A/N: Yay, another chapter of ATPM! Happy NaNo to everyone participating. I will be posting my NaNo goals on my profile this month, if anyone is interested. Since my mom had been in and out of the hospital and I didn't get a chance to prep an original project for NaNo this year, I decided to ride the wave of NaNo enthusiasm by setting some freaking hard goals for my fanfic projects. The goal this month is 150000 words, spread out between my projects.
I know. I am officially insane. That's an average of 5000 a day.
Insane.
Anywho, the NaNo inspiration for this update is-
"You know how writers are...they create themselves as they create their work. Or perhaps they create their work in order to create themselves." -Orson Scott Card
Reviews are Love!
Spending Nano on FFNET like me? Feel free to share your goals, or hit me up if you need support. NaNo isn't for the faint of heart, but it should be for everyone.
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox
All The Pretty Monsters – Chapter Thirty Six
"Luck Ain't The Half Of It"
Bela studied the two men across from her with well hidden trepidation.
She had screwed up. She had warned her contractors not to touch anything else in the locker, but obviously, they hadn't listened. If the frigid temperature in her living room was any indication, Sam was...less than pleased.
"So, let me get this straight." She began, choosing each word with care as she played along with Sam's charade. Sam obviously didn't want Dean to know that he had orchestrated the break in at the storage locker.
But he had brought Dean to her house, a not so subtle reminder that Sam considered this little predicament her mess, and he expected her to facilitate the clean up.
"Something has been stolen from..." She trailed off, playing her part as a skeptical contact.
"My boss." Dean said tersely, and her attention shifted to the elder brother.
Sam might have the face of an avenging angel, but good lord, men weren't supposed to have eyes like that. Apparently both the Winchesters were ridiculously good looking.
"Your boss." She repeated flatly, eyes flicking back over to Sam. She needed to ascertain exactly what Sam wanted from her without appearing to communicate with him hardly at all.
Luckily, the Winchester's weren't the only ones in the room skilled in deception.
"And you want me to find it, whatever it is. Without knowing what I'm looking for, who I'm looking for, or where I'm looking for it. Gentlemen, you must think I'm some sort of miracle worker." She said, crossing long legs.
Dean learned forward, hands on his knees as he scowled at her. "Look, lady. Can you help, or not? Sam said you were an expert." He sneered the word expert, letting her know exactly what he thought of her...profession.
She sighed, narrowing her eyes, careful not to overplay her hand. "If you want a haunted Ming vase, I can accommodate. A medieval crystal ball? I'm at your service. I can find anything, gentlemen, but I do need to know what I am looking for."
"Something recent. It would have only hit the market in the last few hours, and it's most likely still local. It's doubtful the owners have any idea what they actually possess." Sam said in a cool voice.
"Well, they're not alone." She replied flippantly. She could feel Sam's eyes assessing her, feel the gooseflesh his displeasure was triggering.
She was playing a very, very dangerous game. And all the stakes were high.
"It's in a wooden box, a curse box. About yea big." Dean said, gesturing with his hands.
"The locks are fairly intricate. It would take a few hours most likely for the average person to open it." Sam added, locking eyes with Bela, who suppressed a shiver.
"Let me make a few calls." She said after a long moment. She stood gracefully, feeling the eyes of both brother lock onto her as she walked into her study.
Fuck-fuck-fuck-FUCK.
She was going to kill those morons herself.
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Dean looked up as Bela reentered the room. She certainly was attractive enough, with a stunning figure and face, and a sexy British accent.
Dean trusted her about as far as he could throw her.
"Gentlemen, today must be your lucky day. One of my local contacts run a pawn shop, and two gentlemen stopped by earlier, trying to see if he had a master key that might fit the locks on a strange wooden box they had...acquired. When he didn't, they offered to sell it to him as is."
Dean looked at her with growing excitement. "Did he buy it?"
She scoffed. "My contact is no fool. Anything could be in that box. But he's worked with these...men, before. He had an address. I've wrote it down for you."
Dean noticed that her eyes kept returning to Sam's over and over again, as if Sam made her nervous.
Could she possibly know what Sam really was? She was certainly deferential in her treatment of him.
Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the who thing felt...off.
And why was she helping them? Was she frightened of Sam? Did she owe him a favor?
As if in answer to Dean's silent musings, Sam reached into his pocket, pulling out an expensive looking leather wallet. Flipping it open casually, Dean watched as he extracted several bills.
One-hundred dollar bills.
"The usual fee?" He asked idly.
"That will be fine." She replied after a moment.
Dean counted quickly, the quicksilver math of someone who never had enough money.
One thousand dollars.
"For a damn address?" He exploded. "That's highway robbery!"
She lifted one arched brow. "I don't know what kind of women your used to associating with, Dean. But I don't get out of bed for less than one thousand dollars."
He raised his brows back at her. "Sweetheart, I don't have to pay. Never have, and I'm sure as hell not starting with you."
She smirked a little, as if he had amused her despite herself.
"Come on, Sam." Dean said, not hesitating to let himself out.
Dean glanced over at Sam as he drove. He seldom saw Sam or any of the others with a vehicle of their own, but surely they must use them?
"How do you guys get around, anyway?" He asked, seeing no harm in it. Most likely, Sam would just give him a cryptic answer anyway.
"We have various means." Sam replied, and Dean rolled his eyes.
Sam looked over, the barest hint of a smile dancing on his lips. "I''m not trying to be mysterious. We use the same mundane variations, we fly, we drive. We walk."
"But that's not all. You do that creepy, demon I-dream-of-genie thing." Dean pointed out.
His description actually startled a small, low chuckle out of his brother.
"Jumping. We refer to it as jumping." He said finally.
"How does that work?" Dean asked.
"Carefully." Sam replied. "We can all do it, at least a little. Ava and I are the best. We have a longer...range, I guess you can call it."
"You ever run into anything?" Dean asked curiously, nearly high on the fact that he was asking questions and actually getting answers, even about something as small as 'jumping'.
"No. I'm not entirely sure of the logistics, it's a demonic power, which means it's basically a perversion of natural energy, I suppose." Sam mused.
"And...you lost me." Dean said.
Sam sighed. "Suffice to say, demon's are predators. I don't run into things when I jump, the same way a hawk doesn't fly into a tree."
"And you can just, what? Jump wherever you want?" Dean said, intrigued despite his confusion.
"It uses quite a bit of energy to travel any real distances that way. And I have to have an idea of where I am going. I could wind up in the middle of a lake if I wasn't careful." Sam offered idly.
"So, why tell me?" Dean asked the question that was really nagging him. "Why help me, why take me to meet Bela. Why let me in on any of this? You and the other arch demons have been running circles around me for weeks. What's my purpose here, Sam?"
Sam stared out the window for so long Dean had given up on getting an answer from him.
"I don't know." Sam said finally. "You lack powers, that's true. But you have your own skills. Your perceptive, and you view things as a human does, which I can no longer do. You have a hunter's instincts. We are two different types of predators, Dean. Sometimes I think you're too much of a liability, and other times I think you're too rare a resource to waste in a war like the one I'm waging."
"And...I'm your brother." Dean said, finally acknowledging the elephant in the car with them.
Sam tensed subtly beside Dean. "You are." He finally said. "Which has very little to do with your usefulness. But..." He trailed off.
"But..." Dean pressed, knowing he was walking on thin ice, but unable to help himself.
Sam sighed quietly. "Ava told you what hell was like, Dean. It burns away all the soft places inside you, wears away at your edges. It makes you forget things, forget people, forget emotions. Sympathy, empathy, fear. It all burns away. But loyalty...that's different. Demon's lie, and cheat and steal and kill. But oddly enough, they like structure. They like knowing the rules of game. Loyalty plays into all that. Hell has many factions of demons. Loyalty helps you define who is merely dangerous as opposed to who is your enemy. The memories I retained, the pieces of my old life that remained, I had to fit into my new life view." Sam said with a small grimace.
"English is such a wordy language, yet so un-precise." Sam murmured to himself.
"So, your memories of me?" Dean asked as they pulled up in front of a rundown apartment building.
"My memories of you from before Hell were...good, Dean. I can't say I feel for you what I felt before. I don't feel anything the way I did before. But yes, I suppose I do feel a sense of loyalty to you. I don't believe you will seek to hurt me. Whether or not you will do so by your refusal to do what is needed is yet to be seen. But, until you cause harm to me or mine, you...have what loyalty as I can give. Though, you might wish you didn't, in time." With that cryptic remark, he got out of the Impala.
Dean followed, thinking hard about Sam's words.
If he was following Sam's logic, than because Sam had had enough good memories of Dean when he went to hell, he had classified Dean into the 'friend' category, as opposed to the 'foe'.
He should probably be worried that a demon consider him 'friendly', but Sam was right, short of watching Sam burn down an orphanage, Dean was starting to fear there was little Sam could do that would turn Dean away from him.
Sam had managed to hold on to good memories of Dean for centuries.
Didn't he owe it to his brother to try and see the good in Sam? Or, at least the only mildly evil parts?
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Sam stalked up the dirty stairwell silently, graceful as a jungle cat. Behind him, Dean moved with a predatory grace all his own. Perhaps not as quiet as his younger brother, but with great stealth nonetheless.
Sam had not needed to lie back in the Impala. Dean's skills as a hunter were more than impressive. They were near legendary, as were John's.
They crested the landing, and Sam unthinkingly held up a hand, signaling for Dean to pause. He did it instinctively, nearly a thousand years of leading his siblings directing his actions. He could sense the small part of Dean that was upset at following his younger siblings lead, but Dean did a good job of suppressing it.
Sam wondered how long that would last.
Dean Winchester followed one man, and one man alone. Sam had never been him.
He met Dean's eyes and nodded, signaling that he would cover Dean as Dean kicked the door in. Sam could have blasted through it simply enough, or jumped inside and unlocked it, letting his brother in, but he sensed that Dean needed the action.
And a part of Sam enjoyed watching his brother work, liked to see the tightly leashed violence inside of Dean let free for a moment.
Dean in the sway of violence and action was far easier for Sam to understand and relate to than the flashes of introspection he'd been subjected to recently.
Sam had no real reference point when it came to broken, understanding Dean.
He also had little use for him.
An understanding Dean was much more likely to end up a dead Dean, and Sam had little use for that either.
The door bowed in easily, no match for Dean's strong kick, and the brother's flowed inside like an angry storm, Dean with his gun raised, Sam armed with nothing more than his raised palm and a smirk.
"Freeze, assholes!" Dean ordered tersely, and Sam's smile widened.
This was the brother who could stand beside Sam as he rearranged the world.
Two men were inside, leaning over a coffee table strewn with playing cards. One man, bloody, with his shoulder splinted, had been grinning triumphantly. The other had been frowning, but both men jerked to attention as the Winchester's broke into their apartment.
"Who the hell are you?" The frowner asked, looking with alarm over at his apartment.
Sam's eyes narrowed. He could practically smell the hoodoo on the air. Whatever these fools had stolen, it was obviously bespelled.
"We're the ones you morons robbed. Now, where's the box?" Dean demanded, firing a warning shot at the coffee table, sending splinters and playing cards flying.
Sam's quick mind took note that while the frowned was showered in smoking bits of paper and splinters of wood, the man with the wounded shoulder was spared the shower of debris, even though he should have been directly in the line of sight.
"Dean. Shoot the wounded man." Sam said, mind already working on a theory.
Dean glanced at him, eyes wide. "What? Why?"
The robbers eyes had gone wide also.
"Just in the leg." Sam replied, curious to see if his guess was correct.
"Uh, no?" Dean replied. "We're just here for the box, Sam."
Sam rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that working with Dean could be so much more troublesome than working with one of his other siblings.
He pulled out his own gun.
"The box is already open." Sam replied, gesturing to the floor, where the splintered and fractured curse box lay in pieces.
"Whoa, Sam, wait a minute-" Dean started, but Sam had already pulled the trigger. He had offered to let Dean simply shoot the idiot in the leg, but he personally felt no compulsion against killing him, so he aimed straight for the man's chest.
"SAM!" Dean yelled, but off course it was too late. Sam's eyes tracked the bullet, watching closely as his perfectly aimed kill shot somehow manged to ricochet off the remains of the coffee table, bounce off the ceiling fan, and then aim straight at Dean.
Dean had been tracking it also, thankfully fast enough that he manged to dive out of the way.
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean yelled.
"Now, Pete!" The wounded man yelled, and the two robbers lunged for the door. Sam didn't try and stop them, and Dean was still on the floor. As they lunged past Sam, a small, furry object fell to the ground unnoticed.
Sam knelt beside it, no longer interested in the idiots, as he could feel the power emanating off the small shape on the ground.
It was a rabbit's foot, old and ratty, with chunks of fur missing. Sam's eyes traced over it's outline carefully as his mind tried to unravel the spell work layered over it.
Very interesting. He wondered if-
A crash resounded from the stairwell, and anguished cry of "Joe!" drifting up to the brother's ears.
"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed as he pushed to his feet. Sam stood as well, turning quickly and leading the way to the door.
The body of the wounded robber laid splayed out at the bottom of the landing, head twisted back at an angle that could only mean one thing.
"Shit." Dean cursed, looking from the body to Sam and back again. "You do that?" He asked suspiciously.
"No." Sam remarked, with lowered brows as he sorted the information being presented to him. "It was the-" He turned around, facing the living room of the apartment again.
The rabbit's foot was gone.
"It was the what? This thing?" Dean said, coming to stand beside Sam as he held out a hand with the rabbit's foot.
Sam avoided touching it. He doubted the spell work would have much sway over a arch demon, but he wasn't stupid enough to take that chance.
"Yes. That." Sam said tiredly. "It's cursed."
"Cursed? With what? Shit, man, why are you letting me touch it!" Dean cried, starting to flip his palm in order to drop the offending object.
Sam's hand flashed out, clamping over Dean's jacket covered wrist. "I wouldn't let go of it just yet." He advised.
Dean looked at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, but he obediently closed his hand back over the rabbit's foot.
"If this thing is cursed, what's the fall out?" Dean demanded.
"First, we define the nature of the curse. Then we break it." Sam replied.
They had left the building, and were driving down a side road.
"How the hell do we do that?" Dean demanded. He had attached the damn thing to the cord of his amulet, of all things, at Sam's insistence, and he could feel the grimy fur rubbing against the skin of his chest.
"Stop here." Sam said, and Dean pressed his lips together in irritation as he obediently pulled into the gas station.
"Wait here." Sam ordered.
Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam had already gone inside. He returned a moment later with a handful of scratchers tickets.
"What the hell am I suppose to do with these?" Dean asked.
"Scratch." Sam replied.
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"And every ticket was a winner?" Ava said, scrunching her nose in thought as she spoke with Sam over the phone.
Gabe watched her from where he laid, splayed out on the couch. He'd caught up with her just outside of Boulder. She had from Jake less than a day before Gabe had managed to catch up with her. They hadn't spoken a word about the other night, about the fall out from her spell, or the fact that he had hunted down a demon in order to bring her the blood she had needed to regain her strength.
Nor had they spoken about whatever it was Sam had telepathically whispered in her ear that night.
The thing that had managed to frighten Ava when nothing else apparently could.
"Yes. It definitely sounds like a luck spell. The nasty sort, that leaves you dead sooner rather than later. He should be safe as long as he keeps a hold of it, but that kind of magic is slippery. It wants to cause chaos, Sam. You'd better break it sooner rather than later, or we'll be short a righteous man." Ava paused, listening to Sam's words.
"Yes. Those should do it. Phoenix ashes would work better, but I don't know where to acquire any. And the blood of a condemned man. Better not tell Dean-o about that one. You want me to pick that up for you, and you can have Talbot pick up the rest? That way you can babysit Dean's righteous ass? Got it. On my way." She snapped the phone shut, turning to face Gabe.
"Sorry wings. Gotta jet." She said, walking over to where her jacket was hanging on the back of a chair.
Gabe surged fluidly to his feet, stalking towards the arch demon. "Winchester senior get himself into a little bit of trouble?" He ask as he circled around to study her face.
She shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not sure how he's remained alive this long without Sam to look out for him."
"And you." He pointed out.
She laughed. "I'm just following orders, tree-topper. Just a good little soldier."
"I doubt that. You're trying to break a luck spell?" He said, referring to her earlier conversation.
"Yes. Sam knows the basic outline of the spell he wants to use. He just wanted me to fact-check." She said, heading for the door.
He flashed in front of her, forcing her to narrow her eyes at him as she pulled up short. "Out of my way, tree topper."
"You're going to use the blood of a condemned man?" He asked, "From where?"
She rolled her eyes. "Would it make it better if I promised not to take all of it?"
He snorted. "No. I'm just curious as to where you're going to get it."
She smiled darkly. "Andy and I had a play date at a maximum security prison a few weeks back. I made some new friends."
He shook his head, amused despite himself. "Okay, but where are you going?"
She arched a brow. "Look at you, getting all protective. If I didn't know better, I'd say you liked me." She started around him.
His hand shot out, clamping around her shoulder. "Don't play with me, Ava." He warned, voice gone suddenly low and dangerous.
She eyed him carefully. "Why do you want to know, arch angel?"
"Gabe." He ground out. "The name's Gabe. And I'm tired of chasing you via security camera."
She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "But the better question is, why are you chasing me at all?" She challenged.
His lips thinned in annoyance, as it was a question he found himself asking himself over and over again.
He still didn't really have an answer, but that did not to change the fact that he was chasing her, watching for her.
Worrying over her.
"Where are you going?" He questioned again, letting a little of his true power leak through his voice. She winced at the onslaught, face turning away on instinct.
Finally, she sighed. "Muncy."
His brows raised. "That's halfway across the country."
"Yes, which is why I should get going." She agreed archly.
"You where yourself out, over and over again, all because the boy king demands it. Why?" Gabe demanded, curious as to the depth of her loyalty.
Her eyes narrowed. "Never question my loyalty to Sam. Not ever. Sam says jump, I jump. He says push the red button, I push the red button. That's it. No discussion, no question. That's how this works."
"And if he orders you to die?" Gabe asked darkly.
She shrugged out of his grasp. "No discussion. No question." She repeated.
"Go. Head to Muncy. I'll meet you there with your damned blood." He said crossly.
She shook her head mulishly. "Sam told me to get it. I'll do it myself."
Gabe wanted to shake her. She was undeniably powerful, not as powerful as Sam, of course, but incredibly powerful none the less.
She was also incredibly fragile, with her human frailty leaking through at dangerous times, and her dependency on demon's blood in order to recover.
"Fine. What prison are you heading to?" He said in aggravation.
She hesitated, searching his eyes for something. He wasn't sure if she finally found it or not, but after a moment, she replied.
"South Marlowe Penitentiary." She said.
He grasped her arm again quickly. She struggled against him automatically, but he had already took them there. They landed softly, Gabe steadying her as her knees buckled. She had gone white, the way she always did when Gabe transported her, but he knew she'd rebound from this faster than if she had done all the jumping herself.
He was tired of her being tired.
"You know..." She bit out acerbically. "That really, really hurts."
"Shut up, arch demon." He replied, still angry at her, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
She was an obedient creature, at least when it came to Sam, and obedience was an idea Gabe understood very well. He might have fled heaven, but he had never disobeyed his father.
But he had also chosen to opt out of the coming war.
And yet, here he was, helping a demon with her grocery shopping.
"Why are you doing this?" She asked, a reluctant honesty threading through the question.
He glanced at her with a carefully blank face. "Go, Ava. Go get what your king ordered you to get."
She watched him for another moment before disappearing.
Gabe stood in the darkened yard, listening to the crying of the wind.
What in the name of the father was he doing?