Got so much to lose, got so much to prove,
God don't let me lose my mind.
Trouble on my left, trouble on my right,
I've been facing trouble almost all my life.
My sweet love won't you pull me through,
everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of you.
I said it was love, and I did it for love...
Cage the Elephant, Trouble
Kaydie had initially been resentful of the assignment Greta had given her. She felt like watching Winchester was beneath her. After her grandma, she held the most clout in the Smith family. She was second in command, destined to one day take Greta's place as their leader. How could Greta have her drop everything so she could tail some unaffiliated, nobody hunter? Despite her misgivings, she had never in her life disobeyed her grandma and she wasn't about to start now. If Greta insisted Dean was important, then he must be.
As time went on though, Kaydie found she actually enjoyed the simple task that had been doled out to her. The older she got, the busier she got, and she hadn't realized just how little free time she had these days. Not until she found herself drowning in it, struggling to find ways to make the hours pass more quickly in her cramped car. She got calls every hour from her family members, working around the country and one or two overseas. Every time, she told them she was busy and that they were to call her grandmother. Eventually, her phone stopped ringing and she had something that she realized she had given up when she turned twelve; Kaydie had peace.
Peace was nice, she thought wistfully, but she didn't dare let herself get too used to it. All it took was one call from Greta and she would be thrust back into the fray that was her daily routine.
In an effort to keep herself from becoming bored, she stopped using spells and started following Dean the old fashioned way just for the hell of it. And boy, was he ever an entertaining mark to keep tabs on. She could do nothing but watch Dean's movements bemusedly as he ditched the hunter who had taken him off Kaydie's hands a few states back. He emerged from a clinic doctor's house carrying a an unconscious, bloodied woman Kaydie instantly realized she knew. Her eyes narrowed with anger as she recognized her cousin Alice. When last they'd met, Alice had beaten Kaydie into a stupor, stolen her clothes and vanished from their compound like the ghost she was.
Kaydie was fiercely proud of her combat skills. Among her kin, she had a reputation for being the best. To be taken down by an outsider was humiliating and it lit a fire under her easy temper. She wanted nothing more than to repay her cousin in kind.
Maybe another time. She forced herself to calm down as she trailed Winchester to a cheap motel. He vanished into a room with Alice for a while, only to emerge for an apparent vending machine run. This was when things got really interesting. Kaydie leaned forward in her seat, watching raptly as Dean appeared to have a conversation with the thin air ten feet away from the vending machine. She pulled out a pair of binoculars and tried to make sense of the bizarre scene, but saw nothing to indicate that Dean was doing anything more than completely losing his marbles.
"Weird," she muttered to herself.
In their line of work, she supposed they did take quite a few hard knocks to the head. Heck, the man had been to hell and back... if that wasn't enough to scramble someones eggs, she didn't know what was.
He returned to his room, only to open the door moments later and have another brief conversation with no one. Kaydie wondered if she should let Greta know that Winchester seemed to be prone to psychotic episodes. Before she could make up her mind, he exited the room with Alice in tow. She was bound and gagged and quickly shoved unceremoniously into the trunk of the car Dean had stolen from the dark-haired hunter he'd ditched at the doctors house. Kaydie scratched her head at the display. It had been her impression that Alice and Dean were close, but what did she know? That impression was based on a half hour long conversation he'd had with her grandmother years ago.
As he drove away, Kaydie prepared to follow him, but something stopped her. Curiosity got the better of her and she made a sharp u-turn, heading back to the motel.
She dug around in her trunk and came up with a bundle of herbs. She set fire to it's end and trailed it behind her as she walked along the stretch of sidewalk where Dean had apparently been talking to himself.
"(1)Ostende mihi, quid hic lateant," she chanted. "Ostende mihi, quid hic lateant. Ostende mihi, quid hic lateant."
"I'd be careful if I were you."
A deep, toneless voice at Kaydie's back drew her attention. She turned to see a disheveled man in a light trench coat standing near the vending machine.
"A few more words and you might be shown something your fragile eyes are not meant to see," he warned her. Kaydie could make out two enormous, shadowy shapes behind him. They were about as substantial as mist and she had to focus hard to glimpse them. She waved the herbs in an arc over her head, squinting at the shapes that momentarily gained a little more substance. Just enough for her to identify them as wings.
Kaydie's breath caught in her throat as she realized what she was seeing.
"You- You're a... you're an... an..."
He was an angel, but she found herself unable to say it. It was too wild, too unbelievable. Kaydie had grown up hearing stories about these creatures, but no one had seen one in at least two generations.
"I am Castiel," he told her. She managed to compose herself with great effort and shook the herbs until the embers on their tips died.
"Why are you here?" she blurted without thinking. Of all the places to find such a being, a sleazy, cheap motel wouldn't have been the first place she looked.
"I have been ordered to watch Dean Winchester, but... the task is proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated."
"What do you mean?"
"I should be invisible to his eyes, but it would seem that I am unable to hide myself from him," Castiel explained. "Our bond must be more profound than we anticipated."
"Your bond?"
"Your inquisitiveness is becoming irksome," Castiel informed her. "I do not have time to answer your questions, hunter. I have a task. One which I am, thus far, failing miserably."
He looked terribly disturbed by this fact.
"You know, I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on Winchester too," she told him. "I can't make myself invisible to him either, but I've been managing pretty well so far."
"How?" Castiel asked, sounding skeptical.
"Well..."
Kaydie had an idea, remembering her grandma's stories. The ones where hunters and angels worked side by side.
"I mean, I could show you if you want," she offered. "I'm going after him now. You could come with me."
Castiel considered her proposal for a long moment and finally gave a brisk nod.
"Very well."
Kaydie could hardly believe her ears. She felt like a little girl on Christmas morning, her heart practically beating out of her chest with excitement. She couldn't wait to text Greta and tell her about this new development.
It was hard, but Kaydie kept a lid on her enthusiasm as she led Castiel to her car. She was determined to conduct herself with dignity. Being the first Smith to work with an angel in several generations, she knew it was going to be hard to keep the privilege from going to her head.
"This mode of transportation is incredibly conspicuous," Castiel pointed out with a terse frown. "How do you intend to disguise your presence from Dean?"
"Oh, he knows I'm following him," Kaydie explained as they pulled out of the parking lot. "No need to hide after you've been made."
"Made?"
"Uh. You know. After your mark notices that you're tailing them."
"Tailing?"
Kaydie regarded him suspiciously.
"Are you seriously not understanding me?"
"This is my first major foray onto this plane of existence in several centuries," Castiel defended himself grumpily. "Modern colloquialisms are far from my area of expertise."
"Right."
In under five minutes, Castiel had managed to erode some of the magic Kaydie had first felt at the idea of working with him. She cleared her throat, concentrating on the task at hand and trying to keep her disappointment in check. This was still a nearly unimaginable blessing. She just had to focus on the bright side. An angel was an angel, no matter how touchy.
Bobby Singer was getting weird calls. Which was saying a lot, considering he got calls day and night from drunken nomadic serial killers looking for information and alibis. Bobby got calls from every corner of the country and a few from Canada when the weather turned cold and their crawlies started to creep.
Bobby Singer rarely got calls from the great beyond.
He glared at his telephone over a glass of whiskey, daring it to ring again. He was boiling with rage at the anonymous caller claiming to be Dean Winchester. Whoever it was had a hell of a lot of nerve. A lot of balls too. Bobby was one call away from tracing the bastard's location and teaching him what it meant to be sorry.
Not a lot in this world had the ability to rattle Bobby Singer, but those two calls manage to set him on edge during the days that followed. Everything time the phone rang his eyes narrowed as he took the call and he breathed a sigh of relief when it was a hunter asking for lore or the best way to kill a yeti.
"It's not a yeti, ya idjit," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "Because yeti isn't real. No, it's not bigfoot either. If I had to guess? A bear and a boatload of beer."
He hung up, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.
"I swear, some of these damn hunters had the sense knocked clean out of their heads decades ago," he sighed. He frowned at himself. "And if I don't quit talking to myself, then before long I'll be as senseless as they are."
Bobby poured himself a drink. He was pouring himself a lot of drinks these days, but he didn't have the energy to worry about his liver. A small voice in the back of his head chided him for not taking better care of himself, but that voice hurt him more than anything else in the entire world. Any reminder of Karen was more likely to send him on a bender than to sober him up.
No sooner had Bobby poured his drink than his phone rang again.
"Yeah."
"Hello, am I speaking with Gerald Plank?" came a man's voice from the other end of the line.
"Yeah," Bobby repeated. It was one of his aliases. He frowned as he struggled to pull together a mental list of people who knew him by that name. The last time he used it had been on a hunt with John Winchester. That was a hell of a long time ago. "How can I help you?"
"This is Sheriff Mark Timothy with the Garretson police department.
"Mark Timothy?"
Bobby's hackles shot up immediately. First of all, Mark Timothy was the one of the fakest sounding names he'd ever heard. Which was saying something, considering that most of the poeple he knew went by no less than a dozen fake names a year. Secondly, he was unpleasantly acquainted with the Sheriff of Garretson.
"What happened to Hank?" he demanded.
"Uh... pardon?"
"Last I checked, Hank Landers was Sheriff in Garretson.
"Right, of course. You, uh... you didn't hear? He... retired."
Admittedly, Bobby didn't keep up with Garretson politics. In fact, it had been years since he'd been there. Once upon a time, he would meet up with a group of fishing buddies there for a drink before they would all head out together... that was a long time ago. Another lifetime, another Bobby Singer.
"Uh-huh," Bobby grunted suspiciously, waiting to hear what this new Sheriff had to say.
"Anyway, we have a John Doe sitting in our morgue."
"Is that so? What's it got to do with me?"
"He had your name and number in his wallet and at the time being, that's all the information we have to go on. I was hoping you could come into town at your earliest convenience, maybe help us ID this guy."
"ID him, huh? Well, I didn't have any hot dates this weekend anyway," Bobby sighed. "How's tomorrow 'round noon?"
"I sure appreciate it."
"Yeah."
Bobby hung up and pursed his lips as he wondered what was brewing in Garretson. The town was tiny and little more than an hours drive from Sioux Falls. The stiff they needed help IDing could only be a hunter. Who else would have one of Bobby's aliases on him? If there was a dead hunter in Garretson, that meant that there was an unsolved case as well. A ghost or monster still on the loose.
Bobby decided it would be wise to start packing for his trip tonight. He wanted to be ready to settle any unfinished business lurking at his destination.
Vera woke up on Dr. Avery's couch with a splitting headache. She sat up quickly with a groan, surveying the destruction around her.
"Dean!" she growled. "Damn it!"
She stood, wincing as the pounding in her head intensified. Day was breaking outside, the sun's first rays filtering delicately through Dr. Avery's white living room drapes. Vera investigated the scene of last night's disaster, piecing together a picture of a gunfight. She counted the bullet holes in the walls and furniture, scrutinizing their positions. They spoke of two shooters, one far more trigger happy than the other. The more reserved of the two had fired only a handful of times, four at the most. They were a much better shot than their opponent. Dean, Vera was sure.
The carpet was stained with blood that had flowed heavily enough to pool. The less experienced of the shooters had taken a hit. Someone had hastily tried to soak up the worst of it, long enough after the fact that most of the blood had already dried, making their task nigh impossible. On a hunch, Vera knelt and pulled a silver knife from her jacket. She pressed it to the blood stain and steam rose at the point of contact.
The shapeshifter.
Vera parted the drapes, searching for her car. It was nowhere to be found. It wasn't a great feat of detective work to figure out that Dean had taken it. If she was right, he had the shapeshifter too. She wondered if he knew who it was or if he still thought it was Alice. Only one way to find out.
Vera roamed Dr. Avery's house. She gulped down a few painkillers for her headache, helped herself to a few other supplies and waited in the garage for the doctor to return. She slowly munched a fritter she'd pilfered from the kitchen, relishing the taste and pondering the magnificence of worldly pleasures like food.
Ten minutes into her vigil, someone spoke behind her, startling her so badly that she dropped the uneaten half of her treat.
"So tell me."
Crowley's voice was unmistakable.
"Do you have a plan? Or are you making this up as you go along?"
"Don't you have anything better to do than breathe down my neck?" Vera demanded, rising and turning to face him.
"A million things, but our darling queen considers this the most important," Crowley replied. "Too important to for you to 'wing it', as the kids say these days."
"I'm not winging anything," Vera scowled. "This isn't an exact science. If you think you can do a better job, then why don't you?"
"Oh kitten, you don't want me to have to do your job for you," Crowley assured her. "The only reason you're not slow roasting right at this very moment is that you're supposedly going to bag us Winchester's soul. If you can't hold up your end of the bargain, it's right back into the hotbox with you."
"I can get him to sign another contract," Vera said, refusing to let him see how rattled she was by his threat. "I just need time."
"Ah, time. Of course, it's only the end of the world," Crowley said sardonically. "I'm sure it won't mind waiting while you take your time."
"You know, he isn't the only righteous man in the world," Vera pointed out. "There has to be a saint out there who'd be happy to sign their soul away for a little worldly comfort."
"Oh sure, plenty."
"So why do you need Dean so bad? Why go to all the trouble?"
"I have to admit, I've wondered the same thing myself. Rumor among the troops is that it's got to do with his bloodline... fate, destiny, all that jazz. But it's all speculation. Who can really say why the higher-ups do things the way they do?"
Crowley took a few steps forward, getting just close enough to Vera for her to smell his cologne. It was close enough to make the situation tensely uncomfortable.
"At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked pointedly. "Speed this along, or I'll see to it personally that you and loverboy both spend the rest of eternity rotting in the deepest, darkest parts of hell you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares."
Vera swallowed hard, lips pressed into a thin, tight line as she struggled to keep her helpless rage from showing on her face. Crowley patted her on the back condescendingly and disappeared with a sinister smile. Vera let out the breath she'd been holding, leaned against the wall and closed her eyes until she regained her composure. She needed to save herself from hell, but the cost at which her salvation would come... would it really be worth it?
"So you loved her then."
A moment from the night before came back to taunt Vera, to remind her of what an awful bargain she had struck.
Dean didn't answer her, but his expression spoke volumes. Her heart nearly gave out as she realized what it was saying. He did love Alice Smith. The revelation tore at her soul like a rusty razor. Deep down, something ugly in her nature had been hoping he would give her an excuse to betray him, a reason to send him back to damnation. Anything that might free her from the guilt that had consumed her every waking moment since making the deal that exonerated her from hell. Instead, she was forced to face the reality that he didn't deserve what she was going to do to him. He didn't deserve hell and most agonizingly of all, she didn't deserve him.
Minutes later, the garage door opened and Dr. Avery parked a red sedan. She got out of the car carrying a bag full of cleaning supplies. For the bloodstain in her carpet, no doubt. She shivered and her breath emerged in a pale cloud, despite the fact that just beyond the garage, the day was sunny and warm. She greeted Vera with the false name she had given her the day before, unaware of the danger she was in.
It was too bad she got home after Crowley made his appearance. Vera was pissed, backed into a corner from which there was no escape. Between saving Dean and saving herself, she had only one choice. It didn't matter how good he was, how much better than she. Hell was hot and eternity lasted longer than a soul could bear to contemplate.
Dr. Avery was just a casualty of Vera's tormented conscience, of the rage that she allowed to overshadow the guilt that threatened to destroy her. She barely had time to scream before Vera's fist shattered her jaw. As Vera beat her to death bare handed, her blood splattered and blended with the crimson tone of the car that was about to be stolen from her.
Bobby rolled into Garretson with less than a half hour to spare. He'd encountered engine trouble on his way into town. Not that he minded being late to this appointment. Sheriff Timothy was the one who called him, asked him to go an hour out of his way to help identify this body. He'd better be glad Bobby had shown up at all.
Still, Bobby couldn't help his morbid curiosity. He felt a little dread at the thought that he might see someone he knew on that table, but he was more resigned than anything. Hunting was a dangerous occupation. Everyone involved knew the risks. If you made it your business to chase the supernatural, you could die at any moment.
Garretson was a ridiculously small town and it didn't surprise him that the streets were deserted on a Sunday. Everyone and their mother was in church. He pulled up at the police station and started for the entrance, only to be stopped by a voice from behind him.
"Bobby! Bobby, hey!"
He recognized the Sheriff's voice, but something about it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. In person, it sounded eerily similar to another voice he knew...
Bobby turned, preparing to greet Mark Timothy, only to receive the shock of his life.
Dean Winchester jogged toward him, breaking into a huge grin as he neared.
"God, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!"
He threw his arms around Bobby, who stiffened, still too shocked to react.
"Dean?" was all he could manage.
"I would have just called but... well, I tried that," Dean explained, pulling back. "You threatened to, uh..."
"I remember," Bobby said, eyes narrowing as the surprise started to wear off, anger taking its place. Whatever this thing was, it had made the biggest mistake of its life. Without warning, Bobby took a swing that Dean barely managed to dodge.
"Bobby, it's me!" Dean protested.
"Like hell it is!" Bobby shot back with narrowed eyes. He reached for his gun on impulse, but stopped himself, glancing at the police station that loomed over them both like a watchdog. He suddenly realized the reason for the pretense that had lured him here. Whatever this thing was, it was smart. It knew Bobby would be pissed when it met with him and it knew how to discourage him from killing it on sight. Garettson was too close to home for Bobby to be caught committing a murder on camera.
"Come on, Bobby, give me a chance!" Dean begged. "Ask me anything! I can prove it's me!"
"Do I look like I was born yesterday?!" Bobby demanded.
"Bobby-"
"I've never heard of a mind reading shapeshifter before, but I'm sure as hell not ruling it out as a possibility!"
"Are you kidding me?! That's insane! If you're open minded enough to consider something that loony, won't you at least entertain the possibility that I'm really me?!"
Bobby ignored the part of him that wanted to believe that this was actually Dean. That part of him was an idjit.
Dean read Bobby's expression and switched tactics.
"Alright. You think I'm a shifter... fine. You got any silver on you?"
"Are you- Let me get this straight!" Bobby seethed. "You impersonate someone who was like a son to me, lure me out here under false pretenses, and now you want me to lend you a weapon? You must think I'm out of my damn mind!"
"Look, you've got a gun!" Dean pointed out. "If I come at you with the knife, it's self defense. I'm not a shifter. Let me prove it."
Bobby considered the proposal with narrowed eyes. He had to admit that it didn't seem like there was much risk in it for him, at least not on the surface.
"Bobby, please," Dean begged.
"In the car," Bobby growled, drawing his gun and leveling it at Dean. "Glove box. Move slow."
Dean did as Bobby said, emerging with a silver knife. He grimaced as he sliced his arm shallowly. Bobby's expression turned to one of disbelief. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't half the things he knew it could be. Suddenly, the part of him that was an idjit started to get the better of him.
"Dean?" he asked, putting his gun away as he approached him.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Dean said in exasperation.
Bobby pulled him into a crushing embrace, struggling to keep his wits about him through his shock and joy.
"How?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Dean admitted. "I mean, the Smiths told me-"
As he withdrew from the hug, Bobby interrupted him by tossing the contents of a water bottle in his face. Dean sputtered and spit unhappily, fixing Bobby with a look of consternation.
"Can't be too careful," Bobby explained, recapping the holy water and tossing it back into the car. "Smiths?"
"Alice's family."
"The ones she said tried to kill her? What the hell did you go to them for?"
"I didn't go to them, I woke up there."
"Woke up as in... came back to life?"
"Yeah."
"Well I gotta tell you son, you look great," Bobby said, looking Dean over again. "Last time I saw you... well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. Closed casket material."
Dean's stomach turned as the memory of his death assaulted him. His skin prickled with gooseflesh and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck as he remembered the way Lilith's hound tore into him.
"I bet."
"So what happened? The Smiths busted you out?"
"I wish I knew. I don't remember anything."
"Nothing at all?"
Dean swallowed hard, refusing to let himself slip into a memory.
"Not a thing," he lied. "The Smiths tried to feed me this crazy explanation, but it just... doesn't ring true."
"What was it?"
"Too crazy to repeat."
"Coming from you, that's a lot of crazy," Bobby said in amazement.
"Yeah, well those people are ten kinds of crazy," Dean said. "One of them's been tailing me since I left their compound... By the way, do you know how to throw a tracking spell?"
"Depends," Bobby replied. "A hex bag oughtta do the trick, but I wouldn't know what to put in it unless I knew what spell was being used. Do you know why they're following you?"
"If you believe them, it's to keep me safe," Dean rolled his eyes.
"And you're not buying that."
"No way. I don't know how I got out of hell or what stake they've got in it, but I trust them as far as I can throw them. I'm keeping my distance until I know more."
"Can't argue with that logic. You know, if it wasn't the Smiths that rescued you... well, there's only one other likely candidate."
Dean's heart dropped into his stomach.
"Sam."
"Has to be."
"Bobby, where is he?"
"Couldn't say," Bobby replied uneasily.
Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"What do you mean, you couldn't say?!" he demanded. "Bobby, tell me you didn't let Sam go off on his own!"
"What did you want me to do, keep him in the yard on a leash?" Bobby asked sardonically. "I did everything I could! He was dead set on leaving!"
Dean was frustrated, but he refused to let himself take it out on Bobby.
"I know. Damn it, Sam, what did you do?" he groaned aloud. "We need to find him Bobby."
"Think we'll need to?" Bobby asked. "If it really was him that got you back topside, I'd expect him to show up looking for you before long. Why don't we head back to my place, put out a few lines, see if we can't turn up anything?"
"No, I can't go back with you," Dean shook his head.
"Why not? Because you've got that Smith following you?"
"No, I'm not worried about her. She seems to be letting me do what I want, for now anyway. No, there's actually another hunter I'm worried might find me."
Bobby raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"It's been a long three days," Dean sighed.
"Care to fill me in? If memory serves, there's a diner up the road with an omelette to die for."
"That sounds great," Dean nodded. "I'll follow you there."
Bobby pulled him in for one more hug before they set out.
"It's damn good to have you back, boy," he said.
"It's good to be back," Dean replied with a smile.
1): Show me what is hidden here