Castiel and Sam immediately dropped to their knees over Archie's prone body.
"Do something – Cas help him!"
Castiel touched both hands to Archie's chest for maybe five seconds. "It's too late to heal him – he's gone."
"I don't…what?" Sam sat back, shaken.
"He just had catastrophic heart failure."
"No…Cas try again…please!"
Castiel's direct gaze bored into Sam's. "There was nothing anyone could have done to save him: even if he had been in a hospital he wouldn't have survived. This man had terrible heart disease and his death was inevitable."
Sam refused to listen. "But did we trigger it? Did I do this?"
"With such significant damage this was always going to happen." Cas replied. "The stress he just experienced may only have hastened his death by a month or two."
"So I did." Sam spoke quietly. "We killed him."
"No, we didn't!" Dean, being Dean, deflected straight into anger. "You heard Cas – his arteries were fubar long before we came along." He crouched down to Sam's level. "Did you forget this bastard kidnapped you? Tortured you? The dick doesn't deserve your sympathy."
"Its not like that! I get he was one of the bad guys. But we did kill him, just the same as if I'd put a bullet into his chest."
"That's total bullshit." Dean stood swiftly, grabbing hold of Sam and pulling him up. "It's not the same thing – not even close. The only thing he had in his chest was the black tar that he put there himself. Don't give me that look Sammy - I'm not the one who forced him to smoke sixty a day!"
"I get that but…"
"There is no but! C'mon Sam, do you think he would have sobbed his diseased-ridden heart out if it had been YOU that had died whilst they were turning you into ground beef…?" Dean pulled at Sam's bloodied shirt sleeve. "No, course he wouldn't. Truth be told the only thing I'm pissed at is that he went belly up before he could talk."
Sam yanked his sleeve away from Dean's grip. Looking around, he saw his brother's cold logic take hold of the room. Castiel clearly shared Dean's opinion. Lara nodded, though she was still reeling at the sight of someone literally dropping down dead in front of her.
She looked up at Sam as an alarming thought broke through her shock. "Oh god, what do we tell Alfie?"
Dean spoke, low and raw. "The real question is, DO we tell Alfie?"
"What? We've got to!" She shuddered. "I mean – this is really, really fucking awful. And I mean really awful. But you didn't mean for him to die…it WAS an accident…"
"See Sam – even your girl agrees with me. This wasn't on us."
Sam had a final attempt at being the only conscience in the room. "His family isn't gonna see it that way…"
"You'll get no argument with me on that one Sammy, they'll want to flay us alive." That gave him an idea. "So maybe we can play it to our advantage? Maybe when they see him lying there and they think we did it, they'll know we mean business. They might just fess up straight away to stop our psycho asses from killing them too."
"Good idea...except our last bluff - which was pretty much the exact same plan, didn't work out so well did it?" Sam couldn't help with the sarcasm as he pointed at Archie's dead body.
"As I recall that was your idea. Now we're gonna use my genius to notch it up a couple of levels. I say we hide the fact he died by cigarette, and stick a knife in his belly. Couple of times. Make it look like we tortured and killed him good and bloody."
"Dean!" Sam was disgusted. "That's just…just…" He didn't know how to finish the sentence.
"Jesus, Sam." Dean looked disappointed. "A couple months of civilian life and that stick managed to work its way up your ass up even higher. What difference does it make to Archie if he takes a knife to the gut? He's already dead! Aint like he's gonna feel anything. Since when were you so squeamish?"
Sam bristled at the insult so Dean changed tactic. "Look, what's done is done. He's dead and that's not gonna change any time soon. So let's use the bucket that Archie kicked to our advantage and wrap this thing up."
Sam gave up arguing. The walls of the apartment were closing in on him – all he wanted to do was leave as soon as possible. His shoulders slumped. "This has got to be the first time in the history of, well…ever, that someone's intentionally made 'natural causes' look like a homicide."
Dean grinned at Sam's capitulation. "Murder we wrote!" He squinted one eye and looked around the room, picturing how he would set up the perfect maniacal stabbing scene. He ignored Sam's mutterings of '…even for you this is something else…'
With the debate over, Cas went over to the front door. "Um Sam…?" Lara whispered, when she saw the angel conversing with what looked like the wall. "Who's Castiel talking to?"
Sam looked over and saw what she meant. "Probably a Reaper."
"A what now?"
"A Reaper," answered Dean distractedly. "Come to take Archie's sorry ass off to Hell."
"A Reaper. As in the Grim Reaper? Black cloak, hood? Scythe? The 'Salmon Mousse'…?" She made air quotes at that last bit. Then looked shamefaced as she realised she had just made a dumb joke in front of a dead man. A man that Dean was about to mutilate.
"Kinda but not quite," Dean explained, baffled at the reference. Must be a British thing. "There's lots of reapers and they work for the main man - Death. Worked for Death." He coughed, then lowered his voice in case the Reaper was listening in. "And even he only had the scythe. No cloak going on, although there was a ring..."
"A ring? Do I ask…?" She looked from Dean to Sam. "Should I ask…?"
Sam shook his head. "Um - let's save that one for another day, ok?"
They stepped away from Archie's body when Castiel came back over. "I asked the Reaper to reassure Archie that his nephew is safe and well and that we had entirely lied about his near-fatal beating. I also apologised for the forthcoming…messiness…"
"I don't suppose he was grateful enough to spill where tomorrow's meet up is, did he?" Dean asked sarcastically (but not a little unhopefully).
"No, he did not. The Reaper wouldn't repeat Archie's response back to me."
"Mmm." Dean went back to plotting out his stage.
Lara pulled Sam away from earshot. "This is… I don't know what this is. Crazy? I don't feel right doing this to the kid – he'll never get over seeing his uncle with a knife in his belly."
He held her hand. Probably a bit too tightly. "I don't agree with what Dean is planning. Not entirely, anyway. But maybe Alfie won't need to see all of the… you know. Hopefully Bill or Gavin will just break straight away and then Cas can fly Alfie straight outside."
"He'll know what happened though, won't he? He'll hear about what was done to his uncle."
Sam sighed. "Yeah, he will. And he'll never really get over it. Look, Lara, why don't you leave now, before all the gory stuff happens? You don't need to see this either."
"Oh, I want to stay about as much as I want a tooth filled, but I'm in this now – I need to know, in real-time what's going on. I think it would stress me out more if I just stayed home fretting. Can you understand that? And don't worry if you can't, 'cause I don't entirely either."
He understood. Dry mouthed at the thought of what was coming next, he asked her: "Say - did you ever find that drink in the kitchen?"
"Oh yep - tins of cider and beer in the fridge. Loads. Make mine a Strongbow, I don't need a glass. Not one of their filthy ones, anyway."
Sam motioned to Dean, and then went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find nothing in there except cans of varying types of alcohol, and what looked like the remains of a wrapped-up kebab. The inside of the fridge smelled like sweaty onions. Closing the door quickly, he snapped open a beer and drank deeply. He was itchy and hot, still covered in drying blood and the cold drink was like…well like a cold drink on a hot day. He had finished the can before Dean even made it to the kitchen.
Dean stepped up next to him, grabbed two more cans out of the fridge, and handed one to Sam. "Mmmm," he said after swallowing most of the nectar in one go. He looked at the brand. "Stella just became new favourite girl."
"So how are we playing this Dean?" Bone-tired, Sam snapped back into little brother mode without even realising he'd done it.
"Setting the scene right will do most of the hard work for us." Dean was aware of his brother's slip and wasn't going to blow any chance at redemption. He jerked a thumb back towards the bedroom. "We look bloody and mean enough and Patty and Selma in there will talk our ears off."
"When they see their friend dead they're gonna be mad as hell…"
"Good. Cake walk Sammy. We've dealt with demons, gods and genuine evil son-of-a-bitch monsters – a couple of try-hard gangsters don't stand a chance."
"No they aren't as badass evil as we're used to. Not even anywhere near as much as they think they are. But I still don't think this is gonna work."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Look I get it. You hate me, hate everything I'm gonna say and do until the end of time. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about this."
"I don't…I don't hate you Dean. I'm madder…was madder than I've ever been. But I don't hate you. Not anymore. But I don't like you much, either."
Dean was quiet, green eyes deep in thought. "I can live with that." He finished off the can and dropped it into the kitchen sink. "Humour me then. Which of the two is most likely to talk first d'you think?"
"Hard to say. One's a domineering hard-ass and the other's a psycho."
"Hard-ass and Psycho - sounds like a bad TV series. Dude - we got nothing to lose by trying this – and if it doesn't work out we can go seek out Lord Vader himself at his damn country club or something."
"What time is it now?"
Dean pulled Bill's phone out of his pocket. "Three."
"Jeez – three already. We only have until some unspecified time tomorrow before Haversham figures something's up and the meet isn't taking place. You need to go out and get anything before we start the shit show?"
"Hey the band just got back together and you're trying to get rid of me already?" Dean joked. Sam glared at him and Dean stifled the smile into a cough. "Too soon? Ok, too soon. Naw, we got everything we need here. Let's go set the stage. Again."
Sam grabbed another beer for himself and a can of cider for Lara. He handed it over to her as they stepped back into the living room. Castiel was standing over Archie's body. "I checked his pockets – he had no cell phone."
"What I don't get," said Lara "is how they communicate with this government guy. I've had a quick search and I didn't see a laptop or computer anywhere. There's no wi-fi either. These guys are dinosaurs."
"They seem like the type of guys who would do things the old-fashioned way. It would all be word of mouth and friend of a friend." Sam said.
"But they are modern enough to use a burner." Dean said. "There was nothing on Bill's cell – nothing in the call log and no email. The calls to me were the only ones on there." Dean carried on speculating. "I can't see some under-whatever in the British Government coming around to this dive for tea and crumpets. And these guys would look out of place hanging around the British Parliament."
"How about a cyber-café, maybe?" Lara suggested. "If there's a local one around here they might have used that…"
"It's possible," said Cas, thoughtfully. "They are well organised and have done this several times before so they must have some way of getting in touch with their contacts. The cab driver, for example."
Lara drained the rest of her cider. "You know, Alfie must have some other use than to make the tea. He's young and would know how to use a computer."
"He said he didn't know anything but I guess the kid could have been bluffing."
"Only one way to find out. And this is it." Aiming carefully, Dean stabbed, dragged and chopped with his knife at Archie's corpse. The smell of blood and guts quickly filled the room, causing Lara to casually-not so casually make a beeline for the kitchen.
Satisfied with his work, Dean stood up and ran a bloody hand through his hair. "Lets go get contestant number one."
