14 - Sunday Day 13

From what they could tell, someone cleaned up after them.

It was unsettling, and perhaps hinted at a silent partner, but there was absolutely no report on what happened at the skyscraper. The next day, Davis Miller was reported dead in a private plane crash. They all wondered who set that up and why, but Dean supposed it might be the monster world taking care of its own. All they needed was the discovery that Miller and his bodyguards weren't exactly human to blow shit wide open.

Dean sometimes did wonder what would happen if people knew monsters were real and all over the fucking place. He could imagine a panicky, Mad Max sort of scenario, where nobody trusted anyone and a lot of people died needlessly. And then he imagined another scenario, where no one really cared. Which one was worse?

He and Sam couldn't really decide which was better, so they split the hitwitch's thirty-two hundred dollars in half, one part going to Tia, and the other going as an anonymous donation to the local homeless shelter. She had been a horrible person, but maybe her money could do some good.

There was no getting around the fact that Dean's head wound was ugly. It looked like he got kicked in the forehead by someone wearing a steel-toed boot. Butterfly bandages mended the cut, but everything around and beneath was the blackest shade of blue. Also, no matter how many cold beers he pressed to it, it hurt. It pulsed like an infected wound, and he so missed Cas being able to heal him. He also just missed Cas, but that felt one and the same.

Dean also knew Sam was kind of hoping Ramon would be repulsed by all the violence, but he wasn't. If he was going to be a hunter, Sam figured he'd need aa mentor, someone to show him the ropes, and it turned out he already had one.

How did they not know Tia was a hunter too? She could have mentioned it. Ramon said she claimed she was "retired", but how much could a hunter actually retire? Dean wondered if he'd ever live long enough to do that, or if the world would last that long. What was he without hunting? Did he even exist anymore? That question shouldn't have been so troubling, but it was. He'd tried it once, and failed. It was like the world had been telling him no, he was nothing if he wasn't this. But was it true? Dean didn't know anymore.

Maybe that's why Dean found himself in the back of the dingy human bar down the street from their motel. He'd told Sam he wouldn't stay out that late, but truth be told, he didn't feel much like sleeping. Of course, the pain pill he took to numb his throbbing head might have something to say about that. But so far, no.

He was on his second whiskey when a familiar shadow loomed over his table. "Wanna say goodbye?" he asked.

Lyla sat down across the table from him, uninvited. He hadn't seen her since they came back to Tacoma. Dean had wondered if she'd totally bailed - left the city, left the state, ran for greener pastures where other shapeshifters might not know she teamed up with some hunters."I actually hoped you were already gone."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. "So, what are you here for?"

Her lips thinned as she looked down at the table, and for a second he thought she was going to get up and simply walk out. But she seemed to come to some decision, and finally looked at him. "So, you want to hear the story?"

He almost asked what story, but it was right there on the side of her neck. He'd said he would listen. "Sure."

Her eyes gazed down at the table again, where someone had half-heartedly attempted to scratch their name into the wood, but only got as far as S. "So my mother could trace her lineage directly to the Alpha shapeshifter, which I'm told is kind of a big deal. My dad acted like we were royalty or something. But I ... I got tired of taking on other people's looks and identities. I wanted to be me, just me. I didn't want to hurt or kill anyone. And they thought there was something wrong with me. They warned me that if I didn't live up to the family name, they'd ... well, they threatened a lot of things. I wasn't sure I completely believed them." She picked up his whiskey glass, and slugged the rest of it down.

"Hey," he protested weakly. Honestly, she was starting to look like she needed it more than he did. Dean knew already this was not headed towards a happy ending.

She set his glass down delicately, as if not wanting to make a noise. "So I made friends with this witch, and I told her of my predicament, and she came up with a solution. See, energy does build up when you don't shift, and it can be really difficult. She found this sigil that would basically shunt the energy in a way I would find more useful." She rolled up her sleeve on her right arm, and there, right above the crook of her elbow, was a small circle with a complicated geometric pattern. It looked like a combination between a spider web and tentacles fanning out across the circle. "I got it tattooed on me, so I'll always have it."

"Smart." So the blue balls thing wasn't a lie exactly, she'd simply left out an important detail. "But I'm gonna guess your parents weren't thrilled with this."

"No." For a moment, her eyes looked to be welling with tears, but she blinked it away so quickly, he wasn't sure if he imagined it or not. "My father said no son of his was going to be some normie, not shifting, and ... I wasn't used to the sigil yet. I had no idea how strong I could be."

"You killed him," Dean guessed.

She nodded. "And when my mother ... she said she couldn't allow a creature like me to live, and she tried to kill me."

Jesus. No wonder she was so prickly and standoffish. Both her parents tried to kill her, simply because she didn't do as she was told. "I'm gonna guess, since you're alive, she isn't."

She let her eyes roam over the bar, looking at everything but him. "Yeah. Among shifters, I'm ... well, we're not exactly a tight group. There are clans and factions within shifter communities, and it's all byzantine and stupid. But I'm a pariah. And I don't care about that, but ... it's not a good feeling knowing every single one of your kind hate you."

"I bet. I've kind of been there."

Now she looked at him. She seemed doubtful, but decided to let it go. "See, this isn't just a penance," she said, touching her neck. "It's a warning. I cracked the seal. I proved you don't have to shift to live. I'm the iceberg that will sink any ship that comes after me."

Dean smiled, liking that metaphor. "That's a kick ass phrase. Can I use that sometime?"

She rolled her eyes, but she almost smiled. "God, you are such a weirdo."

"I thought I was a maniac."

She grimaced. "Yeah ... sorry about that. You really freaked me out. I'm not used to being scared by a human."

"I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult."

She ignored his joke, but, to be fair, it wasn't much of one. "I'm sorry for what the Mark did to you."

He opened his mouth to say it hadn't done anything to him, but the little Sam voice in the back of his head said, "Didn't it?" And Dean suddenly had no idea how to respond.

Once she noticed how awkward things were getting, she sighed and clasped her hands together. "So, that's me. A parent killer hated by all shapeshifters. Is it what you imagined?"

"No. Were we what you imagined as hunters?"

"Oh hell no. I assumed you were more organized."

Dean scoffed, imaging how Sam would reply to that. "We have our good days and our bad days."

"Don't we all?" She stood up to leave, and Dean considered asking her to stay before discarding it. If she wanted to, she would.

"Hey, uh, I know you're not into the whole superhero thing, but can you keep an eye out for trouble? I mean, there's hunters in Tacoma, but I bet you'd do a much quicker job at taking care of things."

Lyla considered that, with a Cas like tilt of her head. "If Shirani asks me to, I will."

That was probably the best he could hope for. Shirani had actually called him yesterday, but only left a message on his voice mail, which was, in its entirety: "Good job. Now fix the other thing." She was definitely one of Dad's stranger contacts.

"Good luck," Dean said.

"And to you too," she said politely, before leaving the bar.

Wow. Dean never thought he'd meet a shifter he didn't want to kill, but there was a first time for everything.

Epilogue

Dean was half convinced this wound on his forehead was never going to heal. Okay, yes, it had only been three days, but the bruise had barely faded at all. He was considering dipping into the witchcraft till to see if he could find something that would help.

He was woken up by the damn thing. If he slept on it a certain way, it hurt like fuck and instantly woke him, which was what happened now. He considered taking another pain pill, but it didn't help earlier. Why would it help now?

Dean decided to have a beer. He walked to the bunker's kitchen and retrieved one, sitting down at the small table. When the bunker was quiet like this, and he was the only person conscious, it was always kind of weird. He sort of liked it at first, and then he sort of hated it. Dean was in no mood to figure out why.

Except right now, he wasn't the only person awake. Cas walked into the kitchen, almost like he was surprised to see him here. But he couldn't have been, because Cas didn't sleep. "Still bothering you?" Cas asked.

Not this again. "You're not healing me. Save your energy."

Cas sat down in the chair across from him. He looked tired, which told you he wasn't anywhere near one hundred percent, because angels weren't tired either. But there was an added strangeness, because he had taken off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, and was only in his shirt and suit and tie. Still weirdly formal, but in Cas's case, massively casual. "You hurting hurts me," Cas said.

"That can't possibly be true."

"And yet, it is." Dean picked at the label on his beer bottle, and Cas studied him closely. "You're troubled." Not a question.

Well, at least he knew this wasn't a dream, because Cas hadn't read his mind, and also, his head continued to hurt. Pain that punched through your sleep always woke you up. He'd even had pain pull him from unconsciousness. Pain was fun, in that it never let you rest. "I think I'm a monster."

"You're not." he replied, so quickly Dean wasn't sure he'd actually heard his statement.

"I've done some terrible things -"

"As have I," Cas interrupted. "As has most people. Perfection is counter to the will of the universe."

Sometimes Dean forgot he was speaking to a quasi-immortal energy being, until he said something like that. "This is way beyond being perfect, Cas."

"I know. But it's still true. Flaws are what makes a human a human." Cas reached across the table, and Dean intercepted his hand. He knew what he was trying to do.

"Cas."

"This hurts me. Do you want me to continue hurting?"

Dean gasped. "Holy shit. You know how guilt works now?"

"I have known how guilt works for ages. Pray I don't utilize it further."

Was that a deliberate Star Wars reference? Dean was so shocked Cas slipped his hand out of his grasp and touched him on the forehead. There was a moment of warmth, and the ache in his head faded away for the first time in days. Even though it was a defeat of sorts, Dean was grateful. Maybe now he could sleep. "Thanks."

Cas made a dismissive hand gesture. Which was also sort of a new thing. He was trying very hard to fit in, and the more he tried, the more he stood out. But Dean found it weirdly endearing. "It's the second to least thing I could do."

"Was that a joke?"

Cas's blue eyes widened. "Was it?" And just before Dean was about to buy it, he smiled faintly.

"You're getting better," Dean told him.

"And so are you. Don't backslide now."

Did he completely understand what Cas meant? Not really. But it sounded good, "I'm doing my best."

And the funny thing? He was. Dean decided to take some comfort from that.

The End