A/N: There's some cussing in this chapter. Yeah, I blame Dean, too. Also, this is more of a bridge chapter. Stay outta my head, Wendy. I changed the locks.

Chapter 25

Then

The house shakes. Ellen can hear Dean outside, coughing, a booming noise that makes her ears ache. She leans against the wall, and she knows that whatever's wrong with the boy, it's not winding down.

Dean's just getting started.

Lillith put her mark on him, and when things went south Lillith's handprint pumped white death inside him, hoping that would kill him once and for all.

Tiesen and Chale glance at each other, and their eyes flash bright copper. The black horse whickers softly. She stares out the window, both ears pricked alertly.

Outside it's all white, nothing but white, and even after everything she's seen for some reason all that whiteness scares the hell out of Ellen more than facing down some demon ever would. What Chale does next scares her even more at first. He crosses the distance between them in a heartbeat, throws one extremely well muscled arm around her waist and pulls her to him.

Ellen still figures she's going to die, so she struggles a little. He's Pestilence, after all.

It's like pushing against a mountain. Even without the leather armor he's wearing she can tell that he has muscles in places where normal humans don't have muscles. He's warm against her skin and he feels pretty damn good, actually.

Maybe her mind is playing tricks on her, but Chale smells like cinnamon.

He looks down at her with this small, almost shy smile on his broad, rugged face, and she remembers what Tiesen said: "My brother had mercy on you."

Huh.

She doesn't sicken and die like she thought she would, so after a moment Ellen drops the silly business of struggling and just stands there looking up at him.

Chale's smile gets a little wider then. "I'm shielding you," he whispers softly. "Hope you don't mind."

"Oh, hell no," Ellen snarks with a smile. "Shield away." The air around them thickens, gets heavier. It pushes her up against him even more.

Ellen doesn't mind.

Chale doesn't either.

Tiesen rolls his eyes.

Pinpricks of silver light dance through the air like snowflakes in a wind gust. Air pressure inside the house twangs madly as the shields push outward and cocoon the building against the whiteness outside.

Meanwhile Tiesen and the black horse stare at Ellen and Chale in disbelief.

"Get a room, you two," the man and the horse grumble at the same time, and everything fades away for a moment as death rolls over the house like breakers against a faraway shore.

Now

---Bobby's gonna kick my ass.

Dean leans forward, and he can't catch his breath.

Bobby's gonna kill me ---

Heart's pounding, and his knees wobble even though he's not standing up.

Breathe, Samirah says cheerily, Breathe. She puts her forehead against his upper back, pushes him forward. Head between your knees. That's it. In and out. In and out.

Shit. Shit!

Breathe…

…uhhhhh….uhhhhh…

Come on now…

It takes several more moments like this before that fluttery, panicky feeling gradually goes away.

Dean raises his head and he groans at the destruction all around him. Heaps and mountains of melted metal all around. Fused slag and scorched metal. Nothing's burning anymore, but even so that's the least of Dean's worries.

I am so dead.

Samirah snorts. Death can't die, dummy.

Fuck. Fuck!

Samirah carefully folds her legs underneath her, lays down right behind him. Dean leans back against her broad black side. He pulls in great hitching lungfuls of air that makes his throat stutter, and he thinks to himself, breathe you dumb sonofabitch, breathe. Don't you friggin' die. Get yourself together so Bobby can do the honors and kill you himself. 'm dead. Dead…

You gonna sit there all day? Samirah nibbles at the top of Dean's head, plays with his hair. Dean doesn't seem to notice.

Bobby. Dean hunches his shoulders. He's gonna be pissed.

He did look a little red the last time I saw him.

You saw him? He's okay? Ellen?

That human female? She likes Chale.

What?

And I think he likes her back. You wanna see?

Dean gets on his hands and knees and it takes a few moments for him to slide onto Samirah's back. She doesn't have her tack on but he grabs a handful of her long thick mane and presses his knees into her sides. She gets up slowly, which is a good thing because Dean's stomach is still a little queasy. He wobbles on her broad back, and Samirah freezes, her head cocked to one side.

You all right?

Uh…yeah. Dean nods. Yeah. Gimme a minute. As soon as he moves he immediately regrets it. The world around him turns in a slow, somehow greasy motion, and Dean closes his eyes against the rumbling in his belly.

'm fine.

His eyes flicker open, and he burps.

Nothing. No white light, just that uneasy fluttering in his chest and stomach.

You don't sound too sure. Here. Samirah's ebony black hide ripples with blue lightning, and she's tacked up again. It takes three tries before he can even slip his boots into the stirrups, and even then it's only because Samirah leans up against this tower of fused metal long enough for him to steady himself. His balance is all screwed up, and the ground's too far away.

Son of a bitch. He hates this. Hates feeling weak and sick. Always has, always will. That much about him hasn't changed, and now it's just one more thing to pay that bitch Lillith back for.

If he survives what Bobby's gonna do to him.

Dean takes up the reins loosely, but he doesn't let go of Samirah's mane.

Samirah tries to make it easy on him. She starts off at a slow, stately walk, and it's just no damn good. He feels uneasy inside his skin; his chest is heavy. That rumbling in his stomach has died down, but his muscles are weak and sprung.

"Handprint," Dean mumbles as he rubs at his left shoulder.

What?

"Itches."

Samirah flattens her ears back. Bitch. She shakes her head angrily. Gonna stomp her flat just like I did that other one.

She steps daintily along, smoothly, carefully, and after the first five feet or so Dean actually begins to feel better. He sits up straighter in the saddle, balances himself in time with Samirah's motion. He thinks about spending time with Lillith when he finally catches up with her scaly blue ass, and this time he won't be bumping uglies with the bitch either.

Dean smiles a little.

The closer they get to the house the less damage there is. The cars and trucks all around are more recognizable. The metal's scorched, not melted.

That's still not gonna save my ass, Dean thinks to himself.

Samirah eases up behind a pile of stacked cars just beyond that canopy Bobby erected for her. She sticks her nose around the corner. Dean leans over to get a good look.

Damn.

The house sits in a perfect round circle that is untouched by the destruction in the yard. The canopy is within the circle; so is the stack of car bodies.

Bobby's out there, staring at his house.

Dean freezes in the saddle. He tenses up again, all the way up. Samirah shakes her head as she feels his body clench up.

One corner of the roof is gone, but the walls and doors and windows and the porch is still intact. Bobby's calm. Or at least, he looks calm. Dean knows better.

He's seen Bobby pissed before. Yelling, mad as hell. This is worse.

Bobby shakes his head slowly, his face shadowed by the bill of his trucker's cap. "Dean, your ass is mine," the older man says softly, and that's worse than if he was yelling. "I don't give a damn if you are one of the Four Horsemen."

Dean gulps. Hard.

Huh. Samirah thinks. Eugene doesn't look as red as he did the last time I saw him.

Rumsfeld2 wanders around the yard with a puzzled look on his broad, dark face. His short stump of a tail wags a little, then stops as he stares all around. Things have changed, and he can't figure out why. He turns around, sees Dean and especially Samirah, and the damn dog sits down with his back to Bobby and starts grinning happily like he's looking at his newest best friends in the whole wide world.

The other three apocahorses stand quietly on the other side of the canopy.

Rika stands next to her horse, Actaeon. The huge white mare stands there peaceful and docile amid all this destruction, idly chewing on the hem of Rika's sleeve.

Dean smiles feebly when Rika looks at him and winks. Rika snorts a little when she laughs. She flicks a glance at Bobby's back and shakes her head.

Like what you've done with the place, Actaeon murmurs softly inside Dean's head.

Chale's big dappled grey, Ismael, and Tiesen's big red stallion, Ajani, whinny loudly. Heee! He re-decorated. That's a good one.

Bobby hears the noise and turns around. He stares at Dean like he's aiming at him through a gunsight.

Dean's stomach drops. Basement level. Next stop Hell.

"Dean," Bobby says quietly, with a nod.

"Uh…hi, Bobby." The grin Dean gives the older man can only be described as cheesy and half-hearted. And weak.

Very weak.

"We got some things to discuss, you and me."

Dean nods and makes a sound.

Samirah huffs. Did you just whimper?

"N-no," Dean squeaks out loud. He clears his throat, tries for a deeper, more macho sound. "No, I didn't."

Samirah rolls her eyes. Yeah. I kinda think you did. She looks at Bobby and says out loud, "Eugene, you know I love ya, but if you hit him I'm gonna have to stomp you, boychick."

"Boychick?" Bobby mutters.

Samirah sticks her chin out defiantly. "Flattened boychick."

"Well now. Just like old times," Tiesen drawls as he steps out on the porch. He looks at Dean with a smile. "You can always tell where we've been, little brother. Just follow the destruction."

Ellen and Chale come out side by side. Dean's eyes widen when he sees they've got their arms around each other.

Tiesen turns around and smirks. "It's over, so you two can let go of each other now."

Chale and Ellen blush like teenagers.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow at Dean. "Well?"

"I gotta make this right." Dean slips his right foot out of the stirrup, and he's thrown off balance as Samirah backs up instead.

Later. Samirah dances in place. I want to go for a run.

"S-Samirah?" Dean sputters. She wheels around on a dime. Dean's thrown forward, with one arm around her neck, his ghost right hand tangled up in the reins and her mane.

"No, wait a damn minute, what ---"

He's weakened, and they both know it. He couldn't stop her even if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to hurt her. He keeps his seat, somehow manages to regain his loose right stirrup.

Samirah takes the bit in her mouth and runs, and all Dean can hear is Bobby bellowing his name from behind.

"DEEEAAAANNN!"

They finally come to a stop in the middle of this dusty road somewhere. A train sounds in the distance. It looks and sounds familiar, but Dean can't place it. Not yet, anyway.

He's pissed. "What the hell was that all about?"

You need to calm down. Eugene's gonna be just as mad when we get back as he is now.

His name's Bobby.

Hmph. Like I said, you humans have too many names. Samirah takes a few steps sideways, and that's when the shit hits the fan.

Later on Dean realizes that he heard the rumble of the engine all along. The hair on the back of his neck stands straight up and out, stiff and painful. Samirah whinnies and rears up, actually takes a few steps back on two legs, as the shape hurtles right past them, misses them by mere inches.

Dean identifies the burgundy blur as a car: 1968 Pontiac GTO…a goat...gas, tires, and oil.

He sees two faces inside. They're grinning like maniacs, but when they turn and look at Dean their mouths form twin O's of shock.

Dumb and Dumber, Dean thinks. Carter Jenkins and Andy Redford.

"There's a railroad crossing about a half mile from here," Dean hears himself say in his memory, "and dumbass there thinks he can outrun the train at the crossing. I know you've done it before and gotten away with it, but guess what, kids? Luck runs out. It always does."

The train horn sounds again, nearer, louder, and Dean jerks around in the saddle towards the sound.

The dumb fucks are racing the damn train.

The car jumps the shoulder of the road, bounces once, and incredibly enough, Dumb guns the car's engine, and the GTO rockets towards the railroad crossing.

"Those stupid sonsofbitches," Dean rages. He nudges Samirah with his heels. "We gotta stop them---"

Samirah flicks her ears backwards. Can't. She balks, turns around in a circle. It's their time.

"We can't just stand here ---"

The black horse shrugs as the GTO and the freight train reach the crossing at the exact same time.

We have to.

"In an argument with a train," Dean said the day he first laid eyes on these two idiots, "the car will always lose. Remember that, boys and girls."

The crunch of metal against metal sounds just like screaming.

Dean's shoulders sag.

No you don't, Samirah snarls. You're doing it again. Taking on weight that doesn't even belong to you.

Dean stares at his right hand, watches the subtle golden patterns shift and change in the sunlight. "I warned 'em. I warned 'em and they still...they..."

This just proves you can't fix stupid, Samirah's tone is more gentle now. Softer.

"Don't do that, Gaelen," a voice from behind says. " I mean, Dean."

Dean turns in the saddle and stares at the woman. She's dressed for the times, now: a red shirt, blue jeans, a long black leather jacket and boots. Dean's eyes spark green and gold and copper as he takes it all in. He wants to believe it's her, wants to believe so much. Back at Bobby's place, when he was balanced between life and death, he wanted to look up and see her face. Would have gone with her in a heartbeat. Somewhere, gladly and without hesitation.

"You're not responsible for this. They've been playing chicken with that same train every day for over a month." She nods towards the train and the wreckage. "The bill finally came due, that's all."

"Tessa," Dean rumbles, and she smiles at him, warm and affectionate.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you again."

Samirah stands quietly as Dean dismounts. Tessa gives a pleased little squawk as he sweeps her up into his arms and hugs her, tightly, fiercely.

A/N: A different kind of cliffie, here. No blood and guts; thought I'd switch up. Sam's in the next chapter, and the hunt for Lillith begins.

Fresh Meat's on the way, but I have to choreograph the mayhem. Pesky Handmaidens are being right bitches today…