The sun ducked behind a cloud, casting a long gray shadow across the road as the Impala idled along Main Street, the rumble of her exhaust reverberating off the brick facade of the picturesque storefronts. A few people on the sidewalk cast glances in their direction, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile. A single stoplight hung from a wire suspended across the road a block ahead, and Dean let out a low whistle.
"You weren't kidding," Dean muttered, leaning forward to get a better view through the windshield, "there is nothing here. Why the hell would some super-secret organization choose here of all places to put a Batcave?"
"Well, I can think of a couple of reasons," Hope murmured. A warm, nostalgic feeling enveloped her as she watched the scenery pass, reminding her of being wrapped in a fresh out of the dryer blanket. "First, it just so happens to be the geographic center of the United States. Second, it's the last place anyone would think to look."
"Really?" Dean said thoughtfully. "You'd think they'd put that in the welcome sign."
Sam snorted, shaking his head as they stopped at the blinking stoplight. "So, which way do we need to go?"
"Right, I think," Hope said, balancing the oversized road Atlas on her lap and glancing between it and her notepad.
"You think?" Dean said, glancing at Hope in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised.
"Ninety-percent sure," Hope said, shrugging. Dean stared at her for a few moments, long enough for the car that was stopped behind them to tap its horn impatiently.
"And the other ten percent?" Dean asked. Hope shrugged again, drawing another sigh from Dean as he hit the blinker and turned right, following the road to the edge of town.
The rolling hills of central Kansas beckoned them along, and almost ten minutes passed before they topped a hill and saw an out of place forest of ancient towering trees lining both sides of the two-lane highway. Aisy leaned forward, resting her arms on the front seat as she peered through the windshield.
"There," she said, motioning toward a mostly overgrown dirt road. Dean glanced at her, his eyebrow raised in question. "Trust me. I don't know how I know, only that I do."
Dean sighed again, casting an uneasy glance at Sam, who shrugged back at him as he eased the car off the asphalt highway and onto the dirt road, if it could even be called that now. It was almost entirely overgrown by underbrush, the tree canopy so thick above them that only the most stubborn shafts of light were able to pierce through it. The road consisted of two ruts that wove in and out of the trees, barely visible in some places and never wide enough for more than one vehicle.
"I'm sorry, Baby," Dean muttered, cringing and gritting his teeth as brambles scraped along the side of the Impala. Hope rolled her eyes, closing the journal and shoving it back into the duffle bag that sat between her and Aisy on the seat, then rested the road atlas on top of it.
The underbrush fell away as they reached a clearing, their mouths gaping in astonishment at a massive concrete building rising up out of the hillside, standing nearly as tall as the trees surrounding it. It looked like it had been abandoned decades ago, and Aisy supposed it probably was, but that didn't stop the shiver that crawled up her spine as she craned her neck to see the rooftop through the Impala's window.
"Is this the place?" Sam asked, staring out the window too. Aisy swallowed hard, leaning back in the seat as she reminded herself to breathe.
"It sure seems that way," she said finally, rummaging around in her bag for the box, accidentally knocking the road atlas into the floorboard. "Only one way to find out." She opened the box, lifting the key from the bed of protective material that surrounded it, turning it thoughtfully between her fingers before she tossed the box back into her bag and jerked open the car door.
"Aisy—" Sam called out, but she'd already shut the door and was stalking toward the set of broken concrete steps that lead down to a door set into the side of the hill. "Dammit!" He shoved the car door open, racing after her as Hope and Dean climbed out of the car behind them.
They gathered around the iron door, surrounded by a bricked archway set into the wall. Aisy blew out a breath, gripping the key tightly against her palm as she slid it into the rusted lock. "Here goes nothing," she muttered, turning the key. The lock clicked, and she pulled open the door, showering the top of her head with flecks of dirt and rust as she took a cautious step inside.
Sam, Dean, and Hope gave each other a shrug, then followed Aisy through the door into the darkness, the cool air rushing at them like a genie being released from a centuries-old lamp, smelling of stale coffee and cigarettes. Hope bit back a sneeze as Dean fished a flashlight out of his jacket pocket, flicking it on. The four of them were standing on a wrought-iron balcony, overlooking what appeared to be a control room. Dean scanned the flashlight beam slowly around the area, landing on what seemed to be a panel box high up on the opposite wall.
"Aisy," Dean murmured, nodding toward it. Aisy stepped carefully in front of him, following the flashlight beam to the wall. The panel box creaked eerily as Aisy opened it, tilting her head as she studied the tangle of wires and breakers inside. It wasn't like any panel box she'd ever seen before, and she reached out a hesitant hand to flip the switch. It reminded her of the cartoons she'd sometimes watched as a child, where one character would electrocute another by flipping a huge switch. Aisy swallowed, took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, then murmured a prayer to whatever God was listening as she raised first one handle, then the other.
A generator whirred to life somewhere in the deep recesses of the bunker, and the lights in the control room flickered on first, followed by the rooms further inside. Aisy turned, wearing the same stunned look like the others. Beyond the control room was a massive library, one of the biggest she'd ever seen. Without a word, she descended the wrought iron steps to the floor below, "Oh my God," Aisy whispered as she ran her hand along the top of the map table.
"What is it?" Sam said, his voice edged with concern. Dean gave Sam an odd look but said nothing, busying himself with looking around the area. Aisy turned to Sam, a broad smile on her face.
"Nothing, it's just—" Aisy turned in another circle, her eyes wide as she took it all in. "I recognize these rooms. My grandfather used to tell me and Jake stories about this place, and the way he described it—it was almost like he was reading a dark fairy tale. Jake and I used to tell him he was making it all up to mess with us. My grandfather would just shake his head and say, 'you'll see. Someday, you'll see.'"
"What kinds of stories?" Sam asked, watching Aisy move about the space.
Aisy shrugged, not looking at him as she scanned the bookshelves. "All kinds of things. His favorite one was the one he liked to call 'The End of Everything.'" Struck with a memory, Aisy turned, gesturing toward the filing cabinets that lined the library's far back wall, then crossed the room and opened the first one.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked, following her. Dean shook his head, the tiniest smirk curving the corners of his mouth.
"Okay," Dean said, gesturing toward Sam and Aisy, "so while you two geek out over there, Hope and I will check out the rest of the place. Sound good?" Neither Sam nor Aisy answered, and Dean rolled his eyes. He nodded for Hope to follow, and she did, although for a moment, she thought about telling him she wasn't a dog—or a child he could order around. She bit her tongue and said nothing; it had been their agreement, after all, she wouldn't leave his sight until he was sure it was safe.
The thought crossed her mind that his protective smothering was only going to get worse as her pregnancy progressed, and Hope was both delighted and slightly exasperated by that idea. She was so lost in thought she almost walked right into Dean as he stopped short, staring into the huge kitchen area. "Wow," Dean breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hope stood on tiptoe, trying to see around him but gave that idea up almost instantly. Instead, she stuck her head under his arm and poked him in the ribs as she moved past him. "Move over," she teased. "Not everyone is seven feet tall, you know."
"It's not my fault you're too short to ride most roller coasters," Dean retorted, grinning at her.
"Fuck you, I am not," Hope pouted as she narrowed her eyes and flipped him off before turning to explore the rest of the kitchen. Dean snorted, leaning against the door frame as Hope walked around the room, opening and closing cabinets randomly.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked, sounding amused as he followed her with his gaze. An image came to Dean's mind of the two of them in a house somewhere, moving around each other while cooking as kids and pets run in and out of the room underfoot. It wasn't an unpleasant image, but it was a wholly terrifying one. Was he ready for all that? Would he really be able to settle down and live some apple-pie life somewhere?
Dean had always believed that hunters never got old and retired, mostly because hunters never seemed to get old. They always died young and bloody, and he always assumed the same thing would happen to him, and most days, he was okay with that. But now…
He pushed the thought away, glancing up to see Hope watching him with curious eyes. "Where did you go right then?" she asked, giving him a soft smile. "You looked like you were a million miles away."
"I was," Dean admitted, shaking his head as he stood up straight. "Find anything interesting while you were prowling through the cabinets?"
Hope tilted her head and stared at Dean thoughtfully, unsure whether to press him for more. She quickly decided against it and shook her head as she glanced around the room. "Not really. There's some canned goods and a few packages of pasta that are well past the manufacturer's expiration date, and of course there's the kitchenware, but other than that—" she shrugged, "there's not much here."
"Well, come on then," Dean said as he turned back to the hallway, "what do you say we see what other secrets this place holds?"
Hope laughed dryly. "I think that would take more time than we have."
Dean shrugged, holding out his hand to her. She took it, letting him lead her through the maze of corridors. They'd found the sleeping quarters and shower room, as well as the garage and armory before Sam's voice, echoed through the hallways as he shouted for Dean. Hope raised her eyebrows, and Dean shrugged, calling back in answer as they made their way back to the library.
"What is it?" Dean said breathlessly as he entered the library, his gaze darting between Sam and Aisy. "Everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, Dean," Sam said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Aisy found something she wants to show us." Dean frowned as Aisy looked up from the ledger book she held, her eyes gleaming with untold secrets.
"You're probably gonna want to sit down for this," she said, gesturing toward the chairs lining the long wooden tables in the center of the library. "Seriously. I'm about to drop some knowledge on you, and it's a fuckin' doozy of an information bomb."
Sam shrugged, pulling out a chair and sitting down, then glared at Dean to do the same. Dean rolled his eyes and sat across from Sam, glaring right back at his brother. Hope sat next to Dean, propping one elbow on the table as she waited for Aisy to speak.
Aisy stood at the far end of the table, her mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara desert. Her palms were sweaty, and she wiped her free hand on the leg of her jeans. She licked her lips and set the ledger book on the table. "Does the name Henry Winchester mean anything to either of you?"
Sam shook his head, his brow knitted in concentration as he wracked his brain for any memory of John mentioning that name. "It doesn't to me. Why? Should it?"
Dean sighed, running a hand down his face and letting his head fall back so he was staring at the ceiling. "Maybe. Why?"
Sam stared at him, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean, maybe? Dad never mentioned us having any relatives."
"Maybe not to you," Dean said quietly, still staring at the ceiling to avoid everyone's incredulous stares. "But you weren't the one who helped him to bed when he'd drink himself stupid after a hunt, either." An awkward silence fell across the room, and Aisy cleared her throat. Sam cast a sad look in Dean's direction, then gestured for Aisy to continue.
"That story my grandfather told me was about the demon attack that wiped out the Men of Letters. It was during Henry Winchester's last initiation ritual, apparently. Aisy set the ledger book on the table between them, pointing to the list of names. There, below Jacob Mallory's signature, was another neat cursive signature—Henry Winchester.
Sam and Dean stared at the signature in silence, neither daring to speak until Dean's face flushed with rage, and he stood up and began pacing the room. He wanted to punch something, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He stopped at the far end of the library, facing away from the others as he dropped his chin to his chest and blew out a breath. His nerves were raw, like someone touching live wires together as the memories of John's drunken rants about his father leaving his wife and son to survive on their own flooded his mind. Dean thought he'd buried most of that, leaving it hidden in some dark recess of his mind, never to be examined again.
"Dean?" Sam said softly. "Are you alright?"
"No," Dean said, lifting his head but not turning around. It was probably the first time in the history of his life that he didn't lie when Sam asked if he was alright, and he wondered why. "No, I'm not, Sam."
He turned toward Aisy then, folding his arms across his chest. "Tell us the story," he said, not moving from where he stood. "Everything you remember."
Aisy nodded, swallowing hard. "O-okay," she replied. She was uncharacteristically nervous, and without understanding why, she glanced at Sam. His expression was open and curious where Dean's had been closed and angry, and she found a small amount of comfort in his pale green eyes. Color flushed her cheeks as she shifted her gaze to the open ledger book in front of her.
She took a deep breath and started from the beginning, reciting the story as if her grandfather had just told her yesterday, not twenty-some-odd years before. "It was August 1958, and the two new initiates, Josie and Henry, were sent to investigate some demonic activity in a convent as part of their last rite of initiation. My grandfather wasn't there for it, but he was there for what came after. Henry and Josie had been sent to investigate demons who happened to serve a Knight of Hell named Abbadon. My grandfather didn't know exactly how it happened, but Abbadon ended up possessing Josie, and when she and Henry returned from the convent having killed all the demons, they went ahead with the initiation."
"All of the members were always present for initiations, and when Abbadon revealed herself it was too late. She slaughtered everyone except my grandfather. The chief at the time, Mr. Markham—shoved the box with the key into my grandfather's hands and told him to run. He stubbornly refused to leave his brothers-in-arms, and he was there when Abbadon delivered the blow that would end up killing Henry, but not before Henry shot her with his revolver. You see, Henry's talent was symbols." Aisy stopped, taking a breath before continuing on. The silence in the room was heavy with anticipation, and she wondered how long it would take Dean to catch on to what she would say next.
"Henry had carved a Devil's trap into the bullet, keeping Abbadon from leaving Josie's body when he shot her. My grandfather did the only thing he could do then, he cut off her head and dismembered the rest of her body. He created these magical boxes to hold all of Josie's body parts before burying the parts in unmarked locations all over the country, putting as much distance between them as possible. My grandfather's talent was sorcery; he was one of the best the Men of Letters had ever seen. After that, he never came back here. He always said there was no point because everyone was dead, but he was always adamant that my father protect the box. I never knew why, and I always thought the story was bullshit—a fairy tale lesson on the dangers of young hunters messing with things they didn't understand or something."
Aisy shrugged, scanning the library again. "I never once thought it was true," she murmured, a wistful smile curving her lips.
"So how did you end up with the box?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed at Aisy. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and she pressed her lips into a thin line and let out a long breath before she answered.
Sam tilted his head and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head once, his expression a mixture of concern and apprehension. He seemed to be asking if she was sure she wanted to share everything. Aisy nodded once to Sam in acknowledgment, then turned her attention back to Dean.
"My grandfather died when I was nine. He's probably the only hunter I ever knew that just grew old and died. As far as I knew, he never actively hunted again after what happened in 1958. He settled down, found a wife, and they had a son—my father. When my grandfather died, he left everything to my father, including the key and the location of this place. The key should've been passed to my brother when my father was killed, but Jake had no talent with magic and had no desire to do anything my father wished. So to keep it safe, Dad left it to me."
"So—" Dean said, drawing the word out, "you're a witch?"
Aisy closed her eyes and let out an exasperated breath. She gritted her teeth and opened them again, staring at him with a neutral expression. "No. I'm a sorceress. There's a difference."
Dean shook his head, seething. "No there isn't. Magic isn't something anyone who's human can wield, and of all the supernatural creatures we've hunted, witches rank right up there with demons in my book. There's no such thing as a good witch, just like there's no such thing as a good demon."
"Well, lucky for me I'm not a fucking witch then," Aisy growled, gripping the back of the chair in front of her until her fingertips turned white. She scowled at him, and he returned her dark look with one of his own.
"Okay, can we all just take a breath?" Hope said, glancing at Sam for help. Dean caught the look, turning on Sam.
"Did you know about this, Sam?" He demanded. Sam said nothing, just exhaled through his nose as he rubbed his temples.
"Yes," Sam said, staring at Dean blankly.
"Unbelievable," Dean growled, crossing his arms again and staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. Rage turned his blood to fire, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from saying anything else. He'd known she was hiding something all along, so her revelation didn't come as a surprise. The fact that Sam knew what she was and hadn't stabbed her in her damn throat the first chance he got shouldn't have come as a surprise either—but it did. It came as a surprise and betrayal.
"Dean," Sam started slowly. "Aisy's not evil and you know it. She helped save Hope's life. Without her—"
"Stop it," Dean growled. "Don't try and justify this, Sam. This is that hell bitch Ruby all over again and I'm not going to sit here and let you go down that road."
"You can think whatever you want, Dean," Sam shouted, slapping his hands on the table as he stood up. "Aisy is not Ruby, and you don't get any say about any of it. My life, my choices."
"Yeah," Dean replied, the accusing edge in his voice sharp as a razor blade, "It was your life, and it was your choices. Too bad it was our fucking consequences! We almost unleashed hell on Earth because of that demon bitch, or have you forgotten?"
"Of course not," Sam shot back, "but it's not like you've never fucked up royally, either, Dean."
"Alright," Hope said, standing up and glaring at Sam and Dean. "Both of you knock it off. I have something to say. But first, I have a question for Aisy."
Aisy stared at Hope with a confused frown. After a moment, she nodded. Hope nodded back and said, "What's the difference? Between a sorceress and a witch?"
"Nothing," Dean interjected from the other end of the table.
"Shut up," Hope said, glaring at him. "I'm not talking to you right now." Sam, Dean, and Aisy all stared at Hope incredulously. She'd never spoken to any of them like that before, and Sam and Aisy shared a worried glance. Hope turned her attention back to Aisy. "Please, I want to know."
"Alright," Aisy said, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip before speaking. "A witch gets their power from demons. It's like when people make crossroads deals, except there's no time limit. Just whenever they die, their souls go to hell. Sorcery is more—" she paused, fumbling for the right words, "—innate, I guess. The power comes from emotion."
Dean snorted, and Hope glared at him again. "So, power of positive thinking, law of attraction, kind of like that?" Aisy considered this, tilting her head to one side and wondering what Hope was trying to get at.
"It's more than that, although I suppose in its most rudimentary form that could be considered sorcery, yes," Aisy replied. Hope nodded, a small smile curving her lips.
"So, basically, any human can perform rudimentary sorcery," Hope pointed out. "I mean, there's a billion dollar self-help industry that supposedly shows anyone how to do it."
"I, uh—" Aisy said, understanding dawning in her eyes, "well—yeah, I guess. Most people aren't very good at it, but that doesn't mean they aren't capable."
Dean snorted again, slapping his thighs as he stood up. "I've heard enough of this shit. Sam, Hope, let's go. We've returned the favor she did us, we're done."
"No," Sam said, moving to stand next to Aisy. "I'm not leaving unless she wants me to, and since this place is as much a part of our legacy as it is hers, it's not a choice you get to make for me, Dean."
"Fine," Dean growled, gesturing to Hope. "Hope?"
Hope stood frozen for a moment, then shook her head and moved to stand on the other side of Aisy. "I'm staying too. This time you're wrong, Dean. So you go ahead and do what you need to do, but I can't go with you on this. Things aren't always black and white, and I hope like hell that someday you understand that."
"I will straight up leave your asses here," Dean said flatly, although he was sure the threat would fall on deaf ears. "I'm not coming back."
"We understand," Hope said sadly as she glanced at Sam, who nodded in agreement, "you do what you have to, and we'll do the same."
A look of murderous rage crossed Dean's face, but he said nothing else, just turned on his heel and stomped up the iron staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing off the concrete walls of the bunker. Hope startled as the outside door slammed, leaving the three of them surrounded in silence.
Aisy's eyes filled with tears as she glanced first at Sam, then Hope. "You didn't have to do that," she murmured, pulling out the chair she held onto and sinking into it. "Why did you do that, Sam?"
"He might be my big brother, but that doesn't always mean he's right," Sam replied with a nonchalant shrug. Aisy glanced at Hope then, and Hope nodded.
"What about you?" Aisy said, "After everything, and the way I acted toward you at first, why would you do that for me? What if he leaves for good?"
Hope swallowed, pasting on a soft smile. "He won't. He's angry right now, but he'll calm down eventually. Or better yet, he'll go all the way back to Sioux Falls and bitch to Bobby or Jody, either of whom will kick his ass all the way back here. And even if he doesn't come back, that's his choice to make. But just because he's the love of my life doesn't mean I have to agree with him when he's wrong. Like I told you once before, I love him but I'm not a doormat."
Sam grinned at Hope, sitting in the chair next to Aisy. Hope did the same, and Aisy gave her a grateful smile. "I have to say, I didn't expect this. It's been a long time since anyone stood up for me like that. Not since—" she sniffed, wiping a stray tear that landed on her cheek as she blew out a breath. "Not since Jake."
Sam reached for Aisy's hand, covering it with his own. "You're not alone anymore, and whether Dean realizes it or not, you're part of the family now. This was your initiation, and you passed with flying colors."
Aisy frowned, and Hope chuckled. "What he means is that you didn't hurt Dean, even though he was being a giant asshole, so you're gonna be fine."
"Well," Aisy said dryly, "if I used magic on everyone who was ever an asshole to me, some hunter would've tracked me down and killed me by now. I mean, I do have some self control."
"Some control is better than no control, believe me," Sam said, letting go of Aisy's hand as he leaned back in the chair, his expression thoughtful.
Hope watched the two of them, stifling the smile that threatened to give her thoughts away. There was more than one reason Sam chose to stay, and she wondered if Aisy knew what seemed so apparent to Hope as she watched them now. It amused her to think that this was what Sam's life was like for the past several months, and she bit her tongue to keep from blurting out an 'I'm sorry we were complete idiots' apology.
"So, anybody wanna see if we can get one of the cars in the garage running? I'm starving," Hope said. As if on cue, her stomach let out a loud rumble that echoed through the room.
"Sure," Sam said. "Can't have the baby going hungry now, can we?"
"Absolutely not," Hope replied, grinning. "Let's go."