In honor of the fact that it is not Ragnörak (which was kind of debatable where I live - we had a brutal and exceptionally long winter) and the fact the sun is shining and melting the snow (sun here doesn't always equal warmth), here's an early release of Chapter Eleven for your enjoyment. I hope it's spring where you are, too!
(By the by, for those who aren't familiar with the story of Ragnörak, it's the Norse "twilight of the Gods" a.k.a. apocalypse, which begins with a three year long winter via polar vortex. I'm a myth geek deluxe, especially for the Scandinavian lore.)
Between Here & There
I'm having a hard time adjusting to life after April. It's not really the fact that I had to let go of the girl I loved I have a hard time coming to terms with. In my line of work, I've killed a lot of things, but never once was it a familiar face. Up until last week, I'd never had to send someone I actually knew packing to... well, I don't know where monsters go when they die, but there. And it sucks that she was the one I had to do it to.
"Where do monsters go when they die?" I ask Dean who looks away from the road long enough to give me a curious look.
"You should stop thinking about April," he advises me instead of supplying me with a response. "It's distracting you. Which is fine for now, but I'm not going to be the one who has to break it to your mom that a monster ate your face because you couldn't stop thinking about a dead vampire. Besides, you don't really want to know."
"So you do know," I say and Dean rolls his eye.
"Trust me, you don't want to know," he repeats with a slight shudder.
"Come on," I urge him to share. "At least give me a hint. Will I ever see her again? When I die, I mean."
"Maybe," he replies with a short shrug. "For your sake you'd better hope not."
"Why?" I press. "Is it... Hell?"
"No," Dean shakes his head. "It is next door though."
"Come on," I pester, annoyed he seems to think I can't handle the reality of where I've been sending monsters these past seven years. "I'm a big boy, I can handle the truth."
Dean extracts his flask from his inner pocket and, for a minute, I think he's just going to let me wonder. He takes a quick sip, maintaining his focus on the road before us as he does. I sigh.
"There are three places someone can go when they die," Dean begins at last. "The good go to Heaven. The bad go to Hell, and the ugly... they go to Purgatory."
I gulp as a culpable pain settles in the pit of my stomach. I sent April to Purgatory?
"What about ghosts?" I ask, attempting to take my mind off my guilty conscience.
"They're not technically monsters," Dean points out. "So Heaven. Or Hell."
"So all monsters just get a one-way ticket to Purgatory when they die?" I attempt to clarify. Dean nods as he takes another drink from his flask before putting it away.
"Yep," he confirms.
"Even vampires?"
"Especially vampires."
"But... but they were people once," I argue. "They weren't born monsters."
"Hey, I don't make the rules," Dean puts his hands up defensively. "I just know where everyone goes."
"How do you know for sure?" I challenge and Dean groans. Again, a long moment of silence takes over and I'm almost sure he's going to keep me guessing.
"Because," he finally replies with a sullen tone. "I've been there."
"Where?" I question. "Purgatory?"
"Purgatory," he lists. "Hell. Apparently I've been to Heaven multiple times but I only remember the last trip."
Now that he mentions it, I do remember one of the legends about Dean is that he doesn't stay dead. Come to think of it, I had heard he crawled out of Hell just to stop the Apocalypse. I guess I had filed those away under "myth" before I even met him, based on the sheer ridiculousness of them.
I have so many questions now, but I know I'll be lucky to get an answer to any of them.
"How did you get out of Hell?" I ask one anyway. His brows crease as a memory surfaces at the forefront of his mind. He reaches for his flask and takes a long, hard pull.
"An angel pulled me out," he replies. He doesn't have to tell me which one. The way he stares beyond the road, the way he takes desperate gulps from his flask, I know it was Castiel.
"How'd you end up in the pit?" I ask, watching him tuck the silver object back into his jacket.
"I sold my soul," he grumbles.
I can't believe he's actually answering me. It's taken me months to get much of anything out of him. Does he finally feel comfortable with me sitting where I know Sam once sat?
"Why?" I press my luck.
"You hear from Garth lately?" he swiftly changes the subject, signaling he's done with my game.
Shit. I got so distracted when I found out April was a vampire, I forgot to call him.
I dig my phone out of my jean's pocket and wordlessly dial the Tavern's number.
"Ben, buddy," Garth answers with enthusiasm. "What's up? I was starting to worry a chupacabra switched to long pig."
"Hey, Garth," I say. "Nope, we're fine. It, uh... it turned out to be a vampire. Dean doesn't think chupacabra's exist."
"Either way, it's good to know you're still on your feet. I'm glad you called, man. I got a grizzly case up in Montana. You want it?"
"Grizzly?" I echo in the form of a question. "Like... the bear?"
"What? No," Garth replies and I know he finds my last question amusingly absurd. "Well, they are blaming a grizzly, but I meant grizzly the adjective. You know, gruesome."
"I think grizzly the adjective actually means 'gray'," I correct my ex-dentist, ex-hunter, werewolf/innkeeper friend. "Devoid of hue."
"Well, it is dark," Garth defends himself. "Somethin's eatin' folks up near Whitefish."
I take the blue, ball-point pen out of my pocket and make notes on the palm of my hand as Garth supplies me with information.
"Whitefish," I repeat as I write the town's name across calluses. "That's up in the mountains, right?"
"Yep," Garth confirms. "Near Glacier."
"You think it's a windego?" I question.
"Sounds like a windego's M.O.," Garth agrees. "Seems like the attacks are a little close to civilization for a windego though. You guys'll have to do a little research on this one."
"No problem," I promise. "We're on it, man."
"I knew I could count on you," Garth says. "How's the hunting trail with Dean?"
"It's... you know..." I glance at the driver, not sure if he can hear the other end of the conversation or not. "A learning experience."
"I guess that's one way to put it," Garth says with a small laugh. "Take care, alright? And give a guy a call when you dispose of this next monster, huh?"
"Sure, Garth," I promise. "I'll talk to you later."
Dean gives me an expectant look as I end the call, waiting for me to share the little information I've just gathered.
"Whitefish, huh?" he says, having overhead at least part of the conversation.
"I guess so," I nod.
"I hear you say windego?" he questions.
"You did," I nod. "Something's eating people."
"Sounds like a windego," Dean nods. "What'd Garth say?"
"He said it could be a windego," I reply. "But the attacks seem to be a little close to town for that. You know of anything else that actually eats people?"
Dean ponders this, but not for long.
"Rugaru," he says.
"Ruga-what?" I say with a skeptical look.
"Rugaru," Dean repeats.
"That sounds made up," I tell him flatly. "Or like something Scooby-Doo would say."
"Well it's not," Dean solemnly assures me. "They're nasty. Super strong, too. It's a good thing you're with me. Hunting one on your own is basically suicide."
"Says the guy who went up against a griffin solo," I mutter before I can think anything of it. Dean frowns.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he challenges as I silently beat myself up.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...
"What?" is what comes out of my mouth first in an attempt to stall for the rest of a reason to formulate. "I'm just agreeing that it's a good thing that I'm with you, since you could probably take it on yourself and win."
Did that sound as sincere out loud as it did in my head?
The look Dean gives me is suspicious but, for now, he's going to buy it. Or, at the very least, let it go.
"Anyway," he dismisses the last minute to return to the original conversation. "There's a cabin up there we can stay in."
"Awesome," I say, relieved he's temporarily bought my excuse. "I could use a break from the motel life."
xXxXxXx
Whitefish, Montana
"This is not what I had in mind when you said cabin."
My eyes sweep the interior of our lodgings with an extreme lack of enthusiasm. It's cold, drafty and dusty would be putting it mildly. A layer of leaves six inches deep have collected along the floor, nearly wall to wall like some kind of decaying foliage carpet, and the roof is a good rainstorm away from completely collapsing. Half the windows are shattered. The other half are so grimy it's nearly impossible to tell if it's day or night, or what even sits in the world just beyond.
"It's been a while since I've been up here," Dean admits, clearly nowhere near as disgusted as I am.
"How long?" I ask.
"Donno," he shrugs. "Pretty sure I had both my eyes though."
"Great," I mutter sarcastically as Dean shuffles past me with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"It's not that bad," he claims. "There's a broom around here somewhere. All it needs is a little sweep. Maybe a little TLC on the fuse box."
"Fine," I grumble, shaking my own bag from my shoulder which I cautiously place on a rickety looking table. "But I find anything bigger than a mouse living in here, I'm sleeping in the Impala."
"Don't be such a baby," Dean rolls his eye. "You're a hunter for crying out loud."
"Doesn't make me any less anti-rabies," I point out as I search for a broom or a mop or anything really that could help me remove the forest floor from the cabin. "Who owns this dump, anyway?"
"Hunter named Rufus," Dean replies. "He died... shit, I don't remember how long ago."
"Back when you had both of your eyes?" I guess.
"There abouts, yeah," Dean nods, looking over a tattered and half eaten couch. "I wouldn't sit on that."
"How is this place still here?" I ask. "If he died ten, fifteen years ago, how is this place still standing in Rufus's name? That doesn't make sense."
"Our lives don't make a hell of a lot of sense, do they?" Dean replies as he gives the place a solid walkthrough. "Abandoned houses have to come from somewhere, don't they? Anyway, I never said the property was still in Rufus's name."
"Who's house is it, then?" I wonder. "And why are we seriously still contemplating staying here?"
"I have no idea who owns the property now," Dean casually confesses. "And it's a free roof in just about the perfect neck of the woods."
"For what?"
"All the vics. They were munched on not too far from here."
"You're thinking about luring whatever's out there to us?" I half state, half question.
"Yahtzee," the older hunter replies, opening a closet door next to the kitchen. He extracts a broom and, when he tosses it to me, I can see at least half of the bristles have either fallen off or been chewed off. "Sweep some of this crap up. We've got some research to do and we're running out of daylight."
Dean and I set about making the place semi-livable, allowing a thick silence to fill the dilapidated structure. As I sweep the endless amount of leaves, dust and cobwebs from the cabin's wooden floors, I think about April. A few fond memories come to mind, but mostly I think about where I sent her when I separated her head from her shoulders. I'd like to think God changed his mind on where she'd end up after the hunter's funeral we gave her, but it's an unlikely prospect. From what I've heard, God abandoned us a long time ago and does nothing to rectify a good soul going to an awful place like Purgatory.
Wait a minute. If all monsters go to Purgatory...
"Hey, Dean."
"Yeah?" Dean replies without looking up from his own task of removing weapons from his duffel bag, all of which he places on the less than sturdy table.
"How sure are you that all monsters end up in Purgatory?"
"Pretty damn sure," he replies, carefully testing the edge of a long blade.
"Even the good ones?" I question with a hint of hope laced somewhere deep in my voice.
"Yep," he says as he closely eyes a pistol.
"So... when Garth dies..."
"I know it's not fair," Dean cuts me off, glancing over to me as he speaks. "But them's the breaks. It's where Garth'll go. It's where April went and, if you're not careful, it's where you'll end up too."
"I guess it's a good thing April wouldn't turn me," I mutter to myself, something that wasn't meant to be heard by Dean. Surprise! He does.
"What?" he half asks, half barks as his brows fold. "No. Hell no. Never actually let something turn you. That's one of the top five rules of hunting. Hell, that's a rule for life in general. Why in God's name would you let her turn you?"
"Maybe you'd understand if you'd ever actually been in love," I mutter, pretending to sweep the spot I've been "sweeping" for the last five minutes.
"Ooh, I see," Dean says, laying his gun on the table with a heavy thud. "First of all, not that it's any of your business, but I have actually been there. I'm forty-fucking-five years old. You think a guy can live this long without feeling that at least once? Second, take it from me when I say you cannot change for anyone. Especially a chick." He shakes his head as he retrieves the flask from his jacket pocket. "Letting a vampire turn you for a broad," he mutters. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Hearing it come from Dean, I guess my idea to let April turn me was really dumb. It sounds even worse now that I know what eventually happens to every monster ever made. But what really gets me about his little rant isn't about my dumb ass seriously considering going fang for a woman. To me, Dean's always been this hard, cold hunter. He's spent his entire life on the road and if the last few months with him have been any indication as to what he's like, I guess I assumed he was too busy and too closed off to experience much beyond a one night stand. It's weird hearing that, once upon a time, he had something normal for a fleeting moment.
"What'd you do?" I ask, actually really curious to find out what dumb thing Dean did for a girl. Dean maintains his frown, but it becomes more pained as the memories are forced to appear before him.
"I pretended like I could leave the life," he reluctantly shares. "I pretended like I could just walk away and not be a hunter. And it was good for a while. Me, her, her kid. We were a family for a little bit, because I selfishly thought I could have something like that. But I could only pretend to be Mr. Suburbia for so long. Eventually the life caught up to me and it almost got them killed."
"What happened?" I gently ask.
"A few djinn," he quietly responds. "A vampire. Demons." Pause. "Take it from me, Ben. It's not worth changing yourself for someone else. Because eventually the truth comes out and you're not just hurting yourself, your hurting everyone involved."
I watch as Dean tilts his flask upside-down, draining the last of his whiskey from its canteen.
"What was her name?" I lay out one last question.
I'm not asking just for curiosity's sake. Ever since Dean's desperate plea to Cas and his sorrowful reveal of absolute loneliness, I've been trying to think of ways to help him see that he's not, in fact, alone. And I think - or, rather, I hope - that by getting him to actually share with me the past that clearly still pains him, he'll slowly realize he's not as alone as he thinks he is.
"Lisa," he tells me at last.
"That's my mom's name," I share with him as he looks away.
"Oh?" he says, his voice distant as he attempts to busy himself with his weapons. With his back turned to me, he lets out a long, heavy sigh and, for a moment, I think about putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"I'm going on a supply run," he tells me, digging his car keys from his jeans pocket as he swiftly pushes past me.
As quickly and as easily as he opened up, he shut himself back down.
At least I managed to crack him a little. I like to think it helped. I know it helped me forget April and how guilty I'll probably always feel for sending her to Purgatory.
Except now that I'm all alone, that's all I can think about again. Damn it all.