As always, a huge thank you to JackFan2 for the support and beta-work. To all that reviewed and were sorry that this was the last chapter, you're in luck *g* Turns out this came out bigger than I was planning and there will be a short epilogue following... er... shortly.
Simpson's Sky
Chapter V
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Sam had to give his brain a couple of minutes to process what his eyes were seeing.
Every second of the time it had taken him to reach the source of the gunshots, Sam had spent it running possible scenarios in his head, preparing himself to react to whatever he would face there.
The possibilities were endless.
Sam pictured finding his brother pissed, but safe and sound, standing victorious over the dead bodies of Tigermman and his men. He quickly dismissed that, not because he didn't believed it could be true -given half the chance, Dean would be able to handle himself just fine-, but because the image he was picturing inside his head was too similar to a classic painting that he had seen in one of Jessica's art books. In that image the one standing victorious was a bare-breasted lady waving a French flag… and that was just too disturbing.
Besides, he had to be pragmatic about this. Those guys had not spent the afternoon sipping tea with Dean and those were GUNshots that he'd heard.
Which led Sam to the opposite side of the specter, wherein he could see himself arriving to find only the remains Dean's dead body, riddled with bullets.
Sam reconsidered the topless lady painting scenario. At least in that one, the good guys were still standing.
However, the scene he came upon after arriving at the small clearing wasn't one that would have ever crossed his mind.
There were at least three bodies on the ground, dead bodies, if the guy with no face was anything to go by, and smack dab in the middle of it all were a red haired woman and Dean, suspended upside down. They were trapped in a kiss that would've reminded him of the Spiderman movie of it weren't for the fact that his brother was butt naked.
Sam forced himself to move. He had heard four gunshots, and yet he could see only three bodies. Had the redhead saved his brother, killing all the others? There were at least two guns on the ground, that Sam could see, but no way to know which had killed whom and who had done the killing. And the red hair was the only one still standing.
The only woman that Bobby had mentioned was the one who had been married to Ruiz's late dead brother, the one who had joined him in the hunter's life style.
Maybe she and Dean already knew each other from before... maybe they had hooked up sometime between there and then? Either way, she seemed awfully familiar with his brother now, a fact that Sam might've snickered at were it not for the awkward position his brother was in, or for the fact that Dean's hands were cuffed together and he looked a bit south of willing.
Gaining speed to close the distance between himself and his brother, Sam knew that whatever had taken place here, he was not about to risk the redhead going all Fatal Attraction on his brother, killing him after making out while Sam stood there and watched.
He was just at the edge of the tree line when the woman threw her head back and a column of black smoke exploded from her mouth and throat. A demon.
What the hell was a demon doing near his brother when he'd been taken by mere hunters? Had they gotten their facts wrong?
Sam looked around, trying to sense the presence of any more demons in the area. It was something that had less to do with the demon blood in him and more to do with the life he'd led, with the number of times that a feeling had saved his and Dean's lives. Sam felt alone.
The place was plunged in to such silence that Sam had no trouble hearing the soft moan that escaped Dean's mouth right before his eyes closed and his hanging body went limp.
Sam gave caution a wide berth and hurried to Dean's side. His brother was a mess. "Dean?"
His hands, trapped together by a short length of metallic chain, hang loosely and relax, a warped ballerina pose that looked perversely done on purpose. Dean's right leg hung forward, bent and stiff, the flesh around the knee, swollen purple and black, standing like a flag on the otherwise pale skin.
The other leg was viciously lashed to a rope dangling from the bridge and it didn't look any better. Sam didn't even have to touch it to know that it was broken, and if the dead guys on the ground had done what Sam imagined they had, he had a pretty good idea of exactly how Dean's leg had become broken in the first place.
Careful not to step on the two bodies lying underneath Dean, Sam placed two fingers on his brother's neck. Sam prayed for a beat, a strong push of blood pumping inside Dean, a sign that he was alive and Sam hadn't arrive too late. "Come Dean… don't go all lazy prick on me now."
The soft beat against his fingertips was more gentle and rushed than Sam would've wonted, but beggars can't be choosers and his brother's heart was at least still pumping. "That's it! Now you just need to wake up… come on buddy, wake up… please."
Sam was being ignored. It was as if Dean had sensed that it was all over and had given himself permission to check out.
Sam looked at his brother's slack expression and knew that Dean was anything but relaxed or resting. He had to get Dean on the ground and away from the elements. The day had grown steadily chillier and Dean's skin felt like ice to the touch.
Unlike the rest of his body, Dean's hair and face were wet, not sweat-wet, but actually soaking wet. Sam gave a quick look around, searching for a water source, but found none. Sam could feel the chills wracking his brother's body and for a minute, Sam was very glad that the hunters were already dead.
Remembering Bobby's comments about the condition Tigermman's victims were often found, Sam shuddered. Dean had come too close to become one of them.
Sam wasted a couple of seconds making sure that the dead bodies were actually dead before pulling the guy with the bullet between his eyes and the woman without throat out of the way, so that he could more easily reach Dean.
Even with the couple of inches that he had on regular humans, there was no way that Sam could reach the rope around Dean's ankle to cut him free. Supporting Dean's head and upper body against his chest, one arm keeping him securely against his own body, Sam looked up to where the other end of the rope was secured. The last thing on Sam's mind was to leave Dean there again and go all the way up to the bridge to reach that rope. He needed a closer and faster solution.
Sam took the gun from his waistband and aimed for the rope at a safe distance from Dean's foot. It was hard as hell to hit a thin rope against the bright blue sky, but he could make that shot. Granted, Dean was the sharp shooter of the two of them, but Sam could hit a freaking rope if that was what it took to get Dean away from there.
"Smm?"
Though weak, the unexpected sound of his brother's voice startled Sam. It came at the precise moment when all of his concentration was sighted down the barrel of his gun and his finger was squeezing the trigger. Nearly losing his hold on his brother, his aim was thrown; the shot went wide, missing the rope by miles.
Never one to do things the easy way, of course Dean chose that exact moment, when there was no way Sam could ease his body to the ground without hurting him, to wake up. After getting a firmer grip on his injured brother, Sam took a determined breath, mentally preparing himself for the added weight. The second shot was a bulls-eye and the rope snapped with a sulking recoil and tear that sent the twine bouncing wildly up into the air.
Though prepared, the sudden release of Dean's full weight fell crashing into Sam's arms with enough force to unbalance him, sending both of them crashing to the ground. Recovering quickly, Sam somehow managed to catch himself on one knee, softening Dean's descent to the rocky soil. Still, Sam felt when the pain hit his brother with force enough to stop his breathing.
"Hey, Dean… Hey! Man! Listen to me…," Sam said placing a steadying hand on his brother's chest. "You have to breath, ok? Just relax and let the air in… breathe for me, will you?"
Dean didn't even try. Probably didn't even understood. His body, however, got the clue and drew in air enough to feed Dean's starving lungs after a couple more seconds.
"That's it… in and out," Sam coaxed, wondering when something so easy had become such a difficult art for the both of them. Air was finding trouble in getting inside Sam's lungs as well.
The minute Dean's brain made the turn from offline to semi-functioning, Sam could see a different kind of panic spreading across his brother's red rimmed eyes, panic that had nothing to do with pain or shock.
Dean's hands grabbed his jacket, calling Sam' attention.
Sam placed his free hand over Dean's, grabbing the cold fingers and holding the feeble grasp steady, trying to keep his brother in the land of the conscious by sheer force alone. "What, Dean? What is it?"
"Not 'nuf bodies, Sammy," Dean rasped, his soft voice ticklish against Sam's neck. "There's… not 'nuf bodies."
Sam frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
He glanced at the four dead bodies, unmoving, slowly starting to rot on the ground. The one with the third eye was an older version of the driver's license picture that Sam had pulled out from DMV - Ruiz.
The redhead had to be his sister-in-law; Tigermman he knew from the pictures he'd managed to dig up and the third man was a complete stranger, one that Sam figured to be part of the team.
Truth was, he was acting on few facts and even less solid information. Sam had just gotten a clue that might lead to his brother's whereabouts and acted without actually thinking things through. He had no idea how many hunters he would be facing, he had no idea if the bodies now littering the ground accounted for all of Tigermman's men, and he had no idea what that demon's part had been in all of this, or why it had hauled tail the minute it had caught Sam's scent in the air.
A certain sense of pride and gratification filled Sam's chest despite his best effort to keep it at bay. A demon had actually run away from him.
Sam knew that deep down, that sense of pride and self-confidence were also the culprits for his lack of thinking his actions thoroughly and in his hastiness and impulsive behavior. He had used his mind to send more demons to Hell in the last few months than he could even count and Alistair… Alistair had been just the first of all those nasty sons of bitches whose existence he would end once and for all.
Knowing that 'just humans' had taken his brother, translated as a small threat to Sam now. The new and better Sam. The Sam that made small fry demons run away when they saw him coming.
Dean was still mumbling incoherent words, still trying to warn Sam about something. Sam could feel the tremors wreaking havoc on his brother's body. Having experienced broken bones too, and he knew exactly just how painful any muscle movement was.
Sam shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Dean's shoulders. It wasn't much, but it would have to do until he could get him to a hospital. There was no way he would even try to deal with that broken leg on his own.
He just had to find a way to get Dean all the way to the car and come up with a really good excuse for his brother's condition by the time they arrived there.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0ooo0
For some reason, Moe was never allowed to carry a gun. For all the jobs that he'd worked with Peter, the older man had never let him even near a loaded weapon, even though he said time and time again that he trusted his little brother. He said that he just didn't want Moe with that extra stress on his shoulders.
Moe figured that the real reason for it was still clinging to the inside walls of the syringe he always kept in his pocket.
He wasn't an addict, not really. Moe Tigermman and his brother Peter had lived hard lives, harder than most by his account. Peter had found his comfort in the Army, killing people and being good at it. Moe hadn't qualified for that -partial mental disability, they had said- and so Moe had to turn for other means to forget what they had done to their baby brother, Steve.
Moe didn't like to think about Steve, or the way his green eyes had turned glassy so fast, or the way his lips turned blue right before he started to jerk around like a fish out of the water until he succumbed and moved no more. No matter how many times he and Peter tried to explain that it had been just a silly game, no one had ever believed them.
Heroin made Moe forget about that, most of the times anyway. This guy, Dean Winchester, with his big round eyes, reminded him of Steve and Moe hadn't liked that, not one bit.
It hadn't been too bad, in fact he'd been enjoying himself plenty until Peter closed Dean's head inside the bag of water. One look in to the same green eyes, turning glassy and dead and Steve's voice had started booming inside Moe's head, yelling, begging him to stop. Moe had disappeared after that, racing to his best friend to seek comfort. It wasn't like Peter didn't know about it… the occasional hit made Moe think better, be better. Peter knew this and didn't mind it one bit.
The sound of gunshots had cut through Moe's drugged haze slowly, reminding him that he had to get back to the others, that he had to be there for his big brother as Peter had been there for him his whole life.
Now, if he had been allowed to carry a gun, it would've been easy to just stay in his hideout and shoot those two Winchester freaks.
The one that they had strung from the bridge was already loose and the taller one, the one that Peter had told them to stay away from, he was getting ready to leave now.
Moe scrubbed his head hard, fist banging on his temple to wake up his brain. His last dose had already kicked in, but it wasn't providing him with any reasonable solutions for his problem.
Peter was dead. Even from where he stood Moe could see the familiar shape of his last living family, slumped on the ground like a discarded and holy blanket. Something broke inside Moe and his eyes stung with loss and anger.
The Winchester demon had killed them all. Moe had left them for just a couple of minutes and the very beast that they were trying to stop, had killed them all.
The bigger Winchester was busy as a bee now, rummaging around the clearing and the bodies, gathering long pieces of wood and taking Ruiz' shoes and Peter's pants, like they were nothing more than mannequins on a shop's window. The damn filth was pillaging through the dead without bating a eye.
A part of Moe wanted nothing more than to race to his brother's corpse and, taking the gun from his cold hands, take out his revenge on the men who had done this. However, another part of him knew that he would be dead even before he could reach Peter.
Peter was better than him and still had ended up dead.
His brother had warned him about the Winchesters, about their impure ways and their betrayal of the human race. He warned him about staying clear of Sam Winchester, because he was not their bone to pick. Dean, on the other hand… Moe owed it to his brother to set things right and finish what Peter had started and failed to finish.
Miguel and Isabel would thank him too. He would be a hero and Steve would stop laughing at him inside his head all the time.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Sam was a pretty strong guy. He usually tried not to show it off or take advantage of it, but Sam knew that he could pull his own weight just fine. And if Dean had been a tiny little thing at half his size and a half his weight, Sam would've had no trouble in just hauling his brother up and racing them to the car.
As it was, Dean was only a couple of inches shorter than him, and not enough pounds lighter, so Sam had resorted to half carrying, half coercing Dean to walk. Or stumble along, whichever way you chose to see it.
Sam had taken a couple of minutes more at the bridge to get Dean some shoes and pants, wasting no grief over the fact that one of the dead men would be left wearing only his boxers. Sam ended up having to slice the material of the pants in order to ease them over the swelling flesh of Dean's legs. Rage boiled again as Sam touched the too warm patch of skin on the otherwise chilled leg of his brother. Sam hoped now that there were vultures in the area - that was no less than these monster's deserved.
But even with the benefit of shoes on his feet -even if they were a size to big- and the added comfort and warmth of the borrowed clothing –even if they too were many sizes too large and Sam had to use his own belt to keep them from falling down again-, their progress was painfully slow.
The two tree branches that Sam had tied alongside side Dean's broken leg, serving as a makeshift and poor excuse of a splint, were exactly that… a poor excuse that hardly served its purposed. And Dean's other leg –Sam shuddered just to think of how much it was costing his brother to actually use that busted knee to propel himself forward.
Positioning himself at Dean's left side, Sam took full advantage of their height difference. Leaving Dean bound at the wrists to make carrying him easier, he pulled his brother's arms around his neck, like a forced hug, and held him by the belt loops, effectively preventing the broken leg from even touching the ground.
Not that Dean was all actually there to find the position ridiculous or the slow walk painful. Practically delirious, he kept whispering half words and nonsensical sentences, muttering about angels and demons, and beetles' eyes and missing bodies.
During their painful progression, Sam gave up on making heads or tails of Dean's constant rambling. Instead, he was just grateful that the sounds coming from his brother's mouth were only illogical words and not actual screams of pain.
Like the one he'd gave when Sam had first tried to pull him up. It was a sound that Sam had never heard before coming from his brother… it was a sound that he would give anything to never hear again.
Sam was torn between the desire to urge his brother on to greater speed in order to get him to a hospital sooner, and the constant reminder that Dean was simply too beat up and exhausted to move any faster.
At least he wasn't shivering anymore. Which wasn't necessarily good and certainly didn't by any means indicate that Dean had grown warmer. No, judging by the way his skin felt, cold and clammy, Sam figured that it just meant that their time was growing short and that they had to move faster.
The younger Winchester almost lost his balance when all of Dean's weight that he'd been carrying, suddenly became dead weight, tipping them both to the side. "Dean?"
Not even a flutter of eyes this time.
Sam had no other choice. Returning the gun that he'd kept in hand so far, Sam grabbed Dean with both hands and knelt down, carefully removing Dean's bound arms from around his neck. Then, he pulled them over his right shoulder, grabbing Dean's wrists with his right hand and lifting his body up. Dean ended up looking like a sack of potatoes, draped across Sam's shoulders and with his wounded legs secured tightly by Sam's left arm.
Sam grunted as he took that first step with all the added weight, but managed to push forward at a much quicker pace than what they had been doing so far once he got the jest of it. A mile or so and they would reach safety.
When, twenty minutes later, soaked in sweat and with trembling arms and legs, thinking about nothing more than the comfortable seats of the Impala and breaking a few traffic laws to get Dean some medical attention, Sam was not prepared to meet a stringy man with crazy, twitchy, animal eyes and a shotgun pointed right at them.
Sam finally understood exactly what Dean was saying about there not being enough bodies at the bridge and beetles' eyes.
They'd just found the missing one.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
Peter had told him about the angel. Moe had never seen him, but he believed his brother's word. After all, they'd seen plenty of demons since the devil's gates were opened, so why not see an angel or two?
He'd been disappointed that the angel had been a man, though. Peter had described him as an everyday-Joe with a 1930's look about him, in between the trench coat and the mysterious comings and goings.
Moe had been sure that angels would all be beautiful women. He wasn't all that sure of he even wanted to go to Heaven if, between Jesus, the prophets, the apostles and now the angels too, he would be surrounded by nothing but guys.
He had taken the electric gizmo from his brother's pocket early in the day. Peter had warned him that the thing wasn't for him to play, but Moe liked to watch the red dot move around the screen. There had been two dots at first, one for each Winchester, he had explained.
One of the red dots was now frozen still in the place Peter had kept the phone he'd taken from the prisoner, the other one, Sam's red dot, was moving slowly through the forest, heading straight to where Miguel had left his truck.
Moe had wondered why the angel would use something so human and earthly to track the Winchesters, but Peter had seemed pleased with the offer, saying that it made his job a lot easier.
It made things easy for Moe now too. All he had to do was follow the red dots and get his revenge. It had been no trouble at all to move faster than the Winchesters and cut ahead of them. He even knew where Ruiz kept his spare shotgun.
0o0o0o0o00o0o
"Drop him!"
Sam took in the man in front of them. His eyes were red rimmed and slightly unfocused, a nervous twitch in the left one that dragged the man's face in to an ugly snarl. The hands holding the gun weren't that much better, knuckles too white, fingers too shaky. From the fresh needle tracks that he could see under the man's rolled up left shirtsleeve, Sam guessed that his jittery manners were more of the chemical persuasion than a nervous one.
There were beads of sweat all over the man's flushed face, which, along with the man's heavy panting, had Sam guessing that he'd probably run all the way from the bridge to cut ahead of them.
"Just take it easy, man," Sam tried, his voice as smoothing and unthreatening as possible.
Sam wasn't all that sure that the gunshot that kicked up dirt too near his foot was really meant as a warning or if the guy had just missed his shot.
"You take it easy," the man hissed, barrel looking back at Sam's chest. "I said drop him!"
It was actually a good thing that this guy wanted Sam to let go of Dean. With his brother draped around his shoulders and taking away his ability to use either hand, Sam was severely limited in his options. With Dean safely on the ground and away from the crazy line of fire...
"Ok... OK," Sam quickly said, carefully lowering Dean and positioning his brother against the nearest tree. Dean's mouth was slack in unconsciousness, his eyes sunken in a too pale face. Sam did not have time to deal with this guy.
"Now... step away from him," the man order, gun swinging left as he motioned Sam where he should go.
Born of years of hunting, Sam's move was lightning fast. In one smooth motion he was stepping away from his brother and turning, pulling the gun in an arcing motion and thumbing the safety. Now, he stood, feet planted, the weapon now aiming at the man's head.
"Now," Sam spoke calmly, "think very carefully about what I'm going to ask you... do you really want to do this?"
The stand off lasted only a couple of seconds.
"You can't shoot me," the man said, a sleazy smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Not if you're planning on driving him anywhere… and he's not looking so hot."
Sam didn't spare even a quick glance to his brother's prone form. He knew exactly how bad Dean's condition was and he could hear the labor in his breathing even from where he stood. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? Because from where I'm standing, it sure looks like I can shoot you fine," Sam said, calling the man's bluff.
"I buried the distributor caps," the smaller man said, flashing a toothy grin. "Both cars… you ain't going no where unless I say so."
Sam looked at the truck and the Impala, two dark figures looming just at a short distance, each holding a promise of salvation for Dean's battered body.
The guy was already waiting for them when they got there, he would have had plenty of time to do what he was saying and, no matter how much as he wanted to, Sam couldn't risk calling the man's bluff and shoot him. If there was even a small chance that he had actually rendered both cars useless, Sam needed to know where those caps were.
"Drop the gun," the guy demanded.
"Ok… you win, man," Sam said, slowly lowering his gun and putting it on the ground. "What do you want from us?"
0o0o0o0o0o
Moe felt like jumping up and down, like celebrating high and hard. He could feel the power of the heroin cursing through his veins, making him sharper and stronger. He'd done it!
So many times his brother had warned him about how powerful and dangerous the Winchesters were and now here he was, simple Moe, with both of them at his mercy. And it had been so simple, so easy that he couldn't even understand what all the fuss was about.
The feeling of accomplishment and victory that came with it was more inebriant and powerful than any drug he had ever tried before.
Now, he just needed to finish what Peter had started and kill Dean Winchester. Maybe even throw in Sam's death as a bonus, just to help the angels a little bit more. Yes… they had only asked for one, but with the two of them in his sights, Moe could impressed the angel and gain his good favors, like his brother had.
Moe took a second pair of handcuffs from his jacket and tossed them to the bigger Winchester. "Put those on."
"Look man, let's just talk about this a second," Sam tried to reason, easily catching the cuffs with one hand. "There's some sort of misunderstanding here and I'm sure th-"
"Shut up!" Moe shouted. There were too many people talking at the same time. Steve, begging him to stop, Peter, urging him to go on, the angel he had never met telling him to squeeze the trigger... and this guy, talking, talking, talking. "Just shut the hell up and put those on."
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
There was no way Sam was going to put the cuffs around his wrists. Even now, unarmed, with the other guy holding the gun on him, the younger Winchester still had the advantage. The minute that he allowed himself to be trapped like that, they would be on equal grounds.
Sam thought that he might try and take advantage of this guy's already unbalanced psyche, push just hard enough to get him to talk and not so hard that he or Dean end up dead. But finding the right balance would be a tricky game of give and take, something for which Sam had no time.
Quickly, Sam dropped the cuffs on the ground and, before the guy could squeeze a single shot, Sam flicked his hand and sent him flying backward. The impact with a tree sent the air rushing from the man's lungs.
Shotgun lost as soon as his back collided painfully with the hard timber, the look of pure terror that the guy gave Sam would've been enough for him to reconsider his choices. But Sam had more important things on his mind at the moment.
"Where is it?"
The guy was praying. The words were rushed and mumbled, but Sam could understand enough of them to realize that the guy was actually praying. To God. To be saved, to be delivered.
From Sam.
Something twisted inside Sam, anger and annoyance at always being mistaken for the bad guy, even when the real bad guy had just spent his afternoon torturing his brother. Sam raised his right hand, finger clenched upwards like a claw.
There was no demonic presence inside this man, just plenty of confusion and fear. But anger and rage denied sound judgment and Sam searched, probing the praying man until he found something else; his soul. Then, he was holding it in his grasp and squeezing.
The man screamed.
"Oh God! Oh God! Please… we did everything You asked us," the man mumbled, over and over again, face contorted in pain and snot leaking from his nose and mingling with his tears. "Help me!"
Sam stopped for a second, shocked. A few months ago, the idea of anyone doing anything because 'God had told them to', was either ridiculous or pronouncement of something nasty hiding behind divine hocus-pocus. Now… now, not so much.
"What are you talking about?"
The man sobbed, taking a deep breath when Sam eased on the pressure keeping him trapped.
"The angel… the angel warned us about you," he rushed the words out of his mouth, like he feared that some of them would escape before he had time to speak them. "But I didn't listen… Peter said th- my brother warned me… and I didn't listen."
This guy was Tigermman's brother? And an angel? Sam tried to keep the surprised look out of his face. First a demon and now an angel? What the hell had these guys stumbled upon?
"What did this angel looked like?" Sam asked gently, sensing that the man's head wasn't all there and that scaring him wouldn't get him the answers that he needed.
The man blinked, forcing tears out of the tips of his eyelashes. "The man in the trench coat… he told my brother that it was his job to stop the apocalypse… to stop you and your brother."
0o0o0o0o0o
Moe was fucked. He'd screwed everything up, underestimated the power of Sam Winchester. And now Moe was going to die.
He could see the anger growing in the other man's eyes, could see the way they burned black like a demon's eyes. It was no trick of the dimming light... Sam Winchester was more demon than human, and if he hadn't ignored the angel's and Peter's warnings, Moe could've done something about it.
The mention of the angel in a trench coat had seemed to surprise Sam and Moe could feel the invisible fingers that were holding him prisoner, slacking enough to allow him movement.
Moe did not waste his chance. He might be no match for a half-demon, but Dean was only human, for all they knew. Him Moe could do something about.
Dropping on all fours by the tree where he stood, Moe's fingers closed around his shotgun. He just needed one shot.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Sam was watching the events unfold in slow motion.
The man's mentioned of a trench coat wearing angel had thrown him off. Sam was expecting maybe a description of a big black guy in a suit, but apparently, Uriel wasn't the only angel that wanted them dead.
The only trench coat wearing angel that Sam knew was Castiel, but that had to be just a coincidence, right? Maybe trench coats were something that angels in general favored, because it reminded them of wings or something.
There was no way that Castiel, Dean's angel Castiel, would be involved in an elaborate plan to take them out. Castiel liked Dean.
But Anna had told them that angels are unable to feel. Not love, not caring, not passion. Just obedience.
Castiel had been standing right in the next room when Alistair had been beating Dean bloody, a part of Sam pointed out. He'd done nothing until it was almost too late.
Castiel, who had been absent from their lives ever since the whole Alistair and Uriel fiasco, had done nothing about the fact that they had just wasted three weeks in the fight against Lilith, just so that Dean could play normal.
But Castiel would never betray Dean, Sam had to believe that.
Sam figured that he'd been lost in internal monologues for too long when he looked down and saw the man, not only free, but also with his hands around his shotgun, aiming straight at Dean.
Sam panicked.
His gun was still where he had dropped it before and he would never be fast enough to reach either the man or Dean. So Sam used the only weapon that he had available. His mind.
The shot went wild and the man looked confused for a few seconds, staring at the wisp of fog coming out from his mouth. The weather wasn't cold enough for him to see his breath like that, nor was his breath anything like that continuous string of whiteness that he was looking at.
He was dead the next second, eyes devoid of life, body devoid of soul.
And Sam fell to the ground, shaking in the realization of what he had just done.
When he managed to gather himself enough to go to the man he had just killed and search his pockets, Sam found a set of handcuff keys, a GPS tracker and the two distributor caps.
Sam sighed in relief, realizing that the man had been lying about burring them. He grabbed the small keys and rushed back to Dean's side.
He was not expecting to see Dean's eyes opened and looking straight at him, a deep look of confusion in his brother's face. If the gunshot had roused Dean out of unconsciousness, then he had seen Sam…
"Dean, I-"
But Dean wasn't giving him a chance to explain himself. Exhausted beyond his limits, he'd just let his head fall to the side, eyes rolling backwards as the rush of adrenaline ran its course and unconsciousness claimed him once more.
0o0o0o0o0
