Pivot Point

Story Name: Pivot Point

Pen Name: ElenaRoan

Disclaimer: Don't own any of them, written purely for enjoyment.

Warnings:

Summary: What if Anna decided to derail the apocalypse by intervening to help rather than trying to make the brothers never having existed.

Timeline: Season 5

Note: I'm Australian and I can't bring myself to use USA spelling, sorry.

Chapter 99: Aces High

The phone call came while they were having breakfast, which likely meant something had been spotted in the morning paper.

"Bobby?" Dean answered after a quick glance to see if there was anyone within earshot.

"Think there's a case, and you're the closest."

"You think?"

"Guy listed as dying unexpectedly of apparently natural causes, but the funeral is delayed until after the autopsy."

"Natural my arse. I can see why you think there's a case. Any more details?"

"Only the town."

"Okay." Dean pulled out pen and paper and scrawled down the information as Bobby gave it to him.

"Okay, we'll head there soon as we finish breakfast." Dean continued as Sam picked up the note to look at it.

"What are we looking at?" Sam asked as Dean rang off.

"Odd death. Apparently natural causes, but they're doing an autopsy."

"No indication of what is leading to them insisting on that?"

"Not in the paper anyway."

"I'll see what I can dig up on the way there."

Once breakfast was finished with and everything stowed back in the impala Dean turned it towards the town in question while Sam looked through the information he'd dug up on it. Which wasn't much.

"Probably safest going in as CDC." Sam commented as they set up the motel room they'd booked into only a couple of hours later.

"Not FBI?" Dean asked.

"No suspicious circumstances to catch the FBI's attention. But 'natural causes' that require an autopsy, that's going to get the attention of the CDC."

Dean thought over the reasoning for a moment before nodding in acceptance.

A short while later, kitted out in suits, they were introduced to the coroner. She looked at them incredulously when they showed her their, fake, badges.

"You expect me to believe you're CDC?" She asked.

They shared a carefully concealed but uneasy glance.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, worry settling in his gut that something had gone wrong with the badges. Some format change or something and they'd missed the changeover.

"Just that you're a day early. First time I haven't sat on my arse waiting for you people." She told them and imperceptibly they both relaxed. Even if it did indicate they needed to deal with this fast before the real agents showed up.

"New administration." Dean explained jokingly, and Sam barely restrained an eye roll, "a change you can believe in."

"Right…" From the coroner's tone, she found it just as corny.

Nevertheless, she led the way into the morgue and pulled out the corpse they were there about.

"Meet Xavier." She stated, "date of birth: April 3rd, 1984."

They blinked, and Sam sent a perplexed look her way.

"I know." She answered the unspoken question. The corpse looked like he was easily in his eighth decade, not a year younger than Sam, "I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him."

"Well… he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?"

Sam sent a quelling look in Dean's direction, but apparently, dark humour wasn't that unusual for the coroner.

"So, what's your theory?" Sam asked.

"All I know is; decedent's male, 25 years old… and he died of old age." She replied, sounding tired, before leaving them to it.

"You heard of anything that kills like that?" Dean asked with a glance at Sam once she was out of earshot.

"Nope. Sure… the ones that drain a person leave them looking older… but nothing like this. And cause of death sure as hell isn't 'old age' in those cases."

"And, since she was surprised, I'm guessing that it isn't out of our ballpark."

"At least one condition that causes premature ageing, but nothing like this fast." Sam agreed, "and nothing they suspect is infectious or they sure as hell wouldn't have access available to him without several layers of containment."

Dean gave him a withering look, "thank you for being so reassuring."

Sam shrugged, "it was a possibility."

Dean shoved the drawer back in and led the way back out. Once back in the impala he called Bobby, switching to speaker.

"You were right, definitely a case." He told him once they were past the preliminaries, "25-year-old looking like he's 80 plus, and died of old age."

"Any other stiffs in town?" The older Hunter asked.

"Not that I found, out of the ordinary anyway." Sam answered, "a couple of missing persons, though. About normal for a town this size."

"Check them out."

"You think they're connected?" Dean asked.

"Call it a hunch." Bobby replied.

"Makes sense." Sam agreed, "if the rapid ageing hit away from home or work, the corpses would be considered John or Jane Doe's if they were even found."

Dean nodded as he followed the reasoning, "any idea what we're dealing with?"

"Not yet, but I'll look into the lore. Call me later."

"Will do." Dean agreed and rang off.

Sam grabbed his laptop and pulled up the information about the missing persons. They switched over to the FBI badges to talk to those who had reported them missing.

The elderly wife of one of the missing let them in after no more than a glance at their badges, showing them into the sitting room and collecting a framed photograph that she handed them after they declined any drinks.

"That's the most recent." She told them in explanation.

Dean studied the photo before handing it to Sam.

"How long has he been missing?" Sam asked as he also studied the photo.

"Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night." She told them with the certainty only someone married for decades could manage.

"Is there someplace he likes to go?" Dean asked, "after work maybe? A favourite bar?"

"No." She stated, "Tuesdays he always works a bit late… but… he always comes home straight after."

She was still speaking of him in the present tense, Dean noted to himself, and he was willing to bet that she had never checked on his location on any of those Tuesdays. If he did have a hideaway, she didn't know about it.

"May I use your facilities, ma'am?"

"Oh, of course. Just through there," she gestured at the door leading to the rest of the house, "third door on the right."

Dean didn't follow the directions on leaving the room, though he did make sure to note the correct door, instead carefully slipping into what looked to be a home office. Cautiously going through the papers he could find, making sure to put them back where he got them after checking, he came across a receipt hidden in an inside pocket of the jacket to a place called Madam Lin's Golden Palace.

"Working late, my arse." He grumbled, not sure whether he was annoyed at the missing man for lying to the supposed love of his life or annoyed with the wife for being so oblivious.

Returning, he made sure to duck into the toilet and flush it before going back to the wife and his brother. After a few more questions about identifying features, they said their goodbyes and saw themselves out.

"Find anything?" Sam asked once they'd returned to the impala.

"Madam Lin's Golden Palace, to the tune of about $250."

"Of course." Sam sighed, his thoughts flicking back to Jess for a moment. Then he entered the information into his laptop and started digging into what information he could find. At least the man's strict schedule gave him a good starting point.

Dean did have to hand over some notes to get them upstairs, but it was a place that just provided the location for encounters rather than one that provided the entertainment also.

"At least he's consistent, same room every Tuesday." Sam noted as they moved down the corridor, "hourly rates."

"Hope I got that kind of kink when I'm his age." Dean commented, minus the screwing around on the wife part anyway. Not that he was likely to get married, and even if he wanted to he probably couldn't legally do so regardless given he was officially dead.

Sam snorted a half-laugh, "yeah, like either of us will live that long."

"True." Dean conceded. You couldn't do this job and think you had a long life span. Older Hunters like Bobby were the exception, not the rule.

They reached the room in question.

"So, what do you think's in there?" Sam asked.

"Wrinkly, gooey corpse." Dean replied.

Sam looked at the door and made a face, "only if there are several someones with necrophilia."

Dean shot a sick look at him, "what?"

"There are three people in there. And… um…"

"And?"

"I think… there's magic clinging to one of them."

Dean gave him a resigned look, "witches? Really?"

"I don't pick what my senses pick up." Sam replied grumpily.

"Do we have enough time to…" Dean started to ask, mildly annoyed that he was going to have to hand over more money to get back in if they did go back to the car for the anti-witchcraft wards. His question was interrupted by yells from the other side of the door.

"Oh, my God! Oh, God!"

They shared a glance at the masculine sounding voice.

"Guess not." Dean commented even as they moved quickly to bash down the door.

With cries of alarm, two women scrambled out of the bed and hastily snatched up some robes to wrap around themselves.

"Hey! What the…!" The young man who was still in the bed exclaimed, even as he pulled the bedding up to cover himself more.

"Well… it is gooey." Sam commented to Dean, more than a little embarrassed. He'd been expecting someone under attack, not in climax.

"Sorry… uh…" Dean stumbled, if his little brother hadn't picked up on what he had he'd have been making any excuse he could think of and getting out of there.

"Get out!" The man pointed at the door, "and close the damn door!"

Sam's attention was caught by the USMC tattoo on his arm, a very familiar tattoo even if the arm it adorned was very different from the picture they'd seen.

"Nice tattoo." He commented with a frown, glancing around he spotted what could only be the man's belongings on a dresser off to the side and moved over.

"What?" The man asked in a faintly baffled voice after a glance down at the tattoo in question.

"Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?" Sam asked as he went through the belongings quickly and found a wallet.

"Never heard of him."

Even if he hadn't been looking at the proof, the response would have sounded unconvincing. He turned back to the man and pulled the driver's licence out of the wallet and showed him.

"That's weird... because you're carrying his wallet."

Dean's expression went set, and he strode over to the bed. Before the man could realise what he was doing, he hauled up the bedding.

"Huh." He dropped the cloth again and gave the young man a glare, "your wife told us about your birthmark there. That's… nice."

He looked up at Dean and swallowing nervously, confirming the statement.

"Well…" Dean continued when the man was obviously not going to reply, "you look great, Cliff. Did you get some work done?"

With another nervous swallow, Cliff looked over at the women, "could you give us some privacy?"

This required pulling a robe awkwardly around him and retrieving his wallet from Sam and handing over several notes to the ladies before they disappeared out the door.

Cliff closed the door and turned to look at the two brothers, "please don't tell my wife."

"Slow down…" Dean started.

"I'm begging you." Cliff interrupted, "as far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way."

"How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?" Dean demanded. That he had magic clinging to him answered some of that question. But they were pretty sure that he wasn't the witch responsible, which was concerning. Witches don't gift such things, even if they were capable of such magic, without one hell of a price. In fact, this was the first time they'd encountered age manipulation that hadn't been confined to the witch involved.

"I can't tell you." Cliff replied.

Dean gave him a glare, "either you tell us, or we tell the missus."

He even feinted a turn towards the door as if to go immediately to her and tell her. Though even if he did, he wouldn't have been believed. No sane person would normally.

"Okay!" Cliff caved so fast Dean actually felt a little guilty even though the man was abandoning his life long partner, "okay. It was a game."

"Like… Xbox?" Sam probed after a moment when it became clear he wasn't going to elaborate. It was the most ludicrous thing he could think of, but even as he said it, he hoped he wasn't anywhere close to the truth. If witches had branched into electronic gaming, they were screwed.

"What's Xbox?" Cliff asked, looking completely baffled, "no… poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years."

"Uh huh." Dean replied, sounding sceptical to prod more information out of him.

"Look… I know it sounds crazy." Cliff hasted to say, "guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me 25 of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says they're 25 years. I'm laughing, but then I came out up… and look at me."

"What was he chanting?" Sam asked. It was a long shot, but if he remembered they might be able to figure out a solution or find some hint of the witch tradition they came from.

"How should I know?" Cliff retorted, "all I know is… my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses… one of those ladies was here for free. Man is some kinda miracle worker."

"What does this 'miracle worker' look like?" Dean asked.

"Just a guy." Cliff replied with a shrug, "maybe… 35, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick."

"Alright. Where's this game at?" Dean continued, that was more of a description than they'd really expected from the man. Maybe he hadn't forgotten everything he'd learnt in the marine core.

Cliff shook his head, "he says he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you."

Dean stifled a sigh. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy, "thank you, Cliff."

"Alright." Cliff actually looked relieved when they headed for the door.

"Oh… and… uh…" Dean glanced back at him and gestured at the room, "stay classy."

Though as he left, he had to admit even he wasn't sure what exactly he meant. On the one hand, he'd stayed adventurous even as he got older, but he'd cheated on his wife to do so. And jumped straight into further gymnastics when he returned to youth, but abandoned his wife at the same time. Never even gave a thought to her with the windfall from what he could tell.

Reaching the impala Dean made a split-second decision to go back to the motel before calling Bobby. Once there, Sam set up for painting the wards while he rang.

"I'm guessing you're not calling to say you struck out."

Dean snorted, "kinda wishing we had. Actually tracked one of the 'missing' down, Sam could sense magic clinging to him."

"Huh… okay. He the origin?"

"Nope. Apparently, some guy invited him to play poker and did some kinda spell to make 25 chips represent 25 years. And he came out up, ended up back in his twenties or something like that. Promptly ditched his wife, we found him in a threesome."

"Real gem of a man, then."

Dean wasn't going to argue with that, especially with how the older Hunter had lost his wife.

"We're putting on the anti-witch wards. But… this isn't something I've even heard about. Sure… there's some witches that manage to avoid ageing, but I've never heard of them gifting it to anyone else."

"And we don't know if there's a demon in the mix this time either." Sam noted as he began to carefully paint the wards.

"There is actually lore on it." Bobby surprised them by saying, "goes back centuries. Travelling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. Of course… most folks lose."

"Well… that would explain the crunchy corpse." Dean noted, shivering slightly at the ink.

"Stay still." Sam scolded mildly, "and, likely, most players either think they can't lose or, like Cliff, think it's too crazy to be real."

"That too. He might have thought twice if he truly thought he could die."

"Or maybe not, he was old… and apparently not that happy with the current state of his life, whatever we think of his choices. He might have thought it a fair trade if he gave it any credence, being told the chips represented 25 years of his life didn't phase him after all."

"Supposedly this player's a hell of a card shark, got a lot of years in the bank." Bobby interrupted before they could debate further, "you find the bar he's working in yet?"

"There's a lot of dives in this town, and we decided to do the wards first." Dean replied, "plus… I don't think either of us are comfortable with splitting up, even just to canvass them."

"Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, then. So why are you still talking to me?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "okay, call you later, Bobby."

The older Hunter hung up.

"I hate witches." Dean grumbled.

Sam snorted at the very not new information and finished off the wards on himself.

As they were about to head back out, it was almost unsurprising that the phone rang again.

"Hey, Vin." Dean answered, switching to speaker. The sniper had been making an effort to call every night once he'd got back to the rest of the team and found out Chris hadn't let the brothers know to protect them. Neither of them had been happy to find that out, even if they could understand the impulse. The calls served two purposes, the two of them couldn't give in to the same sort of notion also.

"Hi, Dean. How are you?"

"We're good, middle of a case, though."

"Anything interesting?"

"New one for us, apparently a witch playing poker. Encountered a retiree back in his twenties as a winner, and a dead by old age 25-year-old loser. Might be more, there's a few missing persons but nothing that's really out of the ordinary. Yet anyway."

"Poker, huh? I wonder if Ez knows anything. He's real good at poker, wouldn't be surprised if he knows every tiny bit of trivia related to it." Vin commented.

"Well, Bobby turned up lore centuries old, so I wouldn't be surprised." Sam noted.

"How are you planning on dealing with it?"

"Find witch. Convince witch to stop, with a bullet if necessary." Dean replied.

"Definitely not going to play." Sam added.

"Good. Because if he's targeting poker players, he's good. And I've seen enough of Ez's skill to know I wouldn't want to try. A witch will have more than poker skills, though."

"Already put wards on, we should be safe." Sam told him.

"Okay. Let me know how it goes?"

"Sure."

He rang off.

"Okay, let's do this." Dean stated as he pocketed the phone.

It was the fifth bar before they got any hint of the witch, looking like no more than a regular confidence man at first glance. Except for the magic clinging to him that Sam could perceive. Since most witches, even those far older than they appeared, didn't have that he guessed it was some form of magical defence, though precisely what he couldn't even begin to guess at.

"Pay dirt." He told Dean after his big brother had received his beer.

"Really?" Dean ran his eyes over the various patrons of the bar, but no one stood out, there were no poker games in progress, "which one?"

"Guy taking the couple for a ride."

"How can you tell?"

"He's wreathed in magic, why I don't know, though."

"Joy." Dean grumbled.

The man still didn't do anything overt, though given he seemed to like privacy for his fancy games that was hardly surprising. When he brushed past them on his way out, however, Dean felt Sam move and then the sound of breaking bones.

"Oh ho ho, not as oblivious as you look." The witch chortled as he bounced away from them, his hand hanging limply from the now broken wrist.

Sam graced him with a glare even as they could see the bones starting to realign themselves creepily, and probably knit back together.

"Ooh… and you're Hunters, you are." The witch continued with apparent delight as he took in their lack of disconcertion to the magical healing, "been a while since I encountered some of those. You looking to play? Or stop the games?"

Neither replied, just maintained their glares. In his pocket, Dean's phone vibrated, and he was glad he'd switched it to silent.

"Ah… stopping them, I see. I look forward to the challenge, take your best shot." He wiggled the fingers below the formerly broken wrist at them before giving them an extravagant bow and sweeping out of the bar.

"Wonderful." Dean grumbled after several moments of silence.

"I don't think the Colt's kill anything mojo kicks in if the bullet wouldn't otherwise be fatal." Sam commented quietly. It certainly hadn't when he hadn't taken the killing shot when Azazel had possessed his father after all, nor when the demon leading a coven had prevented the bullet from reaching her.

"So what the hell do we do?" Dean asked, frustration tinging his tone.

"You're asking me?"

Dean left what remained of his beer on the bar and led the way outside, they had no more reason to stay now that they'd encountered the witch they were after. Not that either of them had the first clue how to stop the man. Once outside he checked his phone to see who'd called, then hit the button to return it as they hopped into the impala and switched to speaker.

"Ez, you called?" He asked when the other Hunter answered.

"Thank goodness. I was concerned you'd run into issues when you didn't pick up."

"We were trading glares with the witch." Dean told him.

"Any difficulties?"

"Only if you count some sort of healing magic in place." Sam answered, "and maybe other defences that we didn't see."

"He placed us as Hunters. But liked the challenge, apparently." Dean added.

"Be careful. I've been hearing accounts of that man, or others like him, as long as I've been playing. And my mother introduced me to the art before I had more years than fingers."

"Definitely not planning on playing him." Dean stated.

"Good. His entire mythos is taking people for more than they can afford for the most part. Would you like me to meet up with you?"

"Playing him isn't going to achieve anything." Sam pointed out, "we'll figure something out."

"Very well. Ensure you call if you need assistance though, don't try playing him if you run out of options."

"Will do." Dean hung up, "so what now?"

"Back to the room and research?" Sam suggested.

"Good a plan as any." Dean agreed.

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