Chapter 7 – Gong Show
"Come on, Zach," Tim pleaded for the dozenth time. "We talked about this kind of thing before we left."
Zachary screwed the cap on the canteen with a trembling hand. Yes, they had. But he'd never thought that anything like this would ever really happen. Of all their siblings, Timothy and Zachary were the most fit. Before the world had turned upside down, the brothers had been regular patrons of their neighbourhood gym, and they'd coached kids' soccer on the weekends. They were good men, dependable and resourceful.
That was why the brothers had volunteered to set out with their hunting gear, to bring food home for the family. Among their many hobbies, Zach and Tim belonged to a club that got together once a month or so to practice survival skills in the wilderness. Tim's girlfriend teased him about belonging to a secret militia, but that wasn't the case. Every man in their club shared the same belief system, but it was much more benign than that. They'd simply held the opinion that if a major disaster befell the planet, there would be very few people who would know how to survive.
Unfortunately, it appeared they had been right. Many of their friends and neighbours were already dead, or dying. The brothers had taken care of as many of the survivors as they could, but they were running out of provisions.
They'd been fortunate enough to find everything needed to survive in the woods on the outskirts of town. Which was not too surprising, really. The brothers and their fellow club members had unknowingly been preparing for this very situation for months now.
But what the brothers hadn't been prepared for was the hailstorm. Zach and Tim had tried to wait it out, but the hail pelting down on them was too much. Luckily, they'd stumbled upon a small cave. The mouth of the cave was just big enough for the men to duck inside as a deafening crack of thunder sounded directly above them.
That was where their luck ended. As the brothers were exchanging relieved glances, there was an even louder boom. The ground shook, knocking the men off-balance. By the time they'd regained their footing, the entrance to the cave had been completely blocked by rubble.
That had been a few days ago. The good news was that the brothers had pitched in and managed to clear the blocks that were blocking the cave's entrance, enough to make room to crawl out. The bad news? Only one of them was going to be able to make the exit.
Timothy had dug a little too vigorously while his younger brother Zach was dozing, and a cascade of stones had come loose. Tim had made the mistake of backpedalling, and he'd slipped and then fallen awkwardly, breaking his leg in two places at once. The snap of his bone breaking had echoed through the cave, waking Zach.
Zach had put off the inevitable as long as possible, sharing the remainder of the nuts and power bars with Tim and giving his older brother sips of water from the canteens they had brought. But Timothy was right, and they both knew it. The two of them had talked about various contingencies on their way out of town, and it all came down to this: in order for Zach to make sure his brother survived, he would have to leave him here.
So Zach had filled Tim's canteen with the silty water that had accumulated on the cave floor, and he gave it to his brother now.
"Are you warm enough?" Zach asked him, bending down to tuck Tim's blanket around him.
"Stop stalling," Tim said, trying to smile. His leg hurt like heck, but if he grimaced with the pain he was feeling, Zach would never leave. "Bring me back a burger, and a beer," Tim added jokingly.
Zach smiled thinly. He knew what Tim was trying to do. "Right," he responded, nodding. He came out of his crouch. "I'll be back with some food, and a travois. Oh, and if I see a stream, I'll try to get you some fresher water. Get some rest, Tim. I'll be back before you know it."
Then, Timothy's younger brother was gone, and the silence was overwhelming for a minute. Tim closed his eyes, praying that Zach would be okay. It was up to God, now.
Half a mile or so into the forest, Zach took off his knapsack and opened the zipper. He grabbed the hatchet he would need to cut some wood for the travois he planned to construct that would transport his brother home.
But as Zach rooted around in his bag, it occurred to him that there was something missing. What was it? His jaw dropped. Oh, no. No.
Tim drifted off to sleep with Zach's pistol cradled in his hand, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.
Coincidentally enough, the Book of Timothy states that there will be terrible times in the last days, and Sam and Dean weren't about to argue with that. They'd seen plenty of things in the course of their travels that had sickened them. Dead bodies lying on the road, being feasted on by birds, or wild animals. People who were still alive, but just barely, dying from starvation, or disease. The Winchesters had been able to help a few of them who weren't too far gone, but the simple fact was that their aid was coming too little, too late.
"What a gong show," Dean bemoaned as he and Sam rode their horses on the road.
Sam gave him a sideways glance. "Huh?" he said uncomprehendingly.
Dean laughed shortly. "That's what Nicole and her friends call something that's so screwed up, it's beyond ridiculous. The expressions they use are kinda weird, but I've gotta admit, they grow on you after a while."
The Winchesters forged on, hoping that they would find more people they could actually help. Dean had thought about suggesting that they should quit while they were behind and head back to Kansas, but the look on Sam's face had deterred him. Sammy's jaw was set in that stubborn way he had, insisting that there was a higher purpose for the journey they were on. Dean had asked his brother to pick a direction once they'd left Frank's place, and Sam had unhesitatingly said that they should head south.
Oh yeah, Sammy had a bee in his bonnet all right. So far, Dean had been unable to get his brother to tell him what was really going on under that two-ton layer of hair, but Dean knew that Sam would crack, eventually.
At the moment, the two of them were making idle conversation, passing the time until something happened.
"Don't tell me you're learning how to talk like a Canadian," Sam teased his brother.
Dean grinned. "You know what? Canadians aren't so bad. And their beer kicks ass. But if I ever start saying 'eh' at the end of every sentence, do me a favour and shoot me."
"Deal," Sam replied. His horse snorted softly, as if weighing in on the subject. "What he said," the younger Winchester remarked, leaning down to pat the animal.
"How's Eileen?" Dean said unexpectedly.
Sam shrugged. "OK, as far as I know. Bobby checks in on her every now and then. Last I heard, she and her team were headed east, towards Hungary and Romania." He gave Dean a sideways glance. "I'll tell Bobby to tell her to say hi to Aslaf for you."
Dean frowned, but not because of his brother's remark, which had actually been pretty funny. No; it was because he'd felt a pang in his stomach just then, so strong that it hurt. What the hell kind of crap had their lives become? He remembered the laughing fit Gail had had in that museum, when he'd called that gigantic Romanian security guard "Ass-Laugh". It was juvenile, he knew, but they'd always managed to find some levity in all the weird situations they'd found themselves in. Wouldn't it be fun to have Gail here now, struggling to stay on her horse like she did when they all went to the Caribbean? Dean nearly fell off his own horse then, because he was laughing so hard. Cas had gone to her aid, of course, but-
Dean's frown deepened into a scowl. Nope. No way. He wasn't going to think about Cas. The son of a bitch had murdered Carolyn and Mike for no reason. Dean didn't give a damn about some so-called spell that had allegedly been cast on his former best friend; that was no excuse. And where was the coward, now? Hiding from his family, playing the Angel card. Whatever. Dean couldn't care less.
"How's Nicole's community work going?" Sam asked his brother, breaking into Dean's thoughts. "What did she say about our road trip?"
Dean gave him a half-shrug. "She didn't say much. You know what, Sammy? Be careful what you wish for. I always said I wanted an independent woman. Somebody who wasn't clingy. Who had her own stuff going on, you know? But Nicole's so damn independent, I hardly ever see her!"
"I know." Sam nodded. "Same with Eileen. But that's why we love them, right? Cause they're like us. They help people, too. Isn't that they way it should be? We're not the kind of guys who can do the white picket fence, and the two-point-five kids. It took me years to come to terms with that, but it's true. Now, we've each found a woman to love, and each of them has all of the qualities we could ever hope for. Everybody's happy, aren't they? Honestly?"
"Yeah," Dean agreed, sighing. "I guess. Yeah."
Sam had no further comment to make. He'd been about to add in a lighthearted way that not all couples were like Cas and Gail, all lovey-turtle-dovey, but then he'd stopped himself. Their Angel friends were certainly not like that these days, were they? Unlike Dean, Sam was willing to hear Cas out about what had happened in that barn. He'd been shocked and angry at the news too, but Sam was clinging to the hope that there had been a reason for Cas to have done it. Their friend was not a cold-blooded killer. Yes, Cas was a warrior for Heaven, but he was also much more compassionate and humanlike than he'd once been. Spell or no spell, Sam refused to believe that Cas had killed Carolyn and Mike for absolutely no reason.
But if that was the case, where was Cas now, and what was he doing? And why wasn't Gail with him?
Dean was right; there was a reason Sam had told his brother he wanted to head south from Kansas state. The younger Winchester didn't feel like sharing just yet, but the nightmares he'd been having had featured Gail heading down a road very much like the one he and Dean were on right now. She was alone, bound for the Caribbean to confront Vincent, and Damien, and Abbadon. Was she crazy?
Or maybe it was Sam who was crazy. No matter what had happened between Gail and Cas, there was no way that Cas would let his wife walk into that nest of vipers alone. But the nightmares had persisted, and Sam was damned if he was going to let that happen.
Suddenly, the Winchesters heard some rustling sounds, and a man emerged from between the trees at the side of the road. The stranger was holding a hatchet in his hand, but he wasn't brandishing it. Still, Dean shot Sam a quick look of warning.
"Thank God," Zach breathed. "My brother and I need your help."
Cas had started helping people in Denver, and then he'd flitted around the northeast, visiting the larger cities on the eastern seaboard. After quick stops in some of the southern capitals, he had decided to teleport to the United Kingdom. It was strange, though; the humans there appeared to be faring much better than their American counterparts. That was wonderful news, but Cas experienced an odd sensation on his brief sojourn to the city of London, England, one he couldn't explain. It was kind of like the feeling an otherworldly being got when there was another entity in the vicinity. But he had checked first before coming here, and there were currently no Angels assigned to the area. It wouldn't make sense to duplicate Bobby's efforts, and truthfully, Cas wasn't yet ready to face the inevitable questions. There were no Demons there, either. Cas was at a loss. He could sense no threat, though, and there didn't seem to be any need for his presence in the U.K. Maybe the people there hadn't completely forgotten the old ways, or perhaps it was because the British Royal Family had rolled up their sleeves and reached out to help their subjects. In any case, Cas had to hand it to the humans in that geographic region. They were doing fine without him.
Next, he popped over to Paris, to find out how things were going there. France had made an admirable recovery from the horrors of Benoit's regime, but Cas discovered that the Parisians were struggling now. Several fires had broken out in various parts of the city, and the citizens were having trouble extinguishing them. That didn't present too much of a problem for Castiel: he waved his arms in a semi-circle and then raised his hands to the skies. A minute or so later, dark clouds began to form over the entire city, and torrential rains began to fall.
"It's about time something went our way!" a man yelled over the sound of the rain, looking up at the clouds. Cas smiled, but a moment later his smile faded when the man added, "Now, if I could just get a bolt of lightning to zap my ex-wife a few dozen times, that's what I would call a good day! Am I right?" He looked at Cas for confirmation.
The Angel was amazed. What this human had just witnessed was a miraculous event that would save his city from burning to the ground. Yet all the man seemed to care about was wishing for the death of another.
"Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders beyond your comprehension, you will never believe," Castiel intoned in a booming voice. "You do not deserve salvation." He waved his hand and the man vanished, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.
Bobby had been deploying more and more squads of Angels worldwide, trying to keep up with the need. But there were periodic disaster-level occurrences that even he could do nothing about. Earthquakes, avalanches, and meteors falling from space, to name just a few.
Ironically enough for a man with the lofty title of God, Bobby had spent most of his adult life on Earth as an agnostic. He had wanted to believe, but so many things had made him question whether or not there was a higher power. At a couple of very low points in his life, Bobby had seriously contemplated attending an AA meeting or twelve, but he'd had some philosophical issues with the concept of "let go, and let God".
Especially these days, he thought wryly. Every dawn that broke in this new reality was a reminder to Bobby that he wasn't God, just a guy who could perform some neat tricks. Growing up, his neighbour had had a clumsy, flop-eared beagle that Bobby'd played with as a young boy, and that dog had done some really cute things. He'd played fetch, sat up and begged, all the usual doggy stuff. But that damn dog – what was his name again? Oh, yeah. Iggy. What a name for a pup. Anyway, Iggy also did a lot of other things. Things that seemed like they should be above his intelligence level. For instance, when Mister Johnson would finish his newspaper and toss it on the floor, Iggy would roll up each section with his paws and carry it in his mouth to the box of periodicals Bobby's neighbour kept by the front door to donate to the library.
Iggy also had a knack for sniffing out lost items. Mr. Johnson had been getting up there, as the expression went, falling into the habit of misplacing things around the house. The man would tell Iggy what he was looking for, and, voila: a few minutes later, the pup would locate the item. People would scoff, including Bobby's father, saying that Iggy could smell Johnson's scent on the items. Maybe so, but Iggy had successfully found lost belongings for others in the neighbourhood, too. Not only that, but he would bring the found object to the correct house. No; there was more to it than mere "snout work", Mr. Johnson would say proudly.
That seemed like light years ago, Bobby reflected. But there was a reason he was thinking about it now. Bobby felt exactly like Iggy, at the moment. He had some useful powers, sure. However, many of the elevated abilities that the original God had left him with seemed impressive on the surface, but were really only the equivalent of pet tricks. Like Iggy, there were tricks that Bobby could perform that ordinary Angels couldn't. Not even upper-tier Angels like Gabriel, Cas and Gail could have sealed up the pit to the Lake of Fire with a mere wave, for instance.
But that wasn't enough, was it? People all over the world were dying by the thousands, and all Bobby could seem to do was poke his fingers into the holes in the dyke. Where was God? Was this whole shit-show His idea?
If asked, Bobby Singer could recite paragraphs he'd committed to memory from any one of a number of textbooks about supernatural lore. But, even though he'd used the Bible as a reference tool from time to time, the reigning God would be unfamiliar with the passage that read:
"I have cut off nations; their strongholds are demolished. I have left their streets deserted, with no one passing through."
Fortunately for Zachary, two men HAD been passing through, at just the right time. He'd been working away with his hatchet in the forest when he'd heard the horses coming down the road, and Sam and Dean's voices. Thank God! He had crashed through the brush in that direction.
Once it had been established that Zach was a decent young man and not a crazed axe murderer, the Winchesters had agreed to help him. The trio found a path a little further up the road that was wide enough for the horses. They led the animals to a stream, where Sam tied them to a tree, after giving them a chance to drink.
Dean and Zach were filling up their canteens as Zach explained his predicament to the brothers.
"No problem," Sam remarked, taking the full canteen Dean handed to him. "I can help you turn the travois into a stretcher, and now that there are three of us, we'll take turns carrying Tim back into town. I can also make a splint for his leg."
Dean took a slug from his canteen. "While you guys are doing that, I'll go and tell Tim that help is on the way," he volunteered. "I'll give him some food and water, and tell him some knock-knock jokes till we can get him out of there." He grinned. "I know a broken leg hurts like a son of a bitch, but he'll be okay, Zach."
Timothy's younger brother felt like crying, from relief. He'd been so freaked out about Tim lying on that cave floor in excruciating pain, looking at that gun...
Zach pointed the way, and Dean set off to find the cave, assuring the men that he'd be able to find it easily. Yeah, right, Sam thought, keeping his eye-roll to himself. I've seen him get lost in the bunker, trying to find the bathroom. But he didn't share this bit of humour with Zach: the poor guy looked stressed enough, as it was.
As the two younger siblings got to work making the stretcher, Dean walked through the forest, looking for the cave entrance. Zach had advised that he'd had to crawl out, and that the rocks might still be a little loose. Dean found an opening in the rubble and got on his hands and knees, peering in. He saw nothing.
Maybe he's asleep, Dean thought. He started carefully shifting the rocks around the opening. He and Zach had similar physiques, so if Zach had made it out, Dean should be able to make it in. But they would all have to carry the guy out, wouldn't they?
Tim sat up straighter, grimacing at the stab of pain that shot up his leg as a result of his sudden movement. He heard the rocks being shifted. "Zach?" he called out hoarsely.
But there was no response. Timothy called again, but received no greeting in reply. His blood froze. What if it wasn't Zach? What if it was a bear, looking for a place to hibernate? He grabbed the pistol and thumbed off the safety, pointing the gun at the mouth of the cave.
A minute later, Dean poked his head through the gap. "Oh, hey. Hey, oh," he protested, seeing the gun Zach's brother was holding. "I come in peace. Zach sent me. He and my brother are building you a stretcher, right now."
Tim breathed a sigh of relief as Dean wriggled all the way through the entrance. "How's your leg?" Dean asked, dusting off his hands.
"Don't ask," Timothy groaned. "You wouldn't happen to have any whiskey on you, would you?"
Dean laughed. "I wish," he replied. "But I'll tell you what I do have." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the bottle of aspirin. "I know it's not the good stuff, but it might help take the edge off." Then he slung the canteen off his shoulder. "With a fresh-water chaser."
He sat on the cave floor next to Zach's brother, handing Tim a couple of aspirin and the full canteen. Tim let out another sigh of relief. "God must have sent you," he breathed.
Dean snorted out a laugh, which he pretended was a cough. If Timmy only knew. "Nahhh, just right place, right time," he remarked.
The rescue ate up the rest of their day, but later, when Sam and Dean were back on the road, Sam grinned at his brother.
"What's the opposite of a gong show?" he asked Dean.
Dean thought for a moment. He was feeling a lot happier now than how he'd felt this morning. Zachary and Timothy's family had been ecstatic when the Winchesters had brought the men home, safe and sound. Sam had given them some food from his and Dean's stash, insisting that he and his brother could stock up a little further down the road. Then the Winchesters had left, wanting to make up a bit more ground before night fell.
"I'd say that was a solid win," Dean replied. It had been great to see the warm welcome those guys had gotten from their parents, and brothers and sisters. The mom had hugged him and Sam tight, crying and thanking them over and over again.
"It's people like you that give me hope for the world," the father had said, and the Winchesters had gone into their "aww, shucks" routine. But Dean realized that had been just the kind of thing he'd needed to hear. It was easy to think the worst of people when all you saw was the worst of people.
Dean yawned. "What do you say, Sammy? Want to call it a day?"
Sam nodded. He'd known it was getting late, but he hadn't realized how tired he was until Dean had said that. Not that it mattered, though. He would probably only get an hour or two of restful sleep before the nightmares came. The further south he and Dean travelled, the more vivid the images became: broken and bloody corpses laying on a beach, a woman laughing hysterically, and Vincent, standing over a mortally wounded girl. "I'll give you one more chance," the Voodoo Priest was saying. He bent down and seized Gail by the hair, forcing her to look at him. "Join me, or die."
Gail's reaction would vary. Sometimes, she would laugh weakly, spitting out mouthfuls of blood. Other times, she raised her hand shakily to give Vincent the finger. Sam smiled in his sleep when she did that. Although the implication was horrendous, it was such a "Gail thing" to do. But most of the time, she would cry out for Cas, telling him that she was sorry she'd been so mean the last time she'd seen him. Sam's heart would break to see that in his dream, and he would wake up in a cold sweat.
"Maybe we should break into a liquor store in town and have a few belts, before we make camp," Dean half-joked. "If I get you drunk enough, maybe you'll tell me what you're seeing that makes you yell yourself awake every couple of hours."
Sam let out a long, slow breath. He guessed Dean had a point: it would be good to get it off his chest. "If you really want to know, I'll tell you,"he said to his brother, "but you're not going to like it."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah? So, what else is new?"