SEVEN
Spoilin' For A Fight
.
Dean felt something against his face. It was warm and perhaps smelled faintly of some permutation of Swarfega he couldn't quite place. He was aware of something heavy pushing at his brain, something weighing on his soul, and realised he couldn't quite recall how he had come to fall asleep.
He decided he should get a look at where he was. He opened his eyes slowly, finding his head buried face-down in a large pillow. He blinked at it and pushed himself onto his back, looking round a good-sized room. There was a dresser near the bed he was in, a wardrobe, a chair littered with books, clothes and a small dented metal flask that could only contain--
"Holy water," he grunted, pulling a hand up from underneath the thick covers that were trying to weigh him down. He brought it to the top of the duvet, pushing it out of his way to sit up. He looked down at the bed, unable to understand why he was in some strange bedroom - and bed - with his jeans and t-shirt still on his person. And three fingers of his right hand in bright white bandages.
He stared at his hand and suddenly it all came back. He saw his fingers grab at the glass and yank it from her dead body, saw her lying lifeless in his arms.
And then she had woken up.
He blew out a sigh, using the heel of his hand to rub at his eye soundly. He hissed as something stung under the bandages. He looked around again, flinging the duvet back to find his socks had made themselves scarce.
"And this don't look like the kinda place two sisters would live in," he mumbled to himself.
He swung his feet out of bed and got up, stretching and patting at himself, finding everything present and correct. He located the door, scrubbed both hands through his no-doubt amusingly spiked hair, and headed for it.
He put a hand on the doorknob, opening it cautiously and looking out. He saw a corridor, made of the same wood that made up the room he was in. It all looked strangely familiar, but as if he were seeing it from the inside out. As he paused to try and ascertain just where he was, he heard voices.
They sounded female. He had a sudden flash of memory: a girl, a cinema, popcorn. He swallowed and opened the door properly, walking out and finding the corridor suddenly slide into intimately-known territory.
Bobby's place, he realised, looking around, confused. How did we get to Bobby's place?
He tried to think, tried to remember just what he'd been doing before he fell asleep. It was mushed together in grey, half-flickering images of a pair of girls, Sam with a bath towel in his hand, laughing at him… and then chainsaws and flying books that bit people.
No wait, that's a movie, he told himself.
He shook his head and turned for the sound of voices, getting to the door that obscured everyone. He wanged it open and stood in the frame, staring as everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours came crashing back into sharp focus.
Bobby, Sam, Moon and Sunny looked up, the girls jumping slightly in surprise.
"Dean!" Moon grinned, leaping off the sofa and running to him.
She threw her arms round him and hugged with all her strength. The smell of her, the way she grabbed onto him, caused a jumble of images to fly into his head and he sorted through them as quickly as he could. He looked at Sam, finding a very familiar look of relief on his face. He moved on to Bobby, noticing him simply looking a little grumpy. But that in itself was nothing new and actually went a long way to assuaging much of Dean's unease.
"Ah… Ain't she supposed to be dead?" he managed, lifting a hand to point at the back of the girl hanging off him in relief.
"Yeah," Sam nodded seriously.
"How are you doing?" Bobby asked slowly, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he expected the elder Winchester to go down like Mr Slinky at any second.
But Dean was too busy sorting through mental images of Moon dying in his arms to notice. He pushed them all aside. "Like I've been asleep for a year," he admitted.
He put his arms round Moon and hugged, lifting her off her feet slightly. She appeared to just sigh in some great deluge of released tension and let herself be set down again. He put his hands to her arms, pushing her back gently. She looked up at him, concerned.
"You sure you're ok?" Sam asked, and Dean looked over at him. Sam's face was edgy, a familiar anguished scowl all over it.
"Sure?" Moon asked.
Dean looked around the room and everyone staring at him. It made his skin crawl just slightly. "Why? How do I look?" he dared.
"Good. I almost didn't recognise you with your clothes on," Moon winked, and he let himself grin. He missed Sam's shocked face and the way he then looked at Sunny. She gazed back at Sam, eyes wide in disbelief.
"You said he'd never--" she began accusingly.
"I got a few questions though," Dean was saying carefully. Moon let her head drop, pushing herself away and turning from him. He watched her walk through a smaller door and heard cups and utensils.
"Probably exactly the ones we've been talking about while you've been flat on your back," Sam said, a little too politely. Dean looked over at him, letting his hands fall into his deep jeans pockets. He looked back at the three of them, trying to phrase things.
"The biggest one right now is how come we're at Bobby's?" he asked slowly.
Sam lifted a hand apologetically. "I brought us here."
"Right," he nodded uneasily. "And… why was I asleep in your best guest room?" he asked, turning his confused eyes on Bobby.
"Cos even if you'd been dead, you weren't getting my room," he said pointedly. "The young miss there said not to wake you. She seemed to know what she was talking about, so we did as she said."
Dean nodded to himself, pouting slightly as he looked at his bare feet. "Just a few more," he said professionally. "How come she ain't dead? How come I'm not dead?"
"What do you mean?" Sunny asked, confused.
"Well last I saw of her - I think - she was… not exactly running for Office. And then… then it all got buckets 'o crazy and then… then I don't really remember. Except something hurt ma head," he said uncomfortably, lifting his bandaged hand to rub at the back of it.
Sam cleared his throat slowly, looking at Bobby. Sunny kept her head down.
"She died. That's true. Then she… came back to life," Sam supplied quietly.
Dean stopped rubbing and let his hand drop slowly. He stared at the carpet, but Bobby recognised the signs of large cogs whirling at top speed somewhere deep inside his head. "Wait - there was a demon, and… Sam got him with water," he muttered, thinking. Then he looked back over at the three watching him. "She got rid of the demon dude, right? How'd she do that?"
"To be honest, we don't know," Bobby said with a small sigh. "You'd better ask her yourself. Right now she got more secrets than even you two boys put together."
Dean frowned at him, then walked past the sofa and went through the smaller door to the room beyond.
He found himself in a kitchen, Moon in the act of making a large jug of coffee.
"How'd you do it?" he asked simply.
"Get rid of 'the demon dude'?" she asked knowingly. "You white Kansas people aren't the only ones with holy words, Shupshe," she teased, if a little stiffly.
"And… the not dying thing?"
"You were… in the right place at the right time," she admitted, biting her lip. "I'm sorry. I stole from you, and I'm sorry," she managed, nearly a whisper, keeping her back to him. It was silent for a moment, the sounds of Bobby and Sam talking flooding through from the front room.
"And after?" Dean prompted.
"After what?" she asked, looking up at him, confused.
He looked over at the door to the kitchen, heard Sunny joining the discussion, and looked back at Moon. He walked over and stood much closer to her than made her comfortable.
"After. When I was asleep. How did you… Why did you… You were… ah… in my head, right?" he asked quietly.
"Kinda," she admitted, but she didn't look at him. He put a hand out to her arm, squeezing slightly. She raised her head slowly, relieved to see he didn't appear angry, but more than a little confused.
"Why?" he dared.
"I… I didn't want you to be alone. And when I got in there, you were all… I just wanted to help," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. It was silent for a long moment.
"Thanks," he said gently, and she closed her eyes in relief.
"For what?"
"For stopping. For not opening the last one."
"I didn't dare," she admitted, then opened her eyes and looked up at him. "I don't know what's in there, and something tells me the world would be a much better place if no-one ever finds out. It's a Shupshe thing, and I'm not brave enough to mess with that," she added in a stronger voice, recovering her bravado.
He smiled, shaking his head slightly. "You didn't have to help me. You could have left me. I think you're brave enough."
"But I was…" She paused, swallowing a faltering breath, he noticed. "I was… I felt horrible cos I'd just… I'd just taken from you and I didn't even ask."
"Taken what?" he asked, his face twisted in complete and utter bafflement.
"A few years off your life," she admitted. He stared at her for a long moment, then he snorted in amusement. She watched, astounded, as he let go of her arm and started laughing loudly enough to stop the occupants of the front room from talking. "Stop that!" she snapped crossly.
He waved a hand at her, managing to control himself. "If you knew what I knew, you'd laugh too," he chuckled. She raised her eyebrows at him.
"Well it must be hilarious," she stated flatly.
He wiped a hand over his nose, thinking. "Look… what you did… I just gotta say, it doesn't matter."
"Of course it does! I've just shortened your life!" she cried angrily.
Dean shook his head, smiling in a way that made Moon feel she really should re-think her views on what his priorities could be. He lifted his head and looked at her.
"Trust me. You have not shortened my life. It's short enough as it is," he said confidently.
"Do I want to know what that means?" she dared.
He gave his best, cheekiest smile but Moon didn't know whether to believe it or not. "No. You want to make me that coffee, though," he said, interrupting her thoughts.
She looked around the kitchen to avoid his pleasant smile, especially hard to take after her actions earlier in the day. "Get that mug," she instructed.
"Yes ma'am," he said innocently, going over and picking up the ceramic cup. He watched his bandaged fingers on the surface as he brought it back over. "Ah… One more question…"
She turned and took the mug from him, then pulled at the neck line of her t-shirt, yanking it wide open. He jumped and averted his gaze quickly, then heard her suppressing sounds of a giggle. He looked back at her and she pointed to the skin a tiny way from her heart, now exposed.
"No glass, Dean. No scar. Nothing."
"Oh," he said in a small voice.
She let go of the t-shirt. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to grab the glass with your bare hand. I'm surprised it didn't take your fingers right off, idiot."
"Oh."
She turned with a smile infinitely more relaxed, lifting the coffee pot and filling the mug generously. "There," she said, turning back to him. "Get that down you. All we have to figure out now is how to find this demon thing again before he finds us."
"You think he's here for you?" Sam asked from the doorway. Dean cleared his throat, taking a step back from Moon to give the illusion of personal space.
Moon looked over. "Could be."
"No. He's here for us, Sam," Dean said suddenly, making his younger brother look over at him. "He said something about… A sister - a demon sister. And we killed her. Or I killed her. Not really sure on that one."
"So how do we find out who he is?" Sam asked, lost.
"I think I can help you there," Moon said edgily. "I got his name."
"You did?" Sam asked, surprised.
"Uh-huh. He was very careless with his thoughts while Dean was making him so angry."
"You just couldn't resist, could you?" Sam sighed at his brother.
Dean shrugged. "He's a demon, man. That's what he's there for, to kick the crap out of and exorcise." He looked at Moon. "If we got his name, we can summon him right to us and then poke him with a holy stick till he tells us a few things."
"Like what?" she asked.
"Like what he wants with us, and what he knows about what's coming for you. Then we could stop it."
"Nah… I don't think that's a good idea," she said nervously, waving her hands at both boys.
"What? Why?" Sam asked, confused.
"Cos he's going to be some big bad-ass spirit walker, or demi-god, or--"
"Well hey, me and Sam killed a coupla Pagan gods last Christmas," Dean sniffed. "Whoever this guy is, we could take him."
Moon looked at him. "You are joking," she stated flatly. Dean raised his eyebrows at her and she looked at Sam quickly. "He is joking, right?"
"Ah… No," Sam smiled. "But we would need a little help from you on this one."
"Little help to do what?" Bobby asked, pushing into the kitchen past Sam's shoulder.
"Well if Moon can find us the demon dude's name, and we toast him, it's only fair we find out what's stalking her and toast him, too," Dean shrugged. "Game?" he asked Sam flippantly.
"Yeah, I'm game," he nodded.
"You boys ain't summoning it by yourselves," Bobby threatened, and they looked at him. He just blinked back at them. "Sam's the only one who can read, and Dean's the only one who can shoot straight."
The Winchesters exchanged a mutually indignant glance, but Bobby ignored them admirably. Instead he looked at Moon. "You and your sister might want to sit this one out."
"If you insist," she said edgily.
"I do," Dean said, and she looked up at him.
"Well far be it for me to argue with the Shupshe," she teased suddenly, smiling as she picked up her coffee and disappeared from the kitchen.
Dean realised he was being watched by both Sam and Bobby. "Whut?" he asked innocently.
"Nothing," Sam managed, then spared Bobby a glance. "So how do we get started? That thing could be finding a new meat suit and zeroing in on us right now," he pointed out.
"We need my big book," Bobby grumped. "And the library."
"And coffee. Lots of coffee," Dean added firmly, lifting his cup and attacking it with enthusiasm.
.
.
Dean upended his duffle onto his adopted bed, rifling through slowly. He heard a noise and found Moon walking up behind him. She put her hand out and shoved a piece of paper at him.
"Whut's this?" he asked, taking it and looking it over. Moon pointed at it timidly.
"The name. The name I got when he was too busy shouting at you and pinning you to walls," she managed. He squinted at it, trying to read it, but it didn't appear to follow any normal phonic or spelling patterns he'd ever seen and he gave up. He flicked his gaze up to her, about to ask, but she was biting her lip and looking at something just past his left arm.
"Thanks," he said cheerfully. He cleared his throat. "You, ah… You'll be alright with your sister," he added firmly.
"Yeah," she said quietly, inspecting her feet.
"We'll find this demon dude, scare the living hell out of him, then start on your stalker - whatever he turns out to be. Piece of cake," he smiled.
She looked up at him slowly, and he realised she was trembling slightly. He opened his mouth but didn't actually have any idea of what to say.
"Uh… Can you, uh…" she began, then her voice failed her. He waited, his eyes darting round her to make sure no-one else could overhear the conversation. She swallowed and her gaze fixed on his amulet. "Can you be careful? And not die please?" she managed.
"I always aim for something around there," he admitted, and she conceded a tiny smile. It covered a small lip wobble very well. He put a hand to her arm. "Don't worry about us," he said confidently. "We've done this before."
"Yeah," she nodded, trying to sound convinced. "But shouldn't you tell Sam about you and me and--"
There was a knocking on the doorjamb and Sam's head appeared round it. "Bobby's all set, he wants--" he blurted. He stopped short. "Oh. Everything… ok?" he hazarded carefully.
"Yeah Sam, we're super. I'm coming," Dean said loudly, and Sam let his hand fall from the wood.
"Ok then," he said pointedly, turning on his heel and disappearing from the doorway quickly.
Dean waited until he was sure Sam was far enough away. Then he looked back down at Moon. "No, Sam can't know yet. Trust me, it's better this way."
She frowned at him. "You know," she said wisely, "the people you should never deceive are your family."
"Yeah. I get that a lot," he smiled politely.
"I'm not joking, Dean."
"Says the girl who completely forgot to mention the whole 'not able to die' thing to her sister?" he ventured. He watched her eyes fill up and his face scrunched in abrupt self-kickery. He squeezed his hand against her arm, making her look up at him. "Look, forget it," he said confidently. "It wasn't your fault to begin with."
"I've told myself that before. Hasn't helped so far," she said weakly.
"Well I'm telling you - and this is something I know a lot about," he stated, and she blinked. "It wasn't your fault. Leave this to us three - we'll take care of your stalker."
She gave a weak smile, then put her arms up, grabbing him in a hug. He held onto her patiently, feeling her hands squeezing into his back, even as they shook slightly. She pressed her head into his neck.
"Be safe," she said firmly.
"Wait for me in the kitchen," he replied, and she pulled herself away, nodding. She checked her hand, closing it quickly and putting it in her pocket.
"Right."
"Right."
She turned and walked out quickly. Dean watched her go, shook his head, and turned back to his duffle on the bed. He picked out his favourite dented flask of holy water and secured it in his jeans pocket, turning for the door. He walked down the hallway and heard Sam and Bobby griping about something.
He walked in the door to the library, seeing them stacking things on the table by the fireplace.
"It wasn't exactly her choice, Sam," Bobby was protesting.
"All I'm saying is, how is this different from any of the people with Crossroads deals we've helped out?" Sam shot back angrily. "This is just the same."
"It weren't even a demon," Bobby put in. "For all we know, it coulda been some native American angel thing."
"You really believe an angel thing would bring a nine year old girl back to life, then threaten to come and take it all away again?" he argued.
"I believe she deserves to have her tracker burnt, is what I believe," Bobby snapped. "Just cos her grandmother used a bit of hoo-doo Potawatomi style don't mean she should be left to it."
"I didn't say we shouldn't help her, I'm just saying it's a little too close to home, if you see--"
"What's all this?" Dean asked loudly.
Sam stopped short, looking up at his brother in the doorway. "Nothing," he bit out.
Dean looked at Bobby, raising his hands in mystery.
"Sam's… thinking too much," Bobby groused, then looked back at his books quickly.
"Is he now," Dean accused slowly, wandering into the room, letting his hands push deep into his pockets. "And what are you thinking about, Sam?"
"Look, let's just find this demon and--"
"No Sam, I'm interested," Dean interrupted with fake politeness, lifting his titled chin slightly. "Come on, what's the problem?"
Sam glowered at him, his chin sticking out as he refused to answer his brother.
"She a little too normal for someone who's got this thing hanging over her?" Dean went on. "A little too psychic for your nerves? Or is it that once we barbecue this bastard and move onto whatever's getting at her, we'll be leaving, huh?" he asked suavely.
"Dean," Sam snapped.
"What is it? You think she had anything to do with whatever it was that brought her back?" he asked, his face polite, his tone rather too accusing for his younger brother's taste.
Bobby shifted his feet, determined to stay well back.
"That's just it, Dean!" Sam exploded, causing everyone else to blink in shock. "You're all gung-ho to help her, rescue her, save her, kill her problem, but what about you?"
"What about me?" he asked, mystified.
"You're only doing this cos she's someone to save! You're only doing this cos she didn't make any deal to save herself, someone in her family did! And you feel guilty for her grandmother, and you're trying to make it all alright! Well it doesn't work like that, Dean!" he raged.
Dean spread his hands, smiling grimly in abject warning at his younger brother.
"Oh," he breathed dangerously, "we are so not having this conversation."
"Yes we are!" Sam shouted. "I'm not six, Dean! I can see the parallels here! You want to clean up her grandmother's mistake in letting this thing come back for her, the granddaughter she saved. And you want to do it cos you know you're leaving me in the shit when your Deal comes due! Well no-one's gonna come and clean up your mistake, Dean! No-one's gonna come and make it alright again when you're dead and gone!"
Dean crossed the carpet between him and his brother uncomfortably quickly. He seemed way more controlled than he should have been.
"Sam," he breathed, his jaw squared and raised, "this is not the time."
"Then when, Dean? Two minutes before midnight when they come for you? Why can't you let yourself be pissed off about this? Why can't you just admit that you wish you'd never made that deal in the first place!"
Dean took a step back and swung his fist round.
Bobby blinked, unable to follow everything that happened so fast. One moment Sam was towering over his brother, his face red with anger and volume. The next he was crashing into the carpet, Dean flexing his right hand as he stood over him.
"That pissed off enough for you?" Dean growled at him.
Sam rolled from his side to his back, looking up at him. He made no attempt to nurse his throbbing jaw, exploding with pain and fire. Instead he stared up at him, and it was silent for a long minute.
"If I had to do it again, I'd still make that deal," Dean continued, his voice an angry near-whisper. "Don't you dare think I wouldn't! Just get over it."
Sam raised a slow hand, pressing it to his jaw firmly. He swallowed, staring into the dark green windows of conviction on his older brother.
Dean stood over him, glaring back. Then he blinked, shaking his head slightly and remembering Bobby was in the room too. He cleared his throat and made himself relax, looking around the room to give him time to calm himself. Then he looked back down at his baby brother. He leaned down, putting a hand out slowly.
Sam appraised it, then him. He made his gaze go back to the offered hand and took it. Dean pulled him up to his feet and let go quickly, watching as Sam took a clear step back from him.
"Whut? You gonna swing for me, or whut?" he demanded.
Sam eyed him, rubbing at his jaw. He thought for a long second. And then another one. He bottled the anger railing at his sibling. He sniffed.
"No," he admitted.
Dean met his eyes for a moment, then flicked his away neatly. He turned and looked at Bobby. "Well?" he grumped. "Are we ready, or whut?"
Sam glanced up and paused, sighting the back of Dean's shirt. And a hand print, smaller than his own, right in the middle of Dean's back. It was dark, damp, carefully-pressed. He blinked, wondering how and why his brother had acquired it.
"Are we ready?" Bobby asked pointedly, gesturing to Sam with his chin.
Dean turned round again. "Well?" he asked Sam. "We doing this or not?"
"Yeah," Sam said, letting his hand drop. "Yeah." It's nothing, he realised, shaking his head as if to clear it, it's just a hand print. No big deal. He straightened and nodded at them both. "Let's do it," he shrugged.
.
.
