12 - Dead Inside

Sam listened to Dean and Lyla in the elevator with one earbud in, and was surprised when Dean guessed about the tree tattoo. That hadn't occurred to him, but now it seemed obvious. How had he missed that?

"What'cha doin'?" Ramon asked, peering at his laptop from the back seat.

"I'm trying to get into the building's security system, but it actually has decent firewalls."

"What do you want to do?"

"Evacuate the rest of the building, if at all possible."

Ramon thought about it for a moment. "You got a lighter I can borrow?"

Sam dug in his pocket, and handed him one of his lighters. He always had a couple on him, in case they ran into an emergency salting and burning situation.

"Thanks," Ramon said, and got out of the car. Sam watched as he went over to a nearby wall, and flicked the lighter beneath what looked to be a tiny box. Several seconds later, a screaming loud alarm went off, and sprinklers opened up in the parking garage. He sprinted back to the car, trying not to get wet, and failing. "Here you go," he said, handing back the lighter.

"Hard to beat the old fashioned way," Sam admitted. Water was still pattering down on the windshield, and after thirty more seconds, he saw people start filtering out the emergency stairwell door.

They watched for a bit, as the sprinklers continued pouring down, and the alarm kept screaming. About a dozen people had already left. Slow day at the office? Come to think of it, it was Saturday,wasn't it? Weird how days could escape you, especially when you were up all night, and slept for a good part of the day. Their body clocks were all fucked up, but there was no help for it now.

The siren made it a little harder for him to hear what was going on with Dean and Lyla, but it sounded like things were still conversational with whoever they were talking to. Definitely a man, but he couldn't say any more for the moment.

The sprinklers finally stopped, but the siren kept going. No more people were funneling out to their cars. "I think we're good to go," Sam said.

"Am I going to get some weapons here or what?" Ramon asked.

Sam had thought about that. Letting Ramon go into this situation without weapons definitely more dangerous than than letting him have them. "You know how to use a gun, correct?"

"Again, American from Texas. So yes."

Sam popped the trunk, and pulled out a spare pistol with a silver bullet clip in it. It was small, but easy to use, and definitely punched above its weight. "Can you use this one?"

Ramon took it, studying it a moment, and eased off the safety as he pointed it at the ground. "Uh huh."

After considering it a moment - he could just imagine what Dean would say to him for doing this - Sam pulled out a spare angel blade. "This should kill any evil thing you stab it into, but use it as a last resort, okay? Knife fighting isn't something you can improvise." Dean had actually taught him how to knife fight. Honestly it was one of the hardest things Sam had to learn. As fighting went, it was close and nasty, with stabbing and slashing both an option on the table. Sam used to resent Dean for making him try to get it right, and then one day, it occurred to him that Dean had learned it from Dad, and how much worse was that? He'd seen occasional training sessions between Dean and Dad, and Dad was never easy on him. He came at him with adult strength and dexterity, and yet he still expected Dean to respond in kind and be able to hold his own. In retrospect, it had probably crossed the line into child abuse, even though Dad was trying to get Dean ready for when the monster floodgates would open, and Dad wouldn't be around anymore. Intentions meant little when the end result was so bad. But at least Sam knew he could hold his own in a knife fight. Dean was probably a bit better, but for all the wrong reasons.

"I bet." He took the blade, and stared at it a moment. "Is this silver?"

"No. It's ... a long story." He didn't need to know the weird metal properties of angel blades, which, as far as Sam could tell, were not made from any known Earth metal. But it looked silver, so, good enough.

Sam pulled out the backpack he and Dean had put together back at the motel, and shouldered it before heading towards the elevator.

Sam had heard Lyla say they were going to the penthouse, so when they got in the elevator - about a second before the fire alarm died - Sam hit the button for it, only to find it didn't light up. He hit other buttons until he found a floor the elevator would take them to. Turned out to be the twentieth floor. "Okay, we may have to go up the fire stairs."

Ramon looked between him and the elevator panel for a moment. "Does this mean they know we're here?"

"No, it could be that the top floors are locked off unless you're expected."

"But they'll have guys covering the stairs, won't they?"

Sam glanced at him, and was impressed with his foresight. You would never know it was first official hunting mission. "Yeah, they will. I have no idea how many, or what they'll be. You'll have to follow my lead."

Ramon nodded, in a way that sort of telegraphed his anxiety. He didn't blame him. "So, uh, any idea what's going on up there?"

In his earbud, he heard Dean and the man still talking. It sounded conversational, so things hadn't popped off yet. "Nothing yet. We'll have to wait until Dean drops the bug out word before we go up."

"Bug out word? Is that like a safe word?"

Sam smirked, glad Dean wasn't here. "No. But in a way, 's a word we can use in public that simply means run for the hills. Sometimes you can't say that in mixed company."

"Oh damn! I could so use something like that. Like on a bad date, somebody can say it to me, and I can escape through the bathroom window."

Sam laughed. He'd been there. Not often, but yeah. There was Cyndi. Oh god, how had he ever forgotten about her? Even after all these years, he felt the sting of embarrassment. But shortly after that disaster, he met Jess, and ... he couldn't think about this now. He had to keep his head in the game, and keep an eye out for Ramon as well. Regretting time could wait until this was over.

Sam was braced for potential company on the twentieth floor, but the elevator doors opened on an empty hallway. He put a finger to his lips as a warning to Ramon before easing out his gun and carefully checking both sides of the corridor. All Sam saw was empty, half lit cubicles. Nobody was working this weekend, or they cleared out with the fire alarm.

Ramon stood at the elevator door, holding it open. When Sam waved him on, he joined him in the hall. He said nothing, he had his gun out and simply waited to follow Sam. Which was great, but also? A terrible sign he was adapting to the whole hunter thing. Sam really didn't want him to. Having Claire do it was bad enough. It would eat their lives, and if they were lucky to live past their mid-thirties, it would wear on them until they were emotionally numb most of the time. Not that he was projecting, but ... yeah, okay, he was projecting.

They moved quickly and quietly to the emergency stairwell door, and Sam briefly put his ear up to it. He couldn't hear anyone nearby, so they were okay for now. Sam put his backpack on the floor, and crouched down to unzip it. "What's in there?" Ramon asked, in hasty whisper.

"Our edge," Sam said.

He waited and listened in his earpiece for Dean to drop the word.

Davis had left Dean's scotch on the edge of his gaudy desk. He wasn't sure why, especially since there weren't any other chairs in the room. Why would he do this? If it was a power move, it was a weird one.

"If I wanted Tacoma, I'd have it already," he said, picking up the glass. Dean committed the unspeakable crime of downing the scotch in two swallows, because he didn't want the ice to melt and water it down any further. It was a really good kind too, he would have preferred to savor it.

Davis chuckled, a smug smirk curving his thin lips. "I'm not talking about that hellhole. I'm talking about Seattle."

That was a surprise, but Dean didn't show it on his face. Nor did he react when an alarm started screaming through the room.

Davis's expression instantly curdled. "What the hell is that?"

One of his beefy bodyguards took out his phone. "We have a fire alarm going off on the second level parking garage."

Ha. Sam going with the classics.

Davis rolled his eyes. "If it's those homeless guys toking up again, have them killed."

"Yes sir," he said, and relayed the message to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Davis pressed a button his desk, and the alarm died in his office. "You see, the level of vermin we have to deal with here is almost as bad as it is in Tacoma. Hence my pilot project."

"I'm not following you, and yet, I'm not sure I care," Dean said.

Davis was deeply amused, and he got the uneasy sense that he liked him. Dean never wanted to be liked by anyone this smug and punchable. "I'm using Tacoma as my proof of concept. You can clear away the dross, and revitalize a city."

"You didn't clear away all the dross. There's still people there."

Davis chuckled. "Yeah, well, we need a few for food, after all. But we keep the better stock for that. Have you ever eaten a pampered rich guy?"

So many jokes, and Dean couldn't say a single one. "Probably not."

"They're like geese fattened only for their liver. As tender and well marbled as the finest steak. Wonderful."

"Are we talking chomping on the actual flesh? 'Cause I'm not sure what you are."

Davis grinned. "Aww, that hurts my feelings. The Mark of Cain doesn't know a ghoul when he sees one?"

Of course he was a ghoul. "So did you eat the original Davis Miller?"

"Oh, no. That's who I am. This guy -" and he gestured to his body. "- was some fraternity bro piece of shit I ate. I figured he had the right sort of bland but tolerable tech guy energy I was looking for."

"Wait," Lyla exclaimed. She moved a little closer, but remained closer still to the bodyguard on her side of the room. "Are you telling me all the killings are about gentrification?"

Dean had heard that word, but honestly wasn't sure what it meant. He just assumed it meant homogeneous, the way cities all across the States had started looking weirdly the same over the years, until you could be at a cheap motel in Omaha, and it was the same as being in a cheap motel in California, or Connecticut.

Davis scoffed. "Such a negative term. But essentially, yes. I mean, let's face it - Seattle is already half way to being a haven for the wealthy alone. Tacoma is never gonna get there - let's be honest, it's an armpit - but if we can clean out the vermin in our pilot area, and build up the type of elite level housing and commercial units we want, it'll be a piece of cake to do it here. And we're well on our way. Surely you must have noticed."

"A ghoul entrepreneur. Now I've seen everything," Dean said, keeping his voice and tone level and bored. Which was difficult, because inside, he was nearly half-blind with fury. This fucking asshole. Declaring people as "vermin", as something to be gotten rid of - murdering to make himself rich. Even if he wasn't a ghoul, Dean would have happily killed him. He imagined shoving this nice crystal glass into his eye socket, and out the back of his head.

"So, let's break this down to the nitty gritty," Davis said, settling back in his throne like chair. "What do you want?"

"To blow up this building," Dean replied. He meant it, and yet, it was totally in character for the Mark.

Davis laughed again, showing off his pristine white teeth. He had no idea ghouls could wear veneers. "Look, I know you could kill your way through the Western seaboard without breaking a sweat, but who needs that kind of attention? Besides, you can't live on blood alone. My projected earnings for the Tacoma project are in the upper thirty millions. Are you really telling me you don't want a chunk of that? We're looking to at least triple that on the Seattle project."

"How in the hell are you monetizing killing vagrants?" Lyla asked. It was a fair question.

Davis briefly held his hands up. "Ya got me. The only money to be made there is what I can get out of feeding my people for free. The money's all in real estate, property, storefronts. And parking. You'd be surprised how much money there is in that arena. Americans love their cars."

No, he wouldn't, because Dean loved his car as well. But Dean 's rage was straining so hard to burst out it felt like a drumbeat in his head. This asshole, this greedy motherfucker, this cheap knock off of Dick Roman. He wanted to rip off one of his arms and beat him to death with it. Sam could tell him all he wanted that he had no point of familiarity with the Mark, but Dean knew he had some, and this was proof. "Do you think I'm a whore?" Dean asked, trying his hardest to keep his anger out of his voice. He failed, but the Mark would have been offended, so that played. "Do you think you can buy me?"

He heard a slight creak on the floor, a footstep of the bodyguard getting a little closer to him.

Davis seemed to realize he had crossed a line. The smile faded like an afterimage. "That is not what I meant at all, and I'm sorry if you misunderstood me. I want to cut you in. I want you as part of my team. Hell, if you want to kill everyone in the Seattle project by yourself, you are one hundred percent free to do so. And I don't care what you do with the bodies. Throw them off the Space Needle, explode them over the Sound with homemade fireworks, I really don't give a shit. And you can take any part of the city as your own."

Dean pointed down at the floor. "Even here?"

Davis nodded. "It's yours if you want it, with my compliments. Hell, you wanna staff? You can have them too."

Had enough time passed for Sam and Ramon to be in position? He was pretty sure it had. Which was a good thing, because he wasn't sure he could hold on to his temper much longer. "I had my heart set on a house in Poughkeepsie."

Davis looked genuinely confused, and Dean let the silence ride.

For thirty seconds. Then all hell broke loose.