Pivot Point

Story Name: Pivot Point

Pen Name: ElenaRoan

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

Warnings: Not major, but there is reference to suicidal impulses. It originates from the original episode but was never actually addressed during it, and honestly not really addressed here either, just mentioned. AKF

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 100: Hold and Fold

They were two hours into the research and no closer to finding out something they could use against the witch when Sam registered someone with magic clinging to them approaching the door.

"What?" Dean asked when he frowned at the door.

"Someone approaching with magic clinging to them." Sam told him quietly.

"The witch?" Dean had his hand on his gun and was locating the angle blade before the sentence had even finished.

"No." Sam shook his head, "feels like Cliff, not Patrick."

"Another winner?" Dean asked, then paused for a moment before continuing as he noted to himself that simply because someone lost didn't necessarily mean they died. Just usually, "or loser?"

Sam gave him a look that asked quite eloquently how he thought he'd even know that.

Dean conceded that point and got up to answer the door as a knock sounded. Whoever he'd expected, it wasn't who was on the other side.

"You're the lady from the bar."

"I'm a lot of things." She replied, then handed out a small piece of paper, "right now I'm your fairy godmother."

Dean looked at it and then handed it to Sam before looking back at her, "what is it?"

"The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on."

"And it reverses what?"

"Patrick's work. All of it."

"You mean… the people who've played him will have the effects reversed?" Sam asked.

"Everyone he's ever played." She replied firmly, before qualifying it after a moment, "who's still alive."

"Why should we trust you?" Dean asked.

"Trust me, don't trust me, I don't care." She turned to leave, "the spell is real."

"Doesn't that include your man?" Dean interrupted her progress, if she'd been helping the witch fleece then she was with him.

She looked back at them, incredible tiredness in her eyes, "and me too. I look good for my age."

Dean would bet she wasn't anywhere near the age of the witch, though, even if he couldn't comprehend whatever had driven her to this action.

"Why?" Sam asked.

"I have my reasons." Her fingers brushed a locket around her neck for a moment, "do it quick. We leave town tomorrow."

Without saying anything more and not letting them ask another question, she left.

"What do you make of that?" Dean asked after he closed the door.

"That if we're going to do this, I'm glad Hunter aware shopkeepers keep odd hours."

"Do we even know if it'll work?"

Sam shrugged, "no idea. Can say it won't hurt or kill us if we use it, though."

"Okay, guess it can't hurt to try. What do we need?"

"Well… aside from stuff we either already have or can get at a Hunter store, there's a couple of very unique ingredients."

"Which are?"

"The jawbone of a murderer and some DNA from that witch."

"Wonderful." Dean grumbled, "and we don't have time to spare."

"I'll snag the DNA and the rest of the ingredient while you grab the jawbone?" Sam suggested. Splitting up wasn't either of their favourite things to do, but they just didn't have a reasonable deadline.

Dean nodded with a resigned expression, "here's hoping there was a convicted murderer buried locally that they didn't just slap a number on."

Sam pulled his laptop over to him and hunted up the information before his big brother could do more than contemplate how to actually find out, especially given the local library would be long closed.

"You know…" the middle brother commented as he handed over the scrawled note of the location, "I think I'm more disturbed by the… suicide by Hunter thing she's apparently going for."

"So… what? We shouldn't do this?"

"It is the only hint of a solution we have. I'm… just a little worried about the knock-on effects."

"Like Mr three-way returning to retirement years and having to front up to his wife?"

"And any other small and big winners still living, yeah. Not their fault they won."

"Still the only lead. How about we shelve figuring that out and get the ingredients. No point batting that about if we can't get everything, we can always stick it in a safe if we decide not to go through with it."

Sam nodded, and Dean led them out of the room and down to the impala. Dean frowned as he saw the man standing near his vehicle.

"Ez?"

"Ez-RA." The southerner corrected fastidiously.

"Why are you here?" Sam interrupted before his big brother could start an argument.

"Was not even slightly comfortable with the idea that you might need to get entangled with the nefarious witch."

"So you decided to drive several hours, after a full day work, to maybe back us up, on a weeknight no less?" Dean asked.

"It seemed appropriate."

"Well… you can give Sam a lift to a Hunter herb shop while I… make a visit somewhere more clandestine." Dean told him after a moment, being careful in his phrasing to avoid putting the agent in a difficult position. There was no point turning down help when it was already there, after all.

"I am more than skilled at keeping secrets, but I appreciate the consideration." Ezra replied before gesturing Sam to the shiny Jaguar parked next to the impala.

The big Hunter managed to squeeze himself into the low riding car.

"Apologies." Ezra said as he got in the driver's seat, "maybe I should have requisitioned an agency car."

"Then you'd have had to explain what you wanted it for, I'm sure helping an officially dead fugitive deal with a centuries-old witch isn't something that would really fly on the requisition form." Sam replied.

"Undoubtedly." He started the car with a soft purr, "where to?"

The middle brother gave him directions to the after-hours entrance of a Hunter aware shop that sold herbs, having to do some convincing before the shopkeeper was happy with letting him buy the esoteric ingredients.

"One more ingredient." Sam told Ezra when they deposited the purchases in the boot, "but it would be best if I got it on my own, you don't have wards, and it would probably be a good idea not to let on your connection to us in case you do need to play."

The agent nodded, "makes sense. I would appreciate you not getting killed, though, Dean would not be happy."

"Neither would I." Sam replied with a chuckle before slipping into the darkness.

"Does Vin get it from being related to them, or do they get it from being related to him?" Ezra grumbled softly into the night.

It didn't take long to locate Patrick, he wasn't even trying to hide.

"I sense you have me by the jewels on this one, Hesh." He heard the witch say as he approached, "I fold."

The elderly man opposite the young-looking witch collected the chips with an air of not really being used to it. Sam frowned, it didn't look like the man had actually had a decent hand or had been bluffing. And if he could tell he'd bet the extremely skilled poker player of a witch could tell.

"What are you up, like, 13 years there, Hesh?" Patrick continued, "what do you say we call it a day?"

The elderly man reacted with something like relief, "thanks, Patrick."

"Hesh, here, is gonna live to see his granddaughter's Bat Mitzvah." Patrick said a little louder, and Sam realised he was being addressed, and that the witch knew he was there was more than a little disconcerting, "isn't that right, Hesh?"

The elderly gentleman looked around at him and nodded in affirmation before turning back to the witch, "thanks again, Patrick."

"Shalom, my friend. Shalom." Patrick replied as Hesh left. There were no fancy effects for the end of the game, but Sam felt the surge of magic that indicated the working.

"That was nice of you." Sam commented with a puzzled frown after the man had left.

"I'm a nice guy." Patrick told him, and Sam frowned even further. That didn't match with what they knew he'd done.

Without letting himself second guess himself, as Dean had said they could decide whether to actually use the spell once they had the ingredients, he used his telekinesis to snatch a strand of hair, carefully making sure it had a root attached.

"What can I do you for?"

"Why?"

"Why what? Let Hesh win? The man's entire life revolves around his family, why wouldn't I?"

"All of it. Xavier, dead from old age at 25. Cliff, retiree back at somewhere just over 20 and indulging in bedroom gymnastics with two women, not his wife. And all the others you had to have played over the years."

"No one forced any of them to play. They knew what they were getting into." Patrick replied, "and I cannot abide cheaters."

Sam frowned again, put that way it did sound more than reasonable.

"Game?" Patrick suggested.

Sam shook his head, "no. I know better than to think I have a chance against someone with probably centuries of practice."

Patrick chuckled, "good observation. 900 years give or take."

Sam frowned again, that was a lot of years he'd taken from people, and undoubtedly he had at least that much in his 'bank'. But there wasn't much they could do about long in the past thefts, if indeed they could really be called thefts.

"No chance you'll stop?"

"Where would the fun be in that?"

Sam sighed and turned to leave.

"I know you have to try. I also know you don't have a chance of managing it. Walking away from a losing hand is something too few people know how to do." Patrick interjected before he could leave.

Sam stiffened slightly but didn't turn around, instead continuing out of the room and the building.

"I take it you were successful?" Ezra asked as he squeezed himself back into the Jaguar.

"Got it." Sam looked at the single hair he now had in his hand and contemplated how to store it properly so it wouldn't get lost. Ezra handed him a small evidence bag, which he accepted after a surprised look at the agent.

"Any agent of law enforcement who has even glancing encounters with evidence gets into the habit of carrying several bags with them." The southerner explained.

"Guess it can be useful. Don't usually need to stick things in a container, though."

"Might be an idea to acquire some, actually. You do feign to being law enforcement at times after all." Ezra added as he pulled out to return to the room, "it's the little things that make a simulation believable."

Sam glanced at him, "you're actually okay with that?"

"That is a given with any Hunter. Obviously, if we are available, ask us, so you don't run the risk. However, my speciality is undercover work, it would not be the decent thing to deny you that expertise."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Once back at the room, he laid out the ingredients on the table and disabled the fire detector, temporarily.

"Should we really use this spell? Not like he's actually forcing people to play." Sam asked with a frown at the ingredients while they waited for Dean to return.

"That might be the narrative he's telling himself, but he knows absolutely that the people he's offering the games to are not capable of saying no." Ezra told him almost sternly, "and he knows full well they're betting more than they have. It is nefarious enough when it's just money. However, this is using as currency something that cannot be regained and causes death when exhausted. Have you found out what his minimum buy-in is?"

"Going off what Cliff said, 25 years."

"That is the majority of a working lifespan, even if they're young enough to not be killed outright and have the self-control to abstain from chasing the loss. That's their source of income lost if they even manage to retain their lives. And if they win big, it's a rare person who is content with losing all their connections, and that doesn't even touch on trying to start a new life. The government wouldn't consider them the same person, and it could quite possibly lead to difficulties in a different way if they did. About the only way it wouldn't be as problematic would be if they returned to being a minor and put up with being 'found' and landing in the system for a bit. Which does have its own issues."

"You've thought about this a lot."

"I have been ruminating on the stories since I first heard them. I was raised in the same mindset, and even as a child, it did not sit particularly well with me. Though part of the reason he comes across as so sincere is he's fooling himself along with his marks, convincing himself that he's not that bad… he helps out people who need it, lets some win big even."

Sam chuckled and shook his head, ruefully, "yeah… that he is. He gave a fellow 13 years so they could live to see their granddaughter's Bat Mitzvah. I thought it was out of character when I saw it."

"Part of his narrative to himself, and anyone who listens. He doesn't cheat, so it's not his fault when they don't win. Never mind that he's miles ahead of them in skill with the game. Doesn't lie to them or trick them into playing, even though he knows full well those he targets are not capable of turning away if they even believe him. And the final piece he claims is that he's not a bad guy, he lets some win when they wouldn't otherwise." Ezra replied, "but no matter how many he allows to win who couldn't, though, it doesn't negate the number he targets specifically to clean them out and doesn't make him any less the villain."

"Also," the agent continued, "if he gave that gentleman 13 years so he would live to see his granddaughter's Bat Mitzvah, there wouldn't have been 25 years left for him to take. Bat Mitzvah happens at age 13. Likely the other winners don't have many years left either, so he can afford to be generous since he's not losing out on much."

Sam made a face, that was a cold calculation he hadn't considered.

"We use this spell, it reverses that too." He noted softly.

"We can't pick who's deserving of more years and who isn't, that would lead to the path that that witch has travelled." Ezra told him, "additionally just because that's what he told you, it doesn't mean that the man is a saint. Though that also doesn't mean he deserves death either. But also, no matter how nasty a loser is, they didn't deserve to lose a large chunk, or even all, of their remaining years."

"True." Sam sighed.

"A question like this never has an answer that actually feels completely right. All any of us can hope for is to benefit the majority and cause the least harm."

The rumble of the impala announced Dean's return. The eldest brother tossed the old jawbone to Sam before grumpily going into the bathroom to rinse the earth off that was never able to be avoided on digging up a body.

"We got everything?" He asked as he came back, looking more human.

"Yep." Sam told him, "Ezra has also been giving me some insight into the way Patrick thinks."

"Not as nice as he comes across I take it?"

The agent looked at him, curiously, "you've reached the same conclusion?"

"More of a gut feeling." Dean replied, "plus there's his lady. The woman closest to him not just wants out in the most permanent way possible, she wants to take him out too. Something is wrong there."

"She's suicidal?"

"She gave us the spell. It'll reverse all the magic workings that he's done, including her youth. Not sure how old she is, but I got the impression she's well beyond her natural life span."

"That's… more than a little disturbing."

"That change your opinion at all?"

"No. If anything it actually reinforced it. I wonder if extended lifespans are why so many witches go off the deep end, humans have such a fascination with the concept, but the human psyche isn't built to cope with a quantity like that in isolation. Maybe when technology gives it to all, it won't have the same effect, since it won't be just a few, or the psychological sciences will have reached a point where it will be possible to treat or compensate for the effects."

Sam shuddered as the mental imagery of such total isolation from society in general. Sure, they were pretty isolated, drifting in and out of people's lives like lousy weather with the majority of their family dead. But he couldn't even begin to contemplate there being only one person who wasn't just ephemeral entities that continually just faded into history without any sort of connection, even one of saving their lives. And the society that they'd grown up in just some page in a history textbook.

"Okay. If we're going to do this, may as well not wait any longer." Dean decided, with a glance at the fire detector to see if his little brother had already disabled it.

The items arranged in a bowl or put aside to add later and they were ready. Flame courtesy of a lighter and Sam read out the required words, adding the rest of the ingredients at the right places. The hair was added last, and it flared, sent out some sparks, before dying completely.

"Did it work?" Dean asked.

"Well… I felt it activate." Sam replied, "exactly what it did, I couldn't tell you, though."

Dean pulled out the police scanner and switched it on, "hope you're not planning on lecturing us about using this."

"I would not contemplate doing so, you do not use it for nefarious reasons."

It didn't take long before a car, and an ambulance, was directed to a report of a couple of people suddenly rapidly ageing, collapsing, and then crumbling to dust.

"We'd probably better get going." Sam commented, "with them in addition to Xavier, they're going to think it's infectious or contagious."

"Wonderful." Ezra commented dryly.

Leaving in a hurry was, thankfully, something the brothers had down to a fine art.

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