AN: Kind of a long chapter here, but I've been told before that that's okay with the readers. The timeline is a little weird, because it overlaps some of the last chapter, just from Dean's POV this time. Thanks for reading!
Oh, and there may be an f-bomb here. What can I say? The characters get angry sometimes.
* * *
Dean whistled as he drove. Way back, when he was about 13, some crabby old Hunter had told him that men didn't whistle, unless it was at a pretty lady, and he'd hardly done it since. But he was alone, and he loved singing, humming, and yes, whistling along with his favorite songs. And again, since there was nobody to call him on it, he was listening to a tape Sam had found for him a while back. It was some orchestra performing classic rock songs, and Dean had roundly declared that it was "stupid." Sam had just smiled and put it in the box with the rest of Dean's tapes. Dean had popped it in out of sheer curiosity, ready to hate it. Except...it was really good. Really, really good, Dean thought as he heard the opening strains of Smoke on the Water.
He wouldn't mention it to Sam, but he would bet money Sam would somehow figure out that he'd listened to it. Stupid little brother. Dean realized he was smiling dopily, meaning it was a really good thing that he was alone. He had an image to maintain.
But, yeah, Dean was in a pretty good mood. The condo where he and Sam were staying was nothing short of incredible. It was less than half the size of the sisters' but it had two bedrooms, a good size kitchen, and, oh yeah, a hot tub. Maybe he'd get a chance to enjoy that with the very lovely Dana, whose phone number was in his pocket (since as she'd pointed out, she had nowhere to store his card in her perfect, tiny bikini). Dana was staying at Oriz...Ory...whatever it was because her sister was engaged to a ridiculously rich dude who was willing to pay for all the women in the bridal party to have a getaway ahead of the big day. None of them knew anything helpful about the deaths, but Dean didn't consider the time talking to them wasted, not at all.
He was whistling again. It was nice to be a good mood. There was so much that could…nope. Not now. Not during this song. Dean nodded his head and allowed the music to work its magic. Music was probably Dean's healthiest form of mood control, and Sam had long since realized its importance to soothe the savage beast. More than once, Sam had put in just the right tape and turned it up loud after a hard or exhausting hunt. And of course, Dean's beloved headphones had been a gift from his sometimes overly intuitive brother.
He and Sam had a real home. Amara was gone. They were working together in sync. And hell, he'd killed freaking Hitler. What else did he need? Not a parent who didn't want to be a parent.
Dean slowed as he approached the little town with the crazy name that he could never remember. It was small enough that he hadn't even looked up the address of the police station. Dean had a sixth sense about these small towns; he could always find his way around. Library...dentist...gas station...grocery store...there, cop shop.
As Dean pulled into the parking lot, he felt eyes on him. More than that, his gut said it was malevolent eyes, not just townies curious about a stranger. An Audi A7 with heavily tinted windows – standing out even more than Dean's baby – turned abruptly off the main road and Dean knew the source of his unease, if not who it was exactly. He didn't let his eyes follow the car, but walked into the police station with a relaxed posture. He'd have a long drive back to Sam to figure out who this was...or even set a trap. Dean's hand hovered over his phone. Should he text Sam? No, not yet anyway. It would just make the guy worry needlessly, when he was too far away to do anything to help. What would he tell him, anyway? I think somebody in a fancy foreign car is watching me, but I don't know who? Dean snorted to himself and dropped his hand. He'd check in when he had something to share.
The cops were a little provincial, and obviously worried that the deaths might stop the development and the subsequent income to the town. Both things combined to make them unusually helpful. Not that they had much to share. They didn't have their own coroner, but did have the full autopsy results that hadn't been available before, and Dean was able to convince the sheriff to email them. Other than that, there just wasn't much new. They gave him some printed pictures of the crime scenes and the bodies, but all that showed Dean was the extent of the injuries – multiple slashes of varying depths across the victims' faces, necks, chests, and to a lesser extent, forearms and hands. It indicated anger, fury even, and speed, since the victims hardly had a chance to even get their hands up.
Then Dean asked about the scenes and the lack of voids and footprints in the blood, and that had the sheriff looking spooked. "The killer must have flung the blood around after the murders, and walked out carefully," hedged the white-haired head cop. It was no answer, but Dean didn't bother to push it. He thought they were probably looking at a vengeful spirit of some kind, or possibly some type of demon that could make itself insubstantial, like a daeva. Daevas were definitely into the slashy stuff, too. Dean still remembered how he had felt seeing Sam's face so ripped up by the one Meg had been controlling all those years ago. He had been downright obsessive with making sure Sam took care of the injury as it healed so it wouldn't scar.
Either way, it was light years out of this poor sap's wheelhouse.
Dean was thorough and talked to anyone who'd responded to any of the scenes, though he wasn't surprised that he didn't learn anything new. He didn't really want to drive all the way back here if he didn't have to. Besides, he was starting to miss his trusty sidekick. Speaking of...it would have been nice to face whoever had been watching him with Sam at his back.
"Sheriff?" Dean tapped on the open door of the man's office. "One more thing."
There weren't any cameras outside the station, as Dean had suspected, but he could still make things a little harder on his stalker(s). Dean asked for a quick sketch of the ways to get out of town to the west. The town sat in a natural depression in the ground, and as he'd suspected, there were limited ways to get to the road back toward the development. And the sheriff was more than happy to have some of his cops "happen" to be blocking a few of the possibilities to slow down the expensive silver sedan. He also helped Dean identify a place where he could pull off the road out of sight to get behind them if they tried to follow him, and Dean revised his estimation of the sheriff's intelligence up. He wasn't stupid, just out of his depth with a supernatural serial killer.
"Are you sure you don't want some of my boys to back you up, agent?" he asked, an almost fatherly frown on his face.
"No worries." The thought of a confrontation had Dean feeling both excited and bloodthirsty. He was really hoping he was about to get a shot at some of the dicks who'd kidnapped, shot, and tortured Sam and had the audacity to think that an apology would fix it all. The car sure seemed like something they'd be driving around in. "I'll call my partner to meet me." In reality, Sam wouldn't get there in time to be part of the fight, but maybe he could help with clean up.
Dean considered outrunning his stalker all the way to the development rather than take on an unknown opponent alone, he really did. But earlier good mood notwithstanding, he might just have some aggression to work out.
Dean smiled to himself when the feeling of being watched returned immediately as he exited the police station. He felt like saluting the bastard watching him from the from the diner across the street. The guy stuck out like a pelican in a flock of sparrows with his neurotically tucked in shirt and parted hair. Dean resisted sending a one-finger wave only because it was to his benefit to have him think he hadn't noticed the scrutiny.
After all, the best traps happened when the hunted thought they were the hunters. Dean had learned that lesson before his voice had changed.
He drove out of town at a sedate pace. "Be ready, girl," he told the car. "We're going to show that piece of crap Audi what a real car can do." Dean grinned ferally. As soon as he'd eased around a curve, he opened it up, relishing in the sound of all eight cylinders firing in concert. The sun was just sliding below the horizon ahead of him, and his baby would practically disappear into the night soon.
Dean drove for maybe twenty minutes, never dropping below seventy miles an hour, before he saw the rock formation the sheriff had told him about. Twice, he told his phone to call Sam, and twice it told him there was no service. It made Dean a little grumpy, but there was still plenty of time to set a trap.
He slowed way down before driving off the road so he wouldn't leave any skid marks. There were other tire tracks that would disguise his, as it was a favorite place for what the sheriff called "the state boys" to hide to catch speeders. Dean shook his head as he backed in and shut down the engine. He couldn't imagine that enough people drove past here to make it worthwhile for a speed trap, but whatever. He rolled down the windows to wait. Once the Audi went past, Dean would wait a little, then follow with the lights off. He and Sam should be able to pinch them between the two, forcing them to stop. Dean was looking forward to asking his followers who they were and why they were following him.
Dean pulled out his phone to try Sam again, and frowned to see zero bars. He should have called from town, but he'd been a little over-excited. He hadn't realized just how quickly he'd lose service. He'd have to follow the Audi carefully until he could touch base with his brother.
Dean heard an engine coming and smiled again. No, two engines. One continued on, and the other...slowed. Then reversed. Dean's smile fell. How the hell did they know where he was? Before he could speculate farther, a big black or navy SUV rounded the rock and bright headlights nearly blinded him.
Dean quickly started the car – though there was no way around the other vehicle, given that there was a giant freaking rock to his left and soft sand that Baby would just sink into on his right. He wanted to be ready for a quick getaway if the opening presented itself.
Was the other vehicle heading for Sam and the sisters? Dean wondered, even as he stepped out of the car with fake confidence, holding his gun out of sight behind the open door.
"You could've just made an appointment," Dean called loudly, looking straight ahead so his eyes would adjust as quickly as possible. In his peripheral vision, he scoped out a small inlet in the rock where he could dive if necessary.
A door on each side of the SUV opened and two people stepped out. Dean couldn't see much except that they were men. "You're a hard man to find," said the one straight in front of Dean. His accent was not the British accent that Dean had expected. It was, oh shit, German.
"Seriously?" he asked, disgruntled. "More Nazi zombies? I thought you dicks were back in Germany getting flattened by the golem."
"You haff kilt the Führer. Ve haff been looking for you ever since."
"To buy me a beer? Maybe bake me a strudel? Cuz I mean, I knew that guy was
batshit, but I didn't realize just how batshit until I heard him talking. Hoo-ey!" Dean whistled.
"Ve vill kill you." There was anger, no, hatred, in the voice now. "And your brother."
Dean ground his teeth at the thought of them going after Sam, but kept his voice easy. He was playing for time to allow his vision to clear as much as possible. "You can't be too eager. That was a weeks ago. Have a little trouble finding me?"
"It vas hard to find you," the voice admitted, now back to cool condescension. "Ve found your blood vhere you assassinated our leader. But our spells haff...struggled to work until yesterday."
Good ol' bunker warding!
Dean squinted into the light. He could make out a few more details, plenty to aim now, but first he needed to know something. "Where are your little buddies with the pansy car?"
A flash of teeth. "Vell, ve didn't haff any of his blood to track him, but a few minutes ago, he apparently began to bleed, meaning ve could find him through hiss brother's blood."
So, the rest of the assholes were on their way to go after Sam, and not only could Dean not warn him, it was Dean's fault they could figure out where Sam was. Oh, yeah, and Sam was apparently bleeding for some reason. Awesome.
That's all Dean needed to know. "So, you're here to kill me?" he asked, taking one last, careful look to make sure that his aim would be on target.
"Not just ye-" left-hand guy started to say, but Dean was done talking.
In one move, he dropped to a crouch behind the open door and raised his right arm to shoot with his hand between the windshield and the door. The guy to Dean's right was raising his arm, so he plugged him first. Even as he fell, whatever he was holding burst into flame, briefly illuminating a startled face with a dark hole in its forehead. Dean threw himself to the left, anticipating the shots that rang out.
Dean only shot once more, knowing he'd hit his mark. He grunted as he struck the unforgiving rock face, but pressed himself against it even though he was pretty sure neither Nazi would be getting up. After about ten seconds of silence except for the two engines, Dean pushed to his feet again, cautiously holding his gun at the ready. And very nearly collapsed to the sand. The sensation startled him; he didn't feel any injuries. He couldn't investigate the weakness until he made sure his opponents were dead.
Dean crept over toward the SUV, but as he'd expected, both pricks were doornails, a hole in each forehead. He and Sam would have to burn the bodies to ensure they didn't come back, because the Thule had a hard-on for necromancy, but Dean's legs were already shaking and his gun felt impossibly heavy, so that would have to wait.
Next to the guy who'd stepped out of the driver's seat, the one who had lit something on fire just before he died, there was a shallow metal bowl with a spray of char, some powders and what looked like blood spilling out of it. A spell. Shit. Shit. Shitty-shit. What had dick two been saying just before Dean opened his can of whoop-ass? Something about not killing Dean just yet? Maybe he wasn't totally screwed.
Dean stumbled. Yup, still pretty screwed. His energy was draining like water through a sieve, but he couldn't go down just yet. He needed to warn Sam first.
Dean drove the SUV off to the side to sink into the sand without bothering to close either door. He might have driven over the spell-caster, too, but really that was unavoidable. He stumbled back to Baby and could barely muster the strength to pull the heavy door closed behind him. He thought he ran over somebody driving her back onto the road, too, but his awareness was dimming by the second. Dean turned the car's nose toward Sam and the development, hoping he got service and damn soon.
"Hey, dummy. Call the bitch," he directed his phone, using the parlance he'd programmed into it to ring up his brother. Maybe Sam was right, and enabling voice activation had been a good thing. Dean would tell him that...later.
"Network not found," said the sexy female voice his phone used. Sexy or not, Dean swore at her. Er, it. Lethargy was creeping up his body and Dean knew he was running low on time.
"Hey, d'mmy. Call th' bitch." Crap, crap, he had to jerk the wheel to get the car back on the road.
"Network not found."
Dean's foot slipped off the gas pedal and he jerked himself up straighter, trying to force a rush of adrenaline to give him a few more minutes. "H' dumm'. C-call th' bish."
"Calling."
"Hey, this is Sam. Please leave a message."
Dean hit the button to end the call on the second try...or maybe the third. "Hey dummy, c'll th' b-bitch."
"Dean...wrong?" The connection sucked, but still, hallelujah!
"Thule." The road in front of Dean turned into two roads, and suddenly he was to the right of both of them. He blinked hard and made sure he was well and truly off the road...roads. "Y' need t' track my phone cuz I'm gonna pass out. Thule are comin'. I nee' you to…" Dean was too tired to continue. With effort, he pushed the car into park and turned the key.
He was tipping over. And he hoped Sam… And Barb... He hoped… He slept.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
He was. Maybe. Just impressions.
A hum...no, a rumble. Sounded like home. But there was something…?
Pressure on his chest. But good. Hand? Big hand. "Sssssam?"
A voice answered. The voice that made him relax. He was so tired. He couldn't go back to sleep, though. Was there danger? Everything felt so comforting that he drifted for a while, but he couldn't quite go all the way under again.
"Thoooooole," he said despite feeling like his tongue was ridiculously fat.
"I know. You told me. It's okay, man. You're safe."
Phone? No, Sam was actually here. And he was still talking. It was so damn hard to focus.
"...did to you? And...still breathing?"
Sam was asking him something about the assholes who'd been chasing him. "Naht. Sssssseeeee dicks."
"...yeah...Where…?" Sam no longer sounded as worried, but maybe a little amused. The ridiculously big hand patted his chest. Wait. What was he resting against? Oh, man.
Dean struggled mightily to push himself away, and didn't even manage to get his eyes fully open. "Cuddling?"
"No, Dean." A hint of exasperation. More than a hint of amusement. But still worry. "I'm just making sure you don't fall off the seat. Now, you need to tell me what's wrong with you and if I have to worry about the Thule."
Dean knew the answer to this. And he'd gotten his eyes open, though he couldn't see anything except some vague lights. Dashboard, maybe? "Spell. Blood."
Dean was shaken lightly. "Dean, this is important. Did you manage to kill the one who cast the spell?"
"Shot. Them. Inna face." Whatever Dean was resting against moved up and down. Oh, yeah. Sam. Taking a deep breath. "S'mmy. Leggo me."
Sam ignored that, which meant Dean really, really needed to wake up more. "Good, Dean. Any chance you burned 'em?"
"...not..."
"Don't worry about it.You can rest. We're almost back to the condo and you can sleep it off."
That sounded really good. Really, really good. But something still wouldn't let Dean rest. "Did they shoot my car?" he asked, and it was the clearest thing he'd managed to say. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to stay awake for very long, but something was still bothering him. And not just the way Sam didn't answer immediately. "Um. Two holes in the driver's door."
"Dammmmm. It." And damn the spell that was so effectively keeping him on his ass. Or his side, as he finally figured out what he was seeing. The bottom of the steering wheel and the dash – sideways.
Sam patted Dean's chest again and it was more reassuring than Dean would ever admit. In fact, he better stop acting like he was reassured. Or needing reassuring. He rallied himself, then pushed against Sam's thigh that he was (ugh!) using as a pillow. After a second, Sam moved the hand from his chest to push on Dean's shoulder and help him. Dean needed a lot more help than he liked. The change in elevation made his brain do a slow twirl but then he was able to blink hard a few times and finally wake up a little more. Sam was saying something about how they could fix the car, and he was right, but it still pissed Dean off that the stupid Thule had done this to him and worse, hurt his baby. Not to mention made it so his little brother had to come drive him back.
Irritated with his inability to get his eyes to open the rest of the way and clear the sludge entirely out of his brain, Dean pushed Sam's hand away. It lingered for just a second before Sam let him go. As he slowly lifted his head, Dean noticed a mark on his shoulder and frowned. It almost looked like... "Are you. Bleeding?" he asked, enunciating carefully.
Sam frowned at his palm. "Huh. I guess I busted the blister from my burn open. I never even noticed." He sighed. "There was another attack. One construction worker is dead, and another is hurt. Any other blood I have on me is from them."
That was...Dean would think about that later. They were driving into the development now. Blood. What did he need to tell Sam about blood? "Wait! Stop!"
Sam was conditioned to respond to Dean's voice, especially when he yelled like that, and he slammed on the brakes with impressive reflexes. "What? What's wrong, Dean?" Sam sounded a tad flustered, but he hadn't missed keeping Dean from faceplanting into the dash, which was a definite plus, since Dean's arms didn't seem to be interested in the job.
"More Thule. The ones...I shot said...others were tracking your blood." God, he was so exhausted that just talking was making him tired. Even so, he didn't miss the way Sam paled. "What?"
"My jacket. I wiped the blood on it. And left it in the sisters' condo."
Oh. That was bad.
Sam inexplicably rolled down his window and gestured out of it, then turned in the wrong direction from the women's condo. Dean frowned, trying to figure that out. Then they turned into the driveway of the condo where he and Sam were staying. "You and Barb need to stay inside here. I'm going to do some scouting and figure out if they're here, and how many of them," said Sam briskly, opening his door.
"What? Wait, no." The thought of Sam taking on the Thule asses alone helped Dean rally himself. "I'm not sitting in the condo while you go off –"
"Fine." Sam didn't stop, stepping out of the car and disappearing from view. "You can stay in the car then."
Dean could tell by sound that Sam was messing in the trunk, and he was talking to someone too, but too softly for Dean to hear. With more effort than it should have taken, Dean sat upright all the way. It felt like he weighed 10 tons. Sam was arguing now, but Dean could tell from his tone that his brother was not going to give in to whoever was arguing with him because he was using his most implacable voice.
Then Sam was back, pressing Dean's gun into his hand. "I'll let you know what I find out." Then he was gone, and Dean fumed. He didn't move, but he fumed. That he was apparently able to do just fine.
Someone was sliding into the car, and Dean just barely got the gun up into position before recognizing Barb. She was holding a gun, too, and her face was pinched with worry and/or anger. "You got benched, too?" Dean asked sympathetically.
Barb nodded, but her expression morphed from annoyance to concern as she looked at him in the pale light. "Oh, honey. Are you sure you're okay? Sam said he expects you'll be really tired but you'll be fine."
"Yeah, I'm good." Dean wasn't even really lying. Nothing hurt, except the shoulder that he'd smacked into the rock ached a little. He just felt like he could sleep for a year or eight. "You know what's goin' on?" He let his head rest against Baby's familiar leather and tried to convince his body that it could get up and go back up Sam. His body apparently was ignoring him as much as Sam had.
Barb told Dean everything she knew, and he told her about the Thule. It was her turn to go pale this time, and Dean's slower-than-normal brain reminded him that he'd just told her that her sisters might be in danger from Nazi necromancers. Before he could think of a way to say, I'm sorry that your family is in jeopardy because we have some of Hitler's finest undead as our enemies, Sam was back.
"Judy is hiding in one of the bedrooms, and she opened a window I can get into. She says there's just four Thule. So far, they're just holding Myra and Carolyn hostage and trying to figure out where I am and what the women know." Sam frowned. He looked stressed, Dean thought. Maybe because his backup was as useful as a wet noodle right now. "I'm sure they're watching the front door and the door to the garage, and the slider probably has a bar in it, so that's a no-go. I'm going to go in through the window and lure one, maybe two to come in so I can take them out. They won't want to use their guns, because they can't afford the attention, and that hesitation will help me."
Sam was loading the shotgun and had his Taurus in his pants already. He also had their curved tire iron tucked under one arm. Between Sam's long reach and accuracy, he'd wielded the iron with devastating force on more than one occasion. "There's nobody in either of the neighboring condos, but they won't know that."
Dean realized that Sam was telling him the plan...because he was leaving Dean behind again. "Wa –"
"I'll be back when everybody is safe." There were zip ties sticking out of one of Sam's pockets; the guy was nothing if not prepared. Except…
"I'm going with you," said Dean, registering a beat later that Barb had said the words with him.
Sam had his I'm-being-patient face on. "The bedroom with the open window is in the back," he said, still checking over his weapons. "It's about 8 feet up. If either of you think you can jump up to it and climb through, you're welcome to come." He looked up and caught first Dean's eyes, then Barb's, not shying away from either glare. "I know you want to help, but you'll both be liabilities, and you know it. I can handle this. Barb, I'll get your sisters out of there. Stay here. Both of you." And he was gone. Again.
"This sucks," said Dean with heartfelt vehemence. It was almost worse for Barb, he thought. Dean's brother might be in danger, but he was strong and trained. Barb's sisters were elderly and, while awesome, completely unequipped to handle the situation. "Hey. You have a rental car, right? And do you have a garage door opener?"
"Yes and yes," said Barb, looking cautiously interested. "Why? You look like my boys when they're about to do something really stupid."
"Not stupid. Helping without putting ourselves in danger." Because, dammit, Sam was right and Dean wasn't worth spit right now. "I think a diversion would go a long ways toward giving Sammy a little bit of an advantage…"
A few minutes later, Dean climbed out of the car Barb had rented. Ironically, it was a black Impala, only about 50 years newer than Baby, though nowhere nearly as sexy. Dean could almost feel guilty for what he was about to do to the car, but he didn't have the energy for it. He'd even let Barb drive over. Headlights off, they aimed the car toward the garage. Barb ducked out of sight into the big yellow bushes planted along the road and Dean drew on all of his strength, leaning on the top of the car. Then he pushed the button on the opener, popped the car into drive and shut the door. He didn't dive into the bushes with Barb so much as crawl, but it worked.
The car crept up the slight incline, since automatic transmissions exert pressure on the drive shaft even when the gas pedal isn't being pushed. A tall blond man in a suit opened the door into the garage, likely alerted by the sound of the door going up. He looked like a model for GQ...except for the .45 he was waving around. The man's eyes widened comically as he took in the car coming crookedly into the garage. He had to jump out of the way as the side of the bumper hit the back wall of the garage with an impressive crunch despite the slow speed.
Dean didn't look at Barb, afraid he'd laugh if he did. In the garage, the Thule thug leveled his gun at the still-running car. "Step out of the car, now!" he demanded with a clear German accent. When nothing happened, he stepped forward, jerking the front passenger door open. The light that had turned on with the garage door opened clearly showed the confusion on his face. The confusion only grew as he opened the rest of the doors, one at a time. It was funny...until there was the sound of a gunshot inside the condo.
Colonel Klink, as Dean had mentally dubbed him, turned toward the condo, and Dean stood and let fly the baseball he'd pulled out of the Impala's trunk – his Impala, that is – just for this reason. He had his gun in his left hand in case his aim was off or he couldn't muster enough strength for a knockout blow, but he needn't have worried. The ancient ball struck the man on the back of the head and he went down like sack of bricks.
"Take his gun and, uh, tie him up if you can," Dean directed Barb without a second look. He should feel guilty throwing orders at her, but he was too worried about what that shot meant for Sam to feel it too much at the moment.
Dean stumbled with significantly less than his usual grace and speed to the front door, riding adrenaline. The door wasn't locked, and he threw himself through it, gun first.
It was chaos inside. He had a brief glimpse of a 6'4" blur fighting furiously with two men as Carolyn cowered on the couch, all but burrowing into a grim-faced Myra. At least one man was on the floor already. And that was all Dean noted before one of the men grappling with Sam fell backwards right into Dean. He was as tall as Sam and built like a brick shithouse, and his momentum was significant. Dean fell backwards under the force, lacking the strength to stop them. Dean's legs hit the back of the couch and together he and the Thule crashed over it and landed on the floor.
What little strength Dean retained seemed to rush out of him with his breath as he hit the floor on his back with the behemoth on top of him. The man reared back and Dean only barely slowed the first punch, missed the second entirely. Both rocked his head. His gun was gone, his leverage was nonexistent, and he was fading fast. Dean scrabbled for something, anything that could help him, and something was pressed firmly into his open hand.
Cane. Dean was holding the curved end of the cane, and even as his opponent punched his jaw again, Dean swung with all his might and hit the other man in the face with the cane. Then again. And again. What he lacked in space to swing, he made up for with persistence. The other man grabbed blindly at the cane, so Dean took hold of it with both hands and used it to make a barrier between them. He couldn't lift the man far, but got a few inches of space. Then there was a gunshot very close and the guy was gone.
Through darkening vision, Dean could see Sam towering above him. He was breathing heavily, his poor dress shirt little better than tatters hanging off him. Dean was pretty sure his brother didn't only look so pissed because of the bad guys. "Stay there, Dean. There's one more in the garage," Sam ordered.
On cue, Barb's voice floated in through the still-open door to the garage. "Stay down, kraut, or I'll blow your fucking head off."
God, Dean loved that woman. And his badass brother, though he totally could have beat that Thule guy without help.
With the last of his energy, Dean handed Myra her cane back, vaguely noting her grimly satisfied expression and the way she still had a protective arm slung around Carolyn. He might even love Myra. A little.
With a tired smile at all of them, Dean let his eyes fall closed.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean heard the sound of breathing before he got his eyes open, and it was reassuring. Mostly because he knew who it was, and he could tell that Sam was asleep. That meant that any threat had been dealt with.
Threat? Right, Thule. Hadn't expected to see any of them.
Dean pried his eyes open and wondered how much of the cleanup Sam had handled before...shit...dumping Dean into bed. It happened enough that he wasn't embarrassed exactly, but it always felt backwards when Sam took care of him.
There was enough light for Dean to see the bedroom he was in, and he smiled to note that the bed was every bit as soft as he'd hoped.
"You actually awake?" asked Sam's voice behind him.
Dean rolled over. His brother was in a very plush recliner tipped all the way back. His stockinged feet were crossed at the ankles, he had an open book on his chest, and his eyes were closed. "Jury's out," Dean admitted. There was a pervasive weariness that he'd rarely known, but he felt much clearer than he had before. Clear enough to see Sam's long arm was now holding out an actual glass bottle of orange juice to him, though his eyes were still closed.
Dean took it and got half of it down before speaking again. "M' fine. Really. Just kinda beat," he said, knowing Sam would want an actual update. "You okay?"
"Yup."
Sam looked very relaxed, and the only sign of injury Dean could see from his poor vantage point was a bandage around Sam's right hand. Torn open blister. Right. Sam was clean – like, showered clean – and dressed in sleep sweats, and Dean wondered how long he'd been out. "Thule?"
Sam grimaced. "Burned 'em," he said succinctly.
That got Dean's attention, and he pulled the pillows behind him to sit up just a little. "What about the one that was in the garage?" There was no censure in his voice. Though execution wasn't exactly Sam's normal MO, there weren't many people deserving of death more than Hitler's never-say-die (ha! literally!) sycophants.
Sam's grimace grew, but even with his eyes shut it was clearly distaste rather than guilt. "He was a true believer, I guess. He had a suicide pill."
"Eesh." Dean rubbed his eyes, feeling a bit guilty that Sam had had to handle the mess. "We'll have to go out and take care of the two I killed."
Sam sat up and rescued the orange juice. He looked nearly as tired as Dean felt. "I burned them, too. Wiped down the SUV and burned them in it."
"Wait, when?" Dean finally sat all the way up, and realized for the first time that he was in nothing but his boxers. "And why am I basically naked?"
Sam smiled faintly. "I had to make sure you weren't hurt anywhere, since you weren't exactly awake to tell me. And dude, it's like 4:30 in the afternoon. I had time to take care of all of it while the sisters took turns baby-sitting you."
Dean fell back onto the bed and slung an arm across his eyes. "Please tell me you're just messing with me."
"Nope." He could hear the smile in Sam's voice. "They insisted. But don't worry; we never left Judy alone with you."
As mortified as he was, Dean pulled his arm down just to see Sam's smile since a full, dimples-out grin was so rare these days. "Why didn't you let Judy alone…?" he asked, though he really didn't want to.
"Her sisters didn't trust her not to peek under the covers!"
Dean reveled in Sam's laughter, even as he pulled the blankets over his head and groaned. "Wait, are we still at their condo?"
"Yeah. Nobody heard the shots, or at least, nobody reported anything suspicious to security, but I thought carrying a body through the development would be pushing things a little." Sam drew a breath, and Dean could practically feel him turning more serious. "That's kind of what you get for taking on the Thule by yourself! I talked to the sheriff. What exactly were you thinking?"
Okay, now Sam was seriously encroaching into big brother territory. "I didn't know they were Thule. I thought maybe it was the Brits again, and I owe them for what they did to you. And I didn't know there were so many."
"Yeah, you didn't know." Sam sounded tired. "That's kind of the point. Just...would you please let me back you up? That's what I'm here for, you know?"
Dean did know. And he felt a little guilty about it now. He was still just so furious at what they'd done to Sam...and about what would have happened if Dean hadn't been able to find him. And these guys were supposed to be their allies. "Yeah, yeah."
Sam leaned an elbow on the bed casually enough that they could both pretend he only did it to get comfortable. "I know you killed Hitler and you think you're all that and a bag of chips, but just let me watch your six, tough guy."
Dean had heard the earlier please, something rare between them, and he understood. And he'd do better. "I am all that and a bag of chips," he complained, but he moved so his knuckles just touched Sam's elbow.
"For what it's worth, I did try to call you a bunch of times. No bars."
Sam looked at him appraisingly and apparently decided he was telling the truth.
"So, anyway, I broke into the archivist's office and took a ledger and a whole bunch of letters – "
Sheesh. No wonder Sam looked so tired. "Did you sleep at all?"
Sam waved the hand holding the book dismissively. "Sure. I was sleeping just now."
Right. When you "sleep" lightly enough that a change in your brother's breathing wakes you up, it barely even counts as dozing. Dean should know.
"Anyway," Sam continued, "You've got to hear about this family."
"No, I gotta take a shower and find some coffee." Dean sat up and was pleased to only wobble a little. His duffel was on the floor because Sam occasionally was an awesome brother.
An awesome brother who was smiling again. "Are you sure? As soon as the Mighty Firth Sisters, as they apparently call themselves now, know you're up, you're going to have three mother hens and one cackling goose hounding you."
Dean winced. "So tell me about these records…"
* * *
AN: I know, I divided this into three parts, but I hope it adds up to a somewhat coherent whole, because I wanted it to all be from Dean's POV. The Thule are (probably?) done, but there's still something slicing people up out there.Colonel Klink is a Nazi character (caricature, really) in a show called Hogan's Heroes.
Timelady66: Oh, good. I kind of wondered if I was muddying up the waters with a second "monster" in this fic. Really, I just want to make things extra hard on the Winchesters. (Cue the evil laughter.) Yeah, I found the whole idea of undead Nazis incredibly awesome and creepy and loved it. I like to imagine that Aaron (golem guy) and Ellie (distant Hitler relative) ended up together fighting any remnants of the Thule. I even wonder what happened to Christoph. His rant about career day sucking because of who his dad was makes me way too happy. (He told some guy named Fritz to kill me! said with great outrage.) I agree that we didn't get enough Eileen too, which is a shame. And, yeah, they should both always have women falling over them, IMO. :-)
muffinroo:I wish Bobby could have heard about the Thule. Can you imagine?I'm going to have Barb and her sisters give a few of the reactions that I would have liked to have seen from Bobby. (Actually, I think it's a HUGE shame that "real" Bobby never saw the bunker.)
Christine: Hehe. Not sorry. I'm just a little sad I didn't get to write more about the Thule, but they are kind of a distraction more than the focus here. Barb's yell in the garage in this chapter is inspired by your comment – not exactly what you said but hopefully close enough to make you smile!Colby's girl: Ooh, I love history and anthropology too...and mythology, which is probably obvious. I laughed really hard at the "half-baked cupcake" comment. Perhaps a barely-dressed Dean will make ita little more palatable for you? Oh, and more documents and artifacts coming up, since naughty Sammy broke in and stole a bunch of them.
BruisedBloodyBroken: Glad to have you reading! I have to wonder what you think of the old ladies now that you've seen them under pressure. Yes, I gave Barb a gun. And crazy Judy managed to hide from the Thule...and even Myra helped, by giving her cane to Dean. I wasn't very nice to Dean in this chapter though.stedan: I love your questions! I can't answer them all yet, but hopefully they're covered in the story. When you ask questions like this, I often refer back to them to make sure there aren't (too many) plot holes. Barb might be a civilian, but she's pretty badass, IMO.I think it's fun when a character you wouldn't expect (ie. a woman past a certain age) does something tough. And I'm glad you liked the archivist, too. There was a lot of information I wanted to convey, and thought it would be more interesting for Sam to have conversations about it than just write about him reading it, if that makes sense.
Lena: Well, there you go, giving me ideas again. I spent one summer working at an ice cream store and we made all kinds of shakes (pineapple is amazing, btw), so I'm picturing the make-your-own-shake machine and imagining what a mess Cas might make trying to figure it out! LOL Or Dean at one of those buffet places where you can use the soft serve ice cream machine, but they give you these teeny tiny bowls. Imagine Dean putting too much in a bowl, so it tips over on the floor and a little girl advising him to try using one of the soup bowls instead – and him teaching her to put a brownie in with the ice cream. (I've been trying to get my dad to eat more because his pain meds mess with his stomach and yesterday I made hot donut sundaes and OMG...but now I'm waaaaaaaay off topic.)
So, I kind of named Janna after Janet, who's been helping me with my writing and all I could think about was that when I named a character for you, I killed her off! Bad, bad writer. But at least I brought her back, right?
I wince a little when people talk about reading my older stuff because I'm not sure I had a great grasp on the characters at the beginning, so I never go back to them myself. But you are super kind and I appreciate it very much.
I know I wasn't very nice to your poor Dean here, but I did give you some (verbal) eye candy to make up for it – badass Sam with a shirt hanging off him in tatters, and Dean in nothing but boxers. So am I forgiven? *grin*
Kathy: No cliffie here! See, I can be nice sometimes. The sunset was kind of a setup, huh? I didn't necessarily think of the Thule until I decided to put the story here, then I couldn't stop thinking about it!
Blondie: I know, I know, but it's the first cliffie in the entire story, which isn't too bad for me. :-) As for Sam letting Barb come along, I was thinking he was in such a hurry that he couldn't be bothered to stop and argue...? And then she could drive the other car back. He tried to leave her (and Dean) behind in this chapter, and that didn't exactly work out!