Somewhere In The Middle Of Tennessee
If there ever was a Hell on Earth, it was on the back country roads inside that goddamn minivan. Time stretched its fluid arms to fit as much of itself in a single second as it could. Fear boiled in the humidity, melancholy beaded along brows. The silence was haunting, but the desperate pleas that rolled from Dean's throat were torture. The mild slaps he laid into his brother's good cheek, the occasional yell of "c'mon, Sammy!" Each unanswered hit and cry stung worse than holy water.
Looking at them was worse. Sam was sprawled gawky and still across the back seat, his head motionless in Dean's lap. Dean huddled himself over his brother, like he could shield Sam from the damage with his body. I choked on regret and dread at the vision of them, my boys – one half dying, one already dead on the inside – and had to turn away. Only, when I turned away, I was still choking, but on anger.
I'm going to slaughter that ate-up motherfucker. Today.
The clock on the dash claimed it had only taken us seventeen minutes to reach the nearest hospital, but damn if it didn't feel like a year. And then, like a tightly wound rubber band, time snapped itself forward, compensating for all it had lost on the way. Life lurched into fast-forward; people moved in blurs of blue scrubs and severe medical equipment, spoke in soundless words. The only thing that would come into focus, the only thing that would still long enough not to blend into the chaos was Sam. Quiet, peaceful-looking Sam, his eyes closed, his long hair askew on the gourney. Lying there with a shallow breath and a face full of battle.
I should have been there with him.
They carried him away at a full-blown run, and, when Dean looked back at me, time readjusted itself to live broadcast. His brows furrowed tight, jade eyes glared, jaw clenched. The lines on his face whispered fear and screamed anger. Not just anger. Disgust. This is your fault.
A hundred thousand tiny daggers in whatever tarnished remnants remained of John.
And the shadow grew.
I heard a voice nearby, but it was white noise to me as I watched Dean turn and run to catch up with his brother.
"Urr ye deaf or dolton?" Mystery snapped in a Scottish accent that astonished with its plausibility and confused with its rapidity. I looked over and downish to find Mystery with one hand on her hip, the other holding the van keys out. "Ah said shift th' van 'n' secure th' perimeter. Ken?"
My brows collapsed under distaste for her commanding tone.
And what's with the accent?
Mystery rolled her eyes and threw the keys at me. They thud against my chest, and I caught them before they dropped.
"Heid doon, arse up," she barked. "In case ye hud nae noticed." She held up her broken arm. "I'll be needing medical attention masell."
She stood fast in my glower, a mountain against a brutal wind. My gaze wandered to my surroundings, noticing for the first time the small audience we had attracted. They looked on with interest, waiting with eyes almost fearful; "you'd better do what she says, mister."
What the fuck did I miss while I was standing right fucking here?
I cracked my neck in a display of contempt, then turned and lumbered through the sliding Emergency doors. My fingers trembled around the keys in my hand, and I clutched them, bracing myself against a wave of sick; a tide of polluted emotions that dizzied the head and weakened my muscles. I leaned a hand against the van – parked under the canopy of the ER entrance – and drew in a staggered breath. My fingers unfurled, found the metal keys bloody. Two raw gashes and a shallow puncture kissed my palm, but I barely felt it against the nauseating waterspout of guilt and rage.
Freya greeted me with a low whine echoing in her throat when I climbed behind the steering wheel. She rested her head in my lap, protective and comforting. I sat there for a minute, stroking her head, staring distantly. Lost. Sam could die, and Dean was right.
This is all your fault.
I pulled slow through the main lot, passing row after row of trucks and cars, Freya's head on my lap the whole time. I considered my hound's loyalty and her compassion, and I managed to tear myself free of the toxic storm long enough to find gratitude. I wasn't truly alone as long as she was with me.
And then, as I parked under the shade of an oak on the far end of the property, I remembered the angel.
I didn't have a phone — never bothered to get one this side of Hell — but Sam's had been stashed in the glovebox. I pulled the compartment open and grabbed it. Finding no password protection, I accessed his contacts and scrolled. Castiel wasn't too far down the list, but when I found him, I hesitated.
He's probably halfway across the Atlantic by now.
My thumb hovered over the call button. He wouldn't get the message until he landed, and then what? Would he give his celestial family the middle finger and tell them to hold on just long enough for him to fly back to heal Sam? Did he even still have his grace?
I shifted my gaze to Freya when she abruptly abandoned me to put her muzzle on the floor. She sniffed with purpose, moving to the back of the van where she peered out the window and growled at what she found. I shifted my eyes to the rearview mirror and spotted what had gotten my girl so hot and bothered.
Adjacent to the parking lot was a garden; a part of the hospital, but somewhat removed. Most of it was manicured lawn and a little paved path that meandered under oaks and willows beside a serene brook. A fountain sat partially enclosed by tall hedges and rose bushes, and, sitting on a mock wrought iron bench with her arms stretched along the back was a demon.
And she was staring right at me.
Fuck was what I should have been thinking. Oh look, something to kill was more accurate to what went off in my addled mind at the sight of the mangled red face that hid behind a young brunette in a tan peacoat.
I left Freya behind in a fit of blind rage, ravenous for another kill. My Kurdish blade was unsheathed in a mechanical response to my death itch, my lips curled, my eyes narrowed. Her red eyes followed me as I stormed across the parking lot, subtle amusement written along her brow.
"Having a bad day, John?" she asked, mocking and rhetorical.
"Oh, it's about to get a little better," I replied anyway, descending upon her with my knife drawn back, ready to strike.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said, so confident in her words that she took her attention away from me to give it to her polished fingernails.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that, sweetheart," I growled.
The demon rolled her eyes and gave me an irritable look.
"Really, John?" she said, wrinkling her nose in disappointment. "You're a smart guy. You're a little pissed off right now, but surely you can figure out why killing me would be out of your best interests."
The intensity at which I held my arm struggled as realization struck me. I bristled under its weight, pursed my lips.
"You go missing, Crowley knows where we are," I vocalized in something of a mutter, relaxing my weapon at my side.
"Good boy," she praised in sarcasm. She stood, putting a good foot between us. "I'm Xael, by the way."
"I don't care," I spat.
I was in a tight spot, and I was in no mood for it. Which only made it worse. My eyes scanned our surroundings as I put my blade away, replacing it with my cigarette pack, which was infuriatingly soggy.
"What's from stopping me from killing you and moving Sam to a different hospital?" I challenged. Xael watched me open my pack, then discard the whole thing in an angry heave when I found the contents ruined from my mad dash across the river.
"I don't know what's wrong with him, but I'm going to assume it's bad enough to keep him stationary for a while if you risked your hides to get him here," she replied, like this should have been obvious to me. As it was. "Just so you are aware, there's at least one demon in every town in a hundred mile radius."
A deep breath filled my lungs and my temper. I clenched my fingers into fists, cracked my neck. Narrowed my eyes.
Xael dipped her skinny fingers into her coat pocket and extracted a silver cigarette case. She opened it and held it out for me. I stared at the neat rows of cigarettes stamped that filled the holder to capacity. A peace offering. A bid for my ear and my time.
"What are you after?" I accused, accepting one of her fancy cigarettes. I placed the filter side between my lips and patted my pockets for my zippo. Before I could extract it, Xael had produced a dancing flame on the the end of her own, and was holding it out to me. I hesitated; I'd already taken a cigarette from her. Why not let the bitch light it for me?
Because she's a fucking demon.
Aren't we both?
I leaned forward towards the flame, dipped the end of the cigarette in the fire and inhaled.
"I'm not after anything," she claimed, snapping her lighter shut as I straightened my posture and exhausted a cloud of gray smoke in her face. She let it tease her meatsuit's skin with a passive expression. Her lighter was returned to her pocket as she added, "I just know where to place my bets."
My brows folded in question, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Surely she wasn't suggesting what I thought she was. The vomit-inducing idea that had been briefly discussed and just as quickly shot out of the realm of possibilities.
Xael kicked off her explanation with a question;
"Haven't you wondered why Crowley was trying to mark one of your boys?"
She nodded to my left forearm, referencing the binding burn hidden under my sleeve.
"We've been a little preoccupied trying to remove it," I confessed, rolling my shoulders. "But since you're here, why don't you indulge me?"
"Crowley's been paranoid about an uprising in the works," she informed me, shifting her gaze about, making sure we were the only demons around.
"Is he right?" I tested around my cigarette.
"Of course he's right," she replied with a quick tongue. Her eyes snapped back to mine. "Nobody likes that fuckwad."
I nodded in agreement and rolled my fingers in a silent go on.
"There wasn't much in the works," she continued. "Whispers, mostly, but they were approving. Crowley, being not an idiot, started building up his own alliances, inside and outside of Hell. Started making deals with gods and rogue reapers."
"Why pull Sam and Dean into it?" I wanted to know.
"Because they're Sam and Dean fucking Winchester!" she raved, throwing her arms up. "He wanted to insure they would be on his side when the time came. And what better way than tie the life of one of them to his own?"
I shifted, weighed her words. Determined the honesty behind them.
She's telling the truth.
"And then I wandered in," I said before drawing in another hit of tobacco.
"You didn't just wander in, John," she said. A shrewd smile unfolded across her pouty lips, an eager gleam sparked in her brown eyes. "You changed everything."
She was thinking it.
"Ah," I said with a knowing air, exhaling smoke in my speech. "You want me to lead your little crusade."
"Revolution," she corrected me, her keen gaze still alight. "And it's not about what we want. It's about what's inevitable."
"Is it, though?" I posed, insincere and hostile. "Because I would rather stick my neat little knife in my neck before I took the crown."
The artful smile didn't waver, the gleam did not fade. A sharp jab of unease poked the bear that was my anger.
"Fuck off with your Fate crap," I growled, then took another drag. "I'm full up on Fate. It's not going to happen."
"Fate has fuck all to do with anything anymore," Xael said as casual as could be. "Crowley thinks he can torture you into submission. That once he makes a proper demon out of you, that you'll become his super soldier. His death machine." She paused to take a calculated step forward. "But you're not going to be Crowley's little bitch, are you?" she said with a tone that bordered on seductive. The spark in her eyes glimmered ecstatic, her smile broadened. "You're going to kill him."
"You do realize I'd only be killing myself, right?" I said, raising my left arm in gesture. She waved it off.
"We can remove it," she told me, like it was as simple as taking an aspirin. Her smile turned devious. "When the time's right."
She watched in delight as my posture went rigid and uncomfortable.
"Yeah, well. Either way I'll kill the son of a bitch, but I'm not taking over," I said, cold and stern.
"Even if you had a choice –" she stated, clear and flat. "– and you don't, by the way – once Crowley's done with you, you'll want it."
"I plan on having this thing off long before that can happen, sweetheart," I said, raising my arm again.
Still she smiled.
"You were savage as a human, John, but as a demon." She paused, giggled. Took another step forward.
"Shut up," I growled in warning.
"When Crowley's done with you," she whispered, provocative. "You could bring the world to its knees."
"Shut up," I warned again, my chest tight, my fists clenched.
The thought of my wrath wreaking havoc across the earth sent shivers down her spine.
"Poetic, isn't it?"
"Shut up!" I barked. My left hand snapped up and grabbed her face in a tight hold, my eyes turned black. Even with her mouth contorted, she was still smiling that goddamn smile. I pushed her back and she stumbled a few steps, but she didn't fall. No. She laughed.
"It's happening already, isn't it?" she chortled, righting herself. "Your turning."
"Fuck off," I said, blinking furiously against the blackness that wouldn't recede. I flicked the nub of my cigarette into the fountain, turned to Xael. "Now," I said. "What exactly am I going to do with you?"
"Seeing as how you need me, I'm going to vote that you leave me alone," she said as-a-matter-of-factly. She folded her arms, that fucking smirk still present. "I'm going to stay here and let Crowley believe I haven't seen your fugitive ass, or that I'm aware of Sam's medical condition. I'll protect them as best as I can without tipping Crowley off."
My brows furrowed.
"Why?" It dawned on me as the word left my lips. I nodded in knowing. "Kissing my ass already."
She shrugged.
"Just don't forget us little folk when you hit the big time," she said.
I rolled my eyes and backed away to leave the encounter.
"Keep dreaming, darlin'," I said.
"Likewise, Johnny boy," she returned without losing that fucking smile. "I don't have to tell you to be careful, do I?" Her eyes locked on mine with a grave stare. "Mind who you trust." She shifted her gaze to the hospital for a moment before it returned to me. "Always question the company you keep."
Her implication was not lost.
Mystery.
I turned my back on Xael, took a step to leave her behind.
"Oh!" she called after me. I wavered, clenched my jaw against irritation as I awarded her my attention one last time that sunny afternoon. With an underhand throw, she passed me her silver cigarette case. I snatched it with my left hand, and she nodded like we were suddenly foxhole buddies. My eyes gave an automatic roll, but I didn't return her tobacco or her case. Instead, I stuffed them in my pocket as I turned to leave.
The trek back to the hospital found me anxious and antagonized. The idea of Mystery betraying us was irksome, but that could easily be dealt with, assuming Xael's warning implication was honest. What bothered me the most was even if you had a choice. It played like a broken record at dizzying length, trying to capture me in its promise. Urging me to fulfill my new destiny.
Even in the afterlife there were plans for me. Higher powers pushing me around like a chess piece, moving me where they wanted me, giving zero fucks about where I wanted me. Damning me to an eternity as a puppet.
Castiel's voice snuck into my head for the second time, whispering into the echo of calamity.
There's always another way.
And I woke up. My mind cleared, and I knew exactly what I had to do.
I pulled Sam's phone out of my pocket and called the angel's cell. Straight to voicemail.
"This is Castiel's voicemail. Make your voice a mail."
I rolled my eyes.
"Cas," I spoke after the familiar tone, my eyes fixed dead ahead on the future I was going to choose. "It's John. Call me back as soon as you land." Pause. Breath. "I need you to tell me everything you know about closing the gates of Hell."
Thank you for reading! :)