SEVEN

Seal of Disapproval

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"Pamela, was that--?" Sam asked, then found it too ridiculous and stopped himself.

But Pamela turned in his direction. "Yeah, kid. That was the future. You two better get your priorities straight. What's all this about, Dean? You killing strange people in parking lots now?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Dean demanded, confused. "And when is this supposed to happen anyway?"

"I don't know," Moon admitted edgily. "I don't know."

Dean ran a dry tongue over a dry lip in thought. "Whut was I wearing?"

"What?" Moon asked, surprised.

"When you saw me. What was I wearing? The same stuff as now?" he asked.

Moon looked at him, then thought for a second. "No," she said slowly. "No. You didn't have a shirt on. Just… just a t-shirt. A black t-shirt. And… and that kind of greenish jacket, the military-ish one with the epaulets on the shoulders, the strips that button over."

Dean looked confused for a whole second. He looked back at Sam, who shrugged.

"So who was that guy? Why did I stab him in a parking lot?" Dean demanded.

"We don't know," Sam said reasonably. "Not yet."

"What the hell, man?" Dean cried, confused. "I don't just go round knifing people like that!"

"I know," Sam said forcefully, putting his hands out in a placating gesture that did nothing at all for Dean's worry. "I know. I guess by the time we get to that point in - uh - time, it'll make sense," he added.

Dean just looked at him, then wiped his hands over his face. "It'd better," he grumped.

Sam turned to look round the motel room wearily. "Well… looks like the girls need a rest, and I need to get looking for Utah license plates with HKR4 on them."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. He rubbed a hand over his chin, still turning everything over in his head. "Ah… Moon, you want to go with Pamela to her room, get some--"

"Oh no," she said loudly, standing up and pinning him with an accusing look. His eyebrows went up and his face took on an expression of surprise mixed with cautious trepidation Sam had seen many times. "Don't you try and weasel your way out. You owe me, Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, I do," he nodded. He looked round at Sam, who in turn was wearing his own rather overly-confused face. "Take Pamela back to the other room, let her sleep," he advised. "Call me if you find this Dodge Charger."

"Right," Sam allowed, walking round to find Pamela and take her arm. She nodded gratefully, and he suddenly realised how tired her movements were. "And what are you two going to do?" he asked his brother pointedly.

"Just go," Dean sighed. Sam shook his head at him, leading Pamela out of the room slowly.

The door closed behind them and Moon sagged. She wandered around and then sat on Dean's bed heavily.

"What a day," she moaned, leaning forward and putting her head in her hands.

Dean sat a discreet distance from her, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. "Yeah," he allowed. "It's not every day you find out you're about to murder some random guy in a parking lot, watched by spider monkey bats."

"He could be something to do with the bats."

"Well if he ain't, he certainly stumbled into the wrong reel of the movie," Dean sighed. "What bothers me is… why did the bats want him dead? Why did they want his eyes?"

She shivered and he looked at her.

"Who knows. I guess all we can do is wait and see," she allowed.

"I don't like waiting and seeing," Dean admitted. "It always turns out bad."

"Well at least Sam's on the case - he'll find the car, right?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed.

It was silent for a few minutes, each of them lost in their thoughts. Eventually she peered through her hands, looking up at him. "Time to make good on your promise," she warned, making her hands drop.

He looked at her, smiling weakly. "Couldn't we do something else?" he asked, and she heard the bravado in his tone.

"Nope. You and me are the only ones who know. So we're the only ones who can calmly talk about Hell with any experience. I'm over what I saw, you're not," she stated flatly. "So tell me why you're not. That was the deal."

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and looked at the ceiling. "Why? Why does everyone think that patting me on the head and giving me a group hug will make everything better?"

She closed her right fist and pushed it into his arm firmly.

"Ow!"

"Don't be such a baby," she commanded. "People are trying to help you, and you--"

"Maybe doin' it like that ain't helping!" he protested. "What's with the sudden urge to heal me?"

"You've been running on empty for a while," she observed shrewdly, and he found himself stuck in her gaze like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck. "Stop it. So what, you were running with the ball but then you went to Hell, and it got dropped. But you're back now - so pick up the ball and do something with it. Stop thinking the damn thing's going to bite you."

"Jesus, you sound like--." He stopped short, biting his lower lip.

She smiled, waving her hand in a small circle for him to continue. "It's ok, you can say it," she allowed wisely.

"You sound like me," he ventured. "Old me. Before all it went FUBAR."

"I've been called worse," she chuckled. "So come on - our deal was you explain why Hell's got you running in fear."

As soon as she had said the last word, she knew she had crossed a line. His face turned dark, belligerent.

"Cos you didn't do what I did, Moon, that's why," he snapped, and she paused, sensing great anger about to erupt. "You just saw it, like Pay-Per-View Rumble In The Jungle, you weren't actually there."

"O-k."

"You're the only person who knows exactly what I saw. What I did. You saw all of it," he growled. "But you didn't do it. That's what the real fear is - not Hell, but me." He paused, as if this were a newsflash for himself too. "I shouldn't have to tell you a goddamn thing, and I don't see what talking about it is gonna do for me."

"Cos I've told you," she shot back, trying to counter his anger, "it wasn't you. It was the Shupshe. It wouldn't let you stand there and take a beating any more. That's what animal guides are for, they look out for you when your stupid human ideas of morals get in the way of what's good for you."

"Stupid human idea of morals?" he blurted.

She studied his sceptical face. "Yes. Animal guides don't have them. As such. Not like you would think of them." She paused. "But… whatever you think of yourself right now… you must be very strong."

"Me? Apparently not," Dean scoffed, looking away to the far wall. "At least, that's what Sam seems to think - and everyone else."

"Well they're wrong," she said with angry affirmation, and Dean looked at her, surprised. "They're wrong. Anyone who can control their own animal side - and keep a Shupshe, of all things, in check for thirty years of beating - is stronger than Sam can imagine."

"Uh…" Dean hesitated, not really knowing where to start. "Uh… tha--. Uhm. Thanks," he managed. "For the - ah - the vote of confidence. Don't get many of those."

"No worries," she smiled. She looked around the room, then shook her head, prepared to forget it. "I have a better idea," she added. "Let's play."

"Play whut?" he asked, with enough worry to fill the trunk of the Impala.

"Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, and… and… George W. Bush. Which one would you put on your personal Torture Rack and why?"

"No way!" Dean protested. "I can only choose one for the Rack?"

"Only one," she chuckled. "One for your Rack, one for Alastair's newest stress-toy, and one goes free."

"You're torturing me!" Dean cried in mock-horror, "You're sick!"

"Yup," she laughed. "Come on, this is what you owe me instead of discussing Hell - several hundred rounds of 'Rack, Toy or Release'!"

"You are evil," Dean laughed.

"Evil is a very subjective term," said a voice.

Dean froze but his eyes rolled up and round slowly to look across the room. Moon looked the newcomer up and down slowly, taking in the windswept hair, the rumpled mac, the hangdog expression.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, non-plussed.

"Who is this?" Castiel asked, his face confused and clearly unhappy about something.

"Cas. What the hell are you doing here?" Dean managed.

"We need to--"

"Ayazhe'ni!" Moon gasped. "You're an ayazhe'ni!" She leapt off the bed, pointing at him.

"Moon, wait," Dean said quickly, getting to his feet and raising a hand at her. She put her hand over her mouth, staring in wonder at the tall stranger now regarding her with open curiosity.

"How do you know I'm an angel?" he asked, troubled.

"Cos you're standing right there looking like an ayazhe'ni!" she hissed. "The size of those wings!" she cried, and it was impossible to tell if she were horrified or awestruck.

Dean just blinked at her. Then he turned back to the angel, who looked the same as he always had - without wings.

"Look man, you got balls of steel turning up while Pamela's here. This better be help this time."

But Castiel was still studying Moon. His gaze tilted from side to side as his blue eyes swept over her from the carpet up, stopping at her face to narrow and crumple into confusion. "I am not here to help," he admitted, sounding pre-occupied.

Dean walked round into the angel's line of sight. "Well there's news," he said sarcastically, as the angel turned his attention on the Winchester.

"Spider monkey bats," he said quietly.

Moon gasped. "How do you know about--"

"Awww no," Dean rumbled, realisation dawning on his face and throughout his soul. "Don't tell me - they're something to do with one of these seals now?"

"You cannot kill them," Castiel said confidently.

"Why not?" Dean demanded. "If these evil little muthas are having their own private turf war with demons, why not gank 'em all and be done with it?"

"They are not evil. Just vicious," Castiel replied slowly.

"But they attack people! They kill people!" Moon whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, they do. And they must keep doing it," Castiel said wisely.

"Did you get knocked on your head last trip down here?" Dean growled. "Gimme one good reason why we let these things live?"

"Because," Castiel said slowly, turning to look at him, "they protect seal number three hundred and seventy-nine."

"They protect a seal?" Dean demanded incredulously. "So - so - what, these demons are after this one, and the monkey bats are fighting back?"

Castiel circled to his left slowly, his gaze constantly over Dean's shoulder, keeping his gaze on Moon. She took a step back.

"Essentially," he muttered, pre-occupied. Dean's eyes followed him round.

"And you want us to help the bats, and kill the demons?"

"I do not want you to do anything," Castiel admitted. Dean fumed and took a step, walking into his path. He put a hand up and shoved at the front of the angel's mac to stop him in his tracks.

"Ok, first off? Stop with the non-blinking-frowny-staring at the new girl, ok? It's freaking us humans out," he snapped. "Second? Tell us what you know about these bats and what this seal actually is."

Castiel's gaze regained its lucidity and he turned his head to look Dean square in the eye.

"Do you trust her?" he asked curiously.

"I trust her. And so should you. She can see you, your wings, and probably all your lame-ass tricks too," he snapped.

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he appraised the Winchester with a look that was in itself a calm enquiry.

"Very well," he allowed. "The Attellterron, or spider monkey bats as you call them, are old. Very old. They have protected the seal since before Time."

"How can they exist before Time?" Moon asked innocently.

"They existed," Castiel nodded succinctly. Dean's head tilted slightly and he started to smile with a slyness that the angel had come to find worrying. "What?" he sighed, almost wearily.

"When you say 'Time', you mean 'belief in your God'," he observed. "So these monkey bats are from before your lot? Before the Bible got wrote and all you characters got sorted into the right roles?"

Castiel's face hardened. "Choose not to believe if you will, but do not presume to find humour in another's faith in the truth," he ground out.

Moon took a step back.

"Oh really," Dean grinned maliciously, folding his arms. "Ok then, I have a question," he added, his voice suddenly sounding very innocent, very young. "Why did God kill all the dinosaurs? Hmm? Oooh - I have another - why do dolphins' fins have finger bones, huh? Huh? Oooh - and this one's a killer: what's with telling everyone to be good, pure people all the time? I thought God loved a sinner just waitin' to repent."

"I too have a question," Castiel said forcefully. "Why do you shy away from killing demons these days, Dean? Before Hell, you would willingly drench them in holy water to make them talk, you would order Sam to exorcise them even though you knew you would kill the host. What happened to that fire?" he countered.

"I got dropped into a bigger one," Dean snapped. "Y'know, hanging around like last week's washing for thirty years kinda takes it out of you!"

"And then you let them ruin you," Castiel said quietly.

"And then I started getting some payback!" Dean cried angrily. "I wouldn't expect you to understand what that would feel like!"

"Dean," Moon breathed, putting a hand to his arm from behind.

"But it wasn't, was it?" Castiel judged calmly. "You thought you should be enjoying it, until you realised you were not. Then what, Dean? What happened then? Tell us."

Dean's mouth opened but nothing came out. He felt Moon's grasp on his arm and swallowed.

"That is when you actually broke," Castiel informed him. "That was the moment you realised you would never become a demon, as you were supposed to. Because you could not. Because you were not strong enough."

Dean's hands shot up and whoomfed into the mac, grasping and pushing. The angel was slammed up against the wall, Dean's angry red face inches away.

"I am just about pissed off enough, perverse enough, to track me down some weapon that could carve up angels, just to prove a point!" he seethed through gritted teeth.

Castiel, far from ruffled by his predicament, simply stared into the human's eyes, sneaking through the windows to his soul.

"And what is that point? That you can still kill things? I already know that," Castiel agreed. "Is that all you are, Dean? Is that all you want to be? Mud-monkey see, mud-monkey do?"

"You don't know anything about me," he growled, his voice thick with rage.

"You know I do. And I know you have always been a soldier. You have always been following orders. Anything else is too much of a stretch for you," Castiel said calmly. "Anything else would require being strong."

"'Being strong' ain't about killing things every chance you get," he breathed, and the angel suddenly looked interested.

"Then what is it about, Dean?" He watched the adrenaline spike in the human start to level off.

"Maybe it's about doing whatever it takes so you're still standing for the last round," he managed. "Maybe it's about not wasting your time with the small-fry. Maybe it's about finding out who your real enemies are."

Castiel's face turned unexpectedly pleasant. It wasn't a smile, but his eyes were no longer judgemental.

"And maybe my work here is done," he allowed.

Dean stared at him for moment longer. He opened his mouth.

There was a knock on the door. Dean let go of the mac quickly, looking over at it. He heard Moon gasp and looked back. He was unsurprised to see the angel was gone.

He blew out an angry breath and marched to the door, opening it quickly. "Sam, get in here," he ordered, standing clear.

Sam blinked at the harsh anger of his brother's voice. He wandered in cautiously, finding Moon standing with her hands wringing together.

"What?" he asked innocently. "What did I miss?"

Dean shut the door rather loudly and walked back into the room proper. "Cas was here."

"What? Why?" Sam blurted.

"He says we can't kill the monkey bats, cos they're protecting a goddamn seal," he spat.

"O-k," Sam said carefully. He looked at Moon, but she waved her hands and took several steps back, her eyes jerking toward Dean and his anger in a way that told Sam all he needed to know about how the conversation had gone.

"One good thing that threw Cas for a loop," Dean said suddenly, still angry but with a keen edge of vindictive humour fighting its way to the surface, "Moon here can see his wings. She can see him."

"Him?"

"Him. Like, what's underneath the frosted holy tax accountant icing," Dean nodded, satisfied. "I'm telling you, man, it freaked him right out."

"I'll bet," Sam murmured thoughtfully, looking at Moon. "So… what does he look like?"

"Like an ayazhe'ni," she shrugged. "I've never seen one before."

"Ok, we don't have a passing knowledge of the Potawatomi language," he said clearly. "What does that mean?"

"Just… he's like… well, an angel-thing, I guess," she shrugged. "But not like an Angel of Death. He'd have to be an amalgamation of spirit guides and animals for that."

"Yeah thanks, I seen that one," Dean allowed, making her smile.

"Yeah. But he's… he's like a lessor one. Like… Like he takes orders, not gives them."

"Really?" Sam asked, interested. "So… is he an animal?"

"Sam, people aren't animals, and neither are deities' servants," she scoffed.

"No, but you said… well you said Dean is a cougar, and I'm a timber wolf. What's Castiel?" he asked eagerly.

Dean looked at his brother, smiling suddenly. "Yeah," he said firmly, looking back at Moon, "what kind of animal is Castiel?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I didn't really get anything from him. Anyway, did you come in for something?" she added, hoping to change the subject.

"Uh - yeah, sorry. I found the car you saw," he said quickly.

"Where?" Dean asked.

"The registered owner, Mr Gary Lands, lives not too far from here, just shy of the state line," he said, nodding to Moon.

"Then we go find him," Dean said.

"Woah - hold on here," Moon said quickly. "We go find him? And then what, you knife him once it gets dark? Why?"

"I don't know!" Dean snapped. "It's not like I wanna find some random dude by his car and just kill him, is it?"

"Then let's find out what we can about this… what was his name?" she asked Sam.

"Gary Lands," he supplied quietly.

"Him. We find out if he's into these seal things, whatever they are, and why he wants one broken. What happens if he breaks one anyway?" she asked innocently.

"Uh… bad stuff," Dean managed.

"Bad stuff?" she prompted.

"Like 'end of the world' bad," he added. "All they gotta do is break enough of 'em, and we're screwed."

"'They'?" she asked. "Do I want to keep asking these questions, or do I just nod, say 'that's nice Dean' and then help you two, safe in ignorance?"

"Ah… the latter. Definitely the latter," Sam nodded with an awkward smile. She sighed.

"Ok then. Well I'm about as drained as a Kansas park reservoir, and you two need to find out all you can about Gary thingy. I need to sleep. Go."

The boys exchanged a glance before Sam turned to the door. Dean sighed, picked up his jacket from the bed, and pushed him out before him.

As he closed the door he paused, then poked his head back in.

"Moon?" he called quietly.

"Go."

"If you need us, call."

"Go."

"Right." He closed the door and turned to find Sam watching him with large, owlish eyes. "Whut?"

"Nothing," Sam sighed, letting his arms drop and walking off.

Dean caught him up in the hallway. "Whut now?"

"Nothing," he repeated, entirely too innocently, as they found the stairs to ground level.

"Sam, don't be an ass."

"Ok… I appreciate you not rubbing my nose in it, seeing as Sunny's not here," he said sadly.

"Woah woah woah," Dean protested, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling him to a stop. "What are you talking about?"

"Her," Sam admitted, putting his hands to the back of his jeans, tugging them up slightly. His edgy gaze floated somewhere over Dean's shoulder.

"Who 'her'?" Dean asked, confused.

Sam shifted his gaze to him and studied his brother's face. "C'mon, Dean, I'm not stupid."

"Stupid how? Stupid like 'hey Doc, we don't have enough road to get up to eighty-eight' stupid or 'Ray, when someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes' stupid?" he asked innocently.

Sam huffed. "Stupid like 'I can't tell when my brother's sleeping with the psychic girl' stupid," he said quietly, looking around and finding himself glad the corridor was empty.

"Whut?" Dean blurted, his eyes bulging slightly. "You're the one sharing a room with her! You're not banging her already?" he hissed.

"Not Pamela," Sam tutted, "Moon."

Dean opened his mouth, then it halted. He stared at Sam for a long second, then his mouth opened again. He let it close, looking round the hallway.

"Don't try and deny it," Sam sighed. "Frankly, I don't care. But I was just… It was just good of you not to make it obvious. I'm trying to say… Well… thanks for not like… Like--"

"You think I'm trying not to rub it in your face cos Sunny's not here and you--. Right," Dean acknowledged. "But… would it make you feel any better if I said I weren't - weren't - y'know, with Moon?"

Sam looked at him, a bemused smile fighting its way onto his lips. He looked at the slightly red tips to his brother's ears, the way his eyes slid from side to side in a miniscule indicator of embarrassment.

"You--." Sam gave a tiny huff of amusement, blinking and sniffing before he tried again. "You can't even say it?"

"Aw c'mon, man," Dean moaned, uncomfortable. "She's like - like one of us, y'know? It ain't even--. It's not right," he shivered, clearly creeped out by the very thought. "Couldn't."

"You couldn't?" Sam pressed, enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Dean, you'll do any human female with a pulse. How is Moon different?"

"Cos like I said, she's one of us, alright! Can we stop with the Jerry Springer now and go find something out about this guy?"

Sam grinned. "Ooooh!" he gushed meaningfully. "She's one of us, is she?"

"You know what I mean," Dean said defensively.

"Oh yeah," Sam smiled maliciously, "I know exactly what you mean. Awwww! And all those years just us two growing up, I never realised you wanted a sister."

"I got you, didn't I?" Dean accused grumpily, and Sam chuckled.

"Whatever. Gary Lands. Let's go dig up something on Gary Lands," Sam said, turning away to the stairs again.

"And eat," Dean called after him, catching him up, "I'm starving."

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New chapter ok? Anyone like?