CHAPTER 5 - Spoils
By Darklady
(I still don't own the boys, and Crowley isn't answering my calls. Bummer.)
"Dude." Dean Winchester spun around, taking in the upscale details of the hotel room. Make that hotel suite, given how the bed was on the far side of a half-wall that divided that area from the sofa and desk area where they had landed. "Tell me we are not back in Van Nuys."
"We are not back in Van Nuys." Castiel answered. His voice was blandly calm.
Dean could never decide if that was angelic obliviousness, or just Cas jerking his chain.
"You better not just be telling me what I want to hear. Because this place looks a lot like that dammed green room."
Except for the king size bed. And the place being in far better taste. Maybe the heavenly host had found a decorator with talent?
"I would tell you what you wish, but in this case it is also true." Cas was moving quickly across the room, flipping open drawers as he passed. "This is not the green room. It is, perhaps, damned. Although such condemnation does not usually apply to architecture."
Dean snorted at that. "You haven't cleared as many haunted houses as I have." And based on that experience? This place had a vibe that wasn't matching the high-end furnishings. There was this odd smell, like something rotten hadn't quite died.
He took a step deeper into the living room area. Each step felt his boots sink deep into the plush shag carpet. Had the thought the Elysium Fields was a class hotel? Just went to show what a lifetime of twenty-a-night flops could do to a guys taste level.
This place wasn't a nice hotel room. This place was what nice hotel rooms wanted to be when they grew up.
"You check out that side." Castiel directed. "Collect anything useful."
Whatever. As he passed, Dean checked the top of the big screen television. Nope. No Casa Erotica pay-per-view. He guessed maybe this place wasn't that hot after all.
"So." he asked Castiel. "What are we here for? Other than raiding the mini-bar." Which wasn't all that mini. There was an actual bar, complete with a half-sized refrigerator and a built-in sink. Also? Dean checked behind the cabinet drawer. A shelf just packed with miniature liquor bottles.
He picked one out. Scotch. Twenty years in oak? He didn't even know they made mini bottles of stuff that classy. Dean automatically tucked it into his jacket.
"Dean." Castiel sounded… not exactly angry. More pissy.
"Hey, it's OK, right?" Or was this some new torment? Hell part two. Show a guy good booze, then don't let him have any.
"Help yourself." Castiel surveyed the cabinet's contents briefly before turning back to his search. "Although I'm sure your doctor would not recommend mixing scotch with pain medications."
"Who's gonna tell him?" Dean cracked the little paper strip covering the top. The scotch smelled as smooth as the label promised.
"I do need you functional."
"OK." Dean screwed back the top. "I'm just taking them for later. Plus, you know, Bobby might like a souvenir." Or just plain a drink. After the battle they had been though he figured the other hunter would need one. Dean knew he sure did. And it wasn't like the hospital gift shop carried whiskey. Or like, with Sam all banged up, either of them was going to be going out to any of the places that did. He collected the Irish Whiskey bottles too. They could maybe slip a bit into the hospital coffee. Couldn't hurt?
Actually? Thinking of hurt? Dean snatched up bottles at random, stuffing every pocket he had.
"So?", he asked Castiel over his shoulder. "Spill. Where is this place and why are we here?"
"This is the Minneapolis Hilton."
Which was, ok, an answer - but the type of answer that didn't answer anything.
Cas must have caught Dean's eye-roll, because he continued, "We are here because my brother Lucifer is not."
"We're here because he's not here?" Well, duh. If Lucifer were still here - as in anywhere on the planet - they would be small smoking chunks of charcoal. "Cas, I thought I was the one popping the good drugs."
"This is the last place Lucifer stayed before the final battle," Castiel explained. Patiently. "He left many things behind. Things we are here to collect."
"Like what?" Dean glared suspiciously at the overstuffed seat. Oh no, not the comfy chair!
Reaching into the bedside drawer, Castiel pulled out a small book. The cover was black leather, and the binding was embossed with faded gold lettering. Not exactly the oddest thing to find in a hotel nightstand except? Dean looked closer. The lettering looked familiar. Familiar in a bad way. Enochian familiar.
"Ouch." Dean shuddered as he worked out the words. "That is not looking like the Gideon Bible."
Castiel frowned down at the volume. "It is The Binding Sigils of Laviah."
"Yeh yeh. I get it." And Dean did. He wasn't a collector like Bobby, much less a dealer like Bella, but he had spent enough time on the getting-kicked end of book magik to figure out that knowledge could be power. Power you didn't want to leave around for just any amateur with bad Latin and a worse attitude. That way lay pain and more hunting than even John Winchester would have had time for. "Spooky book. Bad stuff, forbidden knowledge, burns your eyes out if you open it wrong."
"No." Castiel dug deeper into the drawer. "That would be this book."
He held out a larger volume. It had metal corner guards shaped like crows feet, chains across the front held by a heavy lock embossed with seals, and the binding didn't look like the leather that came wrapped around a steak. More like the sort of hide you burned at the stake. Dean even thought he spotted a bit of a tattoo.
Flames flicked along the edges as the pages cracked open.
"Ouch." Dean shut his eyes. "So don't wave it in my face, will you? I sorta need my vision."
Cas must have listened, because when Dean risked a look the light show had passed.
The angel was considering the small pile on the bedspread. There lay the two books Dean had seen plus three more the angel must have recovered while Dean hadn't been looking.
Now that he knew what was up, Dean started checking out the place with a hunter's eye. The desk held pens, a brochure of hotel services, and a room service menu. Devil's Food Cake was underlined in the desert list - so who said Lucifer didn't have a sense of humor. Also, what was it with angels and chocolate? Pushed to the back he found one clay disk with stamped with symbols he couldn't read and two small silver charms. One looked like a hand with two thumbs. The other almost passed as something a bored kid would twist from a paperclip.
They looked harmless. Dean figured Bella would have killed for them.
He tossed them onto the bed with the books.
Castiel poked under the bed. Then he pulled back. What ever he was looking for? Clearly, he was having no luck.
He looked around the room. Dean could see he was, once again, disappointed.
Finally, Castiel asked, "Can you find a bag?"
Good idea. Those books weren't the sort you wanted to carry around without the plain brown wrapper.
Dean checked out the closet on his side. Empty. "No suit case. I guess Lucifer wasn't big on wardrobe." Given that he hadn't changed any more than Castiel had. And what was it with angels and their lack of fashion sense? Not that Dean was into that sort of thing, but he did own more than one shirt.
"But hey." Dean ran his fingers along the topmost shelf of the closet. There was something up there and… yes! He pulled the folded plastic down. Shaking it open, he handed it to Castiel. "Here's a laundry bag."
"That will do."
"Almost missed it. Sam and me - we don't stay at a lot of places with laundry service."
"Wise." Castiel slid the volumes in. "They might question some of the more incriminating stains."
There was that, Dean acknowledged.
Castiel had left the packed books on the bed, and had gone over to inspect a picture. Dean didn't see why. It was just a print, even more boring than the bargain bin crap hanging on the walls of the skuzzy hotels he was used to. Which just went to show you couldn't buy taste, or some such cliché.
Except now Castiel was swinging out the frame. There was a safe hidden behind it.
"Dean," Castiel said, staring at the beige metal plate. "I require your assistance here."
"No sweat. These babies aren't so hard to crack." Easier than the combination ones, as long as you had the right gear. The hotel had to have a master code for all those times stupid civilians forgot their code and locked themselves out or their stuff in. Not to mention the idiots who just locked the thing and then checked out. But since hotel people were also idiots, and didn't like memorizing truly random combinations? Dean tested about a dozen combinations before the electronic lock clicked to green.
The metal front swung open.
"Like… oh. WOAH!" Dean blinked at the printed paper. Banded stacks of bills filled the bottom half of the cavity, held down by large golden bricks. Make that - large gold bricks. "Is that?" Dean asked, even though he didn't think Lucifer was going to keep a safe full of fake bullion and Monopoly money.
Castiel nodded. "Tribute from his followers." He pulled out a small suede pouch, something like a hex bag, and tucked it into his coat pocket.
"I thought only rock stars had groupies like that." Dean cut off the reply. "No. Don't say it. I so am not up for any 'morning star' puns." Not without Sam here to suffer with him.
Castiel simply handed over one of the gold bars.
Dean nearly dropped it. The thing weighed like a son of a bitch.
Shifting it to the bed, Dean watched as the quilt dipped under the weight. There had to be at least a dozen of the things.
Once the gold was out of the safe, Castiel started passing along the bills.
Dean recognized the American money. He had seen hundreds, if not that often. He could make out the Canadian dollars, and the Euros, and the British pounds - because even if they didn't use them much in Kansas he could read the numbers. Some of the other bills? Dean would simply take it on faith (some joke there) that those were equally valuable.
Once the safe was empty, Castiel shut the front and set the picture back into place. Pointing at the bed, pillow top mattress now dipping visible under the load, he told Dean "We will require something stronger than plastic to carry these."
Like a luggage cart? came Dean's mental snark. Place like this, wouldn't they have a bellman or something to carry out their guests luggage? But seeing as how he as Cas weren't exactly guests, and this wasn't exactly their luggage, he guessed they'd have to improvise. Checking around he suggested, "How about a pillow case?"
"Would that not be theft?"
"We're here burgling the room, and you're worried about snarfing the linen?" Dean was already stripping one of the king-size pillows.
"These goods were given to Lucifer," Castiel protested. "I inherited them along with his position. Even if the donors yet live, they would have no claim on what they gave freely. Also?" Castiel paused, contemplative. "While some might wish to reclaim these things, would you want to see them in the hands of anyone who would willingly follow the devil?"
"I see your point." Dean had pulled a second pillowcase. Heavy as this stuff was, he figured they ought to be double-bagging it.
"The housekeeper, however, is innocent," Castiel explained. "I would not have her suffer for my extractions."
"Just leave a couple of bills. She'll forgive you."
When Cas didn't move, Dean went back to the desk and pulled out the hotel service guide. "Look," He flipped to the page advertising bathrobes and fancy towels. "They've even got a price list." Dean read it, then whistled. "And man, these guys are not shopping at Wal-Mart."
"Very well." Castiel pulled one bill from the stack of hundreds. He laid it on the bare pillow, hesitated, and ignoring Dean's choked protest added another. "If you are sure."
Dean huffed. "You tip like that, and I'm taking the fancy soap as well."