TEN

Sealing A Moment

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Sam brought both duffles into the room, closing the door as best he could with no strip for the lock. He looked at his brother.

"You think we should move? When the guy finds out he has to put a new doorframe in, he's gonna be pissed," he observed. "And this demon may not have been working alone."

"Good point," Dean allowed. He turned to the girls. "Right, let's blow this pop-stand. Moon, you go with Pamela down to the car. Me and Sam'll get rid of this," he added, looking at the dead human on the floor.

"Right," Moon agreed quickly. She grabbed Pamela's arm and they edged around the corpse.

"Car's not locked," Sam added.

"Cool," Pamela said, pulling Moon's hand from her wrist to lay it on her shorter shoulder. "Let's go. Warn me about stairs," she advised.

The two girls disappeared out of the door and Sam blew out a huff. He turned to find Dean already moving to the body, rolling it over.

"Poor bastard," he mused, as if to himself. "Wonder what he was doin', what life he had before he got jumped."

"Yeah well, it doesn't matter now," Sam observed. "Let's just get him out of this room."

"Right," Dean grumped, clearing unhappy with something his brother had said. "Grab the bedsheet."

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The car was quiet, save the rumble of the engine and the tiny squeaks and rattles that sank through Dean's skin like butter into toast. He let his shoulders relax and his hands ceased to grip the wheel quite so tightly. The smell of the car, the constant, reassuring purring told him he was home and whatever was outside the car could wait.

Pamela and Moon, comfortable in the back seat, were more than content to sit outside of the hive of activity in the front passenger seat. Sam either did not feel or did not share the effects of the classic around him. He had already booted up his laptop and was re-reading old files.

"Right right - get this," he said quickly from the passenger seat.

"Whut?"

"The monkey bats have been getting ganked all over town - this town," Sam urged.

"Paradox. Kinda fits, really," Dean added thoughtfully.

"But they've been other places - sightings, people actually letting off handguns thinking they were giant fruit bats, everything," he said. "But no-one died - or rather, no human host for a demon was found raked up anywhere - until Paradox, Colorado."

"So? Demons are lazy and won't move towns?"

"So the demons know where the seal is - and they're killing monkey bats that get too close to it," Sam said triumphantly. "See? They're not wasting their time killing the bats if they're in the wrong town, looking for seals in all the wrong places. It's not till the bats came here, to this town, that people - demon hosts - started dying."

"Great. So all we gotta do is - is - is get us a demon and holy water him until he spills the location," Dean observed. "And tell us what this seal looks like, of course. Oh, and what we have to do to open it."

"Looks like," Sam shrugged.

"Super," Dean sighed. He lifted one hand off the wheel and rubbed his forehead wearily. Sam pretended not to see the expression of doubt on his brother's face. He looked out of his side window instead, watching the darkness flow by.

But Moon leaned forward slowly, putting her hand out on Dean's shoulder.

"Every Shupshe has its day," she said quietly. She squeezed her hand slightly, and Dean looked up into the rear view mirror, finding her watching him. His face, weary and fearful, began to change as they locked eyes. By the time Sam had turned his head, Dean was already lifting his chin and looking back at the road with fierce determination.

Sam watched him. And something about the cold, tight look of dark intent on his brother's face made him shiver.

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Sam opened the boot of the car in the dark car park, rummaging around inside for what he needed. He heard a slight rustling behind him and turned quickly.

"Sam," Castiel nodded genially.

"What now?" he asked wearily.

"You are preparing for something."

"The end of the world," Sam said sarcastically, turning his back to him and picking up the demon knife.

"I am to tell you again, not to get involved," Castiel sighed.

"Ok, you told us."

"I am to tell you that this is an internal matter."

"Ok, you told us," Sam repeated, shuffling his things into his duffle.

"Do not leave Dean alone with the demon."

"Ok, you told--." Sam stopped short, then closed the boot lid, turning to look at the angel. "What? Why?"

"Because you are prepared. He is not."

"Hold on - are you concerned about him, Cas?" Sam hazarded, surprised. "Afraid something will happen to your golden retriever?"

Castiel's head tilted to one side slowly and he assessed Sam's face with customary patience. "You are… displeased with your lot in life."

"I've been displeased with my lot in life since I started school and found out about how normal kids have moms," he shot back.

Castiel looked at the ground for a long moment. Then he looked up again. "You walk a precarious path, Sam. Take care not to fall from it."

"Thanks. I'll watch where I put my feet," he said with sarcasm.

"You should. And do not leave Dean alone with the demon."

"Yeah, you said that already. You scared your star quarterback is going to go Dark Side?" he snapped.

"I do not recognise fear," Castiel allowed with a tight frown. Then his face lightened slightly. "But 'trepidation' would be a good word right now."

Sam opened his mouth but stopped short, surprised. They looked at each other for a long, telling moment.

"Right," Sam allowed, nodding slightly. "Ok. I'll ah… I'll make sure he's not left alone with the demon then."

"I appreciate your co-operation," the angel nodded.

Sam smiled slightly. "You know, all this time spent whispering in corners with Dean, and you still speak like you haven't walked the Earth for a few thousand years."

"Before pulling your brother from Hell, I had not," he pointed out.

"Fair enough," Sam shrugged easily. "Next time, when you want to say 'I appreciate your co-operation', just say 'thanks, man'."

"If I were Dean, I would say 'whatever'. But as I am an angel of the Lord, I will say 'I shall take it under advisement'," he said slowly, his head tilting in what passed for amusement in the heavenly creature.

Sam grinned. "I think that was your second joke." He saw some kind of rapid movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head to see. Then he realised the angel had disappeared from the other corner of his eye.

"Sam!" came a voice from across the car park. "C'mon man, what you waiting for?"

Sam looked over to find Dean crossing the parking lot toward him. "Ah - just getting our stuff," he shrugged.

Dean eyed him as he reached the car. "Right. No secret conversations I should know about?"

"What? No," he said quickly.

"You sure Ruby's not hanging around somewhere? Cos I hate to say it, but she'd be useful right now - she'd know where the seal is."

"Good point," Sam allowed. He opened his mouth but Dean pointed an angry finger at him quickly.

"No. Just - no, Sam. We are not summoning her - oh no, wait, we're not calling and begging that bitch for help."

"Dean!" Sam gasped, offended.

"Whut? She may be your friend, she ain't mine," he grumped.

"I owe her--"

"Yeah, and ain't she just made you pay for it ever since!" Dean shot back hotly. "Just…" He took a deep breath, letting his anger subside. "Let's just get inside and find out what the girls have for us, ok?"

"Ok," Sam allowed, his eyebrows drawing together in a vengeful frown.

"And don't pull that face. It's for your own good, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm not five."

"Really? So quit throwing your toys out your stroller and let's get on with this," he snapped. "And anyway, if she really wanted to help, she'd have been here by now, trying to get you in on this monkey bat gig. The fact that she hasn't makes me think she's staying away on purpose."

He turned and walked away, leaving Sam to pout at his hands in anger. He lifted the duffle and followed him into the motel, managing to let go of his frustration as they walked round to room 118.

Dean knocked loudly. "It's us," he announced.

The door opened and Moon looked at him. Her hair, previously in a neat pony tail, was now dishevelled and her face looked more than a little disturbed. Dean put his hands to her shoulders quickly.

"You alright?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I'm ok," she managed. "Me and Pamela have some information for you."

Dean eyed her for a long moment before letting his hands drop and walking past her. Sam nodded to her and walked in, closing the door behind him.

"What did you find?" Dean was asking.

Pamela waved a hand at Moon. "We went spirit-walking for monkey bats," she said brightly. "I was a big-ass black bird. It was fun. Kinda."

"I think I saw the next demon trying to kill bats," she allowed.

Sam moved to the free bed, sitting heavily. "You think?"

"Well, the last few times have been… unpleasant, sure. This time was… more so," Moon admitted quietly. She walked over and handed him a piece of paper. "The location. Where the next demon will be. It's all there," she said, not looking at him.

"Thanks." He nodded, patting her once on the shoulder as he got to his feet.

"Right. You two stay here," Dean advised. "There are devil's traps on the floor in front of the door and the window. There's even one on the wall behind the headboard. You get any whiff at all of something nasty coming to get you, you call us, you get me?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Pamela snorted. "I am not letting go of the re-dial button on her phone."

"Cool. Just sit tight. We'll be back soon," Dean said firmly. He turned and touched at Sam's elbow, gesturing him out of the room. Sam nodded at Moon and they walked out into the hallway.

Dean closed the door, hesitating before he looked up at his brother.

"Say it," he accused.

"What?" Sam asked quickly, surprised.

Dean turned away from him, walking down the corridor toward reception, and the exit.

"Tell me how asking Ruby would have been less painful than asking Moon to go through all that psychic seeing-over-distance looking-into-the-future nightmare-making crap," he snapped.

"She looked awful," Sam admitted.

"Yeah. I know," Dean grumped. "Well at least we got the location of the next demon. We won't need her to do any of that again."

"Hopefully," Sam put in. "Ah… Dean?" he asked quickly as they pushed their way out of the doors and into the cold night air.

"Whut?"

"Well, when we do find this demon, maybe I should talk to him."

"Why?"

"Cos… well, he might… He might tell me easier than you."

Dean stopped dead and looked at him. "Why, Sam? Hmm? Cos he's gonna fear your Diana Ross hand and Darth Vader-before-his-morning-coffee wrath?" he snapped.

"Yeah," Sam shrugged. "Might be easier for me to put the frighteners on him, if he thinks I'm this all-powerful demon killer. You see?" he asked, his eyebrows going through tortuous somersaults to persuade any witness that he was earnestly just trying to make things easier for everyone.

Dean sighed and looked away. "Yeah. You got a point," he allowed. "Ok."

"Ok. So where are we headed?" he asked himself, looking down at the paper in his hand. "A park? She thinks it's going to attack bats in a park?"

"Hey, she's been right before," Dean shrugged.

Sam looked up, his face looking detached for a long moment. When he didn't reply, his older brother looked up and frowned at him.

"Whut?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, shaking his head.

"No, c'mon, whut?" he pressed.

Sam huffed, prompting Dean to steel himself. "It's just… When we first met her, it was like… It was like she was this girl who had this psychic gift and was afraid to use it. And then… then crap happened and she came round to the idea. We meet up with her over a year later and she's turned into this… this…"

"This whut?" Dean asked carefully.

"This… well, this powerhouse of ability and… and she's not in any way remotely…" He huffed again, clearly unhappy with something. "She's not at all evil, is she?" he said deliberately, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Ok," Dean allowed, blinking in confusion.

"I mean… However her grandmother caused all this and made her what she is… She's still a good person. She's still… She's got this psychic ability and she's not going to go Dark Side," he finished edgily. "And maybe it's cos of you." So maybe, just maybe, you'll still be able to do it for me.

Dean just eyed him for a silent moment. Then he pursed his lips, thinking. At last he looked away, running his tongue over his lower lip. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?" he asked quietly.

"You know what I'm talking about. What you did for her? What you gave up for her? Cos you thought it was right while we all just stood by letting it go wrong?" he stressed. "Maybe she got some sense of right and wrong from you."

"Hey, I was gonna die soon anyway, what did I care what happened to me?" Dean blustered, keeping his gaze averted.

Sam studied him, thinking. "Yeah," he agreed easily. "Yeah. I'm sure that's it." Then his thoughts ran on through his head with just a tiny shiny modicum of pride: Yeah, my ass it was.

Dean rubbed at his nose casually. Yeah, my ass it was, he realised. But at least he doesn't know that. He rubbed his hands together briskly. "So we finding this park or whut?"

They climbed into the Impala.

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The car rumbled to a stop, Dean killing the engine and sitting back in the seat.

"So how we gonna do this?" he asked quietly, surveying the green lawn and well-placed trees in the darkness.

"Uh - gag him and bag him?" Sam offered.

Dean turned in his seat to stare at him as if he had suddenly grown three extra heads. Sam lifted his hand over the seat and kept his eyes on Dean's as he shoved his hand into his duffle. He brought out a roll of duct tape.

Dean began to smile. "I like it." He looked round out of his window again. "'Course, all we got to do now is get the jump on him."

"Let's hope he's only interested in bats," Sam ventured. He let the tape drop back into his duffle and sniffed.

"Check it out, perfect interrogation room," Dean said suddenly, gesturing out of the front windscreen with his chin. Sam looked over at the wooden hut with its single dark window and solid-looking door.

"Looks good. You want to prep it or shall I?" he asked. He hesitated, about to say more, but stopped himself.

"You do it. I want to see this demon arrive," Dean said quietly.

As much of a pain in the ass that angel is, I did say I'd keep Dean away from the demon, Sam worried. He thought for a moment. Then he blinked in sudden inspiration and looked over at his brother. "Cos you can't remember how to draw a devil's trap?"

"'Course I can, Sammy, shut up," he grumped.

"Really? Why else would you volunteer to keep an eye out?" he teased.

"I know exactly how to draw a devil's trap," Dean protested.

"Yeah? Well we'll have to take your word for that, won't we?" he grinned.

Dean turned and looked at them, then reached over into the back seat and snatched up his duffle.

"Keep watch," he grunted, squeaking the door open and climbing out of the Impala quickly.

Sam sat back, blew a slight sigh of relief, and turned his attention to the park out of the far driver's window.

Dean stole across the grass and to the hut, finding the sturdy door locked with not one but two padlocks. He tutted to himself, going through his duffle and pulling out his lock-picking tools. He shouldered the bag and got to work, chancing a look up and around the silent lawn. He had both locks open and was into the pitch hut quickly enough.

He looked to the small window, letting in a very slight trail of murky light, and then pulled his bag round his shoulder to rummage inside. He pulled out the small Mag-Lite and twisted it on.

He had time to gasp as the new piercing light described a form stood right in front of him.

"What are you doing in here?" the man cried angrily.

"Woah, hold on there, man," Dean said quickly, taking a step back and finding himself walking into tools hung on the wall. He bounced forward and they clattered to the floor noisily, making him grimace. "I'm just park security, I'm supposed to check--. How did you get in here when the door was padlocked from the out--?" He swore as he reached into the duffle quickly.

"Oh Dean, Dean, Dean," the man grinned, flicking out a hand.

Dean was lifted off his feet. He slammed into the wall, tools of all shapes and sizes pressing into his back. "You knew we were comin'?" he managed through teeth gritted in pain.

"Not at all. You surprised me," the demon admitted. He walked up to the Winchester pinned to the wall. His own brown hair fell over his black eyes and he put a hand up and swept it back, blinking and studying. "Something tells me you didn't know I'd be in here either."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean spat. "What were you doing, fixing up some bat-trap?"

"Rodents. Vermin," the man sneered.

"Now you see - everyone gets that wrong," Dean grunted, straining against unseen bonds. His boots dangled a few feet from the floor. He redoubled his efforts to somehow work his way free. "Bats ain't rodents, they're mammals."

"Says you."

"Says Val Kilmer."

"Trying to keep me off-track? Whatever," the demon snorted. "I hate the mammals almost as much as humans. But that's ok - there's only three of them left, and I will kill them."

"Yeah - about that," he managed, "Why you doing this? Did Lilith put you up to it?"

"Funnily enough, no," he said, putting his hand out slowly. He laid it flat against Dean's left knee. The hunter made an effort to jerk it free of the man's touch, but it wouldn't obey his commands. "What you're going to confirm is how you knew I'd be here tonight."

"Screw you, that's how I knew," Dean growled.

"Oh. I see," he said succinctly. He grasped the knee firmly and twisted. There was a tiny squelching sound and Dean's head snapped back as he gasped in pain.

"You son of a bitch!" he raged with equal anger and agony. The demon chuckled softly, taking a firm hold of the kneecap.

"Oh, I'm sorry - did that hurt?" he cooed. "Here, let me put it straight for you."

"Don't you touch m-- Gaaaahh!" he cried in agony, the man's hand twisting against at the kneecap. "I'll - I'll flay your - flay your goddamn host open piece by piece till I find your blackened excuse for a Hell-bitch!"

"Why, Dean," the man grinned. "How very vengeful of you! I like it!" He let his hand drop, then lifted it again. He held it out flat and Dean slid down the wall until his feet met the floor. "That's better. I've heard a lot about you. You know, you're taller in person."

"Are all - demons - short-asses?" Dean panted, his face screwed up in pain. He pulled and tugged but he was still stuck fast against the boards.

The demon's hand shot into Dean's left shoulder, grasping him firmly. "Just the angry ones," he smiled. "So tell me Dean, do you miss your time down there? Hmm? Cos I think you're just itching to get carving again, aren't you?"

He began to squeeze, his fingers biting into Dean's shoulder like steel clamps. The Winchester clenched his mouth shut, his nostrils flared and working double-time to deal with the agony of the grip. The pressure continued and Dean felt his flesh giving, opening up under the slicing force crushing into it relentlessly. He grunted incoherent, guttural sounds of pain that travelled round the wooden hut.

"Come on Dean, scream for me," the demon hissed angrily. "Like they say you used to, down there. Like they say you did for so many years. Scream for me, just once."

Dean let out a slight whimper as he dragged in breath, his jaw firmly clamped shut.

"Come on, Dean, come on," he urged, crushing down ever harder. "I'll shatter that precious tattooed shoulder of yours," he breathed. "It's going to fracture like an egg, and there's nothing you can do about it." He felt his fingers meet resistance against bone and his grin widened. "Here we go. What do you say, Dean? You going to scream now, or wait till your shoulder is in a thousand pieces in my hand?"

Dean panted in air through his nose, his agonised eyes opening suddenly. He caught his breath, the sweat rolling from his temple as he let his lips open.

"Screw," he grunted, barely discernible from the wheezing breath he was forcing through vitriolic, clenched teeth, "you."

The demon's grin dropped. "Oh dear. This is not good. I was told you'd fold like a new sheet from the tumble dryer," he sighed. "Looks like you had time to strap on a pair since leaving Hell, eh?" He shook his head slowly. "Ah well. Say goodbye to your shoulder, Dean. You don't need it - you have another, right?"

He squeezed and Dean roared thickly in anger, lest he allow the pain to make him scream. His eyes shut down, his muscles trembled, his head filled with clouds of revenge and promises of pain against his attacker.

Suddenly he could no longer feel the pressure, as if it were gone. The existing pain hung over him, taunting him.

This is the level, he realised. This is when it don't hurt any more cos it can't physically hurt much more than this.

He felt himself falling. His head hit something hard and he opened his eyes in surprise.

Sam's boots were in his field of vision. He wondered in a detached why they were on the wall. Then he realised he himself was lying on his side on the floor. He watched Sam's boots move around. Time left him alone for a while as he contemplated the raging pain in his knee, in his shoulder, and now his head.

Did I hurt ma head? Or is it the other kind of pain? he wondered idly. Like… I-don't-like-it pain? Whut's that word… Shame?

Something clapped against his exposed neck lightly, rolling his head backward and to his left. His gaze was shifted and he found his brother's worried face frowning down at him from somewhere above. His mouth was moving but someone had seen fit to mute the world, as if a monstrous remote control had been brought to bear on the night.

Sam's mouth kept moving, repeating the same pattern, but Dean's attention was hijacked by the pain. Sam's hand left his neck and jaw, and his head was allowed to rest back against the wall.

Floor, Dean corrected. I'm on the floor.

To say he watched his brother retreat from view would be to say that Dean acknowledged what Dean was doing and was exerting a conscious effort to make it happen. He was content to stare aimlessly around the dark patch of floorboards, lit only by the tiny fallen Mag-Lite. He watched the dust fall through the stream, felt Time sliding over his shoulder and knee, causing harsher pain. Brighter and angrier, bigger and deeper, the pain started to alert him to the fact that he was moving through Time too, not just watching it pass him by.

He felt a weak vibration in his throat, analysing it even as it continued, apparently without his help or coercion. He simply let it go on, oblivious.

Sam's boots came back into focus and he felt the warmth on his neck again. Brown hair flopped into Dean's field of vision and he blinked at it. There was a buzzing sound, very slight at first. Then it began to get louder, until eventually Dean recognised it as a voice. It sorted itself into words abruptly.

"Are you humming?" The sounds matched up with Sam's mouth perfectly. "Is that Billy Squier?"

Dean blinked and the vibration in his throat stopped. He found his mouth opening and his lips moved without his command.

"'Weird' doesn't even begin to cover it," Sam replied, relieved. "C'mon, man, you're leaking blood all over this hut. Let's get you up. Can you sit?" He grasped his elder brother's jacket over his untouched right shoulder and hauled him upright, leaning him back against the wooden wall.

And suddenly the universe went 'pop'.

Dean saw and felt a definite ripple go through his head. Abruptly he could hear everything in the hut, could see everything the right way up, could place himself in the main attraction rather than being part of the disconnected audience. It made the pain worse.

He put a hand to his head slowly. "Where's the demon?" he managed, hearing his voice rough, pained.

"I got him in the trunk. He's gagged and bagged - and everything's covered in devil's traps," Sam grinned slyly.

"Super," Dean grunted.

"Ok, I'm not kidding about this blood, Dean. Let me look," he said, pulling at the jacket over his left shoulder.

Dean hissed and swore in renewed pain as Sam pulled the plaid shirt to one side. He pinched at the t-shirt carefully, lifting it from the mess of sliced flesh underneath.

"Woah - what the hell did he use, a garden rake?" he joked, but his face was pale, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in abject disgust at the sight in front of him.

The pain searing across his skin like fire, the white-hot tendrils of agony raking at raw feelings of rage against his own helplessness, Dean resolved to answer and at least appear able to control his own body, trembling with relief and suffering.

"Well it sure wasn't - wasn't - m- magic fingers," he managed breathlessly.

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Actually posting this right now cos I'm waiting for the season four finale to start. And it's killing me.