Chapter 3
Rochester, Indiana
Sam looked at the fat raindrops splatting against his windshield as he pulled into the hospital's visitor's lot. The storm had finally begun moving, and from the way the tops of the trees were bowing and lashing along the lot's edge, it seemed like it was going to move fast.
He reversed the Jeep between the white painted lines of the slot next to Twist's pickup and turned off the engine, catching a part of the conversation between the two men in the truck as he got out of the car.
"I'm just sayin' that we need to be clear on what the hell we're playing before someone wins." Dwight's voice was filled with exasperation.
"Here they are. Save your bellyaching for after," Twist said, opening his door and getting out.
Hiding a grin, Sam nodded to the older hunter, tossing his keys to him. He'd been surprised by the borderline acrimony between the two hunters when he'd met them. Ellie'd told him both men would argue about anything, although poker was the most frequent source of disagreement. The games weren't important; the arguing was a diversion they both enjoyed.
He turned around, watching over the hood of the Jeep as Dean backed the white pickup in beside him. Even from a distance, his brother looked tense, his face cold and expressionless, some imperfectly suppressed emotion radiating from him.
There didn't seem to a reason for Dean's subtle antipathy to the tall man, once an angel, who climbed stiffly from the truck when Dean turned off the engine. Aside, of course, from the way angelkind had screwed them both over multiple times, Sam considered. But, for some reason, Dean never appeared to take those betrayals personally … and whatever was eating at him now definitely looked personal.
Ellie slid out the passenger door after the Watcher, and Sam saw Dean's head turn to watch her. He followed his brother's gaze. She looked tired, but he wasn't getting the impression it was entirely worry about her that was rubbing against his brother either.
As they came around the front of the pickup, Dean got out.
"Dean, you, uh, know Trent –" Twist waved a hand at the tall, lanky man approaching them.
Sam saw his brother's acknowledging nod with surprise. The time he'd spent in Stanford had given Dean a much better knowledge of the hunters in the country than he'd realised, and it was an ongoing source of astonishment that his brother had a much wider circle of friends and acquaintances than he'd imagined. Behind Trent, Marcus got out of his Nova, his eyes on the Watcher.
"Uh, Sam – this is Casper Trent, he's lending a hand," Twist continued, and Sam shook the hunter's hand, relieved to see nothing more than a mild curiosity in Trent's expression. He stepped back as Trent nodded to his brother.
"Been awhile," Trent offered. Dean's mouth lifted on one side.
"You been staying out of trouble?"
The lanky hunter looked down, running a self-conscious hand over his close-cropped hair. "Been real careful with the ladies."
Ellie cleared her throat, catching everyone's attention. "This is Penemue," she said, her gaze slipping around the loose circle of hunters. "He's going to help us. Penemue, this is Twist, Dwight, Marcus and Trent."
The angel nodded. Sam wondered if behind the Watcher's wary expression, he was worried about what he was about to do. Just force the devil out of one vessel, angelic, and into another, demonic, he mused. He would've been worried. He would've been on the near shore of panic.
"Twist, you and Dwight stay here, give us a heads up if you see anything weird," Dean said, glancing up at the building's roof as thunder shook the air and the ground, reverberating through their bones. "Marcus, Trent, we'll need you inside, watching the halls. Building's gonna be impossible to protect completely, but we'll have salt and iron blocking off the Psych isolation ward from everything else."
Marcus nodded, Trent glancing sideways at him. "You expecting trouble?" he asked.
"By the bucketload," Dean said. "Everyone stays frosty."
Easier said than done, Sam thought, following his brother across the lot and into the loading dock at the rear of the hospital. They made their way up the steps and into the building as the wind whipped around the parking lot and the thunder spoke again.
The room holding the angel was in the corner of the second floor, nothing but a storage closet and single stall bathroom opposite, and the next room on the other side of the locked, barred and steel-meshed door to the rest of the floor. Meg had organised the transfer of Castiel to the isolation ward the day before, Dean had told her.
Walking with Penemue, past Marcus and Trent as they poured thick lines of salt across the entry and along the walls, Ellie watched the brothers in front of her. Sam's frequent sidelong glances at his older brother reinforced the uneasiness she was feeling. Dean had been pulsing with poorly-hidden tension even at the airport, but she'd had the feeling something else had happened while she'd been sleeping, something that'd made it worse. She couldn't think what it could've been, and there'd been no time to ask him.
He knocked at the room door and a woman opened it, peering out past him to the corridor, her eyes widening a little at the sight of the man with them.
The infamous Meg, Ellie thought. A flicked glance to her right showed Penemue's face remaining impassive as he returned the demon's regard.
The body of the woman she wore was slight. Dark hair fell stringy and unbrushed down past her shoulders. Her skin was pale, her eyes dark and bruised-looking around the sockets. She gave Dean a mocking smile as she pulled the door wider, stepping back to let them in.
Castiel sat on the bed, his eyes open but unseeing, his face blank. Ellie walked to the end of the bed and shrugged off her pack, opening it and drawing out the silk-wrapped torc. She handed it to the Watcher.
On the other side of the bed, Dean dropped his black gear bag, unzipping it and pulling out the mottled ceramic bottle of holy oil. He glanced at her, passing it across the bed and she took it, pulling out the stopper and looking around the room. Sam was pouring thick, sparkling lines of salt across the window ledges and into the vents. He worked his way quickly around the room to the doorway as she scanned the interior.
Between the end of the bed and the wall opposite was the largest clear floor space. Stepping around the bed, she poured the circle; the thick, viscous liquid barely splashing as it hit the vinyl floor. The scent it released was dryish, almost sweet, faintly bitter; sand and desiccated plants, a subtle hint of underlying cedar. It brought to her mind's eye images of desert, of rolling dunes and dried up bones, bleached and endless sky from horizon to horizon.
"Any activity around here?" Dean asked the demon, taking the shotguns and boxes of shells from the bag.
"Nothing major," Meg replied. "The Fallen have their eye on this plane. I can feel them."
"Cambion, aren't you?" Penemue asked her.
"I don't think there's a word to describe what I am," she told him, turning to the angel lying on the bed.
Ellie glanced up at the demon's derisive tone, stoppering the bottle. The Watcher's expression was still neutral, showing nothing of what he was thinking. Azazel's daughter, Dean had said. He hadn't known anything of Meg's mother. The cambion were the offspring of demons and human women. While definitely a demon, Meg's father had been an angel once.
"The circle will protect us?" Meg directed the question to Dean. "They won't be able to see Lucifer when I'm in it?"
It could've been a trick of the light, that gleam of something in her eyes, there and gone. Ellie walked to the bed, watching Meg periphally as she put the bottle of holy oil in her pack. Her fingers pushed and slid through the other items filling it until she felt the familiar silk and knotted string. They closed around the small, silk bag and she undid the knots by feel, drawing out the round, thin coin and hiding it in her closed fist.
"Nothing will see you while you are in it," Penemue told the demon. "It will cut off any connection to the other planes completely."
"Then what?" Meg kept her gaze on Dean, ignoring the Watcher.
"Then we see how badly scrambled Cas' marbles are," Dean replied with a shrug. "And hope he can give us some intel on getting help to shut the archdemons up for good."
"You think Cas'll be sane after this?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "C'mon, Dean, look at him."
"Are you going to be strong enough to handle the devil?" Dean countered, one brow rising.
She nodded. "Don't you worry about me."
Leaving her pack at the end, Ellie walked up to the head of the bed, sidling past Meg to set a pillar candle on the nightstand. She lit it and turned, her backward step jostling the demon.
"Sorry."
"No problem," Meg said, smiling coolly at her. "You're the one had Crowley all hot and bothered, right?"
"One way to put it," Ellie agreed cautiously. "Although, he was more interested in leverage at the time."
"Yeah," Meg said, looking from her to Dean, her expression frankly speculative. "Going to be a daddy, I hear, Dean."
The look he gave her was arctic. He jerked his head toward the circle on the floor. "You ready? Let's do this."
"Touchy," Meg pouted, sauntering around the bed and stopping in the centre of the circle. "How, exactly, is this going to work?"
"I will force the frequency of Lucifer from Castiel," Penemue said, twisting the gold torc open and slipping it around his neck. "And into you."
"With that pretty little necklet?"
"The torc is to prevent Lucifer from entering me, and to give me the focus to keep him moving," the Watcher told her. "That's all."
"So it's mano a mano between you and Satan?" Meg asked. She glanced down at the circle. "I hope you're stronger than you look."
"Sam, you ready?" Ellie asked, setting the second candle on the dresser on the other side of the bed and lighting it. The demon was far too confident, she thought uneasily. Too casually accepting of the plan, of what they wanted.
"Yeah," Sam said, capping the canister and dropping it into his gear bag. He caught the pump action Dean tossed at him with one hand, the box of shells with the other and loaded the gun. Ellie touched the hilt of the knife at her hip and took the sawn-off from Dean as she walked back to the foot of the bed.
Penemue moved to the edge of the bed, his eyes on Castiel. The angel was cowering against the wall, his vessel's deep blue eyes wide and terrified, staring at some internal vision of horror.
"Castiel."
The Watcher leaned forward and gripped Cas' forearm above the wrist, extending his other arm out to Meg. She took a step to the edge of the circle and extended her arm, the Watcher's hand closing around her wrist, turning her arm to lock her hand around his.
Penemue closed his eyes.
The flare of red, deep within the blue of Castiel's eyes was startling. It grew and brightened, glowing as it spread through the blood vessels of the angel's face and reached around his skull, a crawling web of bright neon red.
Ellie watched it carefully, distantly aware of Dean's unconscious nod in her periphery. It was freaky, she thought, remembering his description of that light transferring from Sam to Cas. It pulsated, at a steady rate, and she wondered if it was matching the angel's heartbeat, or some other rhythm, necessary to itself. She shifted her gaze to Penemue's face, outlined in the reflected carmine glow, the dark winged brows drawing together as his concentration deepened.
"He's resisting."
Her voice was no louder than an exhaled breath, the thought vocalised involuntarily. She'd had her doubts about Lucifer's presence. Until now, she thought. It was sentient. Thinking. Feeling. As much as the devil could feel, she reminded herself.
The light moved in incremental jerks and snatches, being dragged from the angel, through the big blood vessels of the neck, through the brachial arteries and veins, and down the arm. When it reached the Watcher's hand, tightly clasped around the angel's wrist, it surged suddenly, leaving the angel completely and racing up Penemue's arm, filling his chest and lighting up ribs and collar bones and spine, throbbing in time with his heart.
The Watcher's face crumpled as pain filled him, his breath coming fast and shallow through a tightly clamped jaw. The pulsing of the light increased and against the thin skin of Penemue's neck, she saw his pulse beating more rapidly, keeping time with the irresistible rhythm.
The brilliant red light writhed upwards, through the arteries and veins from the heart toward the neck. It stopped, brightening and fading when it reached the barrier of the golden collar lying against the Watcher's skin. Sweat beaded and dripped from Penemue's face, his white shirt darkening under the arms and around the neck, every muscle of his construct taut and rigid in the struggle with the power seeking to take him over.
For a long moment, the angel, Watcher and demon seemed frozen into a tableau, none of them moving. Dean saw Penemue drag in a deep breath, the rasp of it loud in the strange silence of the room. The Watcher's expression hardened, his eyes screwing shut tightly and the red light flinched away from the collar, racing across the shoulder and down into the man's arm, his skin mottling and flickering as it flowed through the blood vessels, muscle and tendon contracting violently with its passing.
Dude looked like he'd stuck his finger into an electrical socket, Dean thought, his muscles twitching in sympathy with the Watcher's reactions. He realised why Ellie'd believed only the Watcher could help them. No one else, except for Cas, would have been anywhere near strong enough to force Lucifer out of one vessel and into another, and without the collar, he had the distinct feeling the Watcher would've had some problems resisting the devil's possession as well.
The light stopped, down near the elbow, for a long moment. Penemue tipped his head back, lips drawn back from his teeth and every muscle contracted to steel rigidity. There was a flash from the torc, Dean thought, too slow to catch it properly, but the twisting red in the Watcher's arm started to move downward again, jerkily at first, increasing speed as it neared his wrist.
Meg flinched, her body convulsing as it passed from the Watcher into her hand, shooting up her arm and spreading through her chest and neck. She flung her head back, the tendons in her neck as tight as tensioned wire when the red glow surged into her head, her low moan barely audible through clenched teeth. Her eyes flashed black then red, iris and white disappearing, her fingers digging into Penemue's arm.
Crack! Crack! Boom! Crack! Boom!
The sound of gunfire in the hall made them all jump, its sudden intrusion shattering the silence; rapid semi-automatic fire from Marcus' AK, interspersed with the concussive booms of a shotgun. It was instantly followed by the thunder of feet on the linoleum and a crash outside the door, and Dean saw his little brother lurch forward. The lights went out and the door slammed inward, Sam yelling as the edge took him in the shoulder, the wildly flickering pillar candles on either side of Cas' bed creating a dark and flickering vision of bodies and black eyes and Sam disappearing in their midst.
Dean automatically took a step toward his brother, and Ellie's hand flashed out, holding him still.
"Dean! No! The circle!"
Meg's head snapped down and around, the red light gone, her eyes a flat black, corner to corner. In the corridor outside of the room, more gunfire roared and screams – of rage or pain, he couldn't tell – were drowned out by the shocking crash of thunder close by.
The circle. Meg. Lucifer. Get your shit together.
Pulling out his lighter, he dropped the lit flame onto the circle, and the oil caught, racing around the edge. He saw Meg dart through the last unlit quadrant before it closed, frustration choking him as she looked back over her shoulder, her mouth stretched in a wide, derisive smile.
Sonofabitch!
She'd played him, played them all, knowing the demons would be coming, knowing what the circle was, that she had to get out before the flames enclosed it. Cocksucking demon skank!
Dragging the Colt from his belt, he tried to force his way through the seething mass of bodies that seemed to fill the room. A second's glimpse showed him Sam, his back against the far wall, stabbing and slicing with Ruby's knife, with a growing pile of bodies at his feet. He swung around to see the Watcher, back to back with Ellie, her knife blood-red and the Watcher wielding a much longer blade, the metal black and shining oilily in the shifting light and shadows.
He caught sight of Meg near the doorway and shot the two men blocking his way in quick succession, both bullets hitting them in the face, blue fire crackling outward from the entrance holes and flooding from their eyes. Three more crowded in front of him, against him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his sides. He dropped to one knee, pulling them down with him and swung a shoulder, knocking the one to his right onto the floor and freeing his hand. The round bore of the handgun appeared, six inches from his eyes and he stared at it disbelievingly.
9mm automatic, fourteen in the mag, one in the chamber, crosshatch grip, brushed steel, his mind fed him the details of the gun automatically. Beretta. Not likely to jam.
The barrel end wavered then fell abruptly and he glanced up, squinting as the demon's face lit up in violent shades of red and gold, its mouth dropping open, the blood-smeared tip of a fine blade protruding over its tongue. Behind the demon's luridly lit head, he saw Ellie, her eyes narrowed and her face expressionless. The knife blade was yanked back and the demon fell to the floor.
Castiel blinked rapidly, lifting his hands to cover his ears as another crash of thunder shook the window glass. He stared around the room in confusion. It was full of people.
Full of demons, he corrected himself a second later, his expression screwing into a moue of distaste as he caught a glimpse of a face, under the flesh and bone of the person it wore.
Above the shouts and screams and the low rumble of more thunder, he heard a once-familiar voice and turned his head, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the Watcher, pressed between two demons, his black blade plunging into one and then the other. Beyond Penemue, he could see Sam, a demon's hand tightening around the younger Winchester's neck as three others punched and kicked at him indiscriminately. Scanning past the hunter, he saw Ellie and Dean by the open doorway, backs together, fighting off another four.
He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and reached out, hands that hadn't been his to control for some time fumbling as he tried to get a grip on the two heads of the nearest possessed. His fingers tightened in their hair and he closed his eyes, opening himself to the Divine plane.
The conduit opened smoothly and harmonically, filling him with silent melody and mellifluous light. The power came like fire, white and pure and cleansing, flowing through his vessel's hands into the demons he held, burning demon essence and scorching human body at the same time.
"Close your eyes," he yelled, his vessel's voice hardly audible over the hellspawn's shrieks and curses and howls, or the thunder rumbling outside.
"COVER YOUR EYES!" He lifted his hands.
Fire. Light. Power. Not even the angels knew what it truly was. It filled his vessel, harmonising precisely with the frequency and song that was his alone, rushing through him, the energy or life-force or love of billions of souls.
Exploding into the room, the piercing argentine light drove out every shadow, burning through the meatsuits to the blackened essences of the demons; incinerating most, the remainder smoking out into the corridor, or sending their vessels crashing through the windows to fall to the parking lot below, ribbons of charcoal smoke leaving broken bodies behind.
In the aftermath, as the light flickered and faded away, something like silence returned to the isolation ward, the rumble of thunder and the cracks of lightning fading quickly as the conjured storm broke apart and began to move away.
Dean turned around slowly, the Colt falling to his side. Castiel saw exhaustion and something that seemed like defeat in the man's face before he ducked his head, tucking the long-barrelled firearm back into the belt of his jeans.
Near the windows, Sam pushed himself away from the wall, his gaze on the ragged tear through his shirt, fingers plucking at it and wincing when the shirt darkened, his blood soaking into the edges.
Picking his way across the fallen bodies, the angel stopped in front of the young man, laying his fingertips on Sam's forehead. The wound vanished, leaving the glistening fresh blood on the shirt.
"I'm sorry, Sam."
Shaking his head, Sam shrugged. "Good timing, as usual, Cas."
In his eyes, the angel saw a flash of pain, a hint of regret. It wasn't all right, Cas thought. It was never going to be all right, but Dean's younger brother didn't seem to hold his mistakes against him. Turning back to the room, he looked at the Watcher, the earlier surprise dissolving as he realised why Penemue was here.
Meg was gone.
Lucifer was gone.
They'd failed.
Dean shook his head very slightly. He'd failed. Involuntary as breathing, he'd seen Sam stumble and had forgotten the circle, forgotten why they'd been there and he'd blown it.
He turned and looked at Ellie, his gaze scanning over her fast but thoroughly. There were scratches on her neck, reddened but not bleeding. "You okay?"
She nodded. "You?"
He shrugged. "I missed Meg."
"We'll find her."
She looked past him, her eyes on the angel and the Watcher. "Can either of you see into Hell right now?"
"No." Penemue said, wiping the black blade clean on the edge of the bed sheet and sliding it back into its sheath.
Cas' response was terse. "Only the archangels can see into Hell at will."
"Are you all right, Cas?"
He turned away. "No."
Watching the angel as he headed for the door, Dean felt a flash of sympathy. Cas' memories had returned, even before he'd taken Lucifer into himself. The angel had a lot to think about.
Sam leaned on the hood of the car, tapping the keys of the laptop, brow furrowed as he studied the screen.
Against the side of the Jeep, arms crossed over his chest, Dean kept his gaze on the asphalt under his feet, trying to keep his focus on what next. No one had said anything, or even given him any kind of accusing look. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
They'd gone out into the hallway and found Marcus, lying near the barred door. The door had been pulled to pieces, bits of mesh hanging from the bent inward bars, the salt line scattered more than six feet in front of it. Marcus'd been sitting up, a gash across his forehead. Trent, they'd found halfway down the stairs, unconscious and bruised but still breathing. Dwight'd had his arm broken and a through-and-through on the outside of one thigh. Twist'd lost some skin down one side of his face and had several cracked ribs. Cas had touched each of them and healed them all.
Next to the pickup, Penemue stood with Castiel, his hand occasionally reaching up, fingers searching the base of his throat. Shooting a sideways glance as the movement tugged at his peripheral vision, he wondered if the fallen angel could still feel the weight of the necklet. It was once again wrapped in silk, in Ellie's pack.
She was sitting in the passenger seat of the pickup, the door open. Lifting his head, he glanced at her. Head tipped back against the seat, her eyes closed. The angel had touched her too, the scratch marks and bruises gone from her neck. She just looked tired. He straightened, taking a step toward the pickup when Sam spoke.
"They're all gone. No signs anywhere."
The Watcher nodded. "Called back. Their job is done."
"You think Meg's gone looking for the archdemons?" Sam asked.
"No," Castiel spoke, his voice heavy. "They would rip Lucifer from her and use him to their own ends. She will run from them, as long as she can."
"Can she hide him? Herself?" Dean looked at the angel.
"I doubt it."
Penemue turned to Cas. "I must return. My brothers need to know what has transpired here – and the Others will also be gathering a force, hoping to use the Morning Star to their advantage." Glancing at Ellie, he added, "I'll return the torc to the monastery."
Castiel nodded. "I'll take you. I too will need to talk to the Watchers. Heaven has been – it is in a state of chaos right now."
He laid his hand on Penemue's shoulder and they disappeared, the sound of fluttering wings and the sigh of the displaced air as it rushed to fill the space annoyingly familiar to Dean.
"Hey!" He looked around the parking lot in frustration. "Still need to talk to you, Cas!"
"Guess we're done here?" Marcus said, his gaze flicking between Sam and Dean
Dean gave up glaring around the lot and shrugged. "We have to find Meg. Anyone with any ideas on how to do that, step up now."
From the passenger seat of the pickup, Ellie said, "We can track her."
Turning to look at her, Dean asked, "Yeah? How?"
She held up a small gold coin. "With this."
"Is that Crowley's?" Sam peered at the coin in her hand.
"One of them," she confirmed, slipping the coin back into her pocket. "The other one is on Meg. I put it there before she went into the circle. Just in case."
Dean looked at her for a long moment, uncertain if the feeling shredding his guts was relief or anger. "Just in case I screwed up?"
She closed her eyes briefly. "Just in case she figured out our intentions weren't entirely benevolent and got out of the circle."
In the strained silence between them, Twist looked from one to the other. "So … uh. All good then? This mean we can grab some shuteye before we start following her?"
"Yep," she said. "It's going to take a couple of hours to get a lock on her. I'll call in the morning."
"Right you are," Twist said, turning for his truck.
"Dwight?" Ellie looked at the older hunter as he headed for the passenger door of Twist's truck. "Have you heard from Frank lately?"
He nodded. "In New Mexico, a week ago. You need him?"
"I think so."
"I'll get hold of him, find out where he is and let you know. You'll be around here for a night or two?"
Nodding, Ellie pulled her legs into the pickup, sliding across to the driver's seat and staring at the empty ignition. Marcus, Trent, Dwight and Twist turned away and headed back to their vehicles.
Sam's gaze swivelled from the retreating hunters to Dean. "Motel near the on ramp?" he asked diffidently. "We could crash for the night."
"Yeah," Dean said, looking past his brother to the truck. "We'll see you there."
"Alright." Sam picked up the laptop and got into the Jeep.
Walking to the pickup, Dean stopped beside the driver's door. He leaned on the window frame. "Were you, uh, planning on going without me?"
Opening her eyes, she shook her head. "Just need to keep moving," she said with a tired smile. "If I stop, I might not move again till I've had eight hours."
"You'll need these," he said, pulling the keys from his coat pocket and holding them up. She gazed at them without moving. "Alright, slide over, I'll drive."
Shifting back across the bench seat, Ellie sighed.
"Room for the night?" Dean glanced at her.
"Yes. Food. Shower. Bed." She curled into the corner of the truck, and closed her eyes.
He nodded and pulled out, checking in the rearview mirror that Sam was following them. Twist and Dwight made a left as they came out of the lot, heading south.
Ellie opened her eyes again as the pickup stopped, the engine dying. They were in the parking lot of a small strip mall, she realised, blinking in an attempt to get her eyes focussing.
The driver's door opened and closed and she turned her head belatedly, watching Dean heading for the brightly-lit fast food restaurant she could see on the corner. Exhaustion had hit her unexpectedly, maybe with the anticlimax of losing Meg, maybe that plus the cumulative effects of three days of near non-stop travel and ever-increasing tension. She tried to remember the last time she'd eaten, a vague memory of some kind of sandwich on the plane flitting through her mind.
Too much flying, driving, planning, trying to organise and figure out at the same time what the bigger picture was going to be … she grimaced at the snarl of memories of the last couple of days. She hadn't been eating or sleeping enough, and the baby growing inside of her would take what it needed from her, the doc in Douglas had said, whether she was providing enough for both of them or not.
Rubbing her wrist over one temple, she smiled at her naïveté, thinking she could do everything like normal and not pay for it somehow. New gig, she told herself. She'd just have to remember to do everything by the numbers until it got to be habit.
Leaning against the seat back, she let her eyelids drop again. If Meg didn't find the coin, they would still need someone to stay in one place and track her movements. Frank would be best, she thought. The ex-military computer technician had taken to demon hunting like a duck to water, the sometimes over-zealous psychological issues he still carried around driving him to work around the clock. With Ray's help, they'd tapped into a series of overseas satellites and watching Roman's activities from afar wasn't going to take up all his time.
She wouldn't want to be found. That was a part of the plan they'd explained to the demon in some detail, what the archdemons wanted with Lucifer, the possibility the rogue fallen and their nephilim offspring would also be looking for the devil to further their ambitions.
Ellie's eyes opened. If Meg was nephilim – somehow – her soul might give Lucifer the power he needed to regain his strength. She frowned as she realised she should've asked Penemue more about his twice-fallen brother.
Did it matter, she wondered? Knuckling her eyes and wincing as they stung under the pressure, she wasn't sure if it did. So long as Meg stayed on the run, and they could find her, and trap her again in the circle of holy fire, even an increase in Lucifer's strength wouldn't matter that much.
She started a little as the driver's door opened, the cool night air carrying rich, thick odours of freshly-cooked food into the cab.
"Got you a burger and salad," Dean said, setting the paper sack on the seat between them. "Okay?"
"Yeah," she said, straightening in the seat. A glance past him showed Sam walking out of the restaurant, carrying his own paper sack. She hadn't even noticed him pulling in, she realised.
Dean got in and pulled the door closed, turning on the engine and twisting around in the seat to reverse out.
"Motel's just another couple of blocks."
"Good," she said, feeling saliva collecting in her mouth as the ridiculously delicious scents wreathed around her. Her stomach was doing the rumba and she had to breathe deeply to keep from attacking the food there and then. How could she've missed this level of hunger, she wondered? Two months ago, she'd been eating like a horse.
They followed the Jeep out of the lot and onto the street, and Ellie tried to pretend the growing tension, almost as tangible as the mouth-watering odours of the food between them, wasn't something she'd have to deal with. There hadn't been time to tell him about the coin, or her suspicions about the demon, she thought. He would just have to understand that.
The motel was just two blocks away, the crunch of the gravel lot loud under the tyres as Dean crawled up the drive and parked in front of the office. He got out again, and Ellie leaned over the sack, reaching in and snagging one of his fries. It was ambrosial and she slid her hand back in to take a handful.
When he returned, a few minutes later, and dropped the key onto the seat, the sack was scrunched closed again. He drove around the cinderblock building and pulled into a slot on the other side, glancing across at her and handing her the room key.
"You wanna take in the food?" he asked, opening the door. "I'll get the rest."
Nodding, Ellie opened her door, shouldering the pack and grabbing the paper sack. Sam's Jeep growled around the corner of the building and pulled in, a few rooms down from theirs. Turning the key in the lock, Ellie walked in and turned on the lights, grateful to see it was reasonably clean. Not, she thought, that she would've kicked up at this point. The bed looked comfortable.
Dropping her pack beside it, she put the sack on the small table and opened it, pulling out the wrapped burgers, the somewhat depleted bag of fries and the plastic container of salad. A six pack of beer was nestled into the side of the bag and she pulled that out too, turning to put it into the small bar fridge as she dumped the paper bag into the trash.
She sat down at the table as Dean walked in, clanking slightly when he shifted his grip on the gear bag. He set both duffels down next to the door after he'd closed it, taking out a canister of salt and running the lines along windows, vents and doorway and tossing the empty container into the trash when he'd finished.
She should apologise, she thought, taking another bite of the burger and chewing fast. He looked just as tired as she felt and she was leaving their protection entirely to him. Most of the salad was already gone and Dean's fries weren't making much of a bulge in their bag anymore. She should've asked him to get double of everything.
He walked to the table and sat down, brows rising as he noticed the limp sack of fries. She felt his glance on her, but he didn't say anything, unwrapping his burger and starting to eat.
Finishing the burger, Ellie wadded up the wrappings and got to her feet to take them to the trash. She stopped at the fridge and pulled out a beer for Dean, then grabbed a glass from the counter, filling it at the sink and carrying it back to the table.
"I ate some of your fries," she said, sitting down and sliding his beer across to him.
"I noticed."
She glanced up to see a puzzled half-smile on his face. "Sorry."
Dean shrugged. "You, uh, still hungry? I can make another run?"
Shaking her head, Ellie sipped at her water. "No, I'm good. Just tired now."
"You stop at all in the last few days?"
"Not really," she admitted, thinking it over. "We ate in the hotel in Egypt, and I got a couple of hours sleep on the plane to Kabul, plus a few on the way home."
"Doesn't sound like much."
Finishing her water, she studied his face. "Doesn't look like you did much better?"
"I got enough," he told her, scrunching his trash together and knocking the top off the beer. "Ellie, were you going to tell me about the coin?"
The doubt in his eyes tugged at her, somewhere deep. "Of course. It was just a precaution."
He nodded, looking down at the table. "Yeah."
There was an edge in his voice, something raw.
"When Meg was asking about the circle, about how it would work, I thought – I got the impression she had something else in mind," she said. "I wasn't sure, and I couldn't have said anything to you about it at the time in any case, but I had the coins and I thought, why not? I put one on her when I was doing the candles."
"Yeah. No, I understand." The edge was still there. "Just as well, right?"
Seeing the flash of guilt that crossed his features, she sighed. "Don't blame yourself for trained reflex, Dean."
He stared at the table, his expression unreadable.
Turning away, she looked at the bathroom door for a long moment. She wanted a shower, to get rid of the smell of brimstone and blood and sweat and give her muscles some relief, but she was too damned tired. Stripping, she tossed her clothing onto the floor and pulled back the covers. She crawled onto the bed, reaching out to drag the thin sheet and lightweight bedspread back over herself with a sigh. Rolling onto her side away from the kitchen light, she closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, she'd talk it out with him. When she could think straight.
She heard him moving around the room, soft background noises of which she was only just aware. The kitchen light went off and the bathroom light went on, and she listened to him getting undressed, jeans and boots dropping to the floor heavily, then the sound of the shower, her senses attentuating as her thoughts refused to settle down and leave her alone.
Choosing Sam over anything else was something she thought he didn't have any control over. Protecting his brother had been trained into him every bit as deeply as any of his skills, from such a young age, it wasn't a conscious response.
It hadn't occurred to her to secrete the coin on Meg because she'd thought he might not light the oil in time. The thought dragged at her, fighting her desire to forget about it and sleep. She'd been hedging her bets. That was all.
The shower went off, and the tap over the basin went on. A moment later, the bathroom light, peeking along the edges of the closed door, went off and the door opened, releasing steam and a scent of soap, and under that, the faint minty smell of toothpaste.
As he walked around the end of the bed to his side, Ellie rolled back onto her right side. She heard the quiet sigh of his towel being dropped and felt the dip of the mattress as he lay down beside her. For long moments, she waited, hearing the steady inhale and exhale behind her. But he didn't move. For the first time, he didn't come to lie against her.
In the darkness, she realised she wanted the comfort of his arms around her, but she didn't have the energy to talk about what she'd done or why she hadn't told him. Letting out a resigned exhale, she realised she wouldn't get the one without the other. Five days of non-stop motion dragged at her. Telling herself she could deal with it in the morning, she buried her disappointment and let thought go.
Dean lay on his back, listening to her breathe. She was asleep. She hadn't rolled over to curl against him. He wanted to hold her, but something in the conversation they'd had, in the way she was lying there, apart from him, stopped him. He understood about making last minute decisions, but why the hell hadn't she told him when Cas'd cleaned out the room? He'd been carrying the guilt of letting Meg get away, knowing he'd screwed up – she could have told him then, thrown him a bone.
He'd thought they had the big things out in the open. Had thought she'd told him what knowing him – loving him – had cost her, but the Watcher had blown that certainty out of the water. How much else was there he didn't know about?
Turning his head, he looked at her shape under the thin covers, the smooth fall from shoulder to waist, the gentle curve up to hip and the long slope of her legs. Against the white pillow, in the dimness of the room, her hair was a loose, dark pool, devoid of its usual bright colour.
She knew him, better than anyone else, even his brother. She knew what he'd been through, what he'd done, how he'd felt about all of it. When they'd gotten back to the cabin, after Sunrise, he'd thought he'd made it clear, had thought she'd told him everything, practically – all the things that'd hurt and had changed things between them – but as he listened to her steady, even breaths, the feeling he was wrong about that kept strengthening. He'd told her everything. All the things that'd mattered to him. She was still an enigma to him.
He wasn't sure why he wanted to know. He trusted her, had trusted her with everything – his memories, his feelings, his life – she'd never betrayed that trust. Wasn't that enough?
The question forced a gusting exhale. It didn't seem like it. Rolling away from her carefully, he stared at the patterns, made by the streetlights through the thin, open-weave curtains, on the wall in front of him.
She had friends, powerful ones judging by what she'd been able to accomplish, people who would put their jobs on the line for her, their lives. People he didn't know, hadn't even heard about. Lovers? He shied away from that thought; it was too close to the secondary doubts he was trying to ignore.
They'd hunted together a few times over the years, but her network of friends – the hunters and those involved in the periphery of the life, contacts she'd made with her first partner – spread across the country, across the world, and she'd hardly mentioned them, rarely taken him to meet any of the others. She'd known Bobby but neither she nor Bobby had seen fit to mention that before she'd turned up at his place.
Why hadn't she told him?
Ask me, she'd said to him, a long time ago. Anything you want to know.
He had, from time to time. Sometimes he got answers. Sometimes, not.
Why didn't you ask?
The small voice, deep inside, wondered. He drew in a long breath, and held it. It was a good question. Why hadn't he asked? Sam obviously had. Frank had. Bobby must have. Why hadn't he?
Twisting onto his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, he listened to her breathing, in and out in the quiet, settled patterns of sleep.
He was tired. He couldn't imagine that there was a word for what she was feeling. Exhaustion was somewhere in the ballpark, maybe. And then, he realised with a flush of discomfort, he'd brought up what'd happened. Not entirely because she hadn't let him off the hook earlier, he knew. He'd wanted to hear he hadn't fucked up. Had wanted her to tell him … tell him that automatic and involuntary reaction hadn't nearly lost them everything.
His breath slipped out in a long exhale. He understood now why she hadn't rolled over to him, looked for his warmth, for whatever comfort he could offer. Tonight, she'd had no more to give. Inside of her, there was a child, taking what it needed from her. And he hadn't even thought of that, until now.
Sliding across the mattress, he eased his arm under the pillow that cradled her head, inching closer until the length of his body pressed against hers, his arm draped lightly over her hip. He thought she took a deeper breath, her body relaxing a little more, but he couldn't be sure. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, of her skin, of her hair, and took a deeper breath himself.
You fucked up today, not her, he thought. And at least some of the uncertainty he'd felt at the hospital, some of the distraction, a niggling doubt that'd driven his actions, had been because of the relationship he'd seen between the Watcher and the woman lying next to him. He hadn't understood it at the time, and he didn't now, but there had been a familiarity between them … the Watcher'd known things about her he didn't … and it'd unsettled him.
He looked down at Ellie's face, her features barely visible in the faint light. Had there been something between her and the fallen angel? There'd been an edge to Penemue's voice, as he'd recounted his story, subtle, but there. She'd done – what she'd done – not for the Watcher, but for him. And Penemue had not been happy about it, he thought. He closed his eyes, trying to separate the tangle of memory and emotion and thought.
He could ask her. He could ask her about everything. All the things he wanted to know. All the pieces that made up the puzzle of who she was, what had happened to her, what she had done, what she felt. He wasn't sure she'd tell him, but he could ask anyway.
What he couldn't do was to withdraw, let his reactions get in between them. His arms tightened a little around her and she shifted slightly, relaxing back against him.
8.00 a.m. July 2, 2012.
The knock on the door woke him instantly.
Dean looked down at Ellie, still sleeping in the curve of his arm. She hadn't woken. He moved slowly and carefully away from her, watching her resettle, a small line appearing between her brows as if she felt his absence. She rolled over and the line disappeared. He tucked the covers around her and pulled on his jeans, walking to the door.
Sam stood outside, holding three cups of steaming coffee, about to take a step into the room when Dean blocked his way, shaking his head.
"Still sleeping. I'll come to your room," he said in a low voice. Sam nodded, turning back. Grabbing shirt, coat, socks and boots and the key, he followed his brother along the walkway.
"Is Ellie all right?" Sam unlocked the door, swinging it open and setting the coffees on the table. Turning around, he watched Dean hop around the room as he pulled on a sock.
"Yeah, just didn't get much sleep the last few days, and she needs more now, not less." He managed to drag the recalcitrant sock over his foot and shove his feet into his boots, pulling the shirt over his head as he sat down.
"Yeah, of course." Sam shook his head. "I keep forgetting about that."
Dean shot him a surprised look. "How?"
"Well, just everything else that's going on." His brother shrugged. "Cas turn up yet?"
"No." Dean swallowed a mouthful of the hot coffee. "I'm wondering if he will. He was – he was pretty devastated when his memories returned."
Sam looked at him, his expression wry. "Aren't we all?"
"He was talking about body counts in Heaven and on earth," Dean added, remembering the angel's horror-struck expression at the hospital. "I don't think he knew how much was him and how much was the levis, fucking with him."
Sam looked up abruptly, staring past his shoulder. Dean's mouth twisted.
"And he's behind me, right now, isn't he?"
"Hey, Cas." Sam nodded. Twisting around in the chair, Dean looked at the angel.
"Just talking about you."
"Yes. I heard." Castiel moved to the third chair at the table, standing behind it. "Things are a lot worse than my ability to deal with my sins."
"Coffee?" Sam pushed the cup toward the third chair. Castiel glanced disinterestedly at it and shook his head.
"I returned Penemue to Jordan."
Dean frowned at him. "I thought he lived in Egypt?"
"His brothers are in Jordan," the angel said. "The information they have is not good."
"When is the news ever good?" Sam wondered aloud. "What's the word?"
"Those who fell for Lucifer are planning an alliance with the archdemons – or trying to," Cas said, his gaze moving restively around the room. "There are a lot of them."
"Uh, Penemue said the archdemons would regard them as betrayers." Dean gulped down more coffee. He wasn't sure he could take much more news on any front. It didn't just get worse. It got exponentially catastrophic. "They'd be thrown into Hell for it."
"Yes," Cas agreed. "I doubt whatever deals are made will be honoured. But right now, the Fallen want Lucifer." He paused, his gaze resting first on Sam, then moving to Dean. "I believe they'll accept whatever help they need in order to get him."
"What's the plan?" Sam picked up his coffee, exchanging a look with Dean.
"I have to return to Heaven," Castiel said, his mouth closing abruptly and a puzzled frown drawing his brows together. "That felt strange. As if I've said and done this exactly before."
Dean rolled his eyes at his coffee. "You have. A few times."
"We need you down here, Cas." Sam's brow furrowed as he looked at the angel. "What can you do in Heaven?"
Castiel was silent for a moment, his gaze travelling restlessly around the room before he finally looked back at Sam. "When the Horde of Hell rises to this plane, you are going to want an army ready to fight them," he replied, his tone mild.
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
"What?"
"They're going to try and take earth by force?" Sam said at the same time.
"Yes. I need to see how many of the Host survived the last year." An expression of mingled pain and shame contorted his features and he turned away. "How many survived me."
Dean glanced at his brother. "Cas –"
"Dean, it is essential to get Michael out of the Cage," Castiel cut him off. "He is the only one who can lead the Host."
The sound of wings filled the room for a moment, then was gone, along with the angel.
"Demons rising to take over earth." Sam ran his hand sharply through his hair.
"Raising Michael from the Pit." Dean tipped his head back, closing his eyes. He turned his head and opened his eyes, looking at his brother. "Good times."
Sam snorted. "Yeah."
Ellie rolled over across the bed, opening her eyes and squinting at her watch. Eleven thirty-seven.
She was starving and it drove her off the bed, to the bathroom for a fast shower, to get dressed. She was just pulling on her boots when the door opened and Dean came in, his gaze going straight to her.
"Hey," he said, closing the door and crossing the room. "Thought you might still be sleeping. How're you doing?"
"Mostly caught up." She smiled, and gave her boot a final tug. "Starving."
"There's a great place across the street, I could get you –"
"No, that's okay. I need the air, and some moving around." She looked around for her bag, extracting her wallet. "Have you and Sam eaten?"
"Yeah, but this is me, I can eat, no problem."
She nodded and stood up.
"Ellie." He stood in front of her, his hands sliding down her arms. "I'm sorry about last night."
She shook her head. "Don't say that, okay? You didn't do anything wrong."
Looking down at her, his neck prickling uncomfortably, he said, "I did a whole lot of things wrong. Why're you blowing me off?"
"I'm not." Her gaze dropped. "I just don't want to fight."
"I'm not fighting. I'm apologising." He ducked his head, trying to see her face. "I know I don't do it that often, but I thought you'd recognise it."
"I should've told you about the coin, when Cas did his thing, alright? I know that." She lifted her head, her eyes cutting to the side. "I'm not used to … not working on my own."
She pulled in a breath, lifting her head to look up at him. Shock hit like a hammer blow when he saw her eyes, brimming with unshed tears. "Ellie, uh … come on."
Ducking her head, she pulled away and instinctively, he let her go.
Don't.
The prickle at the back of his neck strengthened. One stride and he caught her shoulders, turning her back to him and pulling her close, his arms enfolding her tightly.
"Hey, uh ..."
She stood in the circle of his arms, not speaking, not moving. He wondered nervously if he was doing the right thing … if she didn't want him here right now … if she wanted to be alone …
A shudder rattled through her, and into him. Her arms rose, wrapping around him slowly, shoulders shaking as she leaned in. Staring over her head at the wall, his stomach dipped. The hell was going on? Her cheek was pressed hard against his chest and moisture was soaking into his shirt.
"It's okay … hey … it's okay." He lifted a hand, smoothing her hair, his heart pounding against his ribs. She was shaking like a leaf in a high wind, her breath coming out in gasps and sobs. Had he missed something? Done something? Not done something? Said or not said something? He would have to wait to find out. He didn't think she could talk through the tempest that had a hold of her.
It only lasted a few minutes, the wracking sobs tapering off into harsh breaths and arrhythmic hiccups. Breathing deeply to counteract the tension filling his chest and throat, Dean rested his chin on the crown of her head, one hand absently stroking her back, the other holding her as close as he could.
It wasn't the first time she'd cried in his arms, but those occasional occurrences had been shedding tension; gentle unwinding of stresses set aside and finally released. Not like this … this outpouring of emotion that was scaring the crap out of him.
"C'mon, what's going on? Ellie?"
Her chest expanded under his arms, ribs lifting as she drew in a deep breath.
"Hormones mostly, I think," she said, her voice thick and scratchy but level. "Just turning up the volume on everything I'm feeling."
The hell was she feeling that'd do that, he wondered unhappily. "Uh, what – what're you feeling?"
"The usual suspects. Fear. Doubt. Worry." She didn't move as she spoke, her cheek still pressed against him, her arms still around him. He looked down awkwardly, unable to see her face.
"About what?" He had missed something, he thought. A lot of things, by the sound of it.
The short laugh she gave turned into a hiccup. "Everything. Us, the world, Hell, Heaven, the baby, where to live … everything."
That was a lot of things. He hadn't thought about those things much, his attention'd been mainly on how to get Meg back and what Dick'd been doing while they'd been chasing around Hell.
"Yeah, well … uh, okay," he said, not sure if he could provide any reassurances on any of it. "We'll figure it out, you know that, right?"
She nodded, lifting a hand and wiping at her eyes, scrubbing it over her face. "I know that. I do. It's – it's irrational, all this damned emotion."
"Uh, yeah," he said uncertainly. "Then you're, uh, okay now?"
"I'm fine." Pushing a little against his hold on her, she stepped back, tilting her face up. "I never get worried about stuff, you know? Never. I've always been able to deal with whatever came along."
He couldn't disagree. From the moment he'd seen her, at Ellen's bar, she'd struck him as being capable and in control.
"Never even thought of being worried about p-p-practical things," she continued, her voice suddenly dropping. "N-n-now …"
He stared disbelievingly as fresh tears rose in her eyes, spilling over, and pulled her close again. The sobbing was softer this time, but no less raw-sounding. What the hell?
After a moment, it seemed to stop and she was still, her forehead resting against the base of his throat. She pulled in a deep breath and forced it out, then another, not looking at him when she pulled back for the second time.
"This could just keep going on, Dean. Give me a minute, will you? I've got to get this under some kind of control."
He let her go, and she turned away, hurrying into the bathroom.
There was a knock on the door behind him. Turning around, he opened it. Sam stood on the walkway, his brother's gaze on his watch.
"You ready?" Sam asked, lifting his head, his forehead immediately furrowing up as he noticed the expression on Dean's face. "What's wrong?"
The bathroom door opened, and Dean shook his head. He couldn't explain it adequately anyway. "Later."
Ellie walked over to them, her eyes swollen and red, but her face smooth and calm. "Okay, I'm fine. I just need to eat."
Nodding, he followed her out, closing the door behind them.
Two hours later.
Dean sat at the small, square table next to the room's kitchen counter. Ellie'd taken the truck to an internet café, looking for a high-speed connection to talk to Ray and Patrick. He scowled at the sites listed on the screen in front of him. He'd been through a dozen and all they'd told him was what Ellie'd already said. Hormones. He needed more than that. He needed to know what the hell would happen next.
"What're you doing?"
Sam's voice behind him made him jump in the chair and his fingers fumbled across the keys.
"Pregnancy sites?" Sam asked, leaning over his shoulder. "Wow."
"Not funny."
"Kind of is," Sam countered, grinning at him. "This about what happened this morning?"
"Yeah," Dean said, turning slightly as Sam pulled a chair around the table and sat down. "How often you seen Ellie cry?"
"Uh, once," Sam said, after a moment's thought. "Well, she walked away before she actually started."
"Right." Dean shook his head. "This morning she cried twice, in the space of ten minutes."
"Uh huh."
"Because of the hormones, she said," Dean added, waving a hand at the screen.
"Uh huh?"
"All I can find are these rainbows-and-happy-happy sites that don't tell me what's going on!"
"Oh." Sam leaned across the table, pulling the laptop around to face him. "What'd you –"
He peered at the search words Dean had put in. "Crying, pregnancy."
"They say it's normal."
"Probably is," Sam said, his expression thoughtful as he shifted his gaze between the laptop screen and Dean. "Uh, let's widen the criteria a bit?"
"To what?"
"Uh … pregnancy, hormones, emotions …"
"Isn't that what I wrote?"
"Yeah, uh, not really," Sam said, watching the screen fill up with the listing. ""Uh huh. Lots of sites."
He started reading. "Okay. So, uh … pregnancy can be a real roller-coaster ride of the emotions - highs and lows and everything in between. Some women appear to 'bloom' during pregnancy; they appear full of life, happiness and vitality whereas other women are tearful and apprehensive."
"And some women switch between both," Dean muttered darkly, shooting a glance at the front door.
"These feelings can often be very intense. Some women have unstable moods and feelings of depression, often for no apparent reason. None of these emotional responses is 'right' or 'wrong'. Physical feelings can also be intensified in pregnancy with many women finding that their sexual … uh, drive and … appetite increases, particularly in the first and second trimesters. Orgasms … uh, orgasms can be reached more easily or are stronger during this time."
Sam cleared his throat and shot a sideways look at Dean, his mouth twisting. "Judging by the expression on your face, I take it you already know that part?"
"It, uh, might've come up."
"Pregnancy is an intense experience; women experience huge hormonal changes and face a big life-changing event. There are natural concerns about the big changes a baby brings to a couple, their relationship with each other, and to their work, family and social lives. Worries about the timing of the pregnancy, and about possible financial stresses in the future are common."
"Yeah, right," Dean said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "An' then there're the concerns she might have about the devil running around, an' the possible uprising of Hell and a full-on war on earth; probably thinking about black-blooded monsters waiting to chomp anyone, or fallen angels wanting to bring on the end of the world … yeah, okay, I get it." He leaned back in his chair, wiping a hand over his jaw as he let his head tilt up.
"Basically, along with the normal worries, she's got a lot to deal with and the hormones are going jack it all up, at least some of the time." Sam shrugged, closing the laptop. "You sure you're gonna be able to cope with this?"
Dean opened his eyes, brows rising. "The alternative being … what?"
"I don't know." Sam looked away uncomfortably. "You're not exactly used to having to be … kind. Gentle. Understanding."
"Thank you for that vote of confidence," Dean said, pushing the chair back from the table and getting to his feet. "Gonna have to get used to it, aren't I?"
Sam looked doubtful. Dean caught the expression, letting out a gusty exhale.
"Look, I know what to expect now. That'll help."
He wasn't about to detail the way he felt when he saw Ellie in distress, not to his brother, not even to reassure Sam about his gentler qualities, he thought with a scowl. Sam'd just have to take it on faith.
2.30 p.m.
"Crowley had a different technique; I don't know what it was."
Ellie set the coin on the map and lit the candles. The flames stood perfectly upright, burning steadily. She murmured softly in Latin, her eyes closed, drawing her concentration down to a fine-point focus, an image of the identical coin she'd slipped into Meg's pocket.
Standing on either side of the small table, Dean and Sam watched as the coin on the map began to tremble, then slid over the paper, moving first west then south. It moved another inch, jerking over the map's crease, then stopped.
Ellie opened her eyes, her eyes narrowing as she took in the coin's location. "Wow, she moved fast."
Under the coin, the letters St – is were all that showed. The town was against the border of Missouri and Illinois, transecting a large river.
She glanced up. "We need Frank."
"Why?" Sam asked. "It's only a few hours away."
"It's not like an electronic tracking device, Sam," she said, gesturing to the map. "We can't look at the map and drive. If she starts to move while we're on the road, we won't know about it until we stop and check again. Frank can watch the coin and let us know if she's moving and where."
Turning to Dean, she added, "And we need help – as many hunters as you can get hold of. Meg's crafty enough without whatever input she gets from Lucifer. We're going to need a way to get her into the circle and trap her, and it's going to have to be airtight."
Dean nodded, turning away and pulling out his cell. Sam lifted a quizzical brow.
"How do we find Frank?"
"Where's your laptop?" Ellie blew out the candles and put the coin in her pocket, rolling up the map.
An hour later, they'd packed up and pulled out, Sam's Jeep leading this time, Dean following in the white pickup.
He glanced at her as he straightened the vehicle onto the street. "You'll, uh, tell me if you need to eat, or rest or whatever, right?"
"I'm not an invalid, Dean," she said, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Just had a couple of rough days."
"Sure, yeah," he agreed quickly. He could see she was going to be stubborn about it. "But tell me anyway."
"Pregnancy isn't an illness."
"No, uh, right."
"It's taking me a while to get used to the … um … changes," she added, a hint of truculence colouring her tone. "But I'm fine."
"I know."
"I'm not going to burst into tears in the middle of everything," she said, her voice rising slightly. "Or break. Or faint."
"Uh –"
He heard a noisy exhale from the passenger side of the truck and glanced around.
"I'm scaring you, aren't I?"
"No," he said, a smile quirking one side of his mouth. "Took me by surprise, that's all."
"Mmm."
"You don't have to deal with this stuff by yourself, you know."
She didn't say anything and he slid a sidelong glance at her.
"I – uh – I might not be the most – uh – understanding guy in the world," he said slowly, swallowing. "But I'm here, and I – uh – wanna help."
For once, she didn't grin at him, make some comment about him being sweet or romantic or soft or anything else.
He followed Sam through a sharp right, then a ninety-degree left, accelerating as they came to the long onramp. He risked another sideways glance.
Ellie was leaning back into the corner, between the door and the seat, a small, somewhat wry smile on her lips and lighting her eyes. It wasn't a particularly provocative smile, but it stirred a flush of heat anyway.
He looked back at the road, wondering if every other guy on the planet had to go through this too, or if he'd been singled out for some kind of special torture.