Author's Note: OK, I don't want to give anything away but I think I am going to have to ask that you all just trust me and don't get too down as the story unfolds over the next couple of chapters. I promise, it gets brighter by the end and although it may not be a fairy tale ending, it isn't a complete tragedy either. This is my version of season five and I promise it won't leave everyone as gutted and hollow as Kripke's did.
Secondly, for you Twitter-ers, Jared finally joined up as 'Jarpad' so get following! I am just gonna assume you have all already joined the ranks of Misha's Minions (if not, why the Hell not?) and Jim Beaver's JumbleJim. FYI, also entertaining are Sebroche (Balthazar), Rob Benedict (Chuck) and dicksp8jr (Gabriel/Trickster).
~0~0~0~0~0~
CHAPTER 11 – Expect the Unexpected
The Winchesters were still two hours out of Baton Rouge when the shocking news had floated out of the Impala's speakers and crushed them. They listened in stunned silence until they passed a cagey looking motel and Dean swerved into the parking lot, stepping quickly out of the car and striding into the registration office without saying a word. He came back out a moment later waving a key and pointing towards nearby room number two. Within thirty seconds, the pair was perched on the edges of the beds, eyes glued to the TV screen and hearts twisting further in pain with every new report that was broadcast. It was frustrating beyond belief to be so far away and to be so completely helpless against this attack, unable to save Bobby or anyone else.
Neither of them moved for the next three hours except to occasionally pace back and forth as they phoned any and every person they knew trying to get information … any information. Dean's first call was to Ellen, seeking reassurance that she and Jo and, most of all, Cassie were fine and far from the area where the black smoke had been reported. Ellen assured them they were still safe and sound at the hunter's cabin in Tennessee and promised to stay bunkered down with gas masks on the ready until this thing blew over.
The story unfolded much like any modern disaster of epic proportions did, with bits and pieces of reports and videos trickling in and reporters and so-called experts spouting as much misinformation and conjecture as accurate facts. But eventually the stories began to sync and truth was separated from fiction to reveal that a huge black cloud had suddenly appeared over an area of about two hundred thousand square miles. People in the area had simply dropped dead within seconds. The cloud was now gone but the President had declared a State of Emergency across the country and the military had all been mobilized, mostly deployed to the area already being dubbed the 'dead zone' in full armor and hazmat suits. It was strongly believed there were no survivors and there was an underlying panic in the voices of every reporter at the new level of terrorism the country was suddenly facing.
Sam watched Dean's last reserves of strength fade away during the hours watching the story unfold, hope for the man they loved as a father dwindling with every new report. The younger Winchester was barely keeping his own composure and he could see the strain of fighting back tears sending the occasional quiver through his brother's cheeks.
A map of the US appeared on the screen with a large red circle digitally overlaid on the affected area and both hunters gasped audibly at the sight.
"You seeing what I'm seeing?" Dean breathed.
"If you mean that dead center of that circle is Sioux Falls then yeah," Sam replied. "Think they were targeting Bobby?"
"There's easier ways to kill an old man in a wheelchair," Dean pointed out. "And why would they target him anyway?" His voice cut out at end of sentence, already knowing the answer.
Sam just nodded. There was no need to say it out loud. Bobby wasn't the target - they were. They had just killed their closest friend and ally, not to mention about two million other people.
~0~0~0~0~0~
Drained and defeated, the brothers finally switched off the TV and left the motel, sinking tiredly back into the seats of the Impala. They both admitted to themselves that there was nothing more they could do for Bobby. The gruff but loveable mechanic had paid the ultimate price for being their friend but Little Sammy was still in the clutches of the Devil and both brothers still felt a deep, driving need to get him back. Despite Sam's better judgment, he let Dean drive, not having the heart at this point to argue with his stubborn brother.
As far as Sam could figure, there were two possible scenarios for what had happened. The first was that Lucifer had taken out Bobby in an attempt to anger the Winchesters, hoping they would step up to the plate and allow Michael and him to finish this fight, or perhaps just to remove one of their allies. The second was far more devastating. It was possible that Lucifer had thought the Winchesters were at or near Bobby's. Assuming he thought Cassie was still with them, this meant he didn't care whether or not he killed her which implied he knew she wouldn't help him defeat Michael.
Which meant he knew Little Sammy wasn't Sam's son.
Sam was fairly certain Dean had processed the same logic but neither brother voiced these concerns out loud. Instead they simply willed themselves to get back on the road to Louisiana, towards the lead Bobby had dug up of the ten people killed with satanic symbols carved in all the surrounding trees. They hadn't heard from Cas since news of the incident broke, despite leaving him several voicemails and both were starting to worry about the angel's well-being.
The crime scene in Louisiana was almost three days old now so a single guard snoring in a cruiser at the end of the dirt road was the only obstacle to getting a peek of their own. They found a hundred tiny white evidence flags peppering the grassy clearing but ignored them, moving immediately to study the markings on the trees. Dean slapped at the bugs feasting on him and swore under his breath as he tried to make sense of the unfamiliar sigils.
"I've seen these symbols before," Sam announced finally, staring intently at the tree trunk in front of him. "I recognize this one," he tapped the tree with his finger, "And those two over there too," he added pointing across the clearing. "They're all from The Book of Vighatakarine."
"The Viga-what?"
"Vighatakarine," Sam repeated, his brow creasing in concentration. "It's a pretty obscure book of Hindu rites and prayers."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Geek," he muttered under his breath. "So what do they mean?"
"Well this one means on or near water," Sam informed him, ignoring the familiar jab. "And I think those two over there mean place of the dead and something else to do with the dead."
Dean remained silent, letting his wiz-kid brother work his magic.
"But this one," Sam continued, stepping over to another tree, "This one's Roman Catholic. I think it's a crude version of the logo for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Baton Rouge."
"What makes you think that?" Dean encouraged. Sam's Mary-Poppins-Bag of a brain still never ceased to amaze him.
"Well, the RCDBR underneath, for one," he younger hunter said wryly. "And there's a cross with RIP written underneath it."
"So that one doesn't match the rest," Dean thought out loud. "So either whatever killed the ten people messed up its tree tagging or these symbols are a message of some kind."
Sam nodded slowly. "Yep," he acknowledged. "One only a hunter would be able to properly decipher."
"Not just any hunter," Dean muttered, suddenly afraid and hopeful at the same time. Could this be a message left for his brother? Dean would be the first to admit he never would have been able to make any sense of the symbols without a week of tedious online research or a phone call to Bobby. Did that mean Lucifer was setting a trap for them? A trap for Sam? Granted they were trying to find the asshole but Dean had wanted to confront him on their terms, not his.
Sam, on the other hand was looking excited. He looked back at the Catholic symbol. "And this one is the message. It's referring to a Roman Catholic cemetery."
"There could be fifty of them in town," Dean groaned, disheartened. They didn't have time to search every cemetery when they didn't even know what they were looking for.
"No but these other symbols could be narrowing it down," Sam said absently, wandering around the trees studying the Hindu symbols and taking pictures with his cell phone.
Back at the car it took him a total of fifteen minutes online to determine that the symbols were pointing towards Highland Cemetery on the Mississippi flood plain just south of Baton Rouge. Dean pulled over down the street from the cemetery gates twenty minutes later just as the sun disappeared below the horizon. They loaded up with shotguns, salt rounds and holy water, neither mentioning the fact that none of these things would be of any use against Lucifer.
They climbed the stone wall effortlessly and dropped down on the other side. After having only gone a few yards, three men stepped out from the cover of some trees and fanned out around them, their eyes flashing black even in the faded light. Sam drew Ruby's knife and Dean waved the shotgun at the group.
"One more step and things get ugly," Dean warned, pumping his 10-gauge noisily.
"Oh come now, lovies," came a snide voice from behind them with a thick English accent. "No need to be unfriendly."
Both brothers spun around to see a man in a dark coat smirking at them. He waved his hand and the shotgun flew from Dean's hands.
Shit, he had the mojo.
"You haven't seen unfriendly yet," Dean challenged, pressing his back to Sam's in a defensive position as they were now virtually surrounded.
The man chuckled and shook his head, showing no sign of worry. "You two are hard to flag down," he clucked in apparent disapproval. "I heard you were in Louisiana so I came right down here. And I hate Louisiana," he frowned. "All their bunt catfish and cheap wine. No appreciation for a good whiskey. Anyway, here I am, practically sending up a signal flare for you, and it still takes three days to finally get some face time. You certainly took your sweet time getting here. I had to kill two other hunters who beat you to the punch and I hate having to kill people without sealing a deal first."
Though they weren't sure what he meant by the last part, both Winchesters narrowed their eyes at the demon's admission. Two more deaths on their heads. On top of that, this was a trap after all and they had walked right into it.
"You one of Lucifer's cronies?" Sam seethed, ignoring the three demon lackeys behind him and focusing his attention squarely on the English prick, clearly the leader.
"Me? Certainly not. I resent the insinuation. I've got my own gig going." He stepped towards them slowly. "I'm in the importing-exporting business."
"And what do you 'port'?" Dean asked, glancing nervously at the demons flanking him and Sam.
The English demon laughed. "Well, souls of course. Human souls. Granted, I do more exporting to hell than bringing them back, but…" He looked back and forth between the brothers. "I'm sorry," he said. "Where are my manners? I've neglected to introduce myself. Name's Crowley. King of the Crossroads. But you two Neanderthals can just call me the best thing to ever happen to you."
"And why would we do that?" Dean challenged.
"Coz I'm gonna give you what you need to defeat Lucifer," Crowley said matter-of-factly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old antique revolver.
"The Colt!" Sam exclaimed, unable to help himself.
"What's the catch?" Dean asked immediately, not daring to believe this stroke of luck. "Why would you help us?"
Crowley sighed. "Like I said," he explained. "I have my own gig going. Actually, it was going quite well and I had big plans," he grinned devilishly, "Really big plans. But then the glorious Morning Star himself comes topside and puts a kink in it all."
"Are you saying you're gonna give us the Colt to ice the Devil?" Dean demanded, not hiding the skepticism in his voice.
"In a nutshell, yes," Crowley shrugged.
"Why?" Sam questioned.
"Well, if you must know, I have a cushy life here and I don't want some freaking angel mucking it up."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, nice digs," he quipped, looking around the old cemetery.
Crowley smirked at him. "You'd get drool on my exquisite Armissian rug if I ever let you anywhere near my house, you ignorant prat," he gloated. "I make Bill Gates look like a Pauper. I buy a new yacht when my old one gets wet. Maybe someday you'll work your way up to blue collar and then you and I can have a remotely civilized conversation."
Dean just snorted again. "How do we know it's the real one?" he changed the subject, nodding at the Colt in Crowley's hands.
The demon shrugged and pointed the gun at the demon closest to Sam and fired. The demon clutched his stomach and lights flashed behind his skin before he slumped to the ground dead.
Crowley shrugged. "Never really trusted him anyway," he said flippantly.
"Why not just shoot the Devil yourself?" Sam pressed. "Why leave it to us to do?"
"Plausible deniability, Shaq. It's no secret you two morons want Luci's head on a pigpole. You try and muck it up and nobody's the wiser. If I try and don't succeed…well, that wouldn't bode so well for me now, would it?"
"OK, so you're a coward," Dean snapped. "We get it. We'll do the dirty work."
"I'm giving you a fighting chance here," Crowley snarled. "You could at least show a little gratitude. I mean, what were you planning to do? What's the point of kicking down the Devil's back door if you don't have anything to hit him with? What exactly was your plan? Walk up and politely ask for your son back?"
He had directed the last question at Sam, igniting a small spark of hope within both brothers that Lucifer and his minions still didn't know Little Sammy's true parentage.
Dean threw his brother a hopeful glance and turned back to Crowley, extending his hand. "Fine, just hand it over then.'
Crowley emptied the bullets out of the gun and tossed it to the hunter. He pulled a bag from his coat pocket and shook it before dropping the extra bullets inside, where they clinked against the ones already in there. "You'll need bullets," he crowed, tossing it to Sam.
"Well, I'll be off then," he said simply after an almost awkward pause.
"Wait!" Dean called, hesitating for a second before continuing. "Why did Lucifer do what he did?" he asked. "The black cloud?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Crowley asked back, a smug grin appearing on his face. "While Michael might be happy to twiddle his thumbs and wait you two stubborn bastards out, Ol' Luci's been locked in a cage for millennia and he's just chomping at the bit to duke it out with the big bro that put him there. Subtlty's not really his game. He wants you boys to suit up and get in the ring and if he wants to send you a message, trust me, you get the message."
"But what if we'd have been in the area?" Dean fished. "He could have killed us. He doesn't want Sam dead."
"Oh, it's a good thing you've got your looks," Crowley rolled his eyes. "If he kills you, moron, he finds you. Think he can't bring you back? He's not a little fish like your tag-along angel dropout. This is Lucifer we're talking about. And don't think he's finished yet. He's just warming up."
"But what if Cassie had been there?" Sam interjected quickly, predicting Dean's next question and not wanting the demon to see his brother's obvious parental worry for the little Winchester girl. The demons may yet believe she was Sam's daughter. "He may need her," he pointed out. "She may be the child."
"Pah!" Crowley waved a dismissive hand in front of his face. "He's got one kid so he's got a fifty-fifty shot at it being the right one. Besides, he despises being held at the mercy of a human, especially a scruffy tot like yours," he said to Sam. "He thinks he can take down Michael with or without the kid."
"Scruffy?" Dean pounced on that comment. "Why do you say scruffy? Have you seen him?" Little Sammy did have longish hair, which was apparently the style in the early seventies, and scruffy was a very specific adjective to use.
"I got a glimpse when they were here," was the reply.
"Was he okay?" Dean wasn't able to keep the eager question from tumbling out.
Crowley curled his lip in apparent distaste. "He's a rugrat. He was breathing."
"So they were here?" Sam pressed.
"Emphasis on were," was the quick reply.
"So where's he now?"
"Off stirring his brew I presume. Like I said, he's just getting started." The demon chuckled. "Wait 'til you see his next surprise. And after that … well, you remember River Grove, don't you? Of course, it won't affect you two, but everyone who's NOT an angel vessel will have a very bad year."
Sam was startled by the revelation. He would never forget River Grove, the town where the demons had infected the townspeople with the Croatoan virus and he had discovered that he was immune, that he was a freak and that his father had known all along. "Are you saying I wasn't affected because I'm a vessel?"
"Well it wasn't because you ate your Wheaties."
"That means Dean's immune as well?"
The demon let out an annoyed-sounding sigh. "Vegas money would say yes. Now listen, enough with the chit chat. I'm not here to catch you ladies up on the latest gossip, just to point you in the right direction."
"And what direction is that?" Dean demanded eagerly. "Where's Lucifer?"
"Oh come now, Bright Eyes. Do I have to do all your work for you? It's not like there's a locator spell that can find an angel and Luci keeps his whereabouts in the need-to-know category."
"So you don't know?" Sam snapped, again moving subtly closer to his brother. Sam had the bullets and Dean had the gun. If they could keep this prick talking long enough, keep him distracted, maybe they could put the two together and take him out.
"No, but I can find one of his closest; his personal assistant, if you will. I can find Eramesh."
"Eramesh?" Dean repeated.
"Clean the muck out of your ears, Dean. Yes, Eramesh. I believe you lot are already acquainted. She's Azazel's daughter."
"Meg?" Sam and Dean exclaimed in unison.
"Meg, Eramesh, Sluts-R-Us; whatever she's going by these days, she's one of Luci's favored few on account of her yellow-eyed Pops jumpstarting this whole thing."
"So how do we find her?" Sam seethed through clenched teeth. He had a major axe to grind with the demon who had possessed him and made him shoot Dean only to return two years later and land Bobby in a wheelchair.
"Easy. She's in New York." With that he vanished, leaving a very nervous-looking pair of demons eyeing the knife in Sam's hand warily.
~0~0~0~0~0~
August 16, 1969…
"Come on Cas, pleeease?"
Cas shuffled uncomfortably as she looked up at him, her brown eyes beseeching. "It doesn't seem wise," he stammered. "Why do you want to go?"
"I just wanna get out of the house," she pleaded. "Get out of Philly and this crap-ass subdivision. Please Cas. You know, I haven't killed anything bigger than a cockroach in over two years."
"You miss killing things?" he asked in mild surprise.
"No, of course not" she answered him. "But I miss doing things, helping people, fighting the good fight, all that crap. But that's not the point. See, I've been up to my eyeballs in poop and babyspit for a year and a half and I just want one day of grown-up time. Let's go have some fun. Don't you ever want to have some fun?"
"I went to that party with you," he reminded her. "At Maureen Bolder's house. It was you who insisted we leave after only half an hour simply because they asked for my car keys."
"Okay first off, that was over a year ago," she argued. "And secondly, they were asking for every guy's car keys Cas. They were putting them in a bowl, remember? I thought I had explained this - it was a swinger's party."
"You did," Cas frowned. "I just … swingers?" He gave her a sheepish look. She had told him that much at the time but he hadn't understood what it meant. He had later asked Dorothy and she had told him swing was simply a type of music.
A huge grin spread over the brunette's face. "You don't know what a swinger's party is, do you?" she asked him.
Embarrassed though not sure why, Cas shook his head.
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "Well, if you take me to this party, I promise I'll explain why I wasn't about to stay at Maureen Bolder's." She smiled at him encouragingly. "Besides," she added, "It's freaking WOODSTOCK! This is the opportunity of a lifetime – well, more like the opportunity of someone else's lifetime – but I can't not go. Please Cas? Do it for me?"
Her lips puckered into a pout and her eyes continued to beg. Cas wasn't sure why, but he found it strangely difficult to resist giving into her when she acted this way. He had heard Dean say human females were far more manipulative than men and that they would use 'whatever God gave them' to get their way but the angel hadn't really understood that either and still couldn't quite pinpoint why he was more apt to give Tasha her way than he was if it had been, for example, Sam asking him the same favor.
"We cannot both go," he argued feebly, knowing he had already given in. "What if the angels or demons find the children while we are gone?"
"Cas, they don't know we're here. If they did, they woulda shown up already. The kids will be fine with Dorothy and I already asked Gunter to come over and help. We'll be back by morning."
"Fine," he relented with a sigh. "Where is this Woodstock party?"
"On a farm near Bethel, New York," she answered excitedly, grabbing his arm in readiness for the angel-travel. "You won't be able to miss it; there's like a half a million people there. Just get us really close to the stage, ok?"
Cas nodded and concentrated on taking them there. They appeared in the midst of a thick crowd right in front of the stage, eliciting a few cries of 'woah man!' and 'where the hell did you come from?' but most of the people were too enthralled in what was happening onstage to even notice. The man right next to Cas just gave him a goofy grin and stared at him with glazed-over eyes. The ground was very muddy and people had obviously fallen because they had the mud caked over their bodies as they swayed to the music. Many women were completely topless or wearing nothing but their undergarments and Cas hoped suddenly that Tasha would not join them. That could make things around the house very awkward afterwards.
The angel frowned with unease at the crushing pressure of the crowd and extended his arm protectively around the brunette, who was now screaming with delight at the long-haired men on stage making the excruciatingly unpleasant noises with their instruments.
"Oh my God, Cas, it's Santana!" she yelled in his ear, jumping up and down. He couldn't help but smile at her excitement and quickly decided that he could put up with the noise for a little while for her sake. There air was thick with a sweet-smelling smoke and Cas soon found himself feeling slightly strange. He was barely aware that after about an hour, he had actually started swaying his shoulders with the crowd.
They were there for hours. Every time Cas thought the show was finally over, an new, louder band seemed to take the stage. Tasha danced and screamed her way through the Grateful Dead and laughed at Cas's comment that perhaps his ears would be 'grateful' if these men were actually 'dead'. He had meant it in all seriousness but was pleased to see he had apparently made a joke. The brunette was usually laughing at him rather than with him and most of the time he didn't know what it was he had said or done that she found so amusing. In recent months she always followed it up with a 'dude, I just love you' or 'Cas, you're the sweetest' which worked to eliminate any humiliation, but he was still pleased whenever he was able to make a real joke, even if unintentionally.
A band Tasha informed him were called Credence Clearwater Revival came on and the crowd once again went wild. The sweet-smelling cloud of smoke continuously surrounding the man next to him was noticeably affecting Cas's senses and he began to feel lightheaded. "Tasha," he said gravely, "I believe my wits are being compromised by the cigarette this man is smoking."
Once again she laughed. "Cas, that's weed. It's supposed to compromise your wits. Don't worry. If you blab anything you shouldn't, it won't matter coz everybody will just think you're tripping." She looked at him intently for a moment. "Wait a minute," she said. "I've seen you suck back six beers at a barbeque and you don't feel a thing. Are you saying angels can get stoned?"
"I don't know," Cas said uncomfortably. He felt like his vessel's heart was beating way too fast in his chest. "It would appear so."
"You okay?" she asked, her face suddenly serious.
"I think we should go," he admitted. "This music is unpleasant and loud and there is a half-naked woman behind me who keeps grabbing me."
Tasha gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder. "Dude, she's just sharing the love. This is hippie-central. Besides, you don't exactly blend in standing there all stiff in your suit and trench coat. Look, Janis Joplin is next and then just a couple more before the Who and Jefferson Airplane come on. We can't leave yet."
He sighed and pulled his face unknowingly into a pout. "Very well," he groaned.
"Aw Cas, I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "You're not having any fun. Listen, why don't you go over there to where all those tents are and wait for me there? It'll be quieter and there'll probably be less weed."
He looked around disapprovingly. "This crowd is dense," he told her. "It could get dangerous for one with your small stature."
She chuckled playfully. "Cas, there is no crowd crushing. This gig already happened, remember? Nobody got squashed in the crowd at Woodstock so I'm safe. You head on over there and I'll meet you in front of that big orange tent when Jefferson Airplane finish. I'm gonna need you to zap me backstage afterwards." She raised her eyebrows at him when he didn't move. "Please. You know I'm just gonna feel guilty if you stand next to me all night looking miserable."
"Very well," Cas agreed and zapped himself out of there.
"Oh far out!" the topless woman who had been behind him squealed. "I was just about to goose him when he disappeared!"
Tasha laughed and turned back to the stage just as CCR broke into the opening riffs of Proud Mary, erasing all memory of the disappearing man in the trench coat from the minds of the small cluster of people around him.
~0~0~0~0~0~
Author's Note: The next chapter's almost finished too so I'll be posting it within the next day or two. Please review and let me know what you're thinking. Next up: Showdown with Meg and Cas gets his groove on at Woodstock.