Chapter 10
Cascadia, Oregon
Twist looked down at Ellie from the high cab of the truck. "We won't be more than three days. It's only about eleven hours one way."
"Just be careful, okay? If you feel anything out of the ordinary, get the hell out of wherever you're at and run." In her memories, Ellie felt again the cold lifelessness that had drawn their energy on the Sixth level. The signature of the Fallen, draining the life from anyone around them.
"Will do." The hunter put the truck into gear and the engine rumbled as it rolled away, a blast of blue smoke escaping the exhaust stack.
Baraquiel and Bezaliel had returned a day ago and gone straight to Kansas. After looking through the works they'd brought back, she'd kicked herself for not being more specific about the rooms in the witch's house. The Watchers had missed sections in the study and in the conjuring room she'd wanted to cross-reference against Penemue's materials. Dean had taken the opportunity to remind her that forgetfulness was a well-known side effect of pregnancy, citing his random but extensive bookmarked websites as sources.
Trent and Garth had gone back to Scotts Mill to collect the rest of the servers, printers, boxes and baskets and chests of documents the Watchers had brought from Jordan. In addition to the sitting room, she'd commandeered the narrow formal dining room for research purposes. It was too small to seat them all for dinner anyway.
Turning away from the road, Ellie walked back along the long driveway to the house. Bobby had chosen the location well, she thought. There was a clear line of sight in every direction but east, where the forest and, more distantly, the Cascade range rose up, the grounds were much flatter and easier to work than the Scotts Mill house and they'd already managed to dig the trenches for the buried iron railway line lengths, and to cut the turf into the mazon and zona magnetica, using fragments of old tiles, bricks and shattered pottery to create the psychic barrier around the houses and buildings. Dean had been talking about more effective lines of defence. She wasn't sure about expending the effort just yet. Perhaps it wouldn't be needed.
Movement through the bare trees caught her eye and she slowed, resuming her pace as she recognised Cassie walking toward her.
"Morning," Cassie said.
"Good morning. How did you sleep? Was the room comfortable?" Ellie asked as the other woman turned to walk back to the house with her.
"Yes, very."
"No bad dreams after the other day?"
"No, not about that."
The emphasis seemed pointed and Ellie raised a questioning brow at her.
"The news reports in Kansas," Cassie admitted, with a self conscious shrug. "It seems…biblical."
Ellie smiled. "Well, get a few angels involved and things do seem to go that way.
"Right." Cassie grimaced. "I don't mean to seem fatuous, but I was wondering how you have such a good knowledge of Heaven and Hell."
"Long, long story," Ellie said, hoping her lack of enthusiasm would close the subject. "I had to do a lot of studying up on them a long time ago."
"How long have you known about the whole, uh, angels and demons thing?"
"A few years now. Both sides were very active on this plane a while ago; it was kind of hard to miss them." That was putting it mildly, she thought. Apocalypse now on the doorstep.
Cassie shook her head. "Not for most of us."
"That's true." Ellie slid a glance sideways, wondering what she wanted.
As if she felt the thought, Cassie turned to her. "I was wondering if there's anything I can do, to help out with whatever you guys are doing?"
Ellie slowed down. Wanting to help was a normal response. "You're a journalist, Dean said. An editor?"
"Yeah, Charlotte Observer," Cassie confirmed.
"We could definitely use some research skills. Twist and Adam have gone to Montana to get my library—well, some of it—," Ellie amended quickly, "—and most of the works are written in English. If you don't mind, we could really use help going through it."
"Happy to," Cassie said. "I don't have any knowledge in this area, though—"
"You don't need it. We're looking for references to a ritual and to a couple of things. I'll give you the notes, and then it's the usual needle in a haystack search routine."
"Uh huh. Speaking of which, why aren't you searching online for this information?"
Ellie laughed. "The material we're looking through isn't online. It will never be online."
"Oh." Cassie's gaze dropped to the driveway. "It's, uh, forbidden? Or too secret?"
The smile vanished as Ellie considered some of the things she'd read, things she'd collected or the Macdonalds had. "Too dangerous."
They reached the steps to the front porch and door and climbed them together in silence. Ellie wondered if Cassie would understand the scope of what they were doing, or if it would seem too far fetched for the pragmatic reporter. It didn't matter, in either case. All she had to read carefully and report back. Belief wasn't a requirement.
Dean stretched out in the unfamiliar bed, his arm sweeping the side next to him, knowing it would be empty, compelled to check anyway. He opened his eyes and looked around, blinking in the bright sunlight from the east-facing and curtainless windows.
It was a large room, and currently filled with boxes of different sizes, shapes and contents. He looked around for where he'd dumped his clothes last night—early this morning—and spotted them on the floor near the foot of the bed.
Dressed, he headed downstairs, following the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen. Sam and Tricia were already there, reading the printouts from the news services, tall piles beside each of them. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he decided he was glad to be on garden duty today.
"Any news?" He sat down in the chair next to Sam. His brother looked up.
"Well, General Atkin's troops went in across the Jewell County line and haven't been seen since."
Dean shook his head.
Tricia raised the printout she was reading. "Dick Roman called a press conference for Friday."
"About?"
"He doesn't say." She sipped her coffee and started reading again.
Dean wondered if the army would realise that sending troops, planes and tanks into Kansas would only result in the deaths of the men. The world's news corp had been watching the state, with hourly interviews with scientists of every kind and military experts and politicians to further confuse and distort the little information coming out.
It wasn't a bad time to get the house really well protected. "Sam, which storage unit did Dad leave the heavy artillery in?"
"Uh, there were AP mines in the Buffalo unit," Sam said, frowning as he set the paper he held down and tried to remember the others. "And, uh, didn't we see the rocket launcher and boxes of shells in Cleveland? There was a box of claymores in the Washington unit as well. What are you looking for?"
"The claymores." Dean finished his coffee. "Good for home defence."
Sam looked at him. "For here?"
"Can you think of a better way to stop demons than by zipping hundreds of steel shot balls at them?" The corner of his mouth lifted. "I'll grab them this week. We'll lay 'em out in kill zones. They're not pressure operated so they won't do anything until we push the button. Then they'll do a lot. Makes it easier for a limited force to do maximum damage."
"You sound more and more like Dad every day."
Dean snorted. "Man kept us alive, Sammy."
Tricia looked up, smiling at Sam. "Sammy? I like that."
Sam shot a look of annoyance at his brother.
Ellie looked up as Frank came in to the server room. He nodded toward the door. "Trent's got the servers; we should probably make a few tables for them."
She stood up and headed down the hall for the trestles. They needed twelve long narrow tables set up, the processors were connected in parallel to increase their speed and loads, and the new routers were Frank-Devereaux-modified specials whose purpose in life was to find random unused addresses and lie about their own existence. They'd need a table for the printers as well. Between the news reports coming in on Kansas and Roman's sudden flurry of activity, there would be a lot of reading to do.
She met Dean as she lumbered down the hallway with six trestles tucked under her arm, cursing internally when she saw his expression.
"What is wrong with you? Would it kill you to ask for help?" He took the trestles and followed her into the server room.
"They're not that heavy and I'm supposed to exercise, it keeps me from putting too much weight on."
She heard the snort behind her. "I can still count your ribs, Ellie."
"You didn't see the breakfast I ate this morning. Talya cooked for me."
"Ask for help. I mean it." He looked around. "Where do you want them?"
"Along the walls. The tops are eight feet long." She pointed to the table tops leaning against the wall as Frank came in with another six trestles.
"How many computers do you two need?" Dean looked at the boxes and monitors sitting in nests of tangled cables on the table in front of him.
"A lot. We're running searches on a lot of stuff." Frank grunted as he set up the trestles. "Grab one of those tops and get it on here while I set up the rest."
Dean leaned the trestles against the wall and picked up the top, lifting it onto the trestles carefully.
It didn't take long to set up the tables, Dean and Frank carrying the printers, scanners and routers they had and Ellie plugging them into the network servers. When Trent and Garth got back, they could finish the job. In the meantime, they could keep working.
"Frank, you heard from the lab?" Dean asked as the older man stepped around him to plug a scanner in.
"Not for a week or so."
"Were they supposed to check back with us on a schedule, or just when they got close to having something?"
"Uh, I can't remember, Dean. Ellie?"
"On a schedule, once a week," Ellie said as she typed in a series of commands, connecting the machine to the router.
"Are either of you worried that we haven't heard?"
"No." Frank crawled under the table and hooked the cables down, plugging them into the power sockets one by one.
"Not really." Ellie turned in the chair, raising a brow in query at him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Dean said, shaking his head. "Uh, nothing, really. I'm going to do a run up to Tacoma, you feel like getting out?"
"Tacoma?"
"Dad had a storage unit up there. Stashed away some claymores, for a rainy day."
She smiled. "Sure, why not."
Cassie carried her dishes to the sink, then refilled her coffee cup. She walked into the living room and took a seat at the narrow table by the window, putting her cup to one side
Beside her, Tricia was reading from a stack of printouts.
"Dean said you're a medical doctor?" Cassie asked. "You were working on some international standard for traumatic wound care or something?
Tricia put down the printout and turned to her. "Yes."
"But you quit that to stay here?"
Her gaze returning to the news report, Tricia smiled. "Yeah, well, my priorities changed. This is the life I grew up with," she continued, gesturing widely at the shambles of the living room, still cluttered with boxes, piled with books and files and notebooks. "Not this, this, but something along these lines."
"And you wanted to get back to it?"
"It wasn't really a matter of choice." Tricia shrugged. "It's about what is needed and what is right."
Cassie smiled disbelievingly. "Really?"
"Really." The response was cool.
Cassie inclined her head in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry. I have had some experience of the life, just not to this scale. How long have you known Dean and Sam?"
"Not long." Tricia's face shuttered for a moment, then cleared. "I'd heard of them before, of course."
"Of course?"
"Well, they are somewhat famous in certain hunting circles."
"What are they famous for?" Cassie leaned forward.
"It's not my story to tell," Tricia said. "If they want you to know, I daresay they'll tell you."
"I'm not asking for fun," Cassie said, lifting her cup. "I feel like I'm in a play, but I walked in halfway through and no one has given me a script. I'm just trying to get a sense of the bigger picture here."
Tricia nodded. "It's not easy to summarise. The Winchesters have always been at the centre of something, prophecies to do with Heaven and Hell. Ellie could tell you more."
But she wouldn't, Cassie thought.
Tricia seemed to realise that too, looking down at the pile in front of her. "And we need to get on with this."
Cassie nodded, turning her gaze back to the stack of paper next to her. Hell, she thought. As if it were an actual place. Heaven too. She couldn't imagine it. Anymore than she could really imagine demons and angels fighting a war in Kansas, she thought sourly, though there was no other explanation for the blackout to the state, which was now edging into Nebraska and Missouri and Oklahoma.
These people, working to try and find a way to stop it. She was having a hard time with that as well. Why were they doing it? Why had they chosen to live in a perpetual nightmare of monsters and legends and danger? She shied away from the word hero, deeming it too melodramatic for use in the real world. There were no heroes in this world, where the biggest prize was how many investments, how much money. But there had to be some reason for the desperate efforts she saw here.
I-5 N, Washington State
Ellie leaned back against the corner of the door and seat, listening to the music, a small smile curving her lips. The sight stirred memory and emotion in Dean he couldn't afford to indulge right now.
"You look … contented."
"Seems like old times."
He caught the movement of her shrug in his periphery.
"I relax more when we're on our way somewhere."
He shook his head. "I hate to argue with you, but I remember plenty of miles when you were far from relaxed."
"That was different."
"Yeah." The memories of that trip were a mix of good and bad. But they'd lost their sting, somehow. They were just memories now, a part of their shared history, a time they'd gotten through.
"Cassie asked if she could help out this morning," Ellie said.
"And can she?" There was no edge to her voice, no undercurrent of emotion, one way or the other. She might have been talking about Tricia or Talya. He slid a quick look at her, wondering about that.
"Sure. When Twist gets back with the books, there's a mountain of reading to do."
"She doesn't know what she's looking for." He wasn't sure if it was a valid complaint, that lack of knowledge.
"She'll know. I'll give her a list," Ellie said, her tone certain. "It'll open her eyes to more of this world, our world, but that might not be a bad thing."
"Mmm." He wasn't so sure about that, but it didn't matter that much. The past week had given him a new handle on another lot of memories, and they no longer had an emotional impact on him. He could remember meeting Cassie, the time they'd spent together, working things out in Cape Girardeau with her, but it was thought-memory now, not an emotion-memory.
"You were up early this morning," he said, changing the subject.
"Was that a question?"
"I guess. It was a late night."
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep."
From the corner of his eye, he saw her head shake, the thin grey sunlight catching her hair in a subdued flash.
"Why not?" He'd read that in the last trimester, sleep was essential for mother and child. He didn't want to have to worry about her being exhausted as well.
"Too much going on. My brain wouldn't turn off." Her tone was light. "I'll catch up, don't worry."
"I like worrying." He stared ahead mulishly. "Why did Twist leave this morning?"
"I asked him and Adam to get more of the books from the library at Thompson Falls."
"You don't have enough to read?"
"You are crabby," she said, her smile in her voice. "A lot of the books, especially the occult ones, have references in them to much older sources. We haven't found a word of the ensouling ritual anywhere else, but it might be somewhere in them."
In one of those books there'd been a spell to open a gate of Hell, he thought. God knew what else was in them. He didn't want to think about it.
"What was your father doing with claymore mines anyway?"
He felt the tension run out of his shoulders, relief with the new topic tangible.
"He had a lot of military stuff tucked away here and there. I think maybe he was just storing stuff for Caleb." He glanced at her, unsurprised when she nodded at the name. "I don't think he was planning a frontal assault on Hell."
They reached the outskirts of Tacoma at eleven, and Dean turned off the interstate and began to wind his way through the residential areas, taking a circuitous route to the storage unit that lay on the north-western side of the city.
The place was rundown and had seen better days, the padlock on the roller door looking better than the door. When the door stuck, Dean sprayed it with a graphite lubricant from the truck and it rolled up unwillingly. From the inside, he and Ellie coated it with oil as well. When the current crisis was over, he thought it might be a good idea to do a round the country tour and check on the other units. Time kept getting away from them, and he and Sam still didn't know what all of them contained.
It took only a few moments to load the boxes into the truck. Ellie wandered around the unit, looking at the items that were stacked on the shelving and piled over the floor.
She stopped in front of a section that was filled with books, sneezing at the damp, slightly mouldy, smell, her finger trailing along the spines as she tilted her head to read the titles.
"Dean? Is there another box we can use to take these?"
He looked around and found a stack of empty boxes near the back, coming to stand behind her and reading the titles over her shoulder. He frowned at the first few. They were all occult-related, witchcraft, devil-worship and demonologies. What had his father been doing with these?
"Which ones?" He put the box on the floor.
"All of them."
He stacked the books into the box, grunting as he lifted it and carried it to the car, settling it alongside the boxes of mines in the trunk. He looked at his watch. They'd be home before dark.
"You hungry?"
"Starving," she agreed.
"Let's get some lunch."
Cascadia, Oregon, 2 days later.
Ellie rubbed her eyes with one hand, groping for her cup with the other. She scowled when she saw it was empty, getting to her feet then stopping when she heard the distinctive pop and whistle of the truck's compression brakes. Only one of their trucks was big enough to need them and she hurried out of the sitting room toward the deck.
The place looked much more lived in, most of the protection hidden and at least semi-permanent, all the boxes emptied and cleared away, shelving filled with books, the server room warm and humming as Frank finished up with the network.
The dining room was newly lined with bookshelves, mostly empty, waiting for Twist's delivery, and two tables, covered in files, stack of printouts, journals, notepads and the ancient texts that Talya was still working on, sat in the centre of the room.
Sam, Dean, Trent and Garth had done most of the moving and unpacking, grumbling and grousing about the job, but none had complained when they'd finished, and they could move easily around the rooms instead of having to pick their way through the stacks of boxes and crates.
She heard the slamming of the truck's doors and hurried to open the side entrance as Twist came up onto the deck.
"All done." He grinned at her.
"Great. The room's set up." She half-turned, pushing the door wide.
"Uh, can we get a coffee first?"
"Sure." She laughed nervously. "Sorry."
Sam and Trent were once again roped into carrying the crates and boxes of book, but it didn't take long to empty the truck. The dining room was once more cramped, boxes stacked in front of the new shelves. Tricia, Adam and Cassie gave up reading and went to prepare a meal while Ellie and Talya opened the boxes, sorted through the books and stacked them onto the shelves.
As her hands slid over the covers and bindings, a frisson of fear ran up Ellie's spine. She looked at the books she'd already placed on the shelf. Somewhere here, in one of these books, there would be something that would give her the lead she needed. The certainty of the thought frightened her almost as much as the feeling that accompanied it. More than one angel had told her she had no place in destiny, no line to control her actions. Why then did it feel like fate was taking a hand in her life?
As Sam pushed opened the door to the back room that had been a rumpus room and was now designated as a weapons store, Adam looked up from the gun he was cleaning.
"Hi," Sam said, crossing to the table and lifting the bag he carried onto the end. "Mind if I join you? I've got a bagful of weapons that need cleaning."
"No. Of course not." Adam moved the pieces to one side, making more room on the table, and turned back to the barrel he was cleaning.
Unzipping the bag and taking out the submachine guns first, Sam glanced at Adam, noting the slight tension in his half-brother. "So, really, no nightmares, no flashbacks?"
Adam looked up, his brows pinching together. "No, I told you. I don't remember much at all."
Sam nodded. He pulled out the Taurus and unloaded it, his eyes on the gun as he thought of the single clear memory he had of his half-brother in the cage: awake, shocked, empty. Michael had used their father, once and only for a short time, but Dad hadn't had his mind bent by the experience. He hadn't been trapped in the cage either.
He flicked another glance across the table, freezing as he saw his brother's stare, fixed on him. "Hey, you okay?"
"I remember you, Sam," Adam said, his voice different, sharper. Sam looked into his face and chilled when he realised his half brother's pale blue eyes were unfocussed.
"I remember Lucifer torturing you, and Michael holding you down."
As if the words had opened a doorway, Sam remembered it too. His nervous system ignited with the memory, the strength of it holding him fixed in his chair, the remembered pain coruscating through the nerve endings, bringing sweat to his face, and a sobbing breath from his chest.
"I remember Lucifer saying he could twist you into a demon in years instead of centuries, Azazel's blood was so strong in you." Adam turned his head slowly, his eyes gaining focus but the pupils shrinking down to pinpoints as he stared into Sam's. "He said that the physical pain was a key, but only to unlock to the mental and emotional pain—and I remember you screaming until your throat had gone and all we could hear was the blood bubbling inside your chest."
Sam sat, his muscles locked in paralysis, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to breathe, as Adam's voice went on and on, bringing the memories of the pit back, one by one, in excruciating detail.
"He knew, Sam, knew that you could never defeat him, he and Michael laughed about it. You were too weak to kill him, you see, they knew that they could do anything to you, they could kill everyone you'd ever met and you still wouldn't have the strength to rise up against them and smite them down."
Sam struggled to breathe, his heart beating too fast, shaking his ribcage as it expanded and contracted, pumping his blood around his body with a rushing, gurgling noise. He couldn't move his head, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't not hear what Adam was saying to him.
"They had a lot of tricks, and it didn't matter that they were tricks, not down there. It was as real as everything else. Don't remember when they eviscerated your brother in front of you?"
That memory crashed into his mind, complete with every sense, the smell of the blood filling his nostrils as he tried to not see, not hear, not taste.
"Or what they did to your mom and Jessica? I thought that would break you, but you just kept taking it. And then they knew that it didn't matter what they did; you couldn't fight back. Couldn't use your rage and your hate to grow enough backbone to rise up against them."
Sam was drowning. The memories were legion, thick and fetid and viscous and he was sinking under them. His heart was racing, he couldn't breathe any more, darkness was closing in around him.
He fell out of the chair to the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Distantly he heard Adam say, "Well, I guess I remember some things, after all."
There was a series of clicks as Adam reassembled the gun and reloaded it, slamming the magazine home and flicking on the safety. A shadow passed over Sam's face as Adam left the cleaning equipment out on the table and stepped over his half-brother, walking out, whistling softly between his teeth.
Twilight filled the bedroom and Tricia turned on the lamps, going to the windows to close the curtains. She turned as Sam walked into the room, his expression set.
"Hey, where've you been? Thought you'd gone off somewhere without me." Her smile faded when he walked past her and pulled his duffle from the closet, unzipping it and throwing it onto the bed.
"Sam?"
He went to the chest of drawers, pulled out a handful of shirts and tossed them onto the bag, going through drawer by drawer and pulling out his clothes, throwing them onto the growing pile on the bag.
"Sam, what's wrong?" Tricia reached out and touched his arm, her gaze flashing up to his face at the rigidity of the muscle under the thin cloth of his shirt.
"Sam, you're scaring me." She tightened her grip around his arm, stopping him as he went to reach for another drawer. "Tell me what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I've just got to get going." His voice was deep and hoarse, and he didn't look at her, standing still and staring at the pile of clothing on the bed.
"Go where?" She pushed against him, relieved when he lifted his head to look at her. "What's going on?"
The spasm that crossed his face was fleeting; she wasn't sure if it was anger or pain.
"You know where." He pulled away, going to the wardrobe. A bag of salt, another of shells, the sawn-off double barrel, the serrated knife and his Taurus were tossed on top of the clothing.
"Why?" She wasn't sure why he couldn't look at her, or why he was walking and talking as if he was an automaton. "You said you weren't going to try it."
"Changed my mind."
"Why?"
"Because I did." He turned back and began to shove the pile of clothing and weapons into the bag, his face tight and hard.
Something had happened, and she hesitated uncertainly, not knowing what, not sure if she should get Dean and Ellie involved, or if that would drive him further away. He'd done more than change his mind, she thought, he looked driven. It didn't leave her much choice. She turned and walked fast to the built in robe, grabbing her pack, and pulling clothing and her weapon from the drawers.
"What are you doing?" Sam looked up finally when she zipped up the pack.
"Going with you."
"No."
"Yes."
He picked up the duffle, slinging it over his shoulder. "I have to do this alone."
"What a load of crap." She picked up her pack, pushing her arms through the straps.
He frowned, his hair flopping over his forehead as he shook his head at her. "This has nothing to do with you."
"It has everything to do with me because it has everything to do with you." She stared at him defiantly.
His eyes narrowed as he looked down. "Because we've been fucking? C'mon, Tricia, grow up. I don't love you, you mean nothing to me."
The words bit into her and she struggled to keep her face expressionless. This isn't Sam, she told herself, letting anger drive off her fear. This isn't Sam; he wouldn't say that, he's not cruel.
She turned to look at the doorway, clearing her throat. "Then it won't matter if I come along, will it?"
He scowled. "I don't want you with me."
"I can come with you, or I can follow you. Your choice, but I'm not letting you go on your own."
"Fine."
"Fine."
She followed him out of the room and down the back stairs, bypassing the livings areas of the house. Should she leave a note, she wondered? Something to let Ellie and Dean know what'd happened? There wasn't time and she knew that too, hurrying to catch up with Sam when he opened the back door and let himself out silently. She relocked the door behind them. The Camaro was an inky blue shadow under the trees, and they walked to it without a word, throwing their bags into the back seat and getting in.
Sam took it out of gear and released the brake and they coasted silently down the drive to the road. At the first turn, he started the engine and turned on the headlights, when they were far out of hearing of the house behind them.
Tricia stared into the darkness, wondering how she could get the man beside her to talk about what had happened, what the hell he thought he was doing. She could call Ellie in the morning. It was a long way to Kansas, she thought with a small flicker of hope, she could get through to him in that time. She had to.