Caterina jerked awake and stared out the window. If she wasn't so drowsy, she would have laughed at the image of 6'4" Sam racing out of a shabby house, waving a book at an angel.
"Chuck left me some clues. They're hidden in his books," Sam said. "So far, I know we're looking in the wrong state."
Sam walked over to Cas and showed him the highlighted passage in the novel.
"Try New Mexico," Dean joked. "I hear He's on a tortilla."
"No," Castiel answered thoughtfully, "He's not on any flatbread."
The part that read "Try New Mexico" was underlined three times. Then, in the margin, in Chuck's same inky blue script, were instructions: Unless you wanna search the whole state of NM, go to page 72 of Dog Dean Afternoon.
Looking up at Cas, Sam forced a smile at the angel's next remark.
"I remember that. We were talking about God. Is he referencing my Father to compare himself to God?"
"You know, Cas, the first time we met him, he thought he was a god." Sam thought back to that moment, remembering that Chuck had thought his creations came to life. In hindsight, it was kind of funny. If only Sam was in the mood to laugh. "Anyway, we have to find the rest of the clues. Coming?" Sam started walking to the house again as Cas hastily caught up.
Caterina rubbed her eyes and yawned again. Stretching her cramped limbs, she stepped out of Dean's car and followed the man and the angel, her motions sleepy, like a zombie.
As she slowly made her way into the missing writer's house, she reflected briefly on her dreams. Dean had haunted most of them; her dead mother, friends, and demon father haunted the rest. She wondered why she was stuck in perpetual dreaming- usually, by the first nightmare, she would have jerked awake and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night. But this time her mind was a cage, keeping her in with the lions and bears of her subconscious. It was torture, put simply.
When she joined Sam and Cas, they had already sifted through two more clues. In Dog Dean Afternoon, they found the highlighted quote: "Going home. I'm going home," Yet another dog chanted. "Honey, I'm coming home."
The margin note said to go to volume 10, book 1: Lost Blood. Only one phrase was highlighted from that book, "next door." In context, the passage read: "Yeah, uh… we're here to investigate the house fire next door that occurred last week." Sam pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, exposing his almost genuine FBI card and golden badge. Dean did the same. "I'm Agent Angus and this is my partner, Agent Young."
The note in this one just said to look through volume 10, book 3: High School Romance. Caterina felt the urge to join in then, partly because she realized what part of her life was outlined in that novel, so she grabbed the book and started flipping through the pages. It was lucky she did, because this message was obviously meant for her. All the highlighted words and phrases from random sections of the novel added up to read: Caterina, look, I understand that those black-eyed demons are terrible and Satan's spawn, but there are things that go by the same name of "demons" that are much, much worse. Everything will be fine, trust me.
She blinked as she pieced together that message from a man she'd never met. Sam and Cas were right. He truly was a prophet.
Sam stared at her in concern. "What did you find?"
She shook her head and flipped through the pages. On one of the blank pages at the end, another note was scrawled: You should already know where to find me with the clues given. Hurry up, because each moment wasted is a moment lost to get Dean back. Oh, and these signed-edition books are free. You're welcome. -Chuck Shurley
"Here," she replied, handing him the book open to the note. "Let's go." Deep in thought and worry, she wandered back to the car. When adults told her that everything would be fine and to trust them, she usually knew they were lying. That's what they said when her friends died, and that time she broke her leg and lost all her chances to try out for the middle school swim team. That was also what Dean told her before they embarked on their final mission at the warehouse in Minneapolis.
When Sam was left alone with Cas, he was certain something else had occurred in the last few seconds besides Caterina reading the note. So, he flipped back through the book and realized- there was a note written to Caterina. It had hardly occurred to him that Chuck knew Caterina existed, but it was obvious now. He felt guilty reading the note, but he was concerned for the girl and scanned the highlighted words anyway.
When Caterina had read it, the meaning immediately registered in her head. Demons weren't just warped souls, they were mental spooks, like depression, anxiety, and in her case, ghosts of her past. For Sam, despite his intelligence, it took him a moment and two rereads to understand what Chuck was saying. And then the weight of what the fourteen-year-old was dealing with hit him like a ton of bricks. Sure it was nothing compared to what he, Cas, and Dean had gone through individually, but she was supposed to be the innocent one, filled with life. They had warned her at the beginning, and so the effects of the hunting life had taken their first effects on her.
If he was better with kids, like Dean, he might have gone to comfort her like he usually comforted adults in harsh situations. But he didn't. Instead, he grew even more determined to bring Dean back. "Cas, let's stuff these books in the trunk," he ordered.
"I can just fly back every time we need them," the angel pointed out.
Sam relented. "Fine. But I'll take the start of volume ten." He stacked up the books and tucked them under his arm. "Let's go to New Mexico."
Cas assessed the situation, wondering at Sam's motives and Caterina's change in mood. Then, he disappeared to the car. Sam nodded. When he got time, he was going to read Caterina's adventures. He thought it would help.
During the following drive, Caterina found Sam's stash of volume ten novels and started to sneak read them. By the second day on the road, she was halfway through the books and found her favorite passage in Chuck's distinctive, dreamy writing. She loved it. It helped her imagine that Dean was still there and not lost in God knows where, despite the fact that it centered on her.
The road seemed to stretch on forever. The moon glowed dimly in its waning crescent shape and the stars were brighter than ever out on the countryside trails. This was the kind of night where Dean would stop the car by the side. Then he and Sam would sit on the Impala's hood and just watch the constellations among the waving fields and silence of crickets and zephyrs. Since mid-September when the brothers had picked up Caterina, they liked to do the same, but with a small, feminine shape between their two masculine silhouettes on top of the black muscle car.
But this time, as they barrelled through the night, the twin headlights the brightest beams in a twenty mile radius, they used the time to tell stories.
It usually started with Dean saying, "Sam, remember that girl in..." and then he would talk about the case he met the girl on and Sam would roll his eyes and steer the conversation to the actual case. Then Dean would butt in with how they almost died and how he saved the day. And Caterina would pull her legs to her chest and just listen to the staccato and lulling legato of her family's voices, absorbing each detail of the brothers' adventures. Sometimes she would imagine if she had been there too, to beat Bloody Mary or land in an archangel-generated TV show. But most of the time, she just smiled slightly to herself and wished with all her heart on the passing airplanes that this road trip would never end.
After Caterina read the section ten times in her head, she closed the book lightly, keeping her finger stuck in the pages, and hugged it to her chest as she stared out the dark window. At that moment, she wouldn't have minded never meeting Jack, like High School Romance reminded her, if she could just see Dean now.
Dean sat up in the creaky bed with a new sense of being. He didn't care at all, about anything, or anyone, and it felt good. He absolutely didn't care that he didn't care.
Until he stepped out of bed, unsteady and wobbly from his transformation, and stubbed his toe on the wooden bedframe, just to remind himself that he should watch out for corners as to not face the miniscule pain again. That's when he realized that he didn't, in fact, have no cares; he cared very much about one thing: himself.
It was confusing at first. He tried to remember. Did he used to care? It was apparent that he did care before. After all, that was how he became a demon, the very thing he used to hunt and hate with a passion. It seemed that that hate was now transformed: a hate for everything and everyone, nonspecific and unwavering. He hated the most those that tried to hurt him. And on top of that list, currently, was Sam. In Dean's new mind, it was clear that Sam hunted demons like he himself used to and therefore would want to hunt Dean. And wasn't there loathing beneath the surface ever since Dean had tried to save Sam's life by allowing Gadreel to possess him? Dean was certain Sam had every motive to harm him.
The only reason he didn't decide to hate Caterina was because she was the one who landed him in this state of fake bliss, of uncaring. And besides, she was much too weak, mentally, to even try to hurt him. She wasn't as experienced in hunting to know that Dean was bad now.
Dean pulled down his shirt, staring in confusion at the anti-possession tattoo on his chest. It clicked that he wasn't possessed; he was the demon. For some reason, the thought was satisfying.
Dean wandered out the door of his childhood bedroom and down the stairs. He found his way out of the house and began wandering down the road. Heaven worked like points on a road; each memory or blissful location could be found somewhere along the road; and if one went far enough, they could end up in the Garden, the center of Heaven.
As Dean surroundings melted into another, he felt a sudden, jerking motion on his whole body and the softly melting scenes whipped by at the speed of light until he felt his body plop into a slightly familiar place.
The Garden. But it didn't look much like the Garden, not like the last time he'd seen it. Wing-shaped shadows stained almost every surface. The green shrubbery was yellowed, withered, and in some places, burnt to the roots. The color green itself looked like it had died. Small flames and smolders flickered around the garden. The vegetated walls were collapsed and see-through. Though it appeared the Garden went on forever, it was an eternity of death and pain.
It was a twisted, horror-movie interpretation of Heaven. If Dean hadn't known better, he would have said it was Hell.
"Hello, Tweedle-dumber," a smug accent spoke out among the silence of the Garden. Dean whirled around to face Crowley, for once without feeling knots of fury. "Nice of you to finally join the world of the living." He fake-cringed. "Or, should I say, world of the waking."
"You," Dean said, unsure as to whether he should sound accusatory, angry, or something else.
"Me," Crowley grinned. "How does it feel? Not caring, not minding? Just hate and the freedom to carry it out."
"It feels good," Dean admitted. "It feels empty."
"Oh, Dean," the King of Hell tsked, "You should know more than anyone what emptiness feels like. Don't fib to me. What you are feeling is not empty. It's glory."
Dean didn't have much to say, for once. He was too busy feeling to talk.
"What's that?" Crowley cupped his hand to his ear, mocking listening. He chuckled. "Oh, really? You want to go back to earth? Back to your Moose and Bird? Oh, I see. Have it your way."
He snapped his fingers and Dean finally realized how it must have felt when Castiel fell from Heaven. Then he landed in firmly packed dirt with a thud.