A/N - I'm so sorry, I totally failed to get anything up by Monday! It's been a frantic week (steam pipe explosion, flooded lab, huge windstorm and gigantic tree exploded in the night and fell on my porch, all kinds of fun) But here is Part 1 of the next scene.
There were so many cars ahead! Which car was Sam in? Dean raced the VW ahead but soon he had to slow to a near-crawl, poking along in single file behind a long line of cars.
"Where is he, where is he?" said Dean.
"He's stopped praying," said Cas, scrambling back into his chair. "Calcariel heard. Calcariel yelled at him to stop."
"Dammit!" Dean growled. Sarah held the crucifix up, saying, "This is still moving. He's got to be close!" Dean glanced over at it, hoping it might speed up or slow down or maybe lean in a certain direction. But it had settled into a steady, lazy counterclockwise spin that seemed to be providing no useful clues at all.
Sarah said, twisting around in her seat and holding up the crucifix hopefully, "Cas, can we tell how far away he is from how fast it's spinning?"
But Castiel shook his head. "I've never really tried to calibrate it," he said, sounding more than a little frustrated. "I never thought of trying, to be honest. All I can say is, within a half mile, perhaps? But I've no idea how close he might be within that radius."
"Okay," said Dean, scanning the cars ahead. "Everybody watch the cars ahead. Both of you, look ahead, pick out a few cars, keep your eye on them. Look for the cars with trunks. And as soon as I can, I'll drive up to each of them one by one and we'll check them out. I'll watch, let's see, I got the '92 Volvo 940 and the '08 BMW and that completely hideous '11 PT Cruiser, it's sorta got a trunk—"
"I'm watching the blue Subaru ahead of that," said Sarah. "And the red sports car. And that white plumber's van."
"I'll watch the grey vehicle beyond that," said Cas, his eyes narrowing as he peered far ahead. "And the white vehicle. And the other white vehicle. Oh, drat, they're going out of view— This won't be easy, Dean."
There were far too many cars to keep their eyes on. Every time the road went around a curve (which was about every ten seconds), Cas and Sarah lost sight of the vehicles in front. Soon, though, the road widened into two lanes as it took a turn near Santa Cruz, and Dean was briefly hopeful that that would allow him to check out all the cars ahead.
But instead everything immediately got more confusing. The precious line of possible-Sam-cars began spreading out all over the road. Faster cars moved ahead, slower cars fell behind, new cars joined the road, and a few cars peeled away at exits. Dean still had his eye on the Volvo, and the PT Cruiser was distinctive enough to pick out from a long way off, but he'd long lost sight of the BMW.
"I lost two of my cars," Sarah reported tensely. "It got way ahead."
"I've lost track of two of mine as well," said Cas. "I'm sorry, Dean. If he would just pray—"
"Calm down, everyone. One car at a time. Let's check out this one," said Dean. He finally managed to inch up next to the old Volvo.
And then realized he had no idea what he was even looking for. Or what he would do if it turned out to be Calcariel. What could they even do? Try to kill Calcariel while he was driving? Force the car off the road?
With Sam inside?
Dean said, his hands tightening on the wheel, "We don't even know what Calcariel looks like! What are we looking for, anyway? He's got to have a new vessel, right? And what do we even do if we find him?"
"I think Calcariel's in a male vessel now," said Cas. "Sam's been using male pronouns for him. Though... that may be just a holdover from his previous vessel. And, Dean, you've got a point, we may just need to tail him and not try to stop him."
They snuck up next to the Volvo just the same. Soon all three of them were staring suspiciously at the oblivious driver, a college-aged guy who seemed to be singing noisily along with his radio, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and nodding his head enthusiastically.
"The cross is going slower," said Sarah at last, holding up the crucifix. "This can't be the car."
"And Calcariel would never sing," Cas added. "Not with such joy, at least."
Dean nodded and floored the gas, hoping to at least catch up with the stupid-looking PT Cruiser. But the road was going up a slight incline now and though the VW van was chugging along as fast as it could, the Cruiser, and the BMW and most of the other cars, began pulling ahead.
"The crucifix is totally stopped," said Sarah quietly.
"Which means..." said Cas. "Let's see... He could be..." He paused, looking ahead and back.
"It means he's either ahead of us or behind us or he's left the road entirely," said Dean grimly. "And we have no friggin' clue which one. And we don't know where to go."
Dean kept the gas floored, not knowing what else to do. But the cars they'd been trying to follow kept drifting further ahead. He checked the VW's little clock quickly; it was already mid-afternoon.
Only a few hours left.
And they'd already lost Sam.
"Keep going, Dean," said Cas at last. "All we can do is keeping going the same direction. And hope he prays again."
A few minutes later they passed a handpainted billboard on the right side of the road that read:
MYSTERY SPOT! WHAT IS IT? FIND OUT! NEXT EXIT!
"Holy shit," Dean said, the sign drawing his eye instantly. Without even thinking he let his foot come off the gas for a moment.
"What's wrong?" said Sarah, her voice tense.
"It's the friggin' Mystery Spot!" said Dean. "I don't friggin' believe it! ...I clean forgot it was here."
It was such a blast from the past, such a vivid memory of Sam from so many years ago, that for a moment the road seemed to vanish totally. Once again Dean seemed to be walking down the sunny street with Sam, on that very strange, very long Tuesday, all those years ago.
"Mystery spot?" said Cas.
"Nothing, nothing," Dean said. "It's just... Sam and I had a pretty weird day at that Mystery Spot place once. Your archangel buddy Gabe at his worst, Cas." Dean added, "Or... so Sam said later."
It had been years ago, but Dean remembered now, as vividly as if it been just yesterday, how Sam had looked on the next morning. A perfectly ordinary Wednesday morning. How shellshocked he'd looked when he'd awoken; how he'd walked right over to Dean, with that eerie thousand-yard stare on his face. How he'd given Dean a huge long hug for no reason at all. Dean had barely managed to pry free.
"Shit... Sammy... dammit," said Dean softly, remembering that hug now. "I don't actually really know what happened. Sam would never talk about it much. But he was pretty messed up that day. And the day after. He wouldn't let me out of his sight for weeks."
They drove past the little billboard, and that long-ago Sam, that young Sam who had seemed so stunned and bewildered— and so friggin' grateful— to see Dean alive and healthy, seemed to vanish behind them in the dusty hills. Dean almost wanted to cry.
"He said the radio kept playing 'Heat of the Moment'... " Dean said.
And then Dean remembered something.
The radio.
"Oh. Oh, Sarah, Sarah, turn on the radio!" said Dean, "We forgot to keep checking the news!" They'd turned it off at the burger place and had never flipped it back on.
"Maybe the radio will have some clue about the waves by now," suggested Castiel hopefully, as Sarah flipped it on.
But it didn't.
Three in the afternoon. They'd long since lost track of almost all the possible-Sam cars. The crucifix had stilled. Sarah had gotten the radio tuned on some kind of chatty local talk show, but the announcer was only doing periodic updates about the same old waves, with constant jokes about how the traffic was going to be worse than any tsunami. No useful updates. And no sign of the elemental.
They wound their way up through San Jose. They passed Stanford (where Dean ground his teeth at the memory of how much Sam had been looking forward to going to school there). They circled up the coast roads by the City; all Dean could think to was to keep driving along the seashore, scanning the flooded beaches and the high bluffs for anything unusual. But they saw nothing.
Nobody had said anything in a while. Sarah was still holding the crucifix, glancing at it now and then. Cas still had his wings half-flared, and sometimes closed his eyes, occasionally muttering things softly under his breath. (He said once he was trying to do dream-communication, but that Sam was stubbornly refusing to fall asleep.)
And Dean just drove.
He was well past feeling desperate, and well on the way to feeling completely fatalistic and utterly doomed, when Sam started praying again.
"Calcariel's on to him," Cas reported tensely, trying to twist around in the car, angling his wings this way and that. "Calcariel knows he's trying to pray... he keeps interrupting Sam's prayers to yell at him that we're both dead, that there's no way I could have flown... that we must have both died... in outer space." Cas paused, still angling his wings around, and added, "Sam's fighting against believing it..."
Cas had closed his eyes now, and Dean heard him murmur very softly, "I'm here, Sam. I'm here. I'm here."
Then he opened his eyes and reported, his voice much clearer, "He stopped. But he's to the northeast." He pointed. "That way."
He was pointing toward the skyscrapers of San Francisco itself, and Dean pulled a hard right turn and headed toward the city.
Cas began picking up more sporadic short prayers after that, and managed to steer them right into the depths of huge, hilly San Francisco — and right into a tangle of truly awful traffic. It was bumper-to-bumper in places, stop-and-go. Dean glanced at the clock, grinding his teeth. Six o'clock already. Six o'clock.
Sunset would be at seven-thirty.
But they were making some progress, even if slowly, and Dean allowed himself to feel a tiny glimmer of hope. With sunset only an hour away, whatever spot Calcariel had picked for his last stand must be very close now. If Calcariel's nearby, the place he's picked for the sacrifice must be nearby too, Dean thought. Right?
But the traffic was horrific. The tourist piers had all been closed due to high waves, the city was full of cars trying to retreat from low-lying areas, and soon they were wandering up and down the impossibly hilly city through thickets of traffic, trying to find their way back to any kind of a major freeway. Cars were jammed all around, horns honking constantly.
Cas picked up one more short prayer and reported Sam was heading north.
"He's got to be headed over the Golden Gate Bridge," Dean decided. "That's the only thing north of here. They're headed north over the bridge. To that park! That park up there that had all the waves back in January!"
And right then the radio announcer reported the authorities had just decided to close the Golden Gate Bridge.
"DAMMIT!" yelled Dean, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. "That bridge is the only way north! If he's already gotten across the bridge... oh, HELL, we're not going to GET THERE IN TIME!"
"Aren't there other bridges?" said Cas.
"Bazillion mile long bridges that go totally the wrong way and are backed up for three hours," said Dean. "The Golden Gate's the only one that heads over the water to the north. Cas— I gotta ask." Dean took a breath. "Is there any chance you can fly me to him?"
Cas shook his head, gritting his teeth. "My tertials really aren't good enough, Dean. I believe I could steer passably in one dimension, but I'm absolutely certain I can't do the transition between dimensions. You saw what happened. I'd just go in some random direction. Even if we survived there's no way I could steer you to him."
"But could you fly in this dimension? Maybe just by yourself?"
Cas looked at Dean in the mirror.
How was it possible for Cas's eyes to look so sad?
"Maybe you could try?" said Dean, hopefully, but he could already see the answer in Cas's eyes.
"Dean," said Cas, shaking his head slowly. "I'm so sorry. Gravity's too strong here. Even if my wing were completely fixed, my wing-loading's far too heavy. I can't even take off. I can't gain elevation at all. Not without power. Not in this dimension. I really can't. Dean... I'm so sorry."
Oh, right. The "wing-loading." Mac had explained that once. He'd said something about, "the human body is too heavy for the size of those wings..."
Mac had said flat out, as soon as he'd really gotten a look at Cas, that there was no way Cas could fly here on Earth. Mac had known that immediately, just from one look.
And Cas had nodded and agreed.
Dean met Cas's eyes now in the mirror and realized that Cas looked really distressed.
"If I had any power," Cas said, "Even a little— "
"It's okay, Cas," Dean said. Though nothing was okay, actually, not really. But Cas just looked so damn sad.
"I'm so very sorry, Dean—"
"Cas, it's okay—"
"I know it's not okay, I wish so badly that I could help, but—"
"QUIET," Sarah said sharply. "BOTH OF YOU. LISTEN." They both looked at her, startled, as she leaned over to the radio and turned it up.
The radio announcer was saying:
"—Golden Gate Bridge has just been closed due to an absolutely gigantic whirlpool right at its base, as if we didn't have enough to worry about. The waves have all stopped for some reason, but now we've got this crazy whirlpool at the Golden Gate! All you sad commuters out there, the other bridges in the Bay will probably be closed too, the freeways south are jammed, and of course you all know all the ferries shut down long ago. So anybody who's on the wrong side of the water from wherever home is, good luck, time to make some new friends wherever you are. Folks, if you're just tuning in, I repeat, the Golden Gate Bridge has just been closed because of an immense whirlpool forming right at the mouth of our big beautiful San Francisco Bay, right at the Golden Gate. And yes, to all those tourists who keep calling, we love you but, the mouth of the Bay is called the 'Golden Gate', and the bridge is named after the mouth of the Bay, so you can please just stop calling to tell me you just noticed that our lovely steel Art Deco bridge is actually red. We know. And it's 'international orange', technically. Now, loyal listeners, you'll remember we've also had some callers saying they're seeing a large number of green whales surfacing right around the whirlpool. Joining us now from UC Berkeley is Professor Jacques Pequod, an expert in oceanography and marine biology. Dr. Pequod, two questions for you. One, what could possibly cause a whirlpool like this to form? And, two, there's no such thing as a 'green whale', right? These are probably gray whales, am I correct?"
"That's it," said Cas, his hand tightening on Dean's shoulder. "That's the elemental, I'm certain! It loves whirlpools! And it's got green scales! Dean, take us to that bridge! The gold red orange gate bridge!"
Sarah already had her phone out and was already plotting a course to the "gold red orange gate bridge," and a moment later she was barking out directions to Dean: "Up that hill— yes, take a right now, now straight ahead—"
Dean's driving had been getting increasingly wild anyway, and now he got even more reckless. He risked a glance at the clock— nearly seven! That did it. Dean went into overdrive, blaring the horn nonstop, running red lights, driving up on sidewalks where he could, veering into oncoming traffic. Soon they were making steady, if erratic, progress.
"Friggin' Golden Gate Bridge!" swore Dean as he edged the van through another red light. "Can't friggin believe it! Friggin Yellowstone magma chamber! Friggin biggest sturgeon in the world! Friggin tallest trees on earth! Now the Golden Gate Bridge? What IS it with this dude?"
Cas said drily, as Dean sped through another yellow light, Sarah cringing in her seat as horns blared all around, "Calcariel does seem to have a flair for the dramatic."
They shot around another corner, horn still blaring, tires squealing. "There's a fine line, isn't there," Cas said, hanging onto his chair, "between trying to save the world in the next half hour, and trying not to die in a car crash on the way there."
"WATCH OUT FOR THAT CAR!" shouted Sarah. They narrowly avoided a collision. Dean swore— but didn't stop, and just barked to Cas, "Cas, check your pistol, be sure it's good to go. Make sure you got your blade too. We don't know what we're gonna get into."
Dean finally got onto a straight stretch of road where he actually had a few green lights in a row for a change. He risked a quick glance at Sarah to see how she was taking all this, and found she was cringing in her seat now, huddled down in almost a fetal position. Dean swallowed and looked back ahead at the road. He felt a pang of regret, as he sped along, at putting poor Sarah through such a traumatic experience.
If she had to die, why couldn't she have died happy and oblivious like everybody else?
"Hang in there, Sarah," Dean said. "Don't freak out on me now, okay?"
"I will freak out if I want to," said Sarah, her voice shaky but determined. Dean stole one more quick glance at her, and realized Sarah wasn't actually "huddling in a fetal position" as Dean had assumed; rather, she was bent down over Sam's pistol (she must have found it in the glovebox), picking bullets out of a box of ammo that she'd wedged between her feet, and she was carefully loading the magazine.
"Jeez, Sarah, you ex-army or something?" Dean said. "You put in some time somewhere? Iraq? Afghanistan?"
"ICU," Sarah said, "ER." She finished loading the magazine, loaded it into the pistol, and checked the safety, adding, "Though usually the ER doesn't involve actual gunfire." She put the gun carefully in her jacket pocket but then wedged both hands between her knees, saying, with a distinct tremor in her voice now, "And I'll admit my hands won't stop shaking."
"That's the adrenaline," Castiel told her, patting her shoulder. "It's normal. Human hormones can take some getting used to, can't they? The testosterone alone took me months to adjust to."
Sarah shot Castiel a very puzzled glance over her shoulder, and Dean was relieved to hear her choke out a small laugh.
Dean said, "You hang in there. You're doing great. Just focus on one thing at a time. One minute at a time."
"I don't want to die," Sarah blurted out. "I really really don't. But like I told you before. I'd REALLY rather be here doing something about it than just be a cow walking to slaughter. Oh! Right lane! Dean, RIGHT LANE, GET IN THE RIGHT LANE— see that sign!"
Sure enough Sarah had spotted a little sign that said:
GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE and POINTS NORTH - NEXT RIGHT
Dean whipped the VW around to the right, following Sarah's sign. He raced through another red light, and another, and soon they were in a line of cars approaching the actual ramp to the bridge.
They were still a good quarter-mile away, but even from here they could see that the bridge was closed. There was a whole line of cop cars, lights flashing, that were blocking the ramp.
And some commotion, too; cops running around, waving their hands at each other. Yelling. Looking excited.
And two cop cars flipped on their side.
"Calcariel's been here," said Cas. Just then the radio announcer, who'd been going on about traffic, mentioned "Golden Gate Bridge" again. They all perked up, Sarah turned the volume up once more, and they heard:
"Lots of fun at the Golden Gate Bridge, folks! Get this, a car has just busted through the barricades and charged up onto the bridge, even though cops tried to keep it off. Ran right smack through the cop cars somehow! Eyewitnesses say a couple cop cars got flipped right over. No word yet on any injuries. Once again, folks, the Golden Gate Bridge has been closed to all traffic because of a gigantic whirlpool that may be destabilizing the base of the bridge towers. And there are hundreds of whales for some reason. Oh and— new update— the car's stopped! Right in the middle of the bridge! Very dramatic situation unfolding at the Golden Gate, folks— we don't know if this is a suicide attempt or a terrorist or just somebody who's seriously deranged. Stay right here for the latest updates! Don't touch that dial!"
"Seriously deranged," muttered Dean. "And a terrorist. Well, at least the cops are already distracted. Cas— um— I don't know how trigger-happy these guys are gonna be— maybe you could— you got those bulletproof wings, y'know—"
Cas caught his meaning immediately and managed to wedge both wings around the sides of the driver's and passenger seats, sheltering both Dean and Sarah somewhat, at least from the sides.
The cars ahead of them were being turned to the side one by one by the cops, the whole stream of traffic obediently turning right at the base of the ramp. As the VW drew closer, Dean could see where Calcariel must have simply blasted some cop cars aside. Two cars were lying on their sides and a third had flipped over completely. It must have just happened, for the cops were still in total disarray, and the displaced cars had left a huge gap in their barricade. As they drew closer a motorcycle cop waved urgently at them to turn and follow the flow of traffic away from the bridge.
Dean said, "Hang on."
He floored it.
The black VW van roared right at the gap in the line of cop cars. Dean drove right at them, horn blaring, shouting, "Out of the WAY, get out of my WAY!" Cops scattered in all directions, there was a flurry of flashing lights and sirens and yells, and suddenly they were through. Charging up onto the empty ramp. Onto an empty road.
"That was WAY too easy," said Dean.
"They didn't even shoot," said Cas, looking back through the rear window.
"Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck. Holy shit," said Sarah, gasping; she was flattened back against her seat, grabbing onto Cas's wing with both hands now. "Okay. Um." She swallowed. "First time I've done that. Um. Right." She cleared her throat and peered into the rearview mirror. "Nobody's following us. Why is nobody following us?!"
"Maybe Calcariel spooked them?" said Dean.
"Or maybe the bridge is truly about to collapse," suggested Cas. "Quite fortunate, really." Dean and Sarah exchanged a quick glance. Sarah seemed on the verge of semi-hysterical giggles again. Better giggles than screams, thought Dean. Sammy, you picked a good one.
The calm was positively eerie. The VW was purring ahead now along a wide, deserted, multi-lane road that slanted up through trees on either side. After the hours stuck in the snarled traffic, it seemed they'd broken through to a magically peaceful world of space and light. Slowly the road rose higher, soon leaving the hills and trees far below, till it seemed they were headed up into the sky.
The road curved once more just before it headed onto the bridge, and for a moment they had a view almost straight out to sea. All three of them gasped at the sight, and Cas's wing tightening on Dean's shoulder, for now they caught their first glimpse of the whirlpool that was slowly swirling around in the immense strait.
"Oh no," breathed Sarah.
"It's... GIGANTIC," said Dean, truly stunned.
The whirlpool was more than a mile wide.
It filled the entire strait. The entire Golden Gate, the whole strait, the entire vast entrance to the San Francisco Bay, had become one enormous whirlpool.
Dean glanced to the other side, into the Bay on their right, and realized the whirlpool extended completely under the bridge.
"I am NOT PREPARED FOR THIS," said Dean.
"The whales," said Sarah faintly, pointing back out to the seaward side, and Dean realized there were dozens and dozens— no, hundreds— of round green shapes in the water. He'd taken them for choppy waves; but they were something else. Round arcs, each one some thirty or forty feet long, each one somewhat like the rounded profile of a whale's back. But... more rounded, somehow. And... scaled. Green scales. And...
"They're connected," said Sarah. "That's all... those are... those are loops of a sea serpent's body... aren't they. This is... a sea serpent. This is a sea serpent. Isn't it." Then she said "Oh jeez," as all the "loops" started moving at once, whipping through the sea at amazing speed. They all sank at once under the water.
An immense rayed fin broke the surface, impossibly far offshore. At least a couple miles away.
Then Dean glimpsed something in the rim of the whirlpool. Something gigantic just under the water surface, coiled all along the edge of the immense whirlpool. Something unthinkably massive, and impossibly long, and shining, and glittering, and green.
For a moment he saw a gigantic glowing round thing, just under the water.
It blinked at them.
It was an eye. A green eye. It must have been twenty feet across at least.
"Oh shit," Sarah whispered.
"That's new and exciting," said Cas. "Isn't it? Um... I'm sorry."
"Oh shit," Sarah said again. "Oh shit. Oh shit."
Dean couldn't say anything at all.
The road straightened out, and their little van roared forward onto the Golden Gate Bridge.
The vast suspension bridge stretched far ahead in a narrow ribbon, nearly two miles end to end. They passed the two gigantic concrete buttresses first, one on either side, where the bridge's immense, yard-wide, suspension cables were anchored, the cables from which the entire bridge was suspended. The two cables paralleled the roadway on either side, and as the VW sped along the cables rose gracefully upwards, arcing up higher and higher to the first of the two great vertical towers that stood far ahead, gleaming in the sun's last rays. The cables, the pedestrian railings, and the two towers far ahead were all painted a vivid orange-red that glowed eerily in the last rays of the day.
The last rays of the day, Dean realized.
"Hurry," Cas murmured in his ear.
Dean already had the gas pedal floored, but he pressed on it even harder, nearly standing on the gas pedal now, willing the VW to go faster. But the van began lurching, shaking rather oddly. Dean was soon having some trouble steering.
"Something's wrong with the van," Dean reported. "Cas, is it Calcariel, can he affect us from here?"
"It's not the van," said Cas. "It's the bridge."
Only then did Dean realize the entire bridge was shaking. He could feel it now, like a steady rumbling earthquake. The roadway was even twisting slightly, one side rising up slightly and then sinking slightly, like a ribbon twisting in a stiff breeze. And far ahead, still at least a half mile away, looking just like a dot at this distance, was a car, slewed crosswise in the empty lanes right in the middle of the bridge. It was the PT Cruiser.
"The PT Cruiser!" Dean yelled! "I shoulda KNOWN! Of course he'd pick a friggin' PT Cruiser!" A strangely old-fashioned car, its design a throwback to the cars of the 1930s gangsters— just like the clothes Calcariel had been wearing originally, back in Wyoming.
A figure was leaning over the trunk— it had to be Calcariel— and he was pulling someone out. A second, taller figure, clambering out awkwardly, a blindfold over his eyes, hands bound in front of him. A painfully familiar figure.
"Sam," said Dean, Cas, and Sarah, all simultaneously.
The van shot under the first immense tower. The cables crossed the top of the tower hundreds of feet overhead and then began to soar back down toward the roadway again. Calcariel had parked his PT Cruiser right in the middle of the bridge, in the long stretch of roadway between the towers, where the two great suspension cables were at their lowest point.
"Calcariel's taunting him," said Castiel suddenly. "Calcariel's ordering him to pray to me. He's saying to Sam... Sam's relaying it to me... Pray, Sam Winchester... pray to your crippled useless angel... he might hear you... out there in the void... maybe he even has the frozen body... of your brother. Pray to your crippled friend... Give him all the faith you have... see if he can save you now."
Cas paused, and Dean glanced at him in the mirror. Cas's eyes were still closed, but his expression, in the mirror, was burning with ferocity. His teeth were bared; Dean heard him actually hiss in rage.
Then Cas added, his face softening, "And Sam's adding... I do have faith, Cas. I have faith in you... I have faith."
Cas opened his eyes, and whispered, "He's stopped."
The VW was still a quarter mile away but they were close enough now to see that Calcariel was indeed in a male vessel again. And it's another bleached blond in another friggin' pinstripe suit, Dean noticed. Calcariel had hauled Sam out of the car now but Sam couldn't seem to walk; his feet seemed to be bound together, and now Calcariel was drawing some kind of a chalk circle around Sam's feet. Then Calcariel must have heard the van approaching, for he turned his head in their direction, and even at that distance, Dean met his eyes. He looked at Calcariel, and Calcariel looked right at him.
And recognized him.
Dean could see it. From how the blond vessel's head lifted, and how his posture stiffened.
Dean realized in that instant that Calcariel could probably just knock the whole van over with a single shove of his hand, just as he'd done with the police cars.
Dean was drawing a breath to say "Out of the car, quick, we gotta split up!" when and Calcariel and Sam both disappeared in a puff of red smoke.
Dean couldn't even process it for a moment. Sam and Calcariel had been right there, just a hundred yards ahead, right smack in the middle of the bridge, and suddenly... they were gone. And... a puff of red smoke?
"What?" said Sarah, lowering Sam's pistol and looking around in confusion. "What happened? Where'd they go?"
"A transport spell," said Cas. He was twisting around, trying to open his wings. "They moved somewhere. But I don't understand why he didn't just fly—"
"They gotta be nearby!" Dean said. "The elemental's here! They gotta be here!" The VW had barreled right up to Calcariel's idiotic PT Cruiser now. Dean braked hard to a halt and they all jumped out.
The bridge was shaking horribly under their feet. And now that they were out of the van, Dean could hear the great cables groaning in protest; the cables were actually flexing from side to side as waves of motion went rippling through the great bridge. There was a strange whining sound, almost melodic, as if all the wires on the bridge were being plucked like strings on a harp; and Dean could feel the strange twisting of the roadway. And underneath everything, he heard the low deep roar of the whirlpool that was waiting below.
He would have been terrified if he'd had a thought to spare. But all he could think was, where had they gone?
"Where'd they GO?" Dean cried, looking around frantically. He hollered at the top of his lungs, "SAM?! SAM!"
"There!" Cas said, pointing. He was pointing up. Way up. To the top of the second tower.
Dean groaned, and beside him Sarah gave a little cry of despair, putting her hands to her mouth. For sure enough, there were two tiny little specks up there. Two little dots, way up on top of the second tower. Lit up now in the orange light of the setting sun.
The setting sun. Dean glanced out to sea and was horrified to see the sun sitting right on the horizon. Right on the edge of the Pacific Ocean.
"No," Dean said, starting to run toward the tower, but Cas yelled, "Dean! DEAN! I need your help!" Dean turned to see that Cas was at the side of the bridge now, trying to scramble up to one of the massive suspension cables. The cable was at its lowest point here, just a few yards above the sidewalk. Right at the outer edge of the sidewalk. Right over the water. There were slender rods extending down from the sides of the quivering cable down to the shaking roadway, and Cas was trying to climb up the rods.
"Help me up, help me up!" Cas cried, just as Dean realized what he was trying to do: Cas was going to try to run up the cable, all the way to the top of the second tower.
It was impossible; it would never work; they'd already lost.
But Cas was still trying. And damned if Dean was going to give up, while Sam still had a breath of life in his body, while Cas was still trying too.
Dean and Sarah both dashed over to Cas. They pushed him up with all their might, pushed at his butt and then his knees and then his feet, Cas's wings flapped like mad, and suddenly somehow Cas had gotten up on top of the huge round cable. There were two perilously thin wires up there that Cas grabbed hold of, trying to keep his balance. The whole cable was flexing almost like a snake now, swaying from left to right slowly. It looked horribly unsteady. Dean couldn't bear to look at Cas clinging up there to those tiny wires on top of that slippery-looking, round, swaying cable, and Dean glanced down.
Glancing down turned out to be a mistake. There was a mile wide whirlpool inhabited by a gigantic sea serpent directly below. And the serpent's head was right under the bridge now, right smack in the middle of the whirlpool.
It was looking right up at them.
It had magnificent, huge, round, green eyes. With little glints of hazel and gold, and dark vertical pupils like a cat's. The eyes were shining brightly in the dark water.
It had seen them. It was looking right at them.
"Dean! DEAN!" Cas called. Dean tore his eyes away from the elemental as Cas called down, "I'll run up the cable, you get to the tower, hurry! Look for stairs!"
Cas was already scrambling along the cable, clinging to the little wires, and abruptly Dean realized that what Cas was trying was never going to work. The cable was just shaking too much and it would be too steep, near the top, for Cas to be able to climb all the way up. And worst of all, Calcariel would see him coming. Calcariel would just knock poor Cas right off the cable! Why had Dean helped Cas climb up? Cas had no chance at all up there! Dean had to get up the stairs! He had to get to the tower and get up to Calcariel first! He had to!
"GET IN!" Sarah was hollering. Dean spun around to find that Sarah, bless her heart, had dashed back to the VW and had pulled it alongside Dean. "DEAN! GET IN!", she screamed as Dean pelted back over to the van. There wasn't even time to try to run around to the other side of the van and get into the passenger seat like normal, so Dean grabbed on to the open door, hooked his feet into the VW and clung there, half in and half out of the driver's seat, yelling, "GO, GO, GO!" as Sarah floored the gas and raced the van to the second tower. Dean hung on for dear life. He cast a glance up as Sarah roared the VW along, and saw Cas running up the cable.
Cas was running flat out. He was sprinting, somehow. Right along the top of that swaying narrow cable, hanging on to the fragile little wire handholds. His wings were spread wide now, for balance, flapping occasionally whenever he slipped (which was happening all too often).
He almost looked as if he were flying. And Dean suddenly understood. Cas hadn't been able to fly up to Sam... so he was trying to run up to Sam instead. He was trying to do what Dean had begged him to do. And it simply wasn't going to work. Calcariel was going to knock him right off. Cas had no chance.
"Oh, Cas," Dean moaned, watching him run, watching those beautiful wings spread so wide.
Beautiful wings... but wings that couldn't fly.
Soon Dean and Sarah were at the foot of the second tower. Dean jumped out, yelling to Sarah, "Head for high ground, Sarah, take the van, GO!"
"No!" said Sarah, jumping out.
"Go!" Dean said, sprinting around the tower base, looking up frantically. He couldn't find the ladder! "WHERE'S THE FUCKING LADDER?" he hollered. "GO, SARAH!"
"NO I WON'T GO! I CAN'T FIND THE FUCKING LADDER!" Sarah replied. She was already out of the van and was bolting around the other leg of the tower, on the other side of the roadway. "IT'S NOT OVER HERE EITHER!"
They couldn't find a ladder. There was no way up. Dean had expected some kind of maintenance ladder on the outside of the tower, or at least some ladder rungs, but instead there was just a single locked door that led right into the tower itself. An steel door. A huge thick steel door, well barricaded. Dean fired at it, but his .45 barely made a dent in the big metal hinges.
"God dammed friggin Art Deco steel bridge!" Dean screamed, firing at it again and again. The lock shattered, but wouldn't open. The hinges slowly gave way... but the door wouldn't open. He threw his whole body weight against the door, over and over, but it wouldn't open; apparently they'd secured it very well against tourists... and madmen, and terrorists.
"Dean," Sarah said quietly.
Something in her voice made Dean look over at her. Sarah was pointing inland, across the bay to the hills. To the east.
There on the eastern horizon, the moon was rising.
A golden, huge, immense round moon.
Perfectly round. Completely round. No fuzzy edge anymore.
The full moon was rising.
"CALCARIEL!" Dean roared, turning back to the door and throwing himself at it one more time, but it simply wasn't going to work. He looked desperately up at Castiel, hoping against hope that maybe Cas could take a shot at Calcariel from where he was. And he saw that Cas had stopped completely, about two-thirds of the way up the cable. The cable was swaying terribly and poor Cas was just barely hanging on now, both his arms wrapped tight around the wires. But he was very still, and he was gazing up at the top of the tower, his wings spread wide, arced slightly forward.
Dean knew that look by now. Cas was listening to Sam praying.
Cas was listening to Sam's last prayer. He was listening to Sam say goodbye.
Dean abandoned the steel door and ran over to the railing, feeling the bridge shaking more and more. What do I do, he thought, What do I do, what can I do? The sidewalk was shaking so badly now he had to hang onto the railing as he looked around, trying to find some idea, trying to see something useful he could do. Dean looked west; the sun was nearly set, half-sunken into the sea. He looked east; the great golden moon was rising, nearly clear of the hills now. He looked up: the red tower stretched impossibly high overhead, far, far, up to a vanishing point that seemed to stretch up to the very sky, Sam and Calcariel hidden at its peak.
He looked down: The vast whirlpool was speeding up. Coils of the vast elementals' body were again visible all around. And right underneath, the huge scaled head, waiting far below, right at the water surface. The immense green eyes. And the vast toothy jaws, yawning wide now. Ready for a sacrifice.
Last of all Dean looked over at Cas. And he wished, more than anything, that Cas had stayed here next to Dean, so that Dean could hold his hand one last time.
It suddenly came very clear in Dean's mind that there was one thing he could still do. Just one thing. He could at least try to let Sam know he was here. Try to hold his hand, from afar.
He could try to let Sam know that Dean was still alive. Let him know that Dean had tried to save him, and that even though Dean had failed, he was still here anyway. Let him know that Dean had come to be with Sam, here at the end; as Dean had done before, for Sam; as he would always do, for Sam. Now and forever.
He could call Sam's name.
"SAM!" Dean roared, tilting his face up, cupping his hands around his mouth. "SAM! SAM!" He backed up a bit down the roadway, trying to get a good look at Sam, screaming Sam's name over and over. "SAM! SAMMY! SAM!"
He got just far enough away from the tower to make out the two tiny figures up on top. One shorter, one taller. The shorter figure pulled something off the taller figure's head; Calcariel, pulling off the blindfold. Sam flinched visibly when he realized where he was.
"SAM! SAMMY!"
Dean was sure he saw Sam turn his head.
Then Calcariel simply waved one hand in Sam's direction. One imperious, arrogant gesture, one simple flick of a hand, and Sam was flung instantly right off the tower, his hands and feet still bound, hurled out in the air toward the setting sun.
Sam fell.
Just a tiny figure, plummeting down. Almost graceful. Sailing down...
There was a flash of motion in the corner of Dean's eye. Black and white. Something large; something fast; something falling. It was Castiel, his great wings spread wide, diving headfirst off the Golden Gate Bridge.
A/N -
I'm so terribly sorry.
I'm an evil person, I know. I simply could not finish it all by tonight; I'm trying so hard to get these last chapters right. Once again, I will try my very, very best to get the next part done by Sunday - wish me luck.
So... this is the scene the whole fic has been moving toward, the whole time, all 35 chapters. Castiel, with his still-damaged wing, taking that tremendous leap of faith into the void. He leapt on sheer reflex; he simply could not bear to see Sam fall again.
A few details:
- The "Mystery Spot" is actually in Santa Cruz, California. But, on the show they call it the "Broward County" Mystery Spot (Broward County's in Florida) - but there's no "mystery spot" in Broward County! (edit: a reader's told me there's another one in Michigan! Yay for mystery spots! But still none in Broward County. The Santa Cruz one seems to be more famous for some reason and is the only one listed in Wikipedia.) Anyway, I choose to believe that the Broward County city council, for reasons known only to themselves, are FUNDING the Santa Cruz Mystery Spot, supporting it somehow for some reason, and got to put their name on the brochures. (Perhaps they applied for a grant together? I've known stranger collaborations.) PS - it was quite by accident that Dean drove past it in this chapter. I was checking his driving route on Google Maps and there it was - Mystery Spot! Dean was gonna drive right past it! I couldn't believe it.
- Announcement: The brave and wonderful Etienne_Bessette is tackling the immense task of making a podfic out of Flight! Look on AO3 under this same username, NorthernSparrow, to find it (she's co-listed me as an author).
- Also I finally made a tumblr because my friends at fandomnatural said I should post my analysis of Castiel's molt issues. The tumblr is under the name northern-sparrow (with a hyphen). And then I had an popcorn revelation today so that's up there now too (spoilers for S10 ep 3).
MORE AS SOON AS I POSSIBLY CAN. If you have a moment to drop me a line, please do, it means so much!