to an airplane. Just the thought causes a light prickle of sweat to threaten my forehead, and I shake my head quickly, forcing a grin. "Nah, think I'll pass this time. The place isn't far away."

"Fine, fine. You'll get plenty of chances in the future. Off you go, now, we'll be waiting!"

"See ya, Doc. Sam, don't wander off anywhere," I add to my brother, who barely looks up at me, nodding slightly, before returning to Sherlock, who he's way too interested in. It's not like he hasn't seen a resurrected person before—his own brother is one; hell, he himself has been pulled back up once or twice.

I suppose Sherlock is what we're here for, though, after all. We're supposed to be helping this weird little crew just as much as they're supposed to be helping us, and our demon expertise is where we're useful there. They're all wondering why the dude got resurrected—which is all a bit fussy, in my opinion, as long as they know how it happened, the best thing to do would probably be to shut up and not look the gift horse in the mouth. Whatever, though. If they want to get themselves tangled up in a whole load of shit, it's not my place to stop them.

I manage to locate the console bay and find my way across it, ignoring the presence of three women in it—the brunette one who wouldn't quit flirting with Sam, and the other two, the couple that we met in the little hospital ward. They aren't too bad-looking, themselves, especially the Scot, but I don't dwell on it.

"Dean?" the blonde checks. Rose—that's her name, easy enough to remember. "Where are you going?"

"Gotta go clear up a few things at the motel. I'll be back soon," I throw casually over my shoulder, pushing open the door of the TARDIS and stepping out.

It's raining. That's the first thing I notice. Clouds have completely closed over the evening sky since we entered the impossible box, hurrying its transformation to night, and I can barely see three feet in front of me. Dark, rattling moisture streaks the bricks of the alley walls around us and batters at my jacket, soaking my hair and neck in instants. I grit my teeth against it and squint into the dimness. Maybe I should have accepted the Doctor's ride—after all, it seemed warm and light in there, while out here it's cold and dark as shit. I shake it aside, though. I could use some time to myself, and, for some reason, I want to be able to talk to Cas in real privacy before I go about introducing him to everyone else.

The trek back seems to take longer than it should, until at one point I'm wondering whether I might actually have passed the right block. But then I can see the flickering neon sign through the noisy gale, topping the sad-looking little row of rooms. Cas must be in there somewhere, waiting for us to get back. That twist in my stomach, the same one from the day when he first agreed to hang around and look out for us, comes back, and I try to ignore it, just mindlessly forcing my feet forward.

It's no drier under the motel's awning than it is in the empty street. Wind is lashing the rain all the hell over the place, and I can tell that at least some houses are gonna be flooded. It's like some kind of friggin' hurricane, right in the middle of Iowa. I fumble with the door handle, struggling to get inside, but a harsh voice interrupts me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

It's so low, so fierce, that it takes me a moment to realize that it's Cas who's speaking. I whip around and find his bright blue eyes centimeters away from mine, his furious face close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheeks. My own breath freezes in my lungs, and I stumble backwards, crashing against the still-locked door of our motel room.

"Dude, back off. What's up?"

"That man. The Doctor. How do you know you can trust him?"

"I…" I swallow. There's no reason, absolutely no reason at all for him to be freaking out like this. I step sideways, moving away from the wall, and back away into the street, trying to gain some sort of distance from his powerful, angry presence. But he only stalks after me, his tan trench coat stained dark by the rain, his hair plastered across his face.

"Everything about this man is suspicious!" he insists. "You need…" Then his expression flickers for a moment, and he takes a deep breath, straightening up and letting his voice smooth out just a bit. "You need to look at this rationally. He could be part of the very people who are trying to kill you."

"Hold on, here, dude, how do you even know about the Doctor? I was just coming to tell you about—"

"I know you were. Do you think I take my eyes off of you and your brother for even a moment? I saw it all happen, but I could hardly expose myself, realizing how untrustworthy this creature is! I don't know what sort of monster he is, but he isn't human, and you can't rely on him. I'll retrieve Sam and bring him back, and we can move away from here before something happens."

"Cas," I interrupt, hoping that my tone is even. "We're not going nowhere just yet, okay? You need to calm down. It's not like he's just a creeper in a white van, he's got friends, one of who killed the thing we were hunting and apparently has the hots for Sam, too. They're the only lead we have. You're great, man, you're awesome at protecting us and all, but we can't just rely on you. We need to actually try to figure out what's going on."

"The way to 'figure out what's going on' is not to throw yourself so idiotically into the danger! You can't risk this, Dean." His voice rasps on my name, like he struggles in saying it, and I raise an eyebrow. I don't know how to interpret this—any of this. He's acting freaking insane. Paranoid. And it's pissing me off, I can't deny that. The warm feeling in my stomach is long gone, boiled away. There's no reason that he needs to be such a dick, just because Sam and I decide to make a move of our own. No reason at all.

"Look, why is it such a big deal to you, anyways?" I finally demand. "It's mine and Sam's business alone, right? You don't have any reason to freak out about it so much. We know we can trust the Doctor, so we're going with him. You don't have any reason to have a problem with that, but if you do, then feel perfectly free to flit off." My heart is racing, and I realize that I'm yelling. I don't feel guilty. If he's gonna shout at me, right off the bat, then I have all the reason in the world to retaliate.

"Maybe I will just flit off," he snarls. "I thought that you and Sam were smart. I thought you knew what was good for you."

"And I thought that you knew how to treat us like freaking adults!"

"I thought you were adults."

I blink in disgusted astonishment, trying to come up with something to say in response to that, though nothing can quite capture the volume of my absolute frustration. But then I realize that I'm staring at nothing—the flap of his wings must have been lost in the storm, because there's nothing there now, only dark gray sheets of rain.

"Damn it!" I bellow at nothing, as loud as I can. My fingernails bite angrily into the flesh of my palms. "Son of a bitch!"

There's no response, of course, and I stumble back over to the wall of the motel, leaning my head against the cool stone and breathing slowly. There's nothing else I can do right now. He'll come back eventually—he has to, right? Of course he has to. He's not stupid. He knows that we won't make it without him. God, why did I say anything different? I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. Cas, come back. Come on, dude. Please.

He doesn't listen to the pleas coming out from me, silent or spoken, and I'm half-relieved. I don't want to see him again right now. I'm still burning on the inside, and I need to cool down. Need to take a break.

Take a break from it all, dammit… it's just one thing after another, really, these days—never any time to breathe. Then again, it's been ages since there has been rest time. Years…

And apparently I'm not getting that break now, either. The TARDIS chooses this moment to blur and groan into existence in the middle of the parking lot, its blue paint as vibrant as any of the cars' metal. I know they're expecting me to come in, so I trudge towards it, trying and failing to shake off the chill of the rain.

I brush past the Impala on my way, and I hesitate for a second, glancing over her subtle, dark sheen. My hand drifts out and rests on her hood, seemingly of my own accord, and I close my eyes for a moment, muttering quickly and almost ashamedly.

"Seriously, though, Cas—if you could… keep an eye on my baby here, I think we'd both really appreciate it. She doesn't have any part in this, you know she doesn't. So… do me a favor and make sure that she doesn't get scratched up or stolen or anything, alright?"

There's no reply, of course, and I force my eyes open and my hand back to my side. I'm done. Done trying to talk to Cas. I told him he could leave, so he left—it's simple enough. Maybe, I theorize, he was even wanting to get out of here for a while, and I was just holding him back with my requests that he take care of Sam and I.

For some reason, rather than making me feel sad or guilty, such a prospect only solidifies the residual anger lurking around my chest. I grit my teeth as I rap on the rain-streaked door of the TARDIS, and the Doctor opens it a half second later, looking unreasonably cheery.

"Had a nice chat with your angel?" he inquires. "He coming along, then?" He looks over my shoulder, as if expecting to see some sort of winged form in the parking lot, but, I know, his eyes are greeted only by emptiness.

"Wouldn't call it a nice chat," I mutter, shouldering past him. Everyone's in the console bay now except for Molly and Sherlock, and it's a bit crowded, though not overly so. Not as much as it would be if Cas were here.

My eyes move over our ragtag band of allies. Three women and a time-traveler. All of whom Cas implied to be deceitful. As hard as I try, I can't see darkness in any of their faces—except for the Gwen chick, maybe, but it's more casual than threatening. Probably more showing off for Sam than anything else. I wonder if he's noticed how he's caught her attention, but decide not to comment on it for the time being—he'll figure it out if and when he does. No need to rush things like that.

"Where's Cas?" Sam asks immediately, as I descend into the wide, main area of the huge gold room.

I shoot him a look. "Cas ain't coming."

"What?"

"He left. Decided that we weren't worth his time, apparently—shouted a bit, very nearly swore at me. I'm almost proud of the dude."

"Dean—what did you say to him?" Sam sounds almost angry, angry at me, and I can't help but feel defensive, even though I already wish a million times over that I hadn't said everything that I did back there.

"What do you imagine? I didn't tell him to fuck off, if that's what you're thinking, just that maybe he could learn that we aren't entirely his responsibility, and that we can take care of ourselves from time to time."

"Take care of ourselves? Do you even realize how many times we'd be dead if not for him?"

I don't reply. The truth is that I do realize—I realize it all too vividly. We owe just about everything we have and more beyond that to Cas, and he barely ever gets so much as a pat on the back. I try not to think about it. I'm already sickened from the argument with him—I don't need to get on Sam's bad side, too. So I suffice to shrug, casting my eyes down to show that I'm far from proud of my mistake.

"So, no angel," the Doctor sighs, "but still two lovely demon hunters! Speaking of which… Dean, why don't you tell us the whole story about this man who tried to kill you?"

"There's nothing to tell," I reply, shrugging. "He stepped out back of the bar we were in, I followed, and the next thing I know I'm pinned to the wall and he's spouting shit about Lucifer and Moriarty into my face."

The Doctor nods, and begins to pace, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense as they stare into the nothingness before him. "Then we really don't have any leads at all. He could be anywhere—any of them could be anywhere at all, this man or Lucifer or any other enemies who we might have. The Devil… that really is spectacular, the Devil, that's going to take some getting used to…"

"There are ways to find Lucifer," I find myself saying, the words thick on my tongue.

"Crowley's not going to help us out again, even if we could find him," Sam speaks up, but I shoot him down with a glare.

"I'm not thinking of Crowley. It could be any demon. All of them serve him—all of them, we've learned better than to believe that there are any special snowflakes—and that means that all of them have probably got at least some sort of clue as to what the whole master plan is at the moment."

"Right, and we can absolutely just pull over a random demon and give it a full-on inquisition, and it'll tell us everything it knows!" Sam spits sarcastically, impatience becoming more and more vivid in his tone.

"Well, I'd call it more of an interrogation than an inquisition," I mutter.

They all realize what I mean at the same time. I can tell by the alarmed shift in the Doctor's expression more than anything else, the desperate shake of his head.

"No, no, no, and a bit of extra no," he replies sharply, absolutely adamant. "I'm not going to stand up for any sort of torture. Not of anyone."

"These are demons!" I fire back. I round on him, my short temper fueled by Cas's absence. "These aren't people! These are nothing like people!"

I expect him to back down, since he seems a bit soft, but he does the opposite. The awkward, doddering, skinny British man seems to steel up, hissing at me through gritted teeth. His hair shades his eyes, and they glitter darkly, a silent warning to match the venom of his words.

"You mean they're nothing like humans. Every creature is a person, and every creature deserves equal treatment."

"Oh, yeah? I bet you just think that we're blindly racist or some shit, don't you, Doc? You assume that we don't know what the hell we're talking about. Well, there was a demon we met once. It took some convincing, but after a while, we thought we could trust her. She saved our lives, and more than once. But guess what? She was working against us the whole damn time, and it's her fault now that Lucifer is on the loose at all. You, on the other hand, don't know shit about demons. So before you go defending their sorry asses, you ought to do your research."

Gwen, Amy, and Rose are all watching me with wide eyes. Sam struggles not to say anything, his fists clenching at his sides. And the Doctor—well, the Doctor just looks dumbstruck. It's probably been a hell of a long time since one of his little companions stood up to him like this, I reason, and I can't help but pride myself on my defiance.

"So we're going to summon a demon," I go on, pivoting on my heel so that I can lock eyes with each of them. "It'll be easy enough to draw one in, they're all the hell over the place. And we're going to find a room in this TARDIS to get a Devil's Trap on the floor, and then we're going to stick the damn demon right in the middle, get some holy water, and singe that thing until its skin comes off or it decides to tell us a thing or two. Is anyone going to argue? Because doing so isn't gonna get you anywhere. I'll team up with all of you, but not if you're going to be softies. The whole planet is at war, people. We have to fight or be taken down."

This time, no one objects. The TARDIS is as soundless as death itself.


"I'm telling you, I don't know anything!"

She's sobbing—no, not she, it. The damn thing is an it, nothing more, and that shows in its eyes, which are black—tar black, oil black, like entrances to the Pit itself drilled into the face of the monstrosity's young female vessel. Its hair, formerly golden and springy, hangs in dampened, ropy curls around its pale face, and its head hangs, neck bending and exposing its shoulders, which, like the rest of its flesh, are spotted with vivid red welts from the holy water bottle clenched in my palm. "I—I swear, I don't know anything, he doesn't tell us…"

"Like hell you don't, bitch." I give the plastic bottle an ominous shake, and the water sloshes inside of it, causing the demon to groan and twist, hands straining uselessly against the ropes tying it to a chair, which are braided with thin iron wires. I crouch down, so that I'm at eye level with it. I know that not a trace of distress shows in my face, that I'm cold, calm. I don't know where this sudden, even lack of empathy came from—no, that's not true. If I'm going to be completely honest, I know that it has to do with Castiel, and at the burning resentment inside of me directed towards him. That he was able to leave us—it's like I'm offended, but it's beyond offense. I'm hollow. I keep expecting him to come back, to land in the TARDIS somehow with the familiar ruffle of wings, but there's nothing, and I'm done. I'm not going to wait like some little pussy girl. I'm going to take control of the goddamn situation, which is exactly what I'm doing.

"Let's try this again." I rub my thumb along the rim of the bottleneck, still not looking away from her deadly stare. "Option one: you tell me where your daddy is, and I send you to Hell in the most relatively painless manner possible. Option two: you don't, and we keep doing this until you finally end up at option one. Not much of a choice there, huh, sister?"

"I would tell you if I knew," she insists. "It's pretty simple, Winchester. I never thought…" She takes a deep, rasping breath through the burned flesh of her throat where I forced the water down. "That you would be as idiotic as your reputation suggested."

"Oh, sassy." I jerk up the bottle and send a splash into her face. She shrieks, the noise high and earsplitting, and falls back against the chair, her head rolling on her neck. "You ought to watch what you're calling me. Idiotic or not, I'm in charge of you right now, and I'm not afraid to hand out a bit of sting. I've got all sorts of toys lined up…" To emphasize my words, I gesture to a small table beside me, which is decked out with a series of carefully crafted iron instruments—all painstakingly selected from a little antique store conveniently located in the Iowan town we'd been hanging at. "What have we got here… tweezers, scissors, a couple of sewing needles… I've heard that the eyes are vulnerable even for you; should I start picking the black goop out of your sockets?"

She shakes her head swiftly, blonde hair whipping her cheeks, but I pretend not to notice. I grab the rather dainty scissors first, flipping them open so that the barely-rusted blades glint menacingly. "Nice, old-fashioned flesh cutting. Gives us a break from the old water routine."

"I don't know anything," she groans again, but I'm past caring. Even if she is telling the truth, I don't have any reason to let up—I'm not hearing what I want to hear, so I'm protesting. And it's not like I'm harming the innocent. This demon probably deserves what I'm giving it, a million times over, and it's my pleasure to be the one to deliver the punishment.

"I. Don't. Know. Anything."

"You keep repeating those same words, like you think they're gonna get you somewhere," I chide. My hand darts forwards, the scissor blades clenched between my fingers, and then the long slivers of metal plunge into the clear flesh of her cheek, ripping it open so that blood spurts down to her chin and neck. She wails, and her arm clenches as if she's attempting to retaliate and hit me, but the ropes render it a useless effort. I slash once more, this time at her other cheek, for good measure, then pull back and let the scissors clatter to the floor beside me.

"Please," she whimpers, and I can see tears trailing down her face, mingling with the blood that washes over her pale skin. "Please."

I wonder briefly if her vessel is awake, but swiftly push the thought aside. I don't have time to worry about the pretty girl wrapped up inside of the demon. Instead, I drip a bit of holy water into her cuts for added sting, and relish her shriek, letting it pierce my eardrums in its primitive desperation.

"If you don't have anything to say," I comment coolly, rising back up to my full height and folding my arms, "then I suggest you just stay totally quiet. I don't like it when you're noisy."

"You're a monster," she gasps.

I laugh. I can't help it—it's just such a ridiculous thing to hear, coming from a demon's mouth. "Oh, am I? Look in a mirror, sweetheart, and then tell me who's the monster here."

"Take your own fucking advice!"

I ignore her. Partly because I'm sure she's wrong, but also partly—no, mostly—that I'm afraid of the opposite.

"There's no one to stop me from shredding you. No little angel on my shoulder this time." My stomach twists with my own bitterness, and I raise my eyebrows mockingly, toasting with nothing as I tilt the nearly empty bottle of holy water into midair. "Maybe you don't know anything. I can't say I care either way. But there's nothing to say you shouldn't go out with a bang."

I upturn the bottle on her head, letting it run down and scald her forehead and throat, sending even more screams into the high-arched ceiling of the small room. It's remarkable that she can even make a noise at this point, considering how scratched up her throat must be, from both use and the poison that I've been feeding her.

I begin to chant the familiar exorcism ritual, the Latin flowing thoughtlessly from my lips as my mind drifts elsewhere. Am I giving up too soon? But, no, I've been in here for going on two hours, as a glance towards my watch confirms. She probably doesn't know anything. And if she does, the threat of returning to Hell is surely enough to break it out of her.

But there's nothing. Nothing but wordless screeches as I send her spirit dashing back into the underworld, where it can writhe with all of its disgusting family, drown in the revolting fumes of its own smoke. The girl folds over, limp in her bonds. She's not breathing. I don't mind, not that much—I never expected her to be. Even if the demon had kept her alive for some reason before, I know that my interrogating would have killed her.

It's an odd feeling—I might have killed an innocent person.

I might have killed an innocent person.

And that's when it all catches up with me again, as rapidly as a snake striking into my chest. I might have murdered her. She might be dead, because of me—a human being who never did a damn thing wrong. I stare thoughtlessly at her, at her blank, staring eyes. They're blue. Far too bright blue, like sapphires.

I want to carve those eyes out. I want to crush them and bury them and never see them again.

Somehow, I'm on the floor, my legs folded underneath me, staring at the bloodstained blade beside me. I can't do this. I can't take it anymore. I've been through too much, and I'm going to go fucking insane if nobody stops me. And it doesn't seem like anyone's going to, either. The Doctor and his companions don't even know me—though they probably hate me now, for the most part, since I've turned their home into a murder scene. Sam and I… God, I don't even know what's between Sam and I anymore. But the one thing for damn sure is that he's too screwed up to even dream of helping me at this point.

Is there anyone left, really? Anyone at all? Even Ellen and Jo are gone.

I know who I need, though, really. I need Cas. Even if someone else was here, someone who could satisfy the very thing that I'm telling myself I so desperately require—help, comfort, advice—I know it still wouldn't be the same.

I just need Cas back.

Come on, you idiot, I plead silently, pressing a shaking hand to my eyes and trying to push back the girly-ass tears that pound at them. Isn't it obvious that I can't deal without you? I've been relying on you, man. I can't do this on my own.

I never realized it, before—just how dependent I'd become on him—but now it feels obvious. I took him for granted. I always took him for granted, and maybe that's what caused him to go, after all. Maybe he realized that I'd never start thanking him for everything he's done for us.

I'd thank you now, Cas. If you came back now, I swear to whatever's even worth swearing on anymore that I'd thank you until the end of time.

I don't even know what it is about him that I need so much. Is it his input on the insane things that I'm doing? Or just his presence, the knowledge of his safety?

All of them would be nice, I think.

But I'm done. I'm not going to sit over here and cry over some little baby-faced angel who wasn't strong enough to stick around with me. Even as my emotions wage a war inside of me that would be admired by the Horseman himself, I stand up again, push open the door only to see that Sam is standing right outside.

He doesn't say anything, not at first. We just stare at each other, until I can't bear the silence anymore.

"I didn't get anything," I say tonelessly.

"What about its vessel?" he questions, careful, nervous.

I start off down the hall. There's nowhere I'm planning to go but away. "She didn't make it."