FOURTEEN

Finders Sealers

.

.

The Impala screeched to a halt outside the house. The engine died, the headlights winked out. The doors opened as quietly as physically possible, given the old girl's penchant for announcing the workings of her two-way thoroughfares with searing squeaks.

Two figures stole up the path, splitting off and aiming for the two front windows at ground level. They were given careful consideration before the two dark shapes were re-united at the front door.

"Take the back," Dean whispered. "I'll go in through the kitchen."

"Because?"

"Because if they've hurt that dog, I'll string every last one of 'em up by their cloudy demonic asses."

"Right," Sam allowed, hiding a smile at his attempt to work out just how his brother could achieve his threat. He took off left, heading for the side of the house and round.

Dean pulled out his lock-picking tools, pushing two grips into the slot. His left hand fumbled and he dropped the tiny slide. He cursed, wincing as his shoulder protested its use. He crouched down to retrieve it.

The front door splintered outward. It missed his head by inches. He threw himself to his right. He landed in the rose bushes, twisting to pull up his Colt 1911.

A tall figure appeared in front of him. It turned and looked down. Dean let the gun fall to the soil by his side. He ripped open his jacket, searching for the flask of holy water in the inside pocket.

"Dean Winchester," said a decidedly sultry voice. "We heard you were looking into this seal too. Where's that delicious dark-prince brother of yours?"

Dean's left hand connected with the flask. He pulled it out as the tall figure stepped forward, revealing long, black hair and a facial bone structure most up-market cosmetic surgeons would have wept in ecstasy to behold.

"I thought it was just one of you stains after the seal?" he accused, catching his breath.

The demon took a step closer, her eyes flashing black in the moonlight. A sound of canine whining and abject pleading filled the air. Dean's other hand grasped at the cap of the flask quickly.

"You thought wrong," she smiled, crouching by his knees. "We're a team. I'm guessing you got rid of my brother. Shame."

"Aw, you miss him?" he accused, pulling the cap free.

"No, I wanted to off him myself. He was a little… weak. At times," she grinned. "I'm guessing it was him that told you where to find the seal?"

Dean twitched his left wrist, sending his hand out in an arc. But his shoulder screamed and temporarily lost all of its strength. He cried out in unexpected pain. The flask tumbled from his weak fingers, hitting the dirt with conviction.

"Aww, poor baby," she tutted. "Did my brother hurt you?"

She put her hand on the dirt bed next to him, then grabbed his arm. He struggled but her left hand went to his throat, gripping tightly. Her right hand reached his shoulder, yanking the shirt and t-shirt down. She laughed and slapped her hand to the white pad. She dug her nails into the gauze surface and Dean grunted out a roar of anger.

"Gaaah - you bitch!" he seethed through gritted teeth.

"Sticks and stones," she sang cheerfully, "will break your bones."

She laughed and put more weight into her fingers.

Abruptly she gasped and froze. Dean felt the pressure disappear from his throat and shoulder. He pushed up with his right hand, propelling her off him. She rolled to one side, jerking and smouldering, her eyes jammed open in horrific realisation.

Sam leaned over her and slid the knife free of the back of her neck. He panted some breath back, leaning over and holding his hand out.

Dean put his right hand up blindly and Sam grabbed his wrist. Between them they hauled the elder Winchester to his feet, and Sam watched him bend over and regain some breath.

"You ok?" he asked quickly, eyeing the way Dean grasped at his shoulder, his face giving new meaning to the phrase 'bad ham'.

"Did you get the brick?" he panted.

"Dude, I have no idea what it looks like," he protested. "I was in there for like a minute before I realised you weren't already in the kitchen. I came back round and here you were, under some demon chick."

"Jealous?" Dean winced, but Sam just looked back at the house.

"How do we find it?"

"I know someone who knows exactly what it looks like," Dean groaned. He bent down and picked up his gun, pushing it in his coat pocket.

"Who?"

Dean stumbled to the front door, putting his bloodied right hand to the frame. He pushed at the door and opened it up, sticking his head in.

"Angel?" he called hopefully. "Angel! Come here, darlin'!"

There was a clicking, padding noise and then a panting, rowling mass appeared in the archway.

"You have got to be kidding me," Sam smiled.

The Rottweiler whined and jumped up, almost pushing Dean over. He counter-balanced her weight, grabbing at her head with his weak left hand. She whined piteously and stretched her neck out, lapping her huge tongue out toward his cheek.

"Alright sweetheart, yeah, I know," he breathed, pushing her down to her four paws again, "I know you missed me."

"Seriously?" Sam reiterated. Dean just turned to him, waving him over.

"Get over here," he ordered. Sam scoffed in amusement, advancing on the pair of them. Dean turned to the dog, grabbing her collar to prevent her from trying to ram her nose into his crotch. "I told you, I ain't into that," he said curtly, pulling her round. He crouched down and she immediately leapt at his face again with her wide tongue. "Angel! Sit!" he commanded.

The dog surprised the Winchesters by doing exactly that. She sat to attention, her tiny tail stump haring from side to side as she watched Dean like the proverbial hawk.

"Right, now," he said professionally, putting a hand up to her muzzle and tapping his thumb against her nose gently. He looked at Sam and waved him closer. "Smell him," he ordered, guiding her nose against Sam's hand. "Salty, ain't he?" he observed. "That ain't just his language, sweetheart." The dog ran her nose up Sam's wrist, snuffling and making odd little growling noises to herself. "Got it?" Dean hazarded, pulling her collar to bring her away. "Find it, Angel. Find the brick that smells like him."

She let her mouth fall open and panted in his face.

"This is not going to work, Dean," Sam sighed, as she tried to reach Dean's nose with her tongue. "We're going to get more and more demons here until--"

"Angel," Dean said sharply, making her stop attempting to cover his face in saliva. "I've just gotta find the right word, Sam," he added irritably. "She'll find it for us."

"We're wasting time," he protested.

"Angel, look at me," the oldest Winchester instructed, shaking her collar just slightly. She pinned him with an adoring, wistful look. "Search! Search for the brick!"

She yawned and slapped her teeth together noisily.

"Ok then… Find it! Bring it - no wait," Dean said quickly, "I'm not into dog-baiting either. Ah…"

"Look, you clown around out here, I'll go inside and--"

"C'mon, darlin', work with me," Dean groused. "Retrieve! Find! Search! Uh - uh - look for it!" he added desperately.

"Leave her," Sam said gently.

"Guh! How can this be so hard? You're a dog! All you do is fetch things - oh! Fetch!" he cried triumphantly.

Angel licked her lips and watched him avidly.

"You tried," Sam allowed. "It was a good idea."

"Shut up," Dean snapped. "C'mon, Angel - help me out here, huh? Huh?" he pleaded. "Or I am never gonna live this down. How do I make you get it?"

She snapped to attention, springing to all four paws and pulling at his grip. Dean grinned delightedly, and no adjectives in the world could describe the width of his smile.

"Get it? Get it! Get the smelly friggin' brick!" he gushed. He let go and she tore off through the kitchen, her claws clicking against the tiles. Dean turned his head to look up at his baby brother. "After you," he grinned maliciously.

Sam hurried after the dog and Dean allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk before he pulled on the doorframe with his right hand, getting to his feet laboriously. He got into the kitchen just in time to catch sight of Sam disappearing up the stairs after the boundingly enthusiastic canine.

He walked to the wooden chairs and grabbed the nearest one, turning it round to face away from the open kitchen door. He sat himself on it wearily, leaned his elbows on the backrest in front of him, and let his head dangle forwards on his neck. He rubbed it tiredly before he put his right hand to his jacket collar, pulling back the heavy garment and looking at his t-shirt underneath. The raised square of dressing over the stitches was again sporting an unenviable pattern of small red dots, fresh hurt from the inside, and he sighed. He let the jacket drop and shook his head slowly.

He worked up the energy to find the flask in his jacket pocket. He looked at it, found it was the opposite of what he wanted first, and searched again. This one was much more to his liking and he unscrewed it thoughtfully, taking a long few sips of alcohol. He replaced the cap, sniffed to himself, and then secreted it back inside his coat.

He lifted his left elbow to sit higher up on the backrest and reached for the flask of holy water again. He got comfortable and watched the back door as if he expected it to bite him.

.

.

Sam stood back and watched the dog push her nose into the piles of clothes and the bedding excitedly. She whipped around and ran to the wardrobe, scrabbling at the door. Sam opened it for her and she dived inside, disappearing in the murky depths of clothes sprawled willy-nilly. She began to bark urgently and then she leapt out again, finding Sam and then turning to look at the wardrobe. She barked again and he lifted his hands.

"Alright! Ok!" he protested. He put his hand out to her head and she waited expectantly. "Good - eh, girl," he managed awkwardly, patting slightly. She stood back and he opened the other door, snapping on the light. "And?" he asked himself.

She barged in past his leg, nearly toppling him, her head down to the carpet. She grasped a pair of jeans and hauled them out, shaking them as if they owed her a new chew-toy. Sam turned and saw an eight-inch lump fall to the floor.

"That's it?" he asked, confused. He bent down and put his hand out for it, but she barked at him. "What? You did it, you found it," he said. His fingers connected with it and a low, growling warning started in her throat. Sam's hand paused but the noise got louder. He eyed her, withdrawing his hand. She stopped growling but her stance remained unchanged.

He sniffed, thinking about it. Then he put his hands to the jeans underneath, lifting them and the object without touching it. She dragged in a huge breath and suddenly he was bombarded with a barrage of the most impossibly loud barks he had ever heard in his life. Spooked, he dropped the clothes and got to his feet.

"Ok! I get it!" he said quickly, fear goose-bumping down his back. He pointed at the object, then the stairs. "Take it to Dean then, if you love him so much!"

She eyed him warily but her head dropped. She grabbed the lump in her mouth and trotted off past him, out of the door.

He blew out an annoyed huff and followed her down the stairs and round to the kitchen. The dog skittered happily over the tiles, stopping by Dean's chair and landing her chin on his left leg with a thump.

"Aw hey, you're back," he said cheerfully, turning to look down at her. "Is this it?" He put his right hand over for it and she dropped it faithfully into his possession. Dean stared at it, confused. "You sure?" he asked doubtfully. She gave a half-woof, half-huff from under her jowls and he shrugged.

Sam walked over, looking down at the brick. "It doesn't look like much to me either," he confessed.

Dean turned it over and over, finding it eight inches long by four square. It looked to be made of some kind of clay, without markings, traces or anything else to indicate a special purpose.

"The demon said I'd know it when I saw it," Dean muttered, baffled. "What the hell is this?" He turned it again in his hands but his left fumbled. He cursed as it dropped to the hard kitchen floor.

A shard of clay cracked away from the edge. Angel put her head down and licked it thoughtfully, causing another shard to break away.

"Angel! No!" Dean admonished. She looked up at him. "You do not wanna eat that crap," he said sternly.

"But… she did find markings underneath," Sam pointed out slowly, walking over and crouching down to the brick. "Look at this!" He put his hand out but Angel scooped it up quickly, pushing it at Dean's lap.

"Thanks," he blinked, surprised. Sam's eyes darted to the ceiling in disbelief and indignation. Angel just stood back, apparently pleased. Dean lifted the brick and looked at the odd shapes carved into the surface where the mud had fallen away. "You recognise any of this?" he asked, turning it for his brother to see.

"I don't think so," he muttered, pre-occupied. Dean passed it to him and Angel began to growl.

"Hey," Dean said sharply, looking at her. "He's just lookin', ok?"

She licked her lips and sat slowly, content to watch. Sam carried the brick to the kitchen sink, rapping it against the side and shaking off more clayish mud.

"There's more underneath," he said, turning on the tap. He ran it under the water but the mud did not move. He looked around, finding a wire scourer by the sink and attacking the caked silt. It took him a few minutes, but with a little elbow grease he had the brick mostly unearthed, some of the marks legible. He rinsed his hands and turned off the tap. "We'd better check just what these are before we start slicing at it with a knife," he mused.

"Oh yeah," Dean gushed, and Sam looked up from the brick in surprise. He heard Dean chuckle delightedly and turned slowly.

He found he had turned in his seat, and now Angel had her chin on his leg and her paw scraping at his side. He was scrubbing his right hand over her head, making her whine enthusiastically in enjoyment. His hand stopped and she barked and whined, struggling and nudging at his left. He lifted it and attacked her side and she made ecstatic 'rowl'ing noises at him. He stopped abruptly, hissing.

"Ow ow ow," he grunted, lifting his left arm back with his right. She licked at his hand but he dropped his right hand on her head. "Alright, darlin', save some for later," he managed, his face pained.

Sam sighed philosophically and carried the brick back over. He dumped it on the table in front of Dean, watching him with his eyebrows just a little too high.

"Whut?" Dean asked innocently.

Sam opened his mouth, thought about it, then huffed slightly. "You're enjoying her company way too much. It's starting to freak me out," he admitted awkwardly.

"Don't know what your talking about," Dean said professionally, putting his hand out for the brick.

"Oh Angel!" Sam gushed, lifting his hands and waving them slightly, his voice thin and breathy. "Oh Angel! Oh darlin'! You love me, don't you sweetheart?" he cooed in a high, little-boy voice that nevertheless sounded far too much like Dean for his elder brother's amusement.

"Shut up," he grumped. "You're just pissed she don't like you."

"Whatever," Sam sighed. "Look, we need to know more about this brick," he said. "I'm sorry Dean, but I just don't trust some demon under duress to tell the truth - not when these markings are supposed to pre-date Castiel."

" 'Spose you have a point," he admitted grudgingly. He looked down at the dog, who was currently watching his every move with her tongue hanging out and her eyes full of adoration. "We'd better go find the girls. And they're in a library, right? Should be something in there that'll help us."

"Right," Sam said.

They got up to leave and Angel trotted cheerfully after them. Sam and Dean turned to look at her, stopping in the doorway.

Sam sighed. "Stop--"

"Come on then," Dean interrupted. The two boys looked at each other.

"You aren't serious," Sam stated flatly.

"Sam, the owner's dead and no-one's gonna be checking this place for at least a week. We can't just leave her here like this," his brother said reasonably. Sam searched his face very thoroughly, but even he could not find a single trace of an emotion other than determination.

"So take her to an animal shelter!"

"Whut, now? Right now? At--" He lifted his watch. "At eight at night? Yeah sure - and when the apocalypse hits and Castiel's blaming it on me, I'll say it was all down to you just having to stop everything to give a dog a home," he said pointedly. Sam stuck his jaw out but Dean just turned and looked down at the dog. "You're with me, sweetheart," he instructed, jerking his head at the door. She yelped happily and bounded out of the door into the darkness.

"So ah… she sitting on your seats, is she?" Sam asked innocently.

"I got a blanket in the trunk somewhere," Dean shot back. "And right now, she smells a whole lot cleaner than you, Michael Phelps. Speakin' of which, you wanna drop by the motel so you can get cleaned up first?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, walking out of the house. Dean followed, closing the door behind him quietly.

.

.

The boys wended their way through the labyrinthine arrangement of bookcases and desks, spotting the two dark heads at the back of the room. They stopped by the desk, finding Moon buried in a book that appeared to be full of strange squiggles and complicated handwriting. Pamela was across the table from her, her head tilted slightly, as if listening to something.

Sam pulled out the chair next to Moon silently, sitting down. She looked up abruptly as if startled and turned to him.

"Sam! You scared the life out of me!" she hissed.

"Don't stop," Pamela protested. "It was just getting to the good bit."

Dean took the chair next to her, looking confused, but it was Sam who spoke.

"Are we interrupting something?"

"I'm reading for Pamela," Moon admitted.

The boys exchanged a baffled glance.

"As in, reading out loud?" Dean prompted.

Pamela put a hand up and nudged his shoulder, only slightly off-target. "We're psychics," she grinned. "And we were having fun. What have you two been doing?"

"Swimming, breaking and entering, stealing," Sam said pointedly, an annoyed look at his elder brother.

"Stealing what?" Moon asked quietly.

"Well, we think we have the key to opening this good seal, the one that lets out the army of monkey bats," Sam said cheerfully.

She shuddered. "Don't. I'm pomfretphobic, remember?"

"You're scared of French fries?" Dean asked, deadpan. She tutted at him. "Look, you don't have to be anywhere near 'em, ok? We just need to check the writing on the brick, then you two can hole up again while we get all this straightened out."

"Cool," she sighed, clearly a huge breath of relief. "What's the message you need decoding? Is it like instructions?"

"We have no idea," Sam admitted. He opened the duffle at his feet, taking out his notebook. He flipped through and stopped it at a page, spreading it open and turning it to her. "That's a rubbing of the brick, after we'd cleaned it up. It doesn't even look like anything vaguely to do with an alphabet."

"Could be like hieroglyphics," Dean put in.

"It's more likely to be runic - or pictograms," Sam argued.

"You mean like little stick men throwing little stick spears at little stick animals?" Dean asked, both eyebrows raised in apparent disbelief.

"Kinda," Sam allowed. He looked at Moon. "You ever seen anything like this before?"

"Uh… actually? No," she admitted.

"Fair enough," Sam sighed. "So I guess we get started on finding languages more ancient than Hebrew."

"Excuse me, gentlemen, ladies," said a polite voice, and everyone jumped. They turned to see a small librarian watching them with abject apology. "It's really very late, and I'm afraid we can't keep the lights on much longer."

"Oh, hey, no, that's fine," Dean said, getting to his feet and giving her a warm smile. "We were just leaving."

"Thank you, sir. I am sorry to interrupt your studies. It must be something very important."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "It's a paper on… uh…"

"Kinda…" Sam havered.

"Well…" Dean offered.

"Theology," Moon piped up. "Origins of religions, that kind of thing."

"Oh. Have you checked the Joseph Campbell section?" the librarian smiled. "'The Hero With A Thousand Faces' would be the best place to start."

"Aw, psshht, of course," Dean scoffed. "We been through that like a thousand times. Once for every face," he nodded with a wide smile.

The librarian gave a little giggle. "Well then. I am sorry to push you out of the door like this, but we were supposed to close at eight."

"No trouble," Dean smiled, turning to Pamela. She was already getting to her feet. She turned and put her hand out, Dean putting his arm under it for her. She grasped it and he nodded to the librarian, walking the psychic out of the huge room slowly.

Sam and Moon nodded their thanks and snatched up Sam's notebook and duffle. They followed outside into the dark parking lot.

Dean led Pamela to the Impala, but she froze as she got within four feet of the door. "Dean!" she gasped. "There's something in there!"

"Whut?" he demanded. "Oh! Yeah, hang on, I know," he breathed, relaxing. "We found her. She's going to the animal shelter tomorrow."

"What is it?" Pamela asked carefully. She put her hand out and walked forward, sliding her hand against the paintwork as he put his key in the door.

"It's just a dog," he shrugged.

"A dog? Really?" she smiled. "Ok then."

He opened the door and Pamela heard whining and movement.

"Angel! Down!" Dean snapped.

"Her name's Angel?" she teased.

"Hey, she was already called that," he protested. His voice got further away suddenly. "Angel! Sit," he commanded.

Pamela grinned and she heard doors closing and opening. "Where do I get in?"

"You can sit up front, if you like," Dean shrugged.

"Nizhokma!" came a frightened squeak from behind them. "What the hell's that!"

Dean turned to find Moon clutching onto Sam's arm for dear life, her eyes large and round as she stared at the silhouette of the dog's head in the back seat.

"It's just a dog," Sam said gently, walking her closer. "Look, it's just--"

"It's friggin' huge!" Moon whimpered. "I'm not going anywhere near that!"

"Moon," Dean sighed. "Just get in the car."

"No way! Over your dead body, Dean Winchester!" she cried fearfully.

Sam and Dean shared a look. Then Dean turned to the car and opened the rear passenger door.

"Angel? Out," he ordered. The dog leapt from the car to the gravel, watching him avidly. "You're gonna be up front with me."

She licked her lips and sat down, alert and waiting. Dean turned to Sam, waving his arms out. He smiled privately and pulled Moon along with him, going to the back seat and pushing her to climb in. He made sure Moon was against the near-side window before he turned and took Pamela's arm.

"You're with us," he advised. He got in and she followed his hand, bending to slide in after him. Dean put a light hand to her head, making sure she didn't bang it on the overhang. She scooted up next to Sam comfortably.

Dean closed the door and moved to the front passenger door, looking down at the dog.

"Right. No slobbering, chewing or licking," he grilled sternly. "This is the front seat now, alright? It ain't for puppies or whining little bitches who can't keep their drool or paws to themselves. Do you get me, sweetheart?"

She yawned and licked at her lips, putting a paw up to knock at the front of his leg.

"Well alright then. Remember, you make a mess of this, darlin', and it goes on your permanent record." He opened the door and Sam reached forward, proferring the blanket from the back seat. It already sported a fine array of dog hairs and mysterious small damp rings, evidence of Angel's drooling the evening away waiting for them. Dean took the blanket and spread it over the seat before he stood back from the door, waving a hand at the seats.

She leapt in and plonked herself square on the blanket on the passenger side, her hind legs spreading slightly toward the window. She pushed herself upright with her forepaws, watching Dean close the door. He walked around and got in the driver's side, pushing the keys into the ignition.

Angel leaned over and licked at his right ear happily. He sighed and turned to her, pushing her shoulder to heave her back a short way. "That is so not attractive when you're not human."

"Are we ready now?" Sam asked, hiding a smile at his brother's expense.

"Yup," he nodded, reversing the car out and round, taking her out of the parking lot.

.

.

Thanks for reading!