Two Weeks Later
Hope moved about the bunker kitchen, gathering various ingredients from the cabinets and setting them up on the long island. Baking had always been her stress relief growing up; something about creating something delicious from random ingredients always made her feel better. Hope pulled out a stainless steel mixing bowl and carefully measured and mixed the flour, sugar, and butter. Once the dough formed, she turned it out on the island surface and rolled it flat.
The bunker was eerily still this early in the morning, and she didn't want to wake the other inhabitants—human or otherwise. She, however, hadn't slept more than a couple hours at a time since Dean left. Her initial shock at his reaction had quickly turned to anger, then sadness. Why couldn't Dean just listen to what Aisy had to say?
Hope understood from Sam and Dean's argument that this wasn't the first time Sam got involved with someone who wasn't human and it had ended badly, but where Sam stayed open-minded after experiences, even horrible ones, Dean did not—it was one of his fatal flaws. After whatever happened back then, Dean stopped seeing the good in anyone who wasn't human—which, in Hope's opinion, was the equivalent of being racist. She wasn't about to go down that road with him, especially not when she'd been at the mercy of some pretty monster-like humans herself.
Hope stood back and admired her handiwork. It had been years since she'd taken the time to make a pie crust from scratch, and for a first attempt, it didn't look too terrible. She greased the pie pan, then pressed the flaky dough into the correct shape, pinching and folding the edges like she'd seen her mother do a thousand times. Her thoughts drifted back to Dean, and she glanced at her cell phone lying on the edge of the island.
She'd done that a ridiculous number of times in the past several days, and she chastised herself mentally for doing it now. Dean wasn't going to call her—Hope knew this with the same certainty that she knew the sun would rise in the Eastern sky each morning. He probably wouldn't even call Sam unless he was seconds from death, and even then, it would only be to tell Sam Dean was right because he's the older brother. Hope rolled her eyes at the thought and popped the pan into the waiting oven.
Sighing, she picked up her phone and stared at it, her own stubborn pride warring with her love for him. In the end, she tapped out a quick message. I have a doctor's appointment next week for the baby. Come or don't, it's up to you. Hope's thumb wavered over the send button, and she took a steadying breath before pressing it. There was no answer, but she hadn't expected one, not really.
The oven timer went off, and Hope retrieved the pie pan, pouring in the filling she'd made the day before and laying the lattice top over it before popping it back into the oven. Maybe Dean will smell the pie and come running. Hope snorted at the thought, ignoring the longing that seeped through her body like a slow-moving poison.
Dean grunted as the machete sliced through the last vampire's neck with a satisfying sound. Headless bodies were strewn all around him on the abandoned warehouse floor, the concrete slick with pooling blood. That one was the last of the nest he'd been tracking since he'd bailed on the others at the bunker. Flecks of dark crimson vampire blood-stained Dean's face and hair, and he growled when he caught his moonlit reflection in one of the broken warehouse windows as he walked back to where he'd parked the Impala.
Even now, anger clawed at the inside of his chest like a caged demon determined to be set free. Dean didn't know how to make it stop; he'd never learned how to calm the rage that seemed to be written into every part of his DNA, so instead, he did the only thing he knew how to do—he hunted. He hadn't hunted alone since 2005, and he hated doing it, especially angry. That was how hunters got themselves killed, or worse. There was no way in hell he was calling Sam, though. That would be like saying he was wrong, and Dean knew in his gut he wasn't wrong about this. Or was he? He shook his head, opening the trunk of the Impala and reaching for a rag to clean the blood and ichor off the machete blade before putting it away.
Dean's phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, startling him. He'd half expected Hope to call Bobby and tell him that Dean was acting unreasonable, and he'd been bracing himself for a phone call from Sioux Falls telling him he was the world's biggest idjit and to get his ass back to Hope and Sam. It hadn't come, though, and he found himself slightly disappointed. His eyes widened in surprise to see a message from Hope when he fished his phone out of his pocket.
Dean slammed the trunk, leaning against the car as he read her short text three times. He hadn't thought about the baby at all since he left. Just one more reason she's better off without you, said the nagging little voice inside his head; they all are. They don't need you.
It was true, he supposed; no one needed him anymore. Sam was all grown up and making his own bad decisions, and Hope—well, no matter what, Hope would survive. He missed them, though, and he chewed on his lip as he stared at the phone screen and debated whether or not to answer. Before he could decide, his phone vibrated again.
It was a message from a number he didn't recognize, and he swallowed down the knot of anxiety that threatened to lodge in his throat and cut off his air supply as he read the message twice.
This is Aisy. I got your number from Sam's phone. I know what you think about me, and I get it, but you shouldn't let anything come between you and Sam, especially not me. I know you don't trust me, but please believe me when I say that I'd give almost anything to have my brother back. Please, just call Sam. He keeps saying he's fine, but he's not. Neither is Hope. Your family needs you as much as you need them.
What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Aisy was the last person he'd expected to hear from—ever. What kind of game was she playing? No matter how much he thought about it, Dean couldn't come up with a single nefarious explanation for why she'd reach out to him and ask him to call Sam. If anything, wouldn't she be glad her presence had driven a wedge between them? Are you absolutely sure you were right?
The thought gnawed at his gut, and he shoved the phone back into this pocket, leaving both messages unanswered. He slid into the driver's seat and started the car, smiling to himself as the Impala rumbled to life. "Hey Baby, at least I'll always have you," he murmured, pointing the car toward the nearest interstate.
Sam stared at the ceiling in frustration as he rolled onto his back. He was exhausted, and yet sleep refused to come. He supposed he should be used to that by now; he never slept well when Dean wasn't nearby—although he'd never admit that out loud to anyone. He sighed, throwing back the blanket as he sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was just about to get up and go find some coffee when a soft knock came from the door. It was almost too low for Sam to hear, and he stared at the door for a moment in confusion.
"Sam?" Aisy's muffled voice came through the door. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, sounding gruffer than he intended, and he cleared his throat before adding, "come on in."
The door opened just wide enough for Aisy to slip through before closing it again and leaning against it, her hands behind her back as she gripped the handle. "Hey," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry to bother you, but—"
"You aren't," Sam said, gesturing to the bed beside him. "I wasn't sleeping anyway."
"I know," Aisy said quietly, perching on the edge of the bed next to Sam. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands. "I haven't been sleeping much either. I just keep thinking about everything."
"It's alright," Sam said with a wry smile. "It's not your fault that my brother is one of the most stubborn creatures in the universe. He thinks because he's the oldest he's always right."
"And he usually is," Aisy said quietly, thinking of Jake.
"Except when he isn't," Sam countered, tucking a finger under Aisy's chin and lifting it to look into her eyes. They were the color of the fog that rolled through Bobby's salvage yard after a spring storm. "He's not right this time, you know."
"I know," Aisy said, nodding and moving out of Sam's reach. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, and the idea both excited and terrified her at the same time. He'd kept his distance since the morning after the fire, and Aisy wondered more times than she liked to admit if he just wasn't that into her. She gave him a sideways glance, then took a deep breath. "Will you tell me who Ruby is?"
Sam's jaw tightened, and he said nothing for a long moment. "Look, Aisy—"
"You know what—never mind. It's none of my business and I shouldn't have asked," Aisy said quickly, springing up from the bed and bolting toward the door. Sam caught her by the wrist before she could leave, and she jerked her head around to look at him, color flooding her cheeks.
"Hey," Sam said, releasing her. His tone was thoughtful, meditative almost, and she studied his face for a moment. His pale green eyes were sad, and Aisy thought he looked almost—embarrassed. What could he have done that was so terrible? "It's understandable that you want to know. I mean, you've told me some of your secrets, it's only fair that I should share some of mine. I just," he paused, pressing his lips together as he looked away, "I don't like thinking about it too much. Remember when I said I've things I'm not proud of? That time in my life is exactly what I meant."
"I see," Aisy said, her expression contemplative. "Look, Sam, if you don't want to tell me right now, you don't have to. I get it. Although I would like to know why your brother compared me to a hell bitch." She used air quotes when she repeated the words Dean used, making Sam snort.
"Fair enough," Sam said as he stood up and stretched. "But first, coffee."
"Agreed," Aisy said, gesturing toward the door. "Lead the way."
Sam and Aisy found Hope in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on an apple pie. She glanced up as they walked in, a soft smile curving her mouth. "Hey, guys. I didn't think anyone else was up yet, and I couldn't sleep."
"I-is that apple pie?" Sam asked, bemused. He walked toward the sideboard where they'd put the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup and then sitting down at the dining table.
Hope looked slightly embarrassed as she nodded. "When I was in high school, baking was a kind of stress relief for me. I guess somewhere along the way I replaced baking with whiskey," she said, absently wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
"It's okay," Sam said as he took a sip from the mug. "I'm not judging. Baking is far less self destructive than some other things."
"Right, well, I'm done for now so I'll get out of your hair," Hope said, heading for the door.
"Actually," Sam said, his voice freezing Hope in place, "I was just about to tell Aisy about Ruby. If you want to stay and hear the story, I don't mind."
Hope turned, her gaze darting between Sam and Aisy. "Are you sure about that, Sam? It's really none of my business."
"I think it is," Sam said with an air of finality. "You both need to know what happened before we try to open Lucifer's cage. Maybe this way I won't repeat the same mistakes."
"Alright," Hope said, taking a seat at the table across from Sam. "I'm listening."
It took Sam almost two hours to recall the story of how he and Dean barely managed to avoid unleashing the Apocalypse on Earth. He started from the beginning and told them everything, from when Castiel pulled Dean out of hell, his addiction to demon blood and the havoc that wreaked on his and Dean's lives, and ending with Dean killing Ruby with the very same knife she'd given them and how they locked away Lilith.
After he finished, a heavy silence settled around them as Hope and Aisy processed everything Sam said. Before anyone could speak, the heavy door of the bunker creaked open, and the three of them stared at each other, wide-eyed. "Stay here," Sam mouthed, walking to the door and poking his head out into the hallway. After a few seconds of silence, Dean's voice echoed through the bunker.
"Sam?"
"Dean?" Sam said, glancing back at Hope and Aisy with a frown before he disappeared out of the kitchen. Hope and Aisy shared a confused glance and followed Sam down the hall toward the library.
Sam reached the library and stopped short in the doorway when he caught sight of Dean standing at the base of the wrought-iron staircase, causing Hope and Aisy to nearly collide with the solid mass of him. Dean stood still, looking exhausted and still covered with vampire blood and ichor. He watched Sam with sorrowful eyes as they stared each other down in silence.
Sam cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that formed there. "You alright?" he said, nodding toward Dean's clothes.
Dean frowned, then followed Sam's gaze to his clothing. "Oh, this? It's not mine," he said, flashing what he hoped was a quick smile of reassurance. He didn't really want to admit to anyone he'd gone out hunting alone.
"Good," Sam said, glancing away and not returning Dean's smile. "So why are you here then? You made it pretty clear how you felt before you left and nothing has changed."
Dean's face fell, although he wasn't sure that he expected anything less from his younger brother. Sam was just as stubborn as Dean in his own right, and it made times like these even more difficult. "I know. I've been doing a lot of thinking since I left and—" Sam rolled his eyes and glared at Dean, who held up his hands. "Just—hear me out, okay?"
"Fine." Sam let out a long breath, stepping into the library as Hope and Aisy followed. "Talk."
"Well," Dean started, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end like a hedgehog, "like I said, I needed to clear my head after I left, so I went hunting."
"Alone?!" Sam cried, getting a sharp look from Dean in response.
"No, Sam, I invited the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny to join me. What the hell do you think?" Dean snapped, feeling slightly guilty at Sam's bitchface expression. "Look, that's not the point. The point is, it gave me a lot of time to think."
"Yeah, two fucking weeks," Hope growled from her seat at the table. She'd told herself she was okay with Dean dropping them like a bad habit and bailing to do God knew what. In fact, she'd repeated it until it was a mantra, and she almost believed it—until she saw him standing in the bunker, looking lost and repentant. All the hurt and anger she'd stuffed down since he left rose to the surface like a nuclear mushroom cloud, and she was powerless to control it. "I guess that's better than six years though, huh?"
Dean ignored the jab, but Sam saw his jaw muscle twitch. Hope had struck a nerve, but for whatever reason, Dean wasn't taking the bait. Interesting, Sam thought.
"When I finally calmed the hell down and stopped acting like a crazy person I realized that I don't have to trust Aisy—but I should trust the two of you. We're family, and that matters more than anything. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to trust you But I swear to God, if this turns out badly—I'm done. I'm tired of all of it, Sam. I'm tired, and I'm done." Dean ran a hand down his face, turning his gaze to Hope before Sam had a chance to reply.
"I'm sorry, Hope," Dean said, shaking his head as his throat tightened and he couldn't say anything more. Hope didn't respond, and the silence in the room grew thicker with each passing moment. Finally, Sam crossed the room in long strides and pulled Dean into a hug, holding his breath and trying to ignore the blood spatter in Dean's hair.
"I'm glad you're back," Sam murmured. Dean closed his eyes for a moment in silent relief, and when he opened them, he saw Aisy leaning against the doorway with a soft smile of satisfaction on her face.
"Thank you," Dean mouthed silently. Aisy nodded once, then turned and walked back into the kitchen. Hope watched the exchange from her seat at the table, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. What had Aisy done? Hope supposed it didn't matter. Whatever it was got Dean back to the bunker and to them. Even as angry as Hope was with Dean, she counted it as a win that he was here and in one piece.
"We're living on the edge…" Aisy's ringtone bounced off the bunker's concrete walls, echoing as though someone had yelled the chorus into a canyon. Dean pulled away from Sam, glancing in every direction.
"What the—?" Dean started. Sam waved it off with a slight smile.
"It's Aisy's phone. Nothing to worry about," Sam said, turning toward the door as Aisy walked back into the room, anxiously pressing the phone to her ear. She set the phone down on the table, pressing the speaker button as a terrified woman's voice filled the space.
"Char-Charlie—slow down. Deep breaths," Aisy said, ignoring the three sets of eyes fixed firmly on her. "Start from the beginning. Where are you?"
Sam tilted his head, his brow creasing with worry. "That doesn't sound like nothing to worry about," Dean muttered as Sam held up a hand to shush him.
"My apartment. I-I know I should've called you sooner, b-but I thought I could handle it," Charlie said.
"Handle what?" Aisy asked, frowning as her pulse quickened, thumping wildly beneath the skin of her neck. "What's happening?"
"There were-were these people, all of them died in the same twenty-mile radius, and all of them had liquified insides. I started asking questions and I thought it was something I could handle, and I didn't need to call you, but—oh God, she's here—" Charlie's voice was cut off by the sound of exploding wood and a muffled scream, followed by a thud as the phone hit the ground and then silence.
"Charlie?!" Aisy cried, tears stinging her eyelids as she closed them. "Charlie! Dammit!" There was no answer, and Aisy jabbed the end button with her finger and shoved her phone back into her pocket. She ran from the room without another word, heading for her bedroom. Sam and Dean shared a look then followed her, Hope trailing behind them.
Sam found Aisy frantically shoving weapons and gear into her duffle bag. "Aisy?" he asked, getting no response. He crossed the room, taking her hands in his own. She glared at him, jerking away.
"I have to go, Sam, now. Charlie's in trouble." She turned away, scrubbing her hands down her face and willing herself not to cry. "Believe me—I'm the last person on the planet she would've called for help, which means whatever is after her is bad and I have to go before she gets herself killed." Aisy blew out a breath, then murmured almost too low for anyone to hear, "if she hasn't already."
"Alright," Sam said, squaring his shoulders and nodding. "Where is her apartment?"
"Seriously?"
"Look, whatever took her didn't sound friendly, so you need backup," Sam said gently. "We'll go with you."
Aisy stared at Sam for a moment, bewildered. "Um," she bit her lip, thinking, "Topeka. Her apartment is in Topeka."
"Great," Sam said, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let's go. We'll run Dean through a car wash on the way."
Dean held up a middle finger, getting an involuntary snort from Aisy. "I think we can spare five minutes to let him shower," Aisy said. "I don't even think a high pressure car wash would help him much though."
"Hardy har har," Dean growled, turning on his heel and heading for the showers, grumbling under his breath.
Sam watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Aisy, who was busy trying to shove everything she owned into her faded black duffle bag. Sam nodded to Hope as he took Aisy's hands, leading her to the chair and gently pressing her down into it. Aisy glared at Sam, annoyed that he was treating her like a child and somehow flattered that he cared enough about her to treat her that way. It doesn't mean he wants you, silly girl, she told herself.
"All done," Hope announced a few minutes later as she picked up Aisy's duffle by the handles and held it out to her. "Everything fits now."
"Thanks," Aisy said quietly as she stood up and headed for the bunker door. "I'll see you guys in the car."
Ten minutes later, Sam was loading their duffle bags into the trunk of the Impala as Dean emerged from the bunker, casting a narrowed glance at Hope. She glared back at him as he approached, and she held up one hand to stop whatever he was about to say.
"Save it, Dean," she growled. "I'm going and that's final. We don't have time to argue, and I'll be fine—trust me."
"Hope—" he started, but she shook her head.
"No. Just shut up and drive, Dean, that's all you have to do," Hope said, jerking open the passenger door of the Impala. "Please tell me you can do that much."
He opened his mouth to protest, casting a beseeching look in Sam's direction. Sam shrugged, crossing his arms and regarding Dean with a raised eyebrow. Dean growled, cursing under his breath as he slid into the driver's seat and started the car. This was not going the way he'd planned. Then again, when had anything in his life ever gone to plan? He sighed, glaring at Hope in the rearview mirror, but she ignored him. It was going to be a long ride to Topeka.