Disclaimer: Don't own it. Darn.
A/N: Sorry it's late. And short. Real life is being kind of a pain right now...
Thanks to: Lilithakaducky, Neko-Cat-Sama, Serenityblue, Psychee, Kaorukamiya307, Merisha, Spuffyshipper, Frank, and Shinaria for your lovely reviews!
Chapter 10
o-o-o
The drive to the town was long, slow, and quiet. Especially quiet. Even the pounding tunes of Led Zeppelin couldn't pierce the oppressive silence that threatened to suffocate him.
"How you doin', Sam?" he asked in an attempt to fix that.
Sam stiffened, his eyes shifting away, hands clenching in the seat beside is legs.
"'M fine," he mumbled.
Right. Ask anti-Christ superstar how he's doing this fine day. I'm sure he's chipper.
"Cas?" he called, glancing in the rearview mirror. "You doing all right?"
Castiel pried himself off of the window, staring balefully at him. Not entirely unlike a man on death row.
Wow, I really know how to make people feel special, huh?
After that, he cranked up the music, focusing on the familiar lyrics until they rolled into a motel parking lot near the center of town.
Sam started, taking a noisy breath.
"In my vision..." he swallowed. "This motel was burning."
"Guess that means we made it in time," Dean suggested.
Castiel had nothing to say on the matter, which Dean hoped was a good thing.
Of course, once they got into their room, they faced a whole new problem; who would sleep on the lumpy-looking couch.
"Dammit," Dean muttered. "Knew we shouldn't have brought Cas."
Sam shot him a pissy look.
"Dean, he just about freaked at the thought of being separated."
"I know, I know," Dean grumbled, glancing back to the former angel, who stood by the table, watching them. He hadn't let Dean out of his sight for more than ten minutes since they'd left the safety of Bobby's house... and that had been pushing it. He'd been jumpy as all hell when they'd taken a bathroom break.
In the end, Dean took the couch for the first night, along with most of Sam's pillows. Sam would take it the second night and, if they stayed a third night, Cas would take it then.
"Okay," Dean grunted. "You two sit tight, I'm gonna set up some wards outside."
"Dean," Sam hissed, dropping his bag and hurrying to Dean's side. "What about Cas?"
"I'll be right outside."
"What am I supposed to do with him?"
"I dunno, tell him a bedtime story. But I don't want either of you leaving the room until it's warded and we've got a plan, okay?"
Sam clenched his jaw, the protest dancing on the tip of his tongue.
"Fine," he muttered. "Just hurry up, okay?"
o-o-o
Chuck started awake, his head throbbing, heard pounding to the same pulse as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Bile burned the back of his throat, and it was all he could do to keep from vomiting right there on the couch.
He swallowed, shutting his eyes and waiting for the nausea to subside. That was it. No more drinking at night.
Okay. Well. No more drinking on nights when he got that strange floaty feeling that something prophetic and important was on its way.
Unless he'd had a really, really bad day.
Scratch that. Maybe he needed to start drinking all the time, cause it didn't look like it was going to make a lick of difference whether he knew what the hell he was dreaming or not. Couldn't change prophecy; it took one hell of a guy just to change the details. And last time he'd checked, he was not one hell of a guy. Still, he needed to warn them. Needed to do whatever he could for, y'know, the war effort and all. Maybe he could go door to door, collecting silver and salt like so may children had collected scrap metal back in the forties. Make posters with the Winchesters' faces on them. "We Want You to Stop the Apocalypse!"
"Jesus Christ," he moaned, peeling himself off the couch.
"Watch your tongue, Chuck."
Chuck moaned again, louder this time, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Perfect. Just what he needed. The language police here to stick a bar of holy soap in his mouth on top of everything. They hadn't complained about what he'd put in the books up until now... of course, that hadn't been him cursing. Technically, it had been the Winchesters.
With a sigh, Chuck turned and saw Zachariah standing with three other angels; two male, who looked like they, too, had come right out of a law firm, and one very familiar female face.
His stomach plummeted at the sight of Anna. For a while after Dean and Cas had broken the rules, as it were, his visions had been all over the place. It had been scary enough with his dreams flicking around like a tv that couldn't stop changing channels; scarier still when he started catching glimpses of what the angels were up to. Namely, what they were doing to punish Anna for her disobedience. Once upon a time, he had dreamed of meeting that beautiful, powerful redhead who made writing downright fun sometimes, what with her drama and internal conflict, not to mention that one scene in the Impala that he really wouldn't have written down if he'd known it was real at the time... but now all he could do was suppress a shiver. Sure, her body was as perfect and unscarred as ever, but her soul...
"Hey," he greeted halfheartedly.
Anna's eyes darted to the side, and she wrapped her arms around her torso. Yeah. As much as he didn't like knowing what had happened to her, she probably liked him knowing even less.
"You weren't, by chance, planning on telling the Winchesters anything, were you?"
"Wha-" Chuck sputtered. "Oh, come on! This isn't gonna hurt anybody. They're outnumbered, it could only help!"
Zachariah smiled that smug, "Everything's-under-control" smile, the one his vessel had probably used to seal a million and one business deals.
"Harachel has the situation under control," the angel assured him.
"One angel in a town full of demons? That's, like, asking for the story to go even darker. Why don't you just swoop in stop the demons?"
"Cause we've got more important things to do, other battles to fight."
Chuck's stomach clenched. Zachariah wasn't lying, but...
"Harachel was supposed to be looking for Lucifer," he pointed out. "She's getting sidetracked right now, protecting that kid and holding off the demons. Why don't you go in there and free her up to go do her job?"
"Because we have other people doing that job," Zachariah reminded him, stepping away from the formation of angels. The smug, self-satisfied expression was gone, replaced by another businessman look; the "we're-gonna-do-this-my-way" one. "I understand you've had the opportunity to watch our activities, Chuck. But the most important thing you can remember right now is that watching-" the smile returned. "-is just about all you're supposed to do."
Chuck's stomach turned, the bile burning his throat again. Once upon a time, he might have been able to get away with this, but since sending Dean and Castiel to the convent...
"We just don't want to risk you messing with divine revelation again, that's all. Do you understand, Chuck?"
Chuck licked his lips, his eyes wandering around his broken house, the bottle he'd just about emptied last night, the faces of those two stoic angels and that one very sad one, before returning to Zachariah.
Jerkily, he nodded.
"Yeah," he choked. "I guess."
"Good man." Zachariah smirked and straightened. "Well, better get to work. Wouldn't want to fall behind on your writing, now, would you?"
Right. Cause writing gave him so much pleasure these days. Zachariah turned and walked back to the other angels and, with a flutter of wings, they were gone. All of them.
Well. That pretty much made him officially useless. What use was seeing the future if you couldn't inform the people it directly affected?
Unless...
Chuck dove for the coffee table, fumbling with his cell phone and dialing the number he'd recalled that belonged to Bobby Singer. He couldn't help the Winchesters, but maybe that man could.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, jiggling his leg.
The phone rang once, twice...
"I know you aren't really trying this," Zachariah warned over the phone.
Chuck yelped, flipping the phone off.
Dammit!
o-o-o
Sam jiggled the jug of salt in a familiar routine, spreading it along the windows, the doors, any possible entrance into the room. These days, just to play it safe, they had started rubbing glue around the odd air vent and sticking a little salt on that, if the wallpaper allowed. Luckily, this one had wooden walls, which meant it would be easy to remove whenever they had to leave.
A gentle tapping on the floor by the bed had grown steadily louder until, as Sam finished the last salt line, Castiel was positively pounding his heel against the floor. He fiddled with his hands, twining his fingers together and clenching his fists and tugging at the legs of his borrowed jeans, his eyes fixed on the door. He was probably going to start hyperventilating soon.
"Hey, Cas," Sam hazarded, setting the half-empty jug on one of the side tables by the couch. "Chill, all right? Dean's just outside. We'll know if he's in trouble."
Castiel stilled his tapping, clenching his jaw. He didn't look entirely convinced. Sam shifted awkwardly. He didn't quite know what to do in this situation. Sure, he'd once been 'good cop' brother, comforting victims and tugging at heartstrings. But that felt like a lifetime ago, and he certainly didn't know what to say to a guy he hadn't spoken with since he'd seen his brother in the hospital. And, well... Cas hadn't exactly had a chance to see the good side of him since then.
But he had to try something.
"Um, listen..." Sam sat down on the bed next to the former angel. Castiel stiffened, his eyes flickering to Sam for a moment before he forced himself to relax. "Dean... well, I know what you did. Helping him and all. And I know you guys... well, I still screwed up and it didn't exactly go over like you hoped, but... well I, ah, I think you should know that that was pretty brave. And it's appreciated, really. So... thank you."
Castiel searched Sam's face, his brows furrowed. Sam shifted under the scrutiny. Castiel's focus waned, his eyes glazing over, lips parting.
"Jimmy says... you're far more pleasant when you're remorseful," he mused, brows raising in what might have been Castiel's version of amusement. "I have to say, I agree with him."
"Yeah, well, I can't disagree with him," Sam chuckled grimly. "I know I can get a little obsessed. Hey, uh-" he bit the inside of his lip, not entirely certain about the right way to ask. For all he knew, it could be a very personal subject for an angel. "Can you and Jimmy... I mean, do you talk or anything?"
"We do, now," Castiel mused. "Angels seldom do so while they inhabit a vessel. But I'm no longer an angel in the truest sense, and Jimmy... well, he's pretty vocal."
"Is he?"
Castiel tilted his head to the side.
"He's asked me to tell you some very insulting things, but I suspect you've already heard them in some form or another."
Oh, Sam had no doubts about that. Hell, the things the guy was calling him were probably pretty colorful, considering the fact that Sam had pretty much held him prisoner, bitched him out a few times, killed his friend to drink her blood, and... well, the apocalypse thing. But that was more or less everyone's beef with him.
Castiel's face softened.
"It's... comforting. Speaking with him. I think I would be very lonely otherwise."
"Are you not getting angel radio?" Sam asked, leaning forward.
Castiel shook his head.
"Anna picked up on it because we didn't think it pertinent to shut her out. Once we did, she heard only what we wanted her to hear."
"Guess they want us in the dark," Sam muttered.
"They want us dependent," Castiel said coldly. "Dean is expected to defeat Lucifer. You and I will be kept alive as leverage against him. At this point, it's necessary."
"Makes sense," Jess remarked from the corner, arms crossed and face pinched in irritation. "Question is whether or not the three of you can break free of that without screwing the pooch."
"Sam?" Castiel asked with a frown. "Are you..." His eyes widened and he jumped off the bed, fists clenched white-knuckled.
Sam followed suit, pulling out his gun and unclicking the safety.
The seconds ticked by, but no sound pierced the thin walls of the motel room. Sam's hands began to sweat, loosening his grip on the gun.
"Cas," he whispered. "Hey, man, what's going on?"
But Cas didn't reply; he remained still as a statue, eyes wide enough to bug out of his head, breathing loudly.
The door flew open, slamming into the wall with a loud bang!
Sam's grip tightened and he lifted his gun.
Dean backed in first, clutching the demon-killing knife tightly, his eyes burning with anger.
He was followed by a middle-aged, dark haired woman who looked less than impressed by Dean's anger. As she crossed the threshhold, Castiel inhaled sharply. An angel, then. This woman was an angel.
Behind her was a girl. Her sandy, dark blonde hair was pulled away from her face in a messy pony-tail, wide green eyes searching the room nervously, her arms wrapped around her faded gray hoodie as she padded in, close to the angel as possible.
Sam's stomach lurched, his gun lowering before he could spare a thought.
He'd seen this girl before, fleeing a burning house in a vision.
o-o-o