Chapter 6 – Truth Or Consequences
Henri, Milo, Nanette and Linda had been going from house to house in Frank and Jody's neighbourhood, preparing each home as best they could for the upcoming winter. Kevin had found a current Farmer's Almanac in the reference section of the local library, and if the predictions in it were accurate, they were in for some extremely harsh temperatures following the Christmas season. Fortunately, each home had a fireplace already built in. But without electricity, such things as electric blankets and space heaters were useless. There would be no freshly-baked cookies in the shape of Frosty and Rudolph coming out of the oven for the kids, no plump and juicy turkey for the dads to carve. Those days were over, it seemed.
Milo and Henri were inspecting the fireplaces in each home, checking to make sure they had proper ventilation. Once the men were satisfied, one of them would leave a list of operating instructions and safety procedures on the mantel, and the other would check the windows in the room for drafts. If any were found, a note would be made to send one of the work crews to insulate the house. Linda and Nanette were doing the same in the other rooms, as well as bringing in extra blankets and warm clothing for each occupant of the house.
On and on this type of activity would go, house by house, block by block, until the entire community was prepared. There were hundreds of people in their settlement now, with more arriving daily. At some point soon, the influx would slow to a trickle as folks adjusted to the fact that this new reality wasn't just one big migraine-inducing pharmaceutical flashback, Bobby'd said dryly. There would be some important decisions the survivors needed to make. Some would want to go it alone, and others would form their own communities. Understandable. Plus, there was that fairly sizeable other group, God had added in a softer tone. The humans and Angels in their immediate circle understood. Those were the individuals who were migrating towards the Caribbean, where the Unholy Trinity were setting up shop.
Milo grunted, and Henri looked at him. "Are you getting tired, Grandpop? You could switch up with one of the Christmas Club, if you need to sit down for a while."
Henri's grandfather gave him a baleful stare. "I don't need to sit down, boy. I'm an Angel, same as you are. I'd much rather be doing this than wrapping presents and putting frilly ribbons on them, like some kind of-"
"-like some kind of woman?" Nanette said sharply, striding into the room.
Henri smirked as Milo cleared his throat, stalling for time. "I was going to say, like some kind of Santa's elf," Nanette's husband replied, giving his grandson a wink.
"Oh. Well, in that case..." Nanette gave Milo a kiss on the cheek. "Nice recovery, dear." She smiled. "Although, I have to say that not all women are skilled at gift-wrapping." Nanette looked at Henri, still smiling. "I remember Milo telling me about that one Christmas, when your father caught your mother trying to wrap your presents, after she got back from-"
Milo made another grunting sound, and Nanette closed her mouth with a snap. "I'm sorry, Henry," she said quietly.
Henri sighed. This was the same kind of thing that always happened whenever his parents were accidentally mentioned in conversation. It was a shame, really. Last year he'd thought that the subject was finally going to be laid to rest, one way or the other. He and his grandparents had even skipped spending Christmas at Cas and Gail's house with the rest of the extended family to attend to that particular Elephant. But the whole thing had been a big bust. Although from what Henri had heard, things hadn't been so holly jolly at that other gathering, either. Gail's uncle died, or at least, she'd thought he had. And the late, unlamented Becky had arrived on the Angels' doorstep with a suspiciously older child who was not Brian any more, but "Damien". No Sam's son, but Vincent's, bent on following in his real father's evil footsteps. On second thought, as miserable as his own Christmas had been, Henri was just as glad he'd missed out on that.
"Linda and I are finished," Nanette said briskly. "Meet us outside when you're done." She turned on her heel and left the room.
Henri and Milo faced each other silently. Neither man had any idea what to say to the other, so neither man spoke. After a moment, they resumed their work.
Cas was by himself on an uninhabited island, pacing back and forth. Before he went anywhere or took any sort of action, he had to organize his thoughts.
It was difficult to be logical and calmly focus on the mission at hand when he didn't know exactly what his mission was. No; that wasn't the problem, the Angel amended to himself. The dilemma he was facing was more emotional in nature.
When The Event had first come to pass, Castiel's demeanour had automatically defaulted to that of God's Warrior Angel. That was the primary role he had fulfilled for most of his existence, and the one he felt most comfortable in. Gail might be put out by that fact, but the truth was the truth. It didn't mean that Cas loved her or the members of his extended family any less. Indeed, it could be argued that his protective instincts toward God's creations made him love them even more.
And that was why he had done what he'd done in the barn. Castiel's original intent had been to use the extra power he'd felt coursing through his vessel to smite only the agents of Evil. But when he'd seen their black eyes and true visages, Castiel had killed Carolyn and Mike first, out of sheer necessity.
That was what he should have said, back when it had happened. Cas should have told Gail and the rest of the family that Demons had overtaken the vessels of Tommy's sister and her boyfriend, instead of preaching to them. They would have believed him. Wouldn't they? If the Demons who'd been posing as their Canadian friends had been allowed to live, who knew what might have happened? There hadn't been time to find out.
What would his family say now? That Cas should have spared Carolyn and Mike, then worried about their possession later? Yes, probably. What did Sam always say? "We'll find another way." Which was all very well and good, when you had time to spare. It had been a split-second decision that had to be made, and as brutal as it was, Cas stood by it.
If only Castiel could make them understand, somehow... Normally, Gail would be at his side, helping to smooth things over. She was angry at Cas too, but if he had at least told her why he'd done it, Cas was sure she would have believed him. But now, his wife was on her own mission, stubbornly bent on making her way to the Caribbean to force Vincent to return her powers to her. An unlikely outcome, but, one never knew. Vincent was a capricious and contrary individual, and Gail had achieved the impossible before. A part of Cas wanted to just shirk his duty and accompany her. He'd certainly considered it. But she'd made it quite clear to her husband that his company was not welcomed at the moment. Besides, Cas didn't feel that Gail was in any imminent danger. Vincent had an odd sort of fascination with his first-born daughter, one that had absolutely nothing to do with paternal affection. He'd had a number of chances to kill Gail up to this point, yet Vincent had always chosen not to harm her. Of course, if the Voodoo "Priest" were to kill any more of his own children, what would the consequences be to Vincent himself?
Maybe that was another reason that Vincent had never made a serious attempt on Gail's life, or maybe it was the only reason. In any event, Cas was convinced it was enough to keep her safe for the time being.
Still, Castiel vacillated: Where did his duty truly lie? With his wife? With his family? Or, with the world at large? There were thousands of humans out there dying every day because they'd become spoiled and complacent, dependent on technology to survive. But was that really their fault? Children had to be taught, didn't they? On the other hand, even if The Event hadn't been God's doing, perhaps it was God's Will. How was Castiel to know for sure?
He decided that he was too close to the situation. Castiel's viewpoint was only one side of the proverbial coin. What the Angel needed right now was the opinion of someone who would talk plainly to him, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
Cas sent out the call.
"Why is it ME you always seem to call when you're backed into a corner?" Paul grumbled. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might have problems of my own?"
Cas regarded him coolly. "Such as?"
Dammit. Why had Paul gone and said that? He'd just as soon not have Cas find out about his little escapade with Abbadon, and the pit. Paul had been on the receiving end of a very stern dressing-down from God himself that day, and what was considerably worse, the mother of all silent treatments from his wife. Linda had eventually forgiven Paul, but he sure didn't need a lecture from Castiel The Sanctimonious, not after what Cas had done in that barn. Barry still hadn't been able to bring himself to say Cas's name, and Peter and Ilene were getting counselling from one of Frank's neighbours, who just happened to be a licensed child psychologist. Actually, there were a lot of kids – and adults, too – who had dropped by Dr. Faber's house, once word had gotten out. Shelley Faber was an open and friendly woman, the perfect person to help rebuild a community from the ground up.
But Cas was still regarding Paul in that way he had of making Paul feel guilty, even when he'd done nothing wrong.
"Never mind," Paul said uneasily. "Forget it."
Cas continued to look at him with that calm, unblinking stare. Man, oh man. Nearly every cop that Paul had encountered in his time on Earth had had friendlier expressions on their faces. Even the white ones. Geez.
"Has Linda cooled off yet?" Cas said unexpectedly.
Paul sighed. "So, Bobby told you."
"No. But, he didn't have to," Cas replied. It was true. Castiel had seen the incident in his mind's eye, just as if he had been there himself. There had been no need for him to intervene, because Bobby had taken care of the situation quite competently. But Castiel knew that his Father had shown him that vision for a reason. Paul had been the fifth designate, the one who had opened up the Abyss at the bidding of a Demon. That left only two designated Angels: Gail, and Castiel himself.
Cas had not been shown the remainder of the prophecy, but the foreboding he felt in his stomach went much deeper than the pit. What was his priority, at the moment? Saving as many humans as possible, or intercepting his wife?
"Look, Cas." Paul spoke, if for no other reason than to break the awkward silence. "I can see from your expression that you're gearing up for a lecture about my past relationship with Abbadon. Do me a favour and lay off, OK? Believe me, nobody regrets that more than me."
"Are you aware of how disastrous it would have been if Abbadon had gained access to the Lake of Fire, and all of the souls there?" Castiel said sternly.
Paul's mouth tightened. For some reason, it pissed him off more that Cas had chosen to zero in on that particular mistake. "Of course I'm aware," he shot back. "I'm an Archangel's son. You remember my father, don't you?"
Cas tried to hold his temper. "If you have something to say to me, say it," he growled.
"All right, I will," Paul responded, moving closer to Cas in order to demonstrate his refusal to be intimidated. "I want to know where you get off lecturing me like that, when your smiting hand is still red with Carolyn and Mike's blood!"
The two Angels stood perfectly still for a tension-filled minute, each man regarding the other. Then, astonishingly, Cas's mouth twisted into a wry smile.
"I chose well," Cas said, as Paul's forehead wrinkled. What in the ever-loving-?
Had Sam or Dean been there, they could have educated Paul on the phenomenon. Though he'd gotten better at it in the last few years, this was classic Cas. Sometimes, it was as if the Winchesters' Angel friend was tuned into a different TV show than they were. It had always been difficult getting a straight answer from a celestial being, but on many occasions Cas seemed to be having his own little conversation, whether they were in on it or not.
But Paul wasn't nearly as well-acquainted with Cas. Raphael's son had moved in different circles than Castiel and his Upper Echelon bunch. Even Raphael who, as an Archangel, had technically outranked each and every one of those cracker-ass bastards, had never set foot in that boardroom. Thing in Heaven were a lot more inclusive now, but to put it bluntly, Paul's father had been a token, plain and simple. Angels like Bobby and Gail and yes, even Castiel, had been instrumental in bringing about the diversity that Heaven currently enjoyed. Paul had to acknowledge and appreciate that. But old resentments were hard to shake. Especially since the guy who had murdered Paul's dad was standing right in front of him, smiling.
Suddenly, Cas made the connection. Paul had no idea what was going on. How could he? "I called you here because I needed to speak with someone who will be completely candid with me," Castiel explained.
Paul barked out a laugh. "No problem. Just don't smite me too, if you don't like what I have to say."
Ignoring the sarcasm in Paul's tone, Cas told the young black Angel exactly what had transpired in the barn, and why he'd opted to do what he had done.
"So, you see that I had no choice," Cas concluded. "It's obvious that I couldn't allow the Demons who had possessed Mike and Carolyn the opportunity to infiltrate our family."
Paul considered this. Cas was right, of course, but: "Couldn't you have driven them out?" he inquired, adding, "You Exalteds can do that, right?" The bitterness was creeping into his tone, but Paul couldn't help it.
Cas overlooked it. He understood how the family must be feeling about what he'd done. "There wasn't time," he insisted. "It had to be done."
Now Paul was starting to get an inkling. "So you want me to go back and plead your case, it that it?" he said dryly. "Why don't you get Gail to do it? She can just turn on those doe eyes of hers, and-" Wait. Wait just a damn minute. Paul's eyes narrowed. "Where is she, anyway? You two have a fight?" He could see it, now: Castiel being all righteous, and Gail barking up at her husband like an agitated puppy. Paul fought not to grin at the image.
"That's none of your concern," Castiel said coolly. "What I need you to do is to go back and be on the lookout for any more Demon incursions. The Hunters and the Angels will be able to sense possession, but that's not good enough. I need to know who they are, and who's giving them their orders. I need them kept alive, until I can interrogate them. And I need complete and utter secrecy from you on the subject."
That actually made sense to Paul. If they were going to get to the bottom of what appeared to be a direct attack on their extended family, they would need intel. It wouldn't do them any good to have the Hunters using Joe or Jane Demon for killing practice. Whoever was behind the plot would just send more.
He nodded. Whatever bad blood had passed between them, Paul was aware that Cas knew how to take care of business. And when that business was protecting their family, Paul was one hundred percent on board. Imagine if Carolyn and Mike had come back to their community, possessed by Demons! Because they'd been part of the family, the couple would have been accepted back into the fold without a second thought. Sure, the ones in the know about such things would feel uneasy around their Canadian friends, but everybody was so busy trying to keep things running smoothly right now that any misgivings would likely have been dismissed. And then who knew how many of their number would have been murdered, or worse? Paul was personally acquainted with Demons whose only goals were to inflict as much pain and suffering as they could. He had been one of them. The only thing he'd lacked was ambition. But there were scores of Demons that believed there was a prize to be had at the bottom of the box, and it was those who were the most dangerous.
"You've got it, Cas," Paul pledged. "But are you sure you don't want me to enlist some help? The community is growing every day, and I can't watch everybody all at once."
"No. Tell no one about what we have discussed here," Cas said tersely.
Paul sighed. Great. Well, it was Castiel's ass, not his. Paul wasn't sure he'd be willing to have everyone in the family hate his guts just to keep a lid on things, but...
He sighed again. "I'll keep you posted, Cas."
Castiel gave him a curt nod, but spoke no further. His thoughts were already elsewhere. Bobby was bound to be extremely angry once he found out, but the current occupant of the Head Office had enough to deal with right now. Gail was stubbornly heading south, to confront her father and regain her powers. That was an iffy proposition, on its surface. However, Cas had convinced himself that Vincent enjoyed playing games far too much to see this one end so abruptly. He would return Gail's powers to her, due to the simple fact that there was no fun to be had in holding all the cards. And Cas needed Gail at full strength for the battle that lay ahead, once he was able to determine who was responsible for everything that had happened. But if his wife showed any signs of treason, intentional or otherwise, Castiel would deal with her himself.
Meanwhile, Paul was still standing there, gawking at Castiel as if they had anything further to discuss. "Go," Cas said dispassionately. "Follow your orders."
Paul's jaw dropped. Unbelieveable. He'd heard through the grapevine that something had happened to Cas in that barn, something that had changed his personality, and not for the better. More than anything else, that explained why Gail wasn't here, glued to her husband's side as usual. Cas and Paul didn't have much in common as individuals went, but each of them had sure enough married women who had zero tolerance for their husband's bullshit.
But there was no sense getting into it with Cas when he was like this, so Paul didn't. He satisfied himself by tipping a mock salute, and then he disappeared.
By the time Paul had teleported himself back to Frank's place, Cas had made up his mind. Until the situation arose when he would need to take more decisive action, his mission – no, his duty – was to help his Father's cherished creations. There was a lot of healing to be done worldwide, both literally and figuratively. Who better than an individual that had been here on God's Earth since the beginning of it all to teach humans how to thrive in this new reality?
Castiel took a moment to scan the globe. Where to begin? Contrary to his natural inclination to help the poorest of the poor, Cas saw that it was actually the people who lived in the densest cities who seemed to be struggling the most. That was only logical, though. Many of the poorest people in the most rural of areas were already living off the land, employing methods that city dwellers would consider to be archaic. Humans who lived in major cities all over the world were trying their best to cope, but it would be impossible for most of them to possess the type of survival skills they needed. The kind that Cas could easily teach them.
It was likely due to sentiment on his part that Cas decided to go to Denver, Colorado to begin his mission. The city in which Gail and Frank had grown up was only one of a multitude of places where the population was in dire need of assistance, of course. But Cas chose Denver, nonetheless.
He teleported there.
Gail would have been somewhat cheered by the fact that her husband's first impulse had been to go to Denver. It would have signified to her that there was still a man called Cas inside all that Angel armour he had wrapped around himself at the moment. The fact that the state of Colorado was a next-door neighbour to the state of Kansas would not have been lost on her, either.
But she had no way of knowing where Cas was right now or what he was doing, and what was more, she didn't particularly care. She was still angry with him, but that emotion was on low simmer at the moment. There were so many other things for her to think about.
Gail had a pocket atlas in the zippered pouch on the side of the light backpack she'd been carrying, and every now and then she would stop to consult it. The advantages of being an Angel were considerable, she had to admit. Although she was unable to teleport, which would have been really, really nice, she had no need to eat or sleep, or perform bodily functions. Nor was she susceptible to diseases like the common cold. Therefore, she'd been able to make better time that any human would, in her position.
Her feet did get sore from time to time, though, and her vessel still felt the cold. Gail kept an extra pair of shoes and a couple of changes of clothing in her backpack for those occasions. Fortunately, she was travelling south, so snow and ice hadn't been factors on her journey.
There had been other challenges, though. Gail had decided upon close examination of the geography involved that it would be impossible for her to make it to the Caribbean without help. Unless Vincent had used voodoo magic to build a pedestrian bridge spanning from the mainland of Florida to whatever the hell island he was calling home these days, she'd be out of luck once she got there. At that point, she might just have to give in and see if she could get some celestial assistance. Gail had no doubt that someone would show up, if she put out a very strong signal. Hey, she'd take Rowena, or even Crowley, if need be. Getting her powers back was Gail's top priority right now, no matter how that was accomplished. She'd worry about any potential consequences later on.
There had been a few altercations with humans along the way, but nothing that Gail couldn't handle. She kept her Angel blade within easy reach, and she hadn't forgotten how to fight. But for the most part, the individuals she'd come upon were just trying to survive the recent drastic changes to their lifestyles. Gail helped those people however she could, but she didn't let their need slow her down, either.
Gail had begun to feel an increasing sense of urgency the further south she got. But why should that be? She had no doubt that Vincent was sitting on his throne, licking his chops for her anticipated arrival. Did it matter to him how long it took for her to get there? Not one bit, she was sure. In fact, he was probably having a terrific time, drinking rum and laughing uproariously at the thought of Gail hoofing it all the way there to ask on bended knee for him to return her powers to her. She had a mental image of that guy in the old soda commercials, the one with the white suit and the booming chuckle. Wow. It was a good thing Angels didn't actually age, because remembering that commercial suddenly made Gail feel ancient. She felt a pang in her stomach as she realized that she associated that TV ad with being on the road with Frank for all those years. How was her brother, and his family? How were Sam and Dean? How was Suzanne holding up, carrying all those babies?
How far along would Rob's wife be, now? Gail started to count on her fingers. What was the date today? Who the hell knew? It was November; she knew that much. The harvest moon had come and gone, and...
November! Gail's blood ran cold. Wasn't Damien supposed to come of age in November?
Abbadon refreshed Damien's drink, making sure that he wasn't watching. Of course the little snotnose wasn't watching her prepare his beverage: he was too busy checking out the dozens of bikini-clad girls who were swimming and lounging around poolside.
Oh, well. That was okay. Abbadon didn't mind continuing with the pretense a little longer, because the role she was playing suited her purposes. Ever since she'd come back from her failed attempt to gain access to the Lake of Fire, she had become an enthusiastic participant in the burgeoning cult's rituals, and an indispensable member of Vincent's most trusted inner circle.
It was a piece of cake. Vincent was almost embarrassingly easy to manipulate. He was much less complicated than he thought he was. All she had to do was stroke him from time to time in whatever manner she chose, and he was mollified.
Take Damien, for instance. Vincent had long since gotten over whatever fatherly pride he had once felt for the boy. Plainly put, the kid was getting on his nerves. Damien was Vincent's heir apparent, it was true. But he hadn't impressed his father one bit since they'd come home to the islands. Vincent had expected the kid to do...what, exactly? Well, something. Something that would make a statement, at least. Damien hadn't come of age just yet, but that wasn't much of an excuse. Look at the trouble he'd caused when he'd still been in diapers.
Maybe it was partly Vincent's fault. He'd spoiled the boy, offering Damien every type of debauchery available to the heir to the throne. Nearly every wish of Damien's was instantly catered to. All except for one, and it was the one Vincent's son coveted the most. He was excluded from the orgies due to his age and childlike appearance, and try as he might, Damien had been unable to persuade any of the girls to break the unspoken rule.
Vincent had enlisted Abbadon's help in keeping Damien occupied, and somewhat surprisingly, she had risen to the challenge without much of an objection. The Demon had her own agenda, of course. Luckily, Vincent had been only too happy to shift the burden of spending time with his son to question Abbadon's motives. Boy, were men stupid, sometimes.
With one more glance to make sure Damien was still salivating over something he would never grow old enough to have, Abbadon waved her hand over his beverage and muttered the incantation. There. As part of her babysitting duties, the Demon woman made sure to include a secret ingredient in every rum punch she made for Vincent's son: a youth potion. The spell, like the splash of alcohol she added to his glass, was weak. The object was not to have Damien regress in age, it was simply to keep him from becoming any older. Damien in his present, complacent state was no threat to her at all. However, if he was allowed to become immortal, the balance of power would change instantly, and not for the better.
There was another reason to keep Damien young for a little while longer: Abbadon knew that Gail was on her way to confront Vincent. The Demon had cast another spell on Paul when the two of them had had their little moment at the pit, enabling her to check in on him every now and then. Now that she knew her former paramour had the ability to open the pit, Abbadon wanted to keep tabs on him.
In doing so, she'd eavesdropped on Paul's conversation with Castiel for long enough to glean some very interesting information. The part about Gail making the trek here had been very intriguing. Very intriguing, indeed.
There was something Abbadon knew that Castiel's wife didn't. A couple of somethings, actually. First of all, she knew that Vincent wasn't holding Gail's powers. The Angel had never lost them. An elaborate con job had been perpetrated on Gail, one that had her believing she was powerless when, in fact, she was not. That had Crowley's stink all over it. The King of Hell and the Voodoo Priest had obviously made some kind of side deal involving the Angels that Abbadon wasn't privy to. Maybe they'd merely wanted to split up Castiel and Gail for a while, just because the couple were so damn annoying. Or maybe Vincent still had aspirations of tempting his daughter to join the side of evil. Who knew?
Well, aside from the amusement factor in envisioning the Angel schlepping her way here on foot, the reason for Gail's approach was irrelevant. What was extremely relevant was the second thing that Abbadon knew: Gail was the Chosen One, the Angel who was destined to kill Damien before the boy reached his age of majority.
Abbadon smiled as she stretched out on a chaise lounge, watching Damien drink his doctored beverage. People seemed to forget that she was part Angel herself, probably because it was her Demon heritage that Abbadon had embraced. She was admittedly out of the loop regarding Heaven's current regime, but Abbadon knew that some of the ancient prophecies still stood.
She could have told the Angels and the Winchesters that they'd been wasting their time when they had brought that young man named Joe to the bunker. Whether or not he was armed with an Archangel blade, no mere human would have been able to kill the Son. It was surprising that Gabriel hadn't realized it. No; the Chosen One was a lot closer to home, and that was the real reason that Abbadon was eagerly awaiting Gail's arrival. The Demon woman hadn't bothered to alert the good guys to that fact when they'd had their dramatic face-off with Damien back at the bunker, because she hadn't yet known what her own plans were going to be. But now...
Damien tilted his glass and made that loud, obnoxious sucking sound through his straw, signifying that his thirst was quenched. For the moment, at least. He yawned widely, and a minute later, he was asleep.
Abbadon smirked. For the time being, she had everything under control. But Gail had better not take too long to arrive. Vincent had begun to make noises about having Abbadon and some of the others plan a huge bash for Damien's upcoming birthday. If the boy failed to mature, there would be questions, at the very least. Damien couldn't be allowed to become a man; it was as simple as that. If Gail didn't get here soon, Abbadon might just have to give Castiel's wife a nudge.
For the third night in a row, Sam slept fitfully. All he could see when he lay down to sleep was chaos. Good people dying of starvation and exposure to the elements, or of injuries and disease. Bobby and the Angels he had called to Earth could only do so much, and they couldn't be everywhere at once. It was driving Sam crazy.
Frank's community was thriving, so the younger Winchester was convinced that he and Dean should hit the road. Both of them had become proficient at horseback riding and miscellaneous survival skills, including first aid, building fires, and foraging for food. The brothers should be out there helping people, Sam had argued, and Dean had to agree.
The two of them were camping out on Frank's living room floor, enjoying one more night indoors before setting out in the morning. They'd already said their goodbyes to their hosts, and to Bobby. Nicole had gone back to Canada for a while to help at a community centre that some of her Canadian colleagues had established in the Vancouver region. She and Dean had spent the previous night together, courtesy of Angel Uber. Dean's girlfriend had extracted the obligatory promise that he and Sam would pray for help if they ran into a situation they couldn't handle by themselves, and Dean had said that they would. Nicole hoped he meant it. But she would never have dreamed of asking him not to go. She understood the need to help their fellow humans. Part of the reason that Nicole loved Dean so much was because the two of them had that quality in common.
Sam rolled over and snorted loudly, waking his brother. Dean shot him an annoyed look, but his glare softened as he realized that Sam was tossing and turning, sweating profusely.
"Sammy! Wake up!" Dean whispered hoarsely, not wanting to wake any of the house's occupants. Angela was a little girl with big ears, and she didn't know that two of her most cherished uncles were taking off in the morning. Her parents could take care of telling her, Jody had assured Dean. Which was definitely the best idea, because Dean Winchester could stand up to the scariest monster in existence, but all it would take was one tear from little Angela, and he would fold like a cheap suit and stay.
Sam snorted again, which would have been pretty funny, under other circumstances. He was always complaining about Dean's snoring, to the point that Dean thought his brother must be exaggerating. Nicole didn't rag on him about it like Sam did, and the couple had certainly slept together enough times by now.
"Don't!" Sam suddenly exclaimed. He sat up, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Dean looked around nervously. "It's OK, Sammy," he assured his brother, making calming gestures with his hands. Boy, this took him back. When the two of them had been kids, Sam had gone through a phase when he'd had nightmares nearly every night, and since their father had been absent most of the time, it had been Dean's job to comfort his little brother. Apparently, he was still doing it, even though his "little" brother was twelve feet tall, and desperately needed a shave.
Sam took a couple of deep breaths, orienting himself to his surroundings. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, but in a low voice.
"So, what was it?" Dean said, his mouth twisting into a grin. "Clowns? Rabid hampsters? Kardashians?"
Sam shook his head, but he couldn't bring himself to smile just yet. The vision he'd just had was still too real. He exhaled slowly. "Look, Dean: why don't we pack up and go, right now?"
"It's the middle of the night," Dean protested.
"Even better," Sam said eagerly. To his brother's amazement, Sam rose to his feet and began to stretch. He looked down at Dean, shrugging. "Neither of us was sleeping, anyway," Sam added softly.
Dean's incredulous expression intensified. Had they been alone, he would have unleashed a string of curse words that might have even made Frank blush. But, maybe Sam had a point. Might as well get started.
Stifling a yawn, Dean rose and started packing his gear.