Author's Note: I just got settled back in at my apartment. Not actually starting work again until Monday, so I have a bit of a break. Yay! :)
In other news, I finally got off my ass and started watching the 2005 relaunch of Doctor Who—in fact, I just finished the first three episodes. I'll be watching the fourth after updating this story for you guys, so just know that I interrupted a Doctor Who marathon to do this for you. That's how important you are to me :P
Ugh never mind me. I don't know what I'm talking about. A bit tired. I hope I don't fall asleep in the middle of Doctor Who; that would be rather sad.
Chapter 26 – Saving People, Hunting Things
After about twenty minutes of silence, the motel room door swings open, and Dean walks in, followed by Garth. He's grinning.
"You two find anything?" he asks me and Sam.
Sam leans back in his chair. "Maybe, yeah. What'd you find out?"
Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Garth suddenly lets out a torrent of words that causes Sam and Dean to raise their eyebrows in a comical manner.
"The brothers aren't all interested in the will. Jeremy, brother numero uno—" his accent in Spanish is unsurprisingly horrific "—is completely uninterested in his inheritance and doesn't mind if he never sees the will, because he doesn't want anyone else to die. I like Jeremy. Dane, brother numero dos, is an ultra-bag of douche, and it's a shame he's not a spirit because I'd totally Garth his ass, any day."
"Uh, Garth—" Dean tries to interject, but the small man only pauses for breath and continues, full speed.
"Dane wants the will, but more importantly, he wants the company. So prime suspect is totally him. And then there's Morgan, the last little piggy. He's more like Jeremy, so I guess he's okay. He acted like a jerk, though."
Sam's face seems to be wavering between amusement and bewilderment. "You done, man?"
"Oh, no. Uh, there's also the servants, Ayla and Leopold. They didn't talk much, but I bet Leopold steals silverware."
Dean looks at Garth incredulously. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," Garth responds earnestly. "I could see it in his eyes. I bet Ayla knows about it too, but she covers for him because she's in love with him."
"That's uh… that's great," Sam says, and I can see that he's trying not to laugh.
"Yeah, because we're here to catch the culprit who keeps stealing butter knives," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "All right, important thing is, something's up with Dane. He didn't wanna talk to us, but we overheard him telling his wife that he was gonna try opening the safe himself, tonight."
"Oh," Sam says, an excited gleam in his eye.
I feel that I've missed something. "Oh?" I say.
Before Sam and Dean can speak, Garth blurts out, "Means we're making a trip to Casa Schwarz tonight… undercover." He grins in a self-satisfied way.
"'Kay, now tell us what you got. What're we dealing with here?" Dean asks.
Sam and I look at each other.
"There are two possibilities," I say. "Based on the wounds alone, I feel that we are dealing with a griffin."
"A griffin?" Dean repeats, disbelief in his tone.
"Part eagle, part lion," Garth says. "I wanted one for a pet when I was a kid."
"Of course you did," Dean says. "So why a griffin?"
"There was a small puncture wound on one of the bodies that was caused by a talon, not any form of claw found on a wolf or mammal," I answer.
"Okay, but… do griffins also eat human hearts, then?" Dean asks.
"No, but they are intelligent beings. It follows that they would want to frame the attacks on another species of creature," I say.
"And the uh, the other possibility we were considering was the spirit of Fenrir," Sam says. "Because of the whole walking through walls thing."
"I'm a little rusty on my Greek gods. Remind me who that is?" Dean says.
"He's a Norse god who takes the shape of a wolf. I think Fenrir Greyback was a reference to him," Garth says helpfully.
"Grey-who?" Dean says.
"Character in Harry Potter," Sam mutters, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter."
"You read Harry Potter?" Dean asks.
"It's actually a very touching—" Garth starts.
"Don't," Dean interrupts. "Giant nerds. Both of you."
Sam clears his throat. "Anyway, the problem is, Cas didn't see anything that invoked the spirit of Fenrir. So that's why we're considering both options."
"Great," Dean says.
"How will we do this?" I ask.
"We'll tail Dane," Dean says.
"Could you keep us hidden?" Sam asks me.
Dean looks between his brother and me with a frown. "What're you talking about?"
"We checked out the room with the safe in it," Sam says. "Cas was able to make it so that we couldn't be seen."
Dean looks at me. "Did you?"
I nod. "It will be difficult to keep so many under cover," I say. "Angels typically do not need to cloak their companions because they're meant to be surrounded by those of their own kind."
"But can you do it?" Dean asks.
I reach out and tap Sam's shoulder, cloaking him.
"Hey—" Dean starts.
I repeat the motion on Garth as well, and it takes a little more effort to conceal him in the other plane.
"They uh… so they're still here?" Dean says.
"Yes."
I tap Dean's shoulder last, and he vanishes. It didn't take as much of my strength as I thought it would, but I remember that I'm wielding the powers of an archangel—of course I'd be able to do this.
Finally, I join them in the other dimension.
"Holy crap, this is awesome," Dean is saying. He glances at me. "Is this hard for you?"
"It is manageable," I respond, a part of me remaining focused on keeping the three humans in this plane. It's certainly easier than spreading shields out to defend a few garrisons of angels. Of course, complete concealment is more difficult than mere shielding—if this were not the case, it would be a simple matter for angels to defeat the hordes of demons from Hell.
"This is perfect, then," Dean says. "You can just shazam us into the room at nightfall, and we'll wait for Dane to come in."
"I don't feel so good," Garth declares.
Dean grins. "Wait 'til Cas mojos you someplace. That's what I call disorienting."
I shake my head. "The disruption of your bowel movement was unfortunate, but I had lost power from the Host and… miscalculated. It hasn't happened since, has it?"
"Bowel movements?" Garth says, looking at me with wide eyes.
"No—don't worry about it," Sam says. "Cas is all powered up, right?"
I nod and uncloak all of us.
"Oh, whoa," Garth mutters. "Dizzy!"
"Apologies. I will take more care while flying with you," I say.
"So what're we gonna do from now 'til then?" Sam says, glancing at the clock. "We've got about… five hours to kill?"
Dean heads straight for the door. "I say we start with food. I'm starving."
"You're always starving," Sam says, following his brother.
I allow Garth to walk ahead of me.
"Just because you've got the stomach of a rabbit doesn't mean everyone else does, Sammy," Dean says.
Sam rolls his eyes but says nothing, and we all get into the sleek, black car.
As the engine starts up, I allow my eyes to slide unfocused, centering my concentration on Balthazar—it's about time we got an update on the state of things at the capitol.
I am sitting in a trailer, the door of which is labeled "Misha Collins."
I tried the sigil multiple times just outside of the film studio. Then I tried it again on the floor of the trailer, in permanent ink. Nothing has been successful yet, and I am worried about being trapped here forever.
Maybe the Winchesters will call for me. Maybe Balthazar will arrive and tell them everything. That I am lost to them, and they will have to struggle on without me. Will they care? With the way I left Dean, the way Sam's life still hangs in the balance, they probably will not. The thought stings me.
Rachel will most certainly ask about me. She will force Balthazar to tell her everything, because she has always had ways of getting the truth out of all of us—well, almost all. She will be furious when Balthazar tells her that I died searching for a safe place to send the Winchesters. I can already hear her frustration. "Dean Winchester—why, why, why must everything always be about Dean Winchester?"
As I chuckle at this mental image, I hear a light knock on the door.
"Mish, you in there?"
It's Dean's voice. Jensen, then.
"Yes," I respond.
There's a long pause, and then he asks, "Well, you gonna let me in or what?"
I get to my feet, unlock the door, and pull it open.
"Dude," Jensen says with a frown. "Costume is gonna be pissed. Why are you still wearing all that? You finished shooting hours ago."
I look down at the clothing that I am still wearing and realize that if all of this is false, of course Misha Collins does not ordinarily walk around in my clothing.
"I apologize," I say.
"Right…" he says. "There's been something off about you today. I mean, why are you even still here? We're not shooting your other scene 'til Wednesday."
"I would like to return this clothing to the costume department. Excuse me while I change," I say.
I close the door before he can protest, and though I know it is rude, I need time to think.
I've had a few hours to look through this man's things, but I am certain that I could not convincingly act the way he does. I spent a few minutes searching this body for any other presence, but although I seem to sense someone else here, he does not respond to any amount of poking or prodding. Wherever Misha Collins is in this mind, he is shut down tightly and not likely to be of any assistance to me.
Then I notice a faint glow from the sigils that I had drawn on the ground of the trailer. I instantly take a knee, pressing my hand to it to wait for Balthazar. I need to leave this place. It is not safe to place Sam and Dean here, not in a place where the delay between universes is so great. I placed these sigils here about half an hour ago. Has it really taken Balthazar until now to reach me?
Five minutes later, Jensen is pounding on the door. "Mish? You okay in there?" he shouts.
I don't respond. The light is very bright now, and the portal is only moments away from opening. I can almost feel a phantom hand wrapping around mine to pull me through.
"Mish! Open up!"
I hear him cursing under his breath and hope that Balthazar will pull me through in time. There's a loud bang against the door, and the trailer rocks back and forth. Jensen is attempting to force his way in.
But just as the door to the trailer flies off its hinges, Balthazar's grip tightens around me, solid and sure, and I am drawn back to true reality.
"Cas," Balthazar says, relieved. "I thought I wouldn't find you this time, either. I got your first four calls—why weren't you there?"
"I apologize," I say. "I underestimated the amount of time it would take the message to reach you—I left each of those places before you could come to me."
"So, not that one either, then," Balthazar says.
"No…" I begin, but my voice trails off.
I'd just been concerned because all of the realities I had entered would leave Sam and Dean at the mercy of any angels Raphael chose to send through after them, because angels would always have more power than humans. I remember the despair that washed through me when I realized that I was powerless.
"Wait!" I say before Balthazar can wipe away the sigils that lead to that alternate universe. "Wait… that reality might be acceptable."
"Really?" he says.
I nod. "There was no magic. Any angels that follow Sam and Dean through will not have any power."
"Ah," Balthazar says. "So they'll have even footing."
I frown, because even after taking vessels, angels have great strength. That strength will be muted by the strange lack of magic in that world, but some will remain, I'm sure. All knowledge is retained as well.
"Cas," my brother says, pulling me out of my thoughts, "I think this is the best deal we can get for them. Even footing against angels? It's as good as it gets for humans."
"Yes, I suppose so," I say resignedly. I glance at the warehouse windows that are set high up on the walls and see that night has fallen here, as well. It seems that time passes at the same rate in that reality and ours. I dislike the delay in communication, however.
"Let me guess. You want to test this more than once."
"Yes," I say, glancing back at the door and wondering what Misha did after I left his body. I cringe at the thought—I doubt he will remember my presence at all, and he will not understand why his costar just broke into his trailer.
"What is it?" Balthazar asks.
But as I am still figuring out the easiest way to explain everything, Gadreel calls.
Rachel has been struck—help! Now!
I meet Balthazar's eyes just as they swing up to mine, and we both take off as fast as possible.
Rachel has been invaluable to me during this war—while Gadreel will be able to take over for her, she is still more powerful as a tactician. There is also the fact that we were garrisoned together for so many millennia.
I can only hope we're not too late.
"Are you sure you heard that he was coming here tonight?" Sam asks.
It's already four in the morning, but there's been no sign of Dane Schwarz.
"Ask him," Garth says. "I didn't hear it."
"Yeah, thanks. Push all the blame on me, why don't ya," Dean grumbles. "And yes, I heard him say tonight."
Sam lets out a long sigh.
"There are still two hours left before sunrise," I say. "He still has time."
"Do you think… is there any way he can sense us here?" Sam asks.
"No. We checked," Garth says. "Dane's a meanie, but he's not supernatural."
Dean looks at Garth. "Meanie?" he says with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah."
"Okay, then."
We fall silent.
A few minutes later, Garth begins to speak. "So there was this one time—"
"No, not another story," Sam interrupts. "Just stop it."
"But it's so boring," Garth protests.
Dean sighs. "Maybe… maybe the dude chickened out?" he ventures a guess.
"Shh," I say—I've just sensed something inhuman nearby, but it's not in the room yet.
The three hunters look around warily, bracing themselves for what could be coming. They all flinch when they hear floorboards creaking outside.
Then the door eases open, and Dane Schwarz enters the room. He looks back and forth alertly and lets out a faint sigh of relief when he finds that the room appears to be empty. Sam throws off the safety on his shotgun, Dean tightens his grip on the silver knife in his hand, and Garth unsheathes a… samurai sword. The brothers stare at him for a moment before shrugging off their surprise and returning their attention to Dane.
The man approaches the safe confidently and leans over to fiddle with the combination lock.
A panel suddenly slides open to Garth's left, and he leaps into the air with a shrill shriek, effectively breaking through the cloak I've placed on him. Sam and Dean immediately dodge to their right, and a huge feline with large, feathery, grey-and-white wings emerges from the gap in the wall. Dane turns away from the safe when he hears Garth's scream, and his mouth falls open.
Sam shoots the griffin once in the shoulder, and it lets out a mighty roar. Unable to see its attacker, the griffin lashes out at Garth, launching him into a cabinet before he can even turn his sword—which is clearly too long for him—to face the creature. The impact jars the large piece of furniture, and a potted plant falls off, shattering on Garth's head and instantly incapacitating him.
Dane cowers in the corner beside the safe, and when the griffin moves toward him, he lets out a frightened whimper.
"No, please no, don't hurt me…"
Another salt round hits the creature, this time in its flank, and it whirls around, eyes flashing furiously. Dean catches my eyes, then Sam's, then mine again. He lifts the silver blade in preparation.
Reading his intention, I lift the cloak away from Sam, revealing him to the griffin's eyes. The creature flaps its wings once and is at Sam's side in an instant, rearing up to attack. Dean doesn't even wait to recover from the surprise, instinctively sheathing his knife in the griffin's throat. Its roar of pain is broken, subdued, and it tries in vain to attack Sam with its wings.
It collapses to the ground, and I uncloak myself and Dean as I approach to investigate.
"Is it dead?" Sam asks.
"Looks like," Dean says, but they book turn to me for confirmation.
I place my hand on its head and close my eyes. "The soul has departed," I report.
"Awesome," Dean says.
"Wha—what was that?" Dane squeaks.
Sam and Dean exchange glances and ignore him, walking over to Garth and shaking his shoulder to rouse him.
"Cas, a little help here?" Dean says.
I walk toward them, but Garth sits up with a jolt before I can reach him. A small mound of dirt is piled lopsidedly on his head. He looks around alertly. "What'd I miss?"
Dean just laughs.
When I step through the door this time, I find myself in a narrow hallway. It's quiet, and when I check the room behind me, I see a bathroom. Where am I? This does not appear to be a set.
I follow the hallway to its end, passing by a door on the right as I do so, and see that the hall opens into a living room. Two couches form a right angle, and a large screen hangs on the wall opposite one of the couches. The other couch faces a fireplace, where low flames are flickering. A coffee table is framed by the two couches, vacant save for a vase of flowers.
"Feelin' better?"
I turn toward the sound of the voice and see Dean—Jensen coming toward me, one glass in each hand. Each contains a small amount of amber liquid. He offers one of the glasses to me and smiles when I take it from him. But when I don't answer, his smile fades, and he lifts his eyebrows.
"Mish?"
I nod and move to one of the two couches to sit down. He follows after a beat, settling in beside me.
"Look, I know I've got no right to talk to you about… you know, about marriage. I mean, I've only been married what, a few months? You and Vic… you're solid." After a pause, he adds, "Fuck, what am I even saying? You know that better than anyone."
I stare at the tongues of fire across from me and try to spread my wings. I am satisfied when they don't seem to be able to move. So this is consistent—there just isn't any magic in this reality.
Then his shoulder bumps against mine. "You uh, wanna talk about something else, then?"
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like what happened yesterday," he responds. "You never told me what the doctors said." I don't know what to say. "You… you did go in to see them today, didn't you?" Jensen asks. When I still don't answer, he groans. "Mish, you promised you'd go in."
"I am… sorry."
He shakes his head. "Blacking out like that can't be good. Especially if you don't remember taking anything. Jared swears he didn't prank you yesterday, and he usually owns up eventually. Something's wrong, man."
"It's possible," I allow.
"Dude, you're using your Cas voice again," Jensen realizes. I open my mouth to speak, but suddenly Jensen's turning to face me, setting his glass down on the table haphazardly before grasping my shoulders and turning me in his direction. "Tell me what you're thinking, Mish. Now. Right now."
"I… don't…"
He shakes his head, and anger settles in his gaze. "Don't lie to me," he growls, and suddenly all I can hear and see is Dean. His hands come up to grip my shoulders, almost painfully. "Don't fucking lie to me. Not about this, not about anything. What are you thinking, Cas?"
"T—too much," I whisper, the words slipping out of my mouth unbidden, forced out by the intensity of Dean's gaze on me.
His hands drop away from me as though burned. "Mish… this better not be a joke. This… this had better not be a joke."
This is not going well. My mind clears up a little when Jensen—damn it, this is Jensen, not Dean—turns away to grab his drink. He downs it in one swallow and turns back to face me.
"Fucking worst case of character bleed I've ever seen," Jensen mutters under his breath, and I get the sense that he doesn't expect me to hear it, because in the next moment he's looking up at me and saying, "So, what? Are you Cas, now?"
I do not know how to handle the situation. I cannot escape by taking flight, as my wings don't function in this reality. And I cannot simply ask Balthazar to come for me, because it will take at least half an hour after drawing a sigil for him to reach through.
What should I do?
Author's Note: Oh wow, I forgot that I cut this chapter off here. I promise I won't keep you guys hanging with this ending for too long. I should be able to update by tomorrow, since I have some free time. We'll see if I'm too busy watching Doctor Who ;)