AN: Well, the temps are in the single digits, but my indoor herb garden is flourishing so I can pretend that it's spring. (That isn't why I'm so slow; I have no good excuse.)
Janice had to beta this twice because her computer ate it, so she gets double kudos and thanks!
* * *
Few people have the imagination for reality.
Sam woke fairly early despite how tired he'd been. He was pleased to see Dean sleeping. He was looking less beat up. Well, at least a little. He didn't even stir much when Sam took his shower, so he scrawled a quick note:
Walking to find food. Took G.
It would be enough to set Dean's mind at ease if he woke up before they returned.
Sam waited for Goethe to do his business in the woods behind the motel, then let him run for a few minutes before they started walking in the most likely direction for food. The woods were to the north with houses beyond them, and the library was to the southwest. They aimed southeast.
They eventually came to restaurants, but it was quite a bit farther away than Sam had expected. The town didn't have very many residents, but it also didn't have space restrictions due to its remoteness, so everything was kind of spread out. Finally, however, he found the kind of hole-in-the-wall diner that was likely to have fantastic breakfasts. The woman taking orders was young and cute and flirtatious, so Sam took a page out of Dean's book and turned on his best charm, convincing her to have "one of the guys" deliver their food to the motel in an hour or so, meaning Sam didn't have to carry it and it might actually still be warm when they ate it. She didn't even quibble about Goethe coming inside, promising to put something for him in the order too.
The only thing Sam took with him was a coffee, which he intended to finish before he got back.
His phone rang just as he started walking away from the diner. It proved to be a friendly nurse at the hospital who'd promised to let Sam know if there were any major developments with Buddy, the truck driver who was convinced that the construction accident was his fault. They were releasing the man to the care of his fiancée, she informed him, making it clear that she disagreed with the decision. But it is very hard to get someone with no history of mental illness or self-harm an inpatient stay against their will, especially when they had a caregiver to look after them. Finding out that the release wouldn't happen at least until early afternoon, Sam thanked her and filed the information away.
Since he had the time, Sam took two detours on the walk back. First, he went over to the library. He wanted to see if he still had a creepy feeling in front of it. He also wanted to get Goethe's reaction to it, since he'd been spot on with all of his canine warnings so far.
"I don't feel a thing," Sam told the dog, looking up at the remaining gargoyles. None were as large as the one that had nearly smushed Dean. Goethe seemed similarly unimpressed, more focused on a ladybug on the sidewalk than anything else.
It was the ladybug that gave Sam the idea for their next stop. They'd passed a pet supply store on the walk to the diner, and by this time, they were open. To his delight, they had exactly what he wanted, and it cost him only a couple bucks. He couldn't resist getting Goethe a rawhide bone, too.
Walking up to the motel, Sam could hear a voice from the back over his growling stomach. He headed that way and realized it was Dean singing. Chanting, really, the gargoyle ritual.
"...corpus hoc et…"
Sam frowned, then his eyes widened fractionally as he realized what Dean must have done for the final ingredient to the spell. He headed toward the sound, only to pull up when Dean trailed off and cleared his throat. He sounded flustered and embarrassed.
"Uh, this isn't…"
"You know what? I don't want to know," responded a voice Sam recognized as Gloria's. Then she added, "Listen, I don't care what you and your boyfriend are up to or that you do it outside, but this is a small town and not everybody's open-minded. You might wanna keep it down next time."
Sam thought back to the fight with the ungulus – the thuds and cheers and even him yelling Dean's name, and blushed even though nobody could see him except Goethe.
"Wait – I – we aren't –" Dean almost squeaked.
"Just stop talking," Gloria answered, then Sam could hear her walking off toward the far end of the motel.
Sam bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood and was still shaking with suppressed laughter when Dean came around the corner looking dirty and disconsolate. Dean was still limping and he was carrying the gargoyle head, its tongue and his hands coated in white and green goo. His hair was mussed, and the knees of his jeans looked like he'd been crawling in the dirt. His cheeks were bright red. Sam couldn't hold his amusement in one more second.
Dean glared holes into Sam, but it didn't slow his laughter in the slightest.
"While you were out, apparently not even getting food, I chased and caught nasty-ass grasshoppers," Dean complained, sounding extremely put-out. The thought of his brother running after and trying to catch the green insects sent Sam into new peals of laughter.
"And I did the rite four times and nothing happened," Dean said loud enough to be heard over the noise Sam was making. "It's just a damn statue."
"It's – oh, shit," Sam managed, almost crying from laughing so hard.
"And then Gloria saw me and heard me singing, and, and she thinks I'm – and you're – we –" Dean sounded so aggrieved that Sam should have felt bad about his schadenfreude. (He didn't.)
"I heard," he gasped.
"And you didn't even bring food!"
"Coming. Delivered in a couple minutes," Sam forced out, wiping at his eyes.
"What were you doing? What is that?" Dean demanded, pointing at the bag in Sam's hand.
Sam tossed it to him silently, biting his lip hard as Dean read the label aloud. "Tadpole Food. Ingredients: powdered grasshoppers and crickets." He dropped the head and threw the bag at it. "I hate you," he stated baldly, very near to pouting. Sam was very glad that hot biscuits and gravy would be showing up soon to soothe Dean's wounded ego. While Dean stomp-limped back toward their room, Sam picked up the bag (might as well add it to their stash) but, after a moment's contemplation, left behind the gargoyle head that had caused so much trouble. Gloria already thought they were batshit crazy, so it didn't seem worth it to hide the thing now that they knew it was benign.
The food arrived at the door just as Sam did, and he was so grateful for the perfect timing that he gave the kid a double tip.
In fact, after eating the entire gigantic portion of biscuits and gravy that Sam had brought him plus the bacon and hash browns that came with Sam's breakfast (minus what Sam slipped to Goethe) and taking a long shower, Dean had mostly regained his normal good humor. Well, until he revealed the state of Foster's truck.
"It's all fixable, but the best I can do in a motel parking lot is jerry-rig the shit out of it," he reported. "Most of the gas is on the ground, but I'm hoping that's just from the gas line and not something else too. I've gotta take a better look and see how much I can do in an afternoon with duct tape, whatever tools Foster left in the back, and my general awesomeness."
"I have the utmost faith in you," Sam responded, the tone very tongue-in-cheek, though the words were completely true. He picked up the trash from their excellent breakfast and pictured the route he'd walked. "There's an auto parts store a mile or so away. Once you know what you need, I'll walk over and get it." He gave a meaningful glance to Dean's leg. After his bug-chasing caper, he was limping badly again.
Dean opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe for something else, and belched instead. He looked pleased. "That was a good one! So, you gonna help me with the truck or what?" he asked, looking proud of how disgusting he was.
Sam shook his head. "Actually, I was thinking of heading to the hospital to see if Buddy is any more coherent or if his fiancée has any insight."
"How you gonna get there? It's on the other end of town."
"I'll figure something out." If there was anything they were good at, it was improvising. While he couldn't really steal a car in such a small town, he'd probably be able to bum a ride with someone.
Dean wasn't thrilled, but they didn't have a lot of choices – he had to be the one to fix the truck, but it didn't make sense for them both to be sidelined. When Cas called Dean to ask for a more complete description of the bisected triangle that was etched into the skin of the affected people of the town, Sam made his escape.
"Something" turned out to be hitching a ride with Librarian Laurie, unfortunately. She spent the entire drive shifting unnecessarily between second and third and trying to get Sam to spill the reason that he needed to go to the hospital. She did take a short verbal detour to complain about the fact that, with the largest park in the area literally burning, the money she wanted used for library improvements would certainly be used to plant more trees and fix up the nature trails. By the time they reached the hospital, Sam's tongue was bleeding again from all the times he'd bitten it.
"...only got the job because his family has money, you know," Laurie was saying as her burgundy Mitsubishi sort of lurched into the hospital parking lot due to an ill-timed downshift. "Even though he's really lazy and greedy –"
"Thank you for the ride," Sam said, opening the door almost before they'd come to a complete stop and interrupting Laurie mid-gossip.
"Do you want me to –"
"I don't need a ride back." Sam smiled insincerely, struggling to maintain a polite facade. People were in real danger, but she of the noxious perfume was only concerned with herself and the library where she worked. Oh, and with talking shit about her neighbors.
"Call me if you change your mind," she answered, looking disappointed.
Sam just hurried away. He told Goethe to stay in a little courtyard (and was fairly certain that he got the canine equivalent of an eyeroll in return) and went inside.
The scene inside the little hospital lobby was a bit harried. There were many people waiting for attention, mostly coughing and wheezing. Sam wondered just how bad the fire had gotten to have so many people suffering from what sounded like significant smoke inhalation...or maybe there was another, even worse cause. The frazzled woman manning the front desk recognized Sam and just waved him past. He stopped dead catching sight of Grant standing outside of one of the emergency cubicles. Despite everything, he went up to the man.
"I know you don't want to see me right now," he said lowly. "But are you okay?"
Grant frowned. He looked tired, dirty, and stressed out. "I'm fine," he answered, a little hoarsely. "Listen, if you know anything about this crazy smoke that's coming off the fire, you better tell me." As soft as the words were, he said them with great emphasis.
Crazy smoke? That didn't sound good. "No, I didn't even know it was happening. Give me a two second run-down?"
Grant's frown deepened and he considered his words. Sam watched his expression closely and saw the moment he decided what the hell, I'll tell him. He might not trust the Winchesters completely, but at least he was willing to share information. "Right when we thought we had the fire under control, it started spewing this awful reddish smoke. It seems to be somewhat toxic, and we had to pull back. We're under orders to stay back and just contain until whatever is burning to cause that burns itself out. Unless the fire escapes our borders, the state won't send water helicopters. I guess my three men struggling to breathe aren't enough." He took a deep breath to calm himself.
"Whatever's going on here has to stop."
Sam risked patting Grant's shoulder. "I swear to you we're working on that. And I swear we'll answer any questions you have after everything is under control." He hesitated a moment before coming to a decision himself. "And, Grant, I know you've figured out that there is more going on here than meets the eye. You're not wrong. And I really don't know about the smoke, but we're trying to figure it all out.
Grant looked at him for a long moment and then nodded. "Thanks. I'm holding you to that. Is --"
Someone down the hall called Grant's name. "I gotta go," he said. "Uh, be careful."
"You too," Sam answered, feeling guilty that they hadn't been able to stop whatever was plaguing Grant's home. He shoved those emotions aside and hurried to the elevator and up to Buddy's room.
The injured man was dressed in real clothes instead of a hospital gown and looked significantly more aware than he had before. Sam didn't miss the haunted expression he wore, though. A brunette with a plain but kind face was perched on the edge of the bed holding Buddy's hand. Buddy flinched badly at the sight of Sam.
"I'm not sure if you remember me from before," Sam said. "I'm –"
"FBI," Buddy intoned. "I-I remember." He stared at Sam like he was a venomous snake about to strike.
After an awkward pause, the woman said, "I'm, uh, Debbie. I'm Buddy's fiancée."
"Agent Clark, ma'am," Sam smiled as nonthreateningly as he could.
"I need...Debbie, honey, could you give us a minute?" Buddy asked barely above a whisper, still gaping wide-eyed at Sam. Every so often, he winced or flinched. It reminded Sam uncomfortably of his own mannerisms when he was struggling with hallucinations.
Debbie frowned slightly, looking concerned, but gently disengaged their hands and stood up. "I'll be just outside," she said. She closed the door softly behind herself.
"Did you have something you want to tell me?" Sam asked calmly, sitting on the edge of the single chair so he didn't loom over the man.
"You – it – there's something in the woods," Buddy stuttered. He seemed struggling to get the words out. He closed his eyes as if in pain. "It, uh, wants you. So much."
It wasn't anything close to what Sam had expected and he was momentarily taken aback. "Me, specifically?"
Buddy nodded, then pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. "Be careful," he warned, his face scrunched up in pain. "Speech allay."
"What?"
"I need to stay here," Buddy moaned. "Tell them I can't leave. I need to be locked up. Please. Please tell them."
When Buddy wouldn't say anything more and continued to act like he was in pain, Sam went to the door and asked Debbie to get a nurse. He explained to both Debbie and the woman she'd fetched that all he had done was ask a few simple questions, but they both glared at him, clearly considering him responsible for Buddy's much-deteriorated condition.
Sam silently thanked the man, who was rocking and covering his ears, for the warning. He had no idea what it meant, but he didn't put it down to insanity or stress. No, it reinforced the feeling that something was after Dean and him.
Sam left quickly. He briefly stopped to ask the nurse who'd called him what she knew about the smoke inhalation victims and if the cause of the smoke had been identified. She didn't know, so he exited the hospital and began to walk back toward Milton proper, calling Dean on the way. Dean answered, clearly on speaker.
"Hey, just saw Buddy again. He says there's something in the woods, and it's after...us."
"He said it was after you, didn't he?" Dean guessed. Something metallic clanged in the background. "Dammit." Sam could easily picture Dean dropping a tool and not remembering his bad leg until he tried to bend and pick it up.
"Can't tell. English doesn't have a difference between the singular and plural you. Anyway, about those woods...they're still burning." Sam quickly outlined what he'd learned from his brief talk with Grant. "I'd say we're right that there's something in those woods. So, what did Cas have to say? And how's the truck coming along?"
Dean allowed himself to be diverted. "Cas said there are over ten thousand different ways triangles have been used as symbols. He said it could be anything from an uppercase Delta, meaning change, to the alchemy symbol for air. He said all the elements are written as different triangles. He wanted to know if there are three triangles together, because that would be a, um, valk...something."
"Valknut," Sam said confidently, familiar with the symbol. "A triquetra valknut, which would mean..."
"Nothing. Because it wasn't three triangles. We might be missing some small details of the symbol, but it's one solitary triangle. Basically, we've got bupkis." There was more background noise and Dean starting swearing again. "I need VHB tape and a small crescent wrench." He grunted loudly. "And some stop-leak gunk."
"Yeah, I'll be as fast as I can," Sam promised. He was virtually certain that he could beg, borrow, or buy himself a ride.
Once Sam arrived via a passel of teenage girls who giggled the entire drive (including through his lecture on the danger of picking up hitchhikers), Dean didn't want him to leave again...except he found another part that he needed.
While Sam was getting that, Laurie called saying that she had some of the books on local history that Sam had been looking for, so he walked to the library next. Naturally, that wasn't a quick visit, though Sam did his best to escape quickly. He got back to the motel again, this time to a frustrated and starving Dean, so he dropped off the books and walked back to the diner. He had to force Dean to leave the truck to actually sit down and eat with him. Dean was clearly sore and just as clearly irritated that he kept finding more and more issues with the truck that needed to be addressed. (And Sam's feet were killing him.)
They called Foster together and broke the news about the vehicle and luckily, he was philosophical about it.
"Better'n the time a troll ate my front tires and half of the bumper," he said laconically. Then he cleared his throat. "What's got Goethe so worked up?" The dog was whining and pacing back and forth, as he had been for a while, no matter how Sam tried to soothe him.
"He's been antsy all day," Dean offered. "I told him he's not allowed to bleed the brakes anymore."
Foster didn't laugh. "He's smarter'n you think. If he's upset, maybe you should –"
"Hang on," Dean spoke up. "One of our witnesses is calling."
He switched over the call, taking the phone off speaker. The call was short and Dean's expression grim. "Noah Carpenter is missing," he said as soon as he was done. "We have to – shit! I have to get the truck working right damn now." He stood and paced a few steps and Sam stayed silent to let him come to the inevitable conclusion. Finally he turned back. "Go. Take the dog."
"To a worried family? And the cop shop?" Sam asked and Goethe, who'd run to his side, whined again.
"Yes. Take him everywhere. He's been right every time, and while you think somethin's after me, I'm starting to think somethin's after you." Dean's face had no compromise on it. "You're a fed, remember? You can do whatever the hell you want."
Sam had fought plenty of seemingly unwinnable fights, but this wasn't the hill he was going to die on today, He took Goethe yet again.
The interview with the Carpenters wasn't helpful. Because of the toxic red smoke, the school had let out early, and Noah had been given permission to walk home. He never showed up. The parents were bewildered and hadn't even realized that the boy wasn't where he was supposed to be until the school called to say that he'd left his backpack behind.
Before Sam was done with the interview, Dean had texted that he needed yet another part. By the time Sam had fetched that and more food, he was utterly exhausted, and every ache and pain was chiming in to remind him that he'd been on his feet for hours. He hadn't even talked to the cops yet. But Dean, who'd been fighting with the truck all day and was clearly also sore and tired, was about as fun to be around as a hornet with a hangover, a Bobby-ism that Sam knew better than to bring up at the moment. He knew that Dean felt that keeping them in wheels was his purview, and that he'd failed twice now – with Baby, and again with the truck. (Not that Sam felt that way, but he knew his brother would think it.) He also knew Dean would be feeling guilty that Sam had to do so much walking and investigating on his own, especially while hurt.
And he knew that Dean wouldn't want to talk about either of those things.
"Why don't you call Foster back and I'll see if there's anyone at the police station to give me the info they promised?" Sam said, drinking the last of his Coke. It wasn't late, but it was well past normal business hours and darkness had fallen. "I'll grab a six-pack on my way back."
Dean grumbled about the stupid truck and the stupid ungulus and the whole stupid state, but eventually agreed. "Take the stupid dog," he said, like he had before, as if he hadn't been the one sneaking beef tips to the animal.
"I will," Sam agreed. "I don't think he likes all the smoke in the air, but I'll take him."
The cops were incredibly busy. Sam knew they were working with the fire department to keep the danger zone around the smoke cordoned off and to evacuate people from the nearby homes. He also overheard enough to learn that the hospital was full to overflowing and was having to ferry people to the next town over.
Sam would have just given up on asking for anything, except that the direness of the situation meant that he had to get every bit of information he could to figure out what they were facing sooner rather than later.
But when he asked, the chief snarled at him that unless he could call in reinforcements, he and his dog needed to get the hell out of their way. With a silent sigh, Sam gave up and left empty-handed. He and Dean would have to gear up, rig up some kind of breathing masks, and track down the source of everything before the death toll reached catastrophic levels. The only good news was that the really dark smoke had been dissipating, leaving mostly normal smoke. That was bad enough, but easier to handle. They might prefer to know what they were facing, but they were also used to going in blind. They'd bring the demon knife and lots of salt rounds and –
"Agent!"
Sam was barely out of sight of the building he'd just left and looked over to see a police car with the passenger side window down and a cop he didn't recognize hailing him. Said cop smiled in a friendly way. "You look like a man who could use a ride."
At Sam's side, Goethe growled low and bared his teeth at the man, every muscle in his body going tense. The hair of the back of Sam's neck stood on end. He smiled back, trying to make it look authentic. "Oh, no thanks. I need to make a stop or two." Without moving his lips, he barely audibly exhorted Goethe, "Stay."
The officer smiled and revealed that his gun was pointed at Sam's midsection. "Not a suggestion. Put your gun and phone on the ground slowly or I'll shoot you and the dog." There was no worry or hesitation on the man's face or in his voice.
Sam held his hands palms out. "Okay, I'm doing it," he said, slowly following the directions. He had a feeling that the man was just waiting to shoot Goethe, so when he was crouched, Sam turned his shoulders enough to shield him and ordered, "Run!"
Goethe's hesitation was minuscule, then he took off, though it was clear how much he wanted to stay and defend Sam. The cop sneered. "Keep getting cute and I won't take you to the missing kid, Noah."
Well, that changed things. Sam climbed in obediently, his mind racing. Who was this man, and did he really have the boy? What did he want? How could Sam get word to Dean? "Where is Noah, sergeant?" he asked, noting the stripes on the uniform sleeves.
The guy laughed. "Not my part of this. I just gotta get you to a certain spot."
"Why?"
But the officer just told him to shut up as they headed directly toward the smokiest part of town. As the world outside the cruiser's windows became more and more obscured, Sam could smell the fire more and more strongly, and he wondered just how much of the woods was still burning. By the time they stopped, Sam could see nothing but a few vague shapes and some ominous orange flickers. Sergeant Asshole got out and opened Sam's door, his gun drawn. "Get out."
For the first time, Sam noticed the blood on the man's jaw and realized that he had one of the marks. "Whatever deal you made, it's not going to go well for you." He stifled a cough.
"Aunt Lynn!" the guy shouted. A shape resolved itself into a woman. Lynn Peterson, of the myriad birdhouses. She looked nothing like the buttoned-up woman he'd met before. She was dirty, disheveled, and appeared seriously unhinged. She was holding a gun, but it was hanging limply at her side.
"He wants you," she said to Sam, completely ignoring the cop who was, apparently, her nephew. "You go to him, and I get my husband back." She pointed behind her. "You go in there and maybe you can save the boy."
The cop gave Sam a smirk and shrug. "Sorry, man. She and her old man are loaded, and she's making me sole benny for this." He saluted them both with his gun.
Which went off. Without even his finger on the trigger. The guy looked surprised for one second, then dropped like a rock. Sam had a sinking feeling that he was dead, his part in getting Sam there done, and his life therefore forfeit.
Lynn Peterson hardly blinked, still pointing the direction she wanted Sam to go. "You see what happens when you make deals?" he asked, his voice already getting hoarse from the befouled air. "Your husband is probably gone already. He started the fire, didn't he? To try to kill whatever's in there?"
"You go in and he comes out," Lynn said, her teeth gritted. "He said so."
" Who said so?" Sam asked, frustrated, even as he moved in the direction she wanted him to go. He took a quick second to check if the cop was alive – he wasn't. So Sam tied a bandanna around his face and walked past Lynn. He had to find Noah, if he really was somewhere in the burning, dystopian landscape. Sam could finally see that he was on the edge of a playground. The trees he could make out were burned bare, some still flickering fitfully. He saw a sign announcing Volcano Park and Trailhead: Though the closest volcano is over 150 miles away, this area is named for the volcano-like symbol that ancient peoples left carved many places. There was a triangle with two curved lines coming off the top, sort of resembling lava coming out of a mountain.
But Sam suddenly realized what it really was. What the symbol carved into all the deal-maker's skin was. Upside-down, it formed an Enochian symbol he had hoped to forget. Suddenly, he had a terrible feeling that he didn't want to hear what Lynn was going to say.
"Eous," she said.
Morningstar.
Lucifer.
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AN: Yup. I did that. Please remember you love me…
Delta is the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet. The uppercase version is a triangle: Δ. It represents a change in a variable or the difference between two numbers in mathematics.
In classical alchemical symbols, as stated by Aristotle, the four elements (air, earth, fire, and water) are represented by different iterations of an equilateral triangle. Air is the one that is an upright triangle with a line through it.
Three intertwining triangles, sometimes called a unicursal trefoil or tricursal triangles, may represent Odin, Allfather in the Norse pantheon, though it's also been found on artifacts well beyond the area where the Norse religion was practiced. (Google the Snoldelev Stone if you want to fall down the same rabbithole I did! LOL)
"Eous" is Latin for "of the dawn," which I figured was close enough to "morningstar" that Lucifer might use it.
Colby's girl: Not only has the coffee pot been replaced, I had a massive latte from my favorite coffee house this morning thanks to my niece as a thanks for driving her to work, so order has been restored. Whew! Thanks for such a nice review. Like so often, I was a little worried that a slower chapter wouldn't go over well, but I felt like the guys really needed a little time to recover!
muffinroo: So many, many feels. Sometimes when I'm writing, the feels just fall out by accident. Love the "we got work to do." Definitely!
Visionary: I don't know what's up with the email notifications, but you aren't the first person I've heard that from. I am so glad you didn't mind (maybe even liked) the little interlude where the guys got some rest and mostly just learned some things...well, and fought off evil little demon spider/vulture things. And, of course, the brotherly love. It's so fun to write when they're on the same page and getting along really well.
I want to thank you for such lovely reviews on other stories, too. The one on Dissolution brought a tear to my eye!
stedan: I deliberately took what Dean was thinking while awake and blended it into his dream, like when you fall asleep and don't realize it. Or at least, that's the way it is for me. I'm so happy you liked the schmoop...it's kind of like a guilty pleasure, isn't it? I do prefer crickets outside, but that's mostly because if they're inside, the cat will tear the room apart to find them, then loudly eat them. Barf!
Kathy: Yeah, that dream was pretty weird. LOL. But hopefully the memory of Sam with the raccoons made up for it! Sorry for the cliffie in this one!
Timelady66: Oh, don't apologize! It's nice to hear from you when you get a chance. I hope life is being kind to you! I see some reviews from you on other stories and appreciate them all. Of course I don't think you abandoned me!