Creepy fact for you: Dr Hess is almost exactly what I picture Anna to be like…
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"And what if I said I believe?"
- Rescue Me, Black Stone Cherry
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Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Spotting the dull, greying monolith of the farmhouse was one of the most welcoming sights Castiel had seen in a long time. It had taken two days to hike out of the snow near Inuvik and a further three (after finding a truck to 'borrow') to get back to Geneva. Five days of stress, unlike anything the angel had ever known, and constant worry about what had happened to everyone. His endless calls to Dean and Jody's phones had gone to voicemail every single time and his own phone remained silent for over three and a half thousand miles. He couldn't fathom why none of them would call. Something had stopped them. His first thought – and the most likely one – hurt the most.
They were dead.
The notion squeezed the air from his lungs and created a rising panic within him which he hadn't felt since Dean was supposed to go and kill Amara. He couldn't deal with that – not again.
The miles had given him a change to clear his mind and think logically, focusing on every possible reason why he'd heard nothing. None of the options were ideal but at least they were better than the first.
Cas wanted nothing more than to get there and find nothing or find both Sam and Dean waiting with Ketch and Jody. Somehow though, he knew that wouldn't be what he got. No one went to the trouble of banishing an angel to the other end of Canada if they knew it was going to be the happy ending they all wanted. If they weren't there, he'd head to the bunker.
Turning the battered Jeep Wagoneer off the road and up the driveway, Cas looked desperately for signs of life. His stomach dropped when he saw the Impala sat in the driveway, exactly where Dean had left it: there was no way the hunter would leave without his car. Slamming on the brakes, the angel leapt from the truck and ran, coat billowing, up towards the house.
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"Cas is here!" Jody's shout had Dean racing down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
"Don't let him step through the door!" Ketch roared as Dean got to door and flung it open.
"Cas, stop!" he yelled, holding his hands up, frantically waving them. Castiel skidded to a stop just beside the sigil that had banished him. He frowned, looking at Dean curiously.
"Dean?"
"If you come in, Cas, you'll be stuck. It's warded," Dean explained, still holding up one hand. He felt Jody and Ketch's presences behind him. Cas just stared at him.
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Castiel frowned, watching the hunter's lips move but no sound coming from them.
"What? Dean, I can't hear you. Why can't I hear you?" Cas asked. Ketch's hand landed on Dean's shoulder, his mouth moving silently as he spoke to the hunter. The angel watched as Dean swore, knowing exactly what he'd said. Jody patted him on the arm, holding up one finger to Cas, mouthing 'wait' slowly and clearly. She disappeared into the house again, leaving the three men stood alone for a moment before she quickly reappeared, a white pad of paper in her hands. Ketch smiled and nodded, his words lost to Cas. The angel watched her write something before she turned the pad around to face him.
The house is warded. We can't get out.
"That explains why I can't hear you," Cas remarked, frowning when Dean rolled his eyes and muttered. "I can still understand you though, Dean. I take it you can hear me?"
Jody nodded.
"Are you alright?" he asked. The three of them nodded in unison. "Is Sam with you?" He had his answer when Dean looked away, but Jody shook her head anyway. Ketch motioned to Jody, saying something. She passed the pad to him, watching as he wrote. He turned it to Cas.
I'm unsure what kind of warding has been used; spellcasting is not my speciality. You need to call +447829841290 and speak to George Williamson. Tell him that we can hear you, inanimate objects can be thrown out but we, ourselves, cannot leave. He will tell you what you need and what to do.
Castiel nodded and took out his phone, dialling the number.
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Lakewood Balmoral, Chicago
"So what's our play?" Sam asked, clearing his throat as he repositioned himself on the hardbacked dining chair. He was already weary and it was only mid-afternoon; his fever had done a number on him and building back up his strength was proving to be slow and frustrating. He wasn't battle-ready by any stretch of the imagination and that concerned him. Taking on his brother, even when he was fit and healthy, was a challenge in itself. Taking on Lucifer when he was feeling next to useless?
The odds weren't in his favour.
"First of all, I don't want to involve you any more than is strictly necessary," Thomas explained. When Sam opened his mouth to protest, he raised a hand, stopping him. "What you're going to have to do is hard enough without having to have prolonged contact. I have no intention of exacerbating your suffering, Sam. I wouldn't do that to you."
"I know," Sam gave him a small half-smile, the sight washing a sense of contentment through Thomas despite the severity of their conversation. If he harboured any doubt of Sam's loyalty, they wouldn't even be having it. Sam had proven to be nothing but compliant and amiable since his fever had broken. It would seem the nightmare he had described had been the defining moment in making up his mind. The thought of having to suffer anything at the hands of his brother was too much for the lad to bear. Of course, that fact that, in reality, it was simply a dream was a moot point. It had finished the job for Thomas in one fell swoop. He'd wished he'd thought of it; it was a blessing that Sam's imagination was both overactive and highly susceptible to suggestion.
"As loathe as I am to do it, I need you to be the lure; Lucifer won't come for less. If he thinks you've escaped from me, he'll come straight away. Remember, he has no idea of the work we've been doing," Thomas explained, watching the apprehension, the fear flicker through Sam's eyes.
"I can do it," he murmured, dropping his eyes.
"I know you can," Thomas encouraged, "but I don't want you to worry about what will happen when he arrives; I'll take care of all of that."
"Taking on Lucifer is gonna be dangerous: you'll need me by your side," Sam remarked, meeting his gaze again. Thomas shook his head vehemently.
"No, Sam, I need you safe. I've got a fair few tricks for dealing with Lucifer. The Men of Letters have been working on a few contingency strategies in the real world, ready for this moment. I promise you, I will make sure that this whole thing is as easy and painless as possible. Lucifer will not hurt you – or me. I guarantee it."
You need back-up.
I need you to be safe, Sam; that's what I need.
The words were the same, even if the speaker was different. Thomas had the same feeling, the same intentions as Dean all those years ago. Wherever he was, Sam hoped that his brother saw that he was still in good hands. Thomas was watching his back; something Dean would've wanted.
"I get it," Sam nodded. "I'll try to fill you in with as much as I can about the way Lucifer acts and how I think he'll 'play' Dean. He isn't gonna be easy to take down."
Thomas smiled. Oh, I hope not. I want this to be as agonising for Dean as possible.
"That's alright, Sam. With us working together, he won't know what's hit him."
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Outskirts of Geneva, Kansas
Did you bring it?
Dean held up the sign, his scribbled handwriting almost illegible. He watched Cas roll his eyes.
"Yes, Dean; I wouldn't forget," the angel replied, reaching into the brown bag he was holding and pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Red.
"Seriously, Dean?" Jody chided, her frown deepening as Cas rolled the bottle over the threshold. Dean grabbed it deftly and straightened up, shrugging as he walked through to the kitchen.
"S'not like I'm gonna down the whole bottle."
"Yeah right," she muttered under her breath. His prowling had been worse since Castiel had appeared and then disappeared to get the ingredients he needed to break the warding. The hunter hadn't moved from the front of the house; he'd just continuously walked the width of the building from the living room across the hall into the dining room and back again. Ketch had disappeared, muttering something about collecting the things that had been left by Thomas and Anna. Jodie just itched to be out. Five days stuck in the house had been unbearable.
Lowering herself onto the floor, she settled herself in the doorway, sitting cross-legged opposite Cas. He'd scraped away the sigil on the floor so that there was no danger of it catapulting him off again. Now he was kneeling in front of the door, opposite Jody, placing an array of objects in front of him. He glanced up at her and she gave him a tired smile which he returned. His eyes were a darker shade of blue than usual; a weariness lurked in their depths. Picking up the notepad, she scribbled a quick note.
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Are you okay, Cas?
The angel blinked, surprised. He hadn't really thought about it.
"I'm fine. I just wished I'd been back sooner," he replied, crushing a small rodent hipbone in his palm, letting the powder fall through his fist into the bowl.
You couldn't help it.
He gave her a brief smile that fell in an instant. There was no way for him to relay the sheer frustration at knowing that a few years ago he would have been able to fly back so quickly that they wouldn't even have known he was gone. Picking up a vial of ox blood, he poured it into the bowl, spattering it with a mix of several different herbs. Finally, he took out his angel blade and nicked the palm of his left hand, dribbling his own blood into the mix.
"I'm going to go around the house and draw this," he held up his phone so that Jody could see the image the Men of Letters had sent him, "at the four corners. You'll need to do the same when I come back and pass the bowl over."
Jody nodded as he got up and walked off. Stopping at the first corner, he dipped two fingers into the bloody mixture and began tracing a circle on the wall. Inside it he drew a backwards 'h' with a diagonal line curved at one end running through it. Tramping around the house, he repeated it three more times before arriving back at the front door where both Ketch and Dean had reappeared. Carefully, he put the bowl on the floor and nudged it over the threshold of the door with his foot. Jody grabbed it, getting it before Dean. The hunter and sheriff glared at each other and, while Castiel couldn't hear what Jody said, the tone of it was in the set of her shoulders. Dean dropped his head and nodded as she disappeared.
The three men waited in silence, punctuated only by Dean's mouthfuls of whiskey straight from the bottle. It didn't take long for Jody to reappear, giving Cas a brief thumbs up. He nodded and pulled out his phone again, reading the incantation he'd been given.
"Lukal y ykzhhkal," the angel intoned, the Enochian sliding off his rich bass tone. The wind whipped around him, smacking his coat tails against his legs. He looked up at the house, watching as a host of symbols began to glow a vibrant blue, getting continuously brighter until the whole house was bathed in light. Dean, Jody and Ketch all shielded their eyes before they were lost to view. Cas simply watched, unperturbed by the blinding light. With a final burst, the light shattered and the symbols scattered across the house disappeared, fading into nothing.
Dean lowered his arm, raised his head, blinking.
"Did it work?" he asked. Cas turned his gaze back to Dean and nodded.
"I believe so."
The Winchester moved forward, stepping cautiously over the door's threshold. Nothing happened as his foot landed on the wooden slats on the porch. Breathing a sigh of relief, he strode out of the house and into the sunlight beyond.
"'Bout time we got a break," Dean mumbled, half turning back to the others. "Thanks, Cas."
The angel nodded as Jody and Ketch stepped out too, the Man of Letters carrying the small number of journals and notebooks they'd found in the house.
"Let's go. We'll get back to the bunker, regroup and decide our next move," Dean ordered, leading the way back to the Impala. Gone was the withdrawn, frustrated man: the hunter within was ignited again and the rest of them struggled to meet his pace without running. Climbing into Baby, the engine snarled and the wheels spun against the dry dust of the track as the backend fishtailed. Dean put his foot down, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
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Lakewood Balmoral, Chicago
Anna stood in the kitchen, a pen poised in one hand, the other picking up various jars, bags and pots as she ticked them off against a list on the pad beside her. Every item was being processed in the same way: marked off against the list, a sample extracted, measured and sealed before being put in a box.
"Are we missing anything?" Thomas asked as he walked in. Anna shook her head, pouring a measurement of sand from the Nile into a zip lock bag.
"Where is Sam?" she inquired, keeping her eyes on her list.
"Down in the gym again. He's very determined. It's a good sign."
Anna said nothing; she simply sealed the jar of sand and put it to one side, placing the bag in the box. Thomas frowned, concerned. He leaned up against the counter beside her. "What's the matter, Anna? You look…pensive."
Her cold grey eyes flicked up to his, her mouth set in a hard line.
"Would it not be more…prudent to kill Dean yourself? I'm concerned that Sam won't go through with it. And even if he does, what then? How will you convince him that he's 'woken up'?" she asked as she began crushing a cat skull with a pestle and mortar, smacking the pestle down on the fragile bone and fracturing it.
"Fair questions," Thomas replied, picking up one of the bags and rolling its contents between his fingers. "The concoctions I've been lacing Sam's drinks with are the preliminary part of the binding spell. For the main event, the ritual demands a familial sacrifice. Fratricide. If I want Sam to be unequivocally bound to me, he must be the one to do it. And he will: I know it.
"As for getting him to believe it, that'll be part of the ritual: a bit of theatrics. When he kills Dean, it will undoubtedly have some sort of physical backlash. If it's not quite enough, I'll have a back-up spell to render him unconscious, giving us enough time to set up our new life. When he wakes, the ritual will be done and Dean won't be a bother anymore."
"And what about Mr Ketch?"
"I'm sure we'll be able to come to some sort of agreement with the Men of Letters. If not, I'll do whatever I need to to keep my family safe."
"Then that's good enough for me. I trust you, Thomas; I always have," Anna replied, smiling at him as she emptied the ground up skull into another bag. Her smile tightened as she thought of the aftermath. She would let it blow over, let Sam get comfortable before he too would meet his fate.
Only then could she and Thomas live in peace properly.
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Sam breathed out evenly with every lift of his torso, his hands cupped behind his head as he pulled up into another sit up. He lay on a foam mat, his knees raised as he rose up to meet them, facing away from the main room. The memory of his nightmare was still too fresh. And yet…he had to use the memory. Seeing his brother's face contorted into that grotesque smile, his teeth bared into the parody of laughter, brought a lump to Sam's throat that he had to fight down constantly. He needed to learn to push aside his fear. Going up against Lucifer for real, no matter how 'easy' Thomas tried to make it, was going to be so much worse than what his imagination could drum up.
It always was.
Instead, he used it. Tried to change it. He looked deep inside until he found happier memories. Ones of him and Dean in the Impala, of their moments laughing, joking, enjoying the simple things. The simplest were the best. He thought back to when they were sat on the waterfront, by the lake, sipping beers in the sunlight with his arm in the sling.
When it was all said and done, as much as he knew it would hurt Thomas – he regretted that the most – he would protect the world from Lucifer one last time. Billie could help him do that.
But, for now, he watched as every single Dean in his memories contorted, his expressions twisting back into the vulgar form of Lucifer, his howls of laughter overpowering every ragged breath that Sam exhaled.
Control it. Use it.
Only then would it be over.
oOo
Lebanon, Kansas
Ketch stood in the library, his hands clasped at the base of his spine as he stared down at the map of the Midwest states which he had stretched across one of the tables. He'd pressed several thumb tacks onto its surface, mapping out where they'd been: the bunker, the farmhouse, Jody's big city suggestions and the other places they'd visited in the last few weeks. Jody sat opposite him, Dean's laptop open on the table.
"Alright, how many upmarket suburban areas in Memphis?" he asked, his grey eyes narrowed and fixated on the map.
"Just in Memphis?" Jody asked as she typed.
"Yes. Nowhere else."
"Alright…" she finished typing, her eyes scanning across the screen which glowed softly. "Okay. Just in Memphis, there are five areas ranked amongst the safest in terms of their crime rates."
"Read out their names for me," Ketch instructed as Dean entered. The hunter watched them curiously, turning his attention to the map as Jody reeled off the names. They'd all showered and changed into fresh clothing having spent too many days in the same attire. Ketch was in another identical suit (Dean was beginning to think he didn't own anything else), Jody in her usual plaid. His mind played back through his memories; they should've pegged her as a potential hunter, based on her attire alone, from the moment they met her all those years ago. A brief smile glimmered through his features but was gone in an instant. He would have time to take a stroll down memory lane when Sam was back home with them.
"What're you doin'?" he asked, settling himself into the chair at the head of the table.
"We're trying to work out where Thomas might've gone next," Jody explained. Ketch glanced up at her.
"Don't stop."
"Sorry. Collierville," she continued as Ketch closed his eyes and shook his head after a few moments.
"No. He's not in Memphis."
"How could you possibly know that?" Dean asked, doubt creasing his forehead while the green of his eyes betrayed his astonishment. The Englishman had continued to amaze him with his ability to deduce information and rationalise his theories from the most minute details. Ketch gave a small exasperated sigh, his lips pursed as he looked over at the Winchester.
"Years of experience. I know Thomas – not well, but enough to know his character – but it comes down to a simple set of logical rules. Thomas will pick a suburb – somewhere on the edge of a city, but not too far out, giving him access to a range of local amenities. He'll want it to be well-to-do and quiet, however he won't want to be conspicuous either. There's also the name of the location to consider," Ketch explained as he used a black marker to put a cross through Memphis on the map.
"What's in the name?" Dean asked, his look curious. Ketch gave him a rare, brief smile.
"Everything, Dean," he replied. "Why do we pick some places to visit for our holidays and not others? What makes one name for a child so appealing but not another? It all comes down to our preferences and tastes. One man's meat is another man's poison as the idiom states. Thomas may be less…fussy about names, but, I can assure you, Anna is not. She will have standards that she will not let slip and Thomas will do all he can to meet her exacting requirements."
"How can you be so sure?" Dean pushed further. He knew he was holding Ketch up but he also needed to understand his prey just as much as Ketch did.
"The farmhouse. It was much larger than he needed for his purposes. On the outside, it was nothing spectacular. The inside was immaculate though, particularly the kitchen. Anna has very traditional values and, to her, the kitchen is her domain."
"You're tellin' me he picked that house for the kitchen?" Jody spluttered, incredulous. Ketch nodded.
"That, its isolated location and the storm cellar, yes. Remember when I discussed Thomas' obsessive behaviour before?" Both Dean and Jody nodded as Ketch continued. "The journals we found obviously support my original theory but they were more enlightening than that. We know he wants a family. It would appear that Anna and Sam are the pillars of that delusion. Therefore, keeping Anna happy is of the upmost importance to him besides Sam's wellbeing. We can use that to help us pinpoint their location."
"No wonder Markham sent you," Dean remarked, his tone betraying his admiration. Ketch was seemingly full of surprises. As much as he hated to admit it, the hunter was beyond glad that he'd been sent to help. Straightening up, he looked up the Ketch, he eyes hard and determined. "What do you need me to do?"
oOo
Lakewood Balmoral, Chicago
Thomas seethed, ripping the headphones from his ears. His family ideals were not delusional. Rage flared through him, white hot, his fists clenched into tight balls, his nails digging in deep.
Ketch.
That psychopathic bastard thought he knew everything! Sitting there, listening through the bug he'd planted in the bunker, to Markham's attack dog theorising about him to that stain and his girlfriend was almost more than the Englishman could stand. He wanted nothing more than to knock Ketch off his horse and bash his brains out. He was too close, too accurate with his predictions and that was the most infuriating factor. Thomas was not predictable, not average, and to be reduced in that way…was galling.
Yet it also sent a cold wave of fear crawling like ice through his gut. Dean Winchester couldn't destroy his plans; he wasn't clever enough by half.
But Ketch could.
There was a reason why Arthur Ketch had earned his reputation in the British Men of Letters. His infamy was renowned throughout the whole of the supernatural world in the UK. Monsters and humans alike feared him and Thomas was no exception. As much as he wanted to see Ketch pay for his interference in Thomas' business, he couldn't do it. He couldn't go up against Ketch. If he tried, he'd lose everything and that wasn't something he was prepared to do.
After all, pride came before the fall.
Thomas would be damned if he let his pride ruin everything he was building. Putting the headphones down and closing the audio app, he got up. It was earlier than he would like, but it was time. He needed to get the final phase underway before Ketch found where they were. After Dean was dead, it wouldn't matter. They would leave without a trace and he would begin his negotiations with Jonathan Markham.
Locking the laptop away in the top drawer of the desk in his bedroom, Thomas walked back through the house, looking for Sam. He found his ward in the living room, sitting in one of the plush cream armchairs, his grey eyes unfocused as he simply sat and stared out of the window at the neat garden beyond.
"Penny for your thoughts," Thomas prompted gently as he eased himself down into the adjacent armchair. Sam blinked and turned to face Thomas, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth briefly.
"To be honest, I wasn't really thinking about anything. I was just…watching. I can't seem to get a grip on how Lucifer managed to make all this seem so real," Sam replied, his longs fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the chair.
"He is one of the most powerful beings in the world. Who knows how far his reach really extends," Thomas murmured, resting his chin on his fingertips, watching Sam carefully. "Anna has had contact with the real world. We've got a lead on Lucifer's location there. I know this is much earlier than we'd like, but…"
"We need to go after him now," Sam finished quietly. He shifted in the chair, one hand running back through his hair.
"For this to work, it needs to be a simultaneous attack: from in here and out there. We need to make our move as soon as possible," Thomas explained, watching as Sam tried to control the fear, the uncertainty that bubbled up within him. "As I've said, I want this to be as…smooth a process for you as I can make it. I'll ensure that everything is ready for you. But I need you to make the first move for me. We need to lure him out."
Sam shifted in his seat again, unable to slow his heart which had picked up its pace, thumping against his ribcage. He could already feel his palms begin to sweat. It would be fine; Thomas would make sure it was fine. And yet, knowing that he would have to hear his brother's voice for real and know that it wasn't Dean…it was far from an easy thought. He licked his lips, his right thumb brushing over his left palm out of habit.
"When I talked to him the last time, he said the British Men of Letters were coming to help. I can't see him coming without back up – Cas at the very least. Dea–Lucifer's not stupid," he remarked, correcting himself quickly. Thomas' look turned thoughtful.
"Don't worry: I think I know a way around that. Right, we need to start getting ready. Are you sure you're alright about this?" Thomas prodded. Sam gave him a sad smile.
"Not really, no, but then I don't think I ever will be. The sooner we get it done, the better I'll be."
Thomas nodded and led the way out of the living room, Sam trailing behind.
oOo
Lebanon, Kansas
The garage was quiet, peaceful. It wasn't like the quiet of the farmhouse; that had been oppressive, enforced. Usually Dean hated the silence – it gave him too much time to think – but for now it helped him focus. He was rummaging around in the back of the Impala, sorting through the weapons that were stashed under the false bottom. Ketch and Jody were still going through locations and Cas had started to go through the bunker's registry of spells. Thomas had more than proven himself capable of using strong magic and they weren't going to go up against him half-cocked again; they would use every kind of weapon they had in their arsenal. It was overkill, but it was one of the times that Dean wished they still had the Colt. Once Thomas was dead, he wanted the bastard to stay that way. Hell, he was even tempted to contact Crowley and see if he could reserve a decent place for him in the Pit. It would mean owing the King of Hell a favour but…
That was the kind of favour Dean wouldn't mind owing.
Eternal damnation was too good for the son of a bitch. The hunter contemplated the kinds of torture he'd want practiced on the Englishman as he unsheathed one of his machetes, inspecting the serrated edge for any residue left from previous vampire hunts. He scraped off a small bit of dried blood with a fingernail before sliding it back into its casing. Placing it carefully back in its hole on the righthand side of the trunk, he checked the ammunition boxes for his gun, making a mental note to grab more from within the bunker later. Tucking the box back in its compartment, he jumped when he felt his front left pocket begin to vibrate in his jeans.
Please be Sammy.
The mental chant had been the same every time his phone went off. His heart thrummed; the others were all in the bunker – they'd come out if they needed him. Fumbling with one hand, Dean yanked the phone from his pocket and flipped it over.
Unknown number.
Please be Sammy.
Swiping it with his thumb, he jammed it up against his ear. Held his breath.
"Dean?"
"Sam!"
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MWAHAHAHAHA! Sorry…not sorry! Obviously we're getting closer to climax time!
Please review!