Hey oddballs! Welcome back to another chapter in this flight of oddball fantasy. We have a couple of new readers (gives oddball salute). Welcome to the fold! As always, thanks to everyone following and those kind of enough to review, and especially to my theological advisor for taking breaks from writing sermons for this left-field trip into proof-reading.
Chapter 40 - The Plot Thickens
Bela sneaked through Singer's junkyard. Really, what was the point in hanging on to all these rusted cars? Surely there wasn't any profit in it. Some hunters started to lose it when they aged, if they lived that long. Perhaps it was happening to Singer. Really, she would accept pretty much any explanation along those lines for all this junk.
The strap of her carrying bag cut into her shoulder. Bela hefted it up to briefly relieve the pressure. "Had to buy ten different kinds of cameras, didn't I?" she hissed to herself.
It wasn't easy working by the dim, thin beam of her tiny flashlight, but Bela stuck it out. Before dawn broke, she had twenty different cameras, two of each kind, placed in strategic positions. Even if one or two were found, there would be plenty more. Hopefully she would be able to get at least a few seconds of positive proof of the existence of the angels. Tired but thoroughly pleased with herself, Bela slipped out of the junkyard. She needed to check the feed back at her hotel room before she could sleep.
Ruby stood by a nice suburban mailbox. She twirled her demon-killing blade in one hand, deliberately getting the attention of the woman who lived there. The woman stalked out, her hard hurried steps putting her anger on display.
"What?" she hissed at Ruby. "This is my neighborhood." One hand waved at a symbol laid out innocently in her front flowerbed. "Or can't you read?"
Ruby shrugged, pretending to gaze around without interest. "I just thought you'd like a little information on Sam Winchester. But since you don't..." She shrugged again, turning away.
"Ruby?" Yes, she knew that disdainful sneer, would know it in any body. "Is that you?"
Ruby turned back and it took every ounce of will she still possessed not to sneer. "Yes, it's me."
"Why would you offer me information about Sam Winchester?" she demanded.
Ruby walked as close as she dared to the demon who had taken Ruby's soul in exchange for giving her the powers of a dark witch. "I heard you were after him. Something about a PR campaign?" She offered a small smile. "I'm sure Lilith would greatly reward anyone who brought in Sam's head on a silver platter."
"Why don't you do it?" the demon demanded.
Ruby attempted to look sexy as she leaned in closer. "Because I thought I'd save him. For you," she purred.
The demon's eyes flashed black as the implications of Ruby's offer sunk in. "I always did like you, Ruby. Always." She ran a finger along Ruby's jaw. "You do know I tried to make your stay in hell as easy as possible."
Ruby leaned into her touch. "I know," she whispered.
"Where is he?" the demon asked, still caressing Ruby's cheek.
"South Dakota, the house of Bobby Singer. He's a demon hunter," Ruby said in a breathless voice, unable to believe how well this was working. If she didn't give warning of Singer being a demon hunter and this demon discovered it on her own, she might suspect Ruby was holding something else back. Ruby couldn't risk that.
"Thank you," she breathed in Ruby's ear. "I'll reward you for this." The head of her meat suit tilted back, black smoke pouring out of her mouth and curling into the sky.
"Wha-what was that?" the woman asked, dazed.
Ruby grinned maliciously. "Get some therapy, moron."
She rushed to leave in order to transport herself back to Sam. It would be better if the Winchesters were warned. Then again, considering the way a certain archangel came and went constantly, not to mention how many angel traits Dean seemed to have taken on, that might not be necessary. She decided the Winchesters should be able to hold their own. Relieved, Ruby scanned her mental list for the next demon to send to Singer's.
Two men in cheap dark suits flanked an old man in a red-trimmed black robe. The old man had a soft, weathered face and watery blue eyes and he moved with a slow shuffle-walk. When one of the men in suits offered a hand to help, he accepted and patted the young man's arm in thanks. He shuffled into the lobby of an expensive hotel.
The hotel manager, who had been watching for this man's arrival, raced through the lobby to meet him. All of the arrangements taken care of prior to his arrival, the old man was escorted to the finest suite in the hotel. He sat in a high backed chair as people brought in his luggage. The men in suits took their usual positions, one outside his door and the other in the room to attend to his needs.
"Tell me," he said to the young man when they were alone, "who is this woman again?"
"Bela," the young man replied as he pulled a personal digital assistant from his pocket. "She uses numerous last names including Lugosi, after the actor. Those names are meaningless, however."
"Why?" the old man asked. "If she uses them, there must be information attached to them."
The young man nodded again. "Yes, sir, but it's mostly just crime. She's a high income thief."
The old man frowned at his assistant. "And how exactly does this make her an expert on angels?"
The young man shook his head. "It doesn't. Our intelligence indicates that if this Bela character actually managed to locate any angel it would be on the order of miraculous. For her to find earth-bound coordinates for Michael..." He shrugged.
The old man smiled at him. "Then we pray for our miracle, Daniel."
The young man, Daniel, knelt before the old man. Hands shaking with age were placed on the young man's forehead and shoulder as a prayer in Latin came from well practiced ancient lips. When he finished, the old man looked down kindly at his assistant.
"Imagine Daniel, actually meeting Michael. This is an opportunity that comes maybe once a millennium," he said, voice shaking with emotion.
"Yes, Cardinal," the young man replied, a light of devotion in his eyes.
"Now we pray for this Bela," the Cardinal told his assistant, "that she may call with our proof soon."
Daniel's head bowed again as the softly-spoken Latin poured forth. All their hopes and dreams rested on the shoulders of a thief.
Bela double-checked her monitoring equipment. Again. She could see Singer's house from every angle, each perspective from at least two different types of cameras. Perfect. There wasn't much more she could do, really, except wait. She hated waiting. For a brief instant Bela considered heading out for a bar to knock a few back and relax her nerves, but she couldn't leave. Not now. Not with so much riding on this.
If Michael did not miraculously appear, she would have to do something to make him appear. Dean was not one to trifle with, so careful planning needed to be done. Bela stretched out on her bed, her computer flashing scenes around Singer's house, as various scenarios for capturing Dean ran through her head. A few brought a smile to her face, especially the one involving towing his car. She doubted he ever got over the last time.
As Bela stared unseeing as the lights inside Singer's came on, she wondered if an archangel would try to help out if Dean were arrested. A life-threatening situation would be better, of course, but perhaps there would not be a need to go quite so far. If she didn't have to hurt Dean, physically, why bother? Besides, the voicemail he left after she took the Colt was rather, well, colorful.
Still nothing happening at Singer's. Well, it had only been maybe an hour; did she really expect results so soon? That was not a reasonable expectation, but Bela was not one to wait. She made things happen, just like Daddy. The car seemed a good place to start.
Sam woke from a sound sleep. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering what woke him, when he realized the room was not dark. Rolling his head to the side to check on Dean, Sam discovered his brother's stomach had a ball glowing above it.
Curious, Sam slipped out of bed to stand over Dean. He studied the ball of light before attempting to touch it, but his hand passed through. It reminded him of Tron and the bit that followed the main character around inside the computer. Freaking Disney.
"Dean?" Sam shook his brother's arm. "Hey, Dean?"
"Huh?" Dean's eyes opened slowly, the glow not bright but Sam could still tell it was there. "Sam? Problem?"
"You have a bit," Sam told him.
"I have a what?" Dean demanded, sleepy confusion giving way to irritation.
"Look." Sam waved at the glowing ball.
Dean stared at it, the confusion returning. The ball whirled in the air before plunging down into Dean's stomach. Shocked, Sam sucked in breath. Dean stared at his stomach for a moment, then his eyes lifted staring off into the distance.
"Crap," he mumbled. "Come on, Sam. You're driving."
Sam grimaced as he pulled on a pair of jeans. "Back that bad?" he asked.
"Don't push it," Dean warned, rolling out of bed completely dressed. He grabbed his jacket from the foot of the bed as he stood.
"Uh, you don't change for bed anymore?" Sam demanded as he scooped his sneakers with one hand and a shirt with the other.
"Nope. Wastes too much time," Dean stated as he rushed out the door.
"Great," Sam muttered as he raced down the stairs after his brother, "now he tells me." He had his shirt halfway on by the time they reached the front door. Outside, Sam tossed his shoes into the car in order to shove his other arm through the empty armhole. He fell into the driver's seat to find the keys already in the ignition. Sam started up the car and pulled out.
"Where?"
Dean had that faraway look again. "Head west. There's a neighborhood about five miles from here, on the right side of the road. Turn in at the big oak beside a tall brick wall."
Sam nodded to himself. He knew the area Dean wanted. The Chevy growled as Sam put his foot down, as if the car were as anxious as Dean. Hell, it probably was. Sam knew it ran better around Dean, sometimes so silky smooth he had to really listen to hear if the engine were running, and sometimes with a roar like now, putting Dean's emotions on display. Whatever it was this time was bad.
Sam took the turn at a higher speed than he should have, but the big car hugged the curve as if it had been made for racing.
"Straight!" Dean shouted over the engine noise. "White house!"
Sam slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt. He snatched his sneakers as he threw his door open. Dean was halfway across the lawn before Sam rounded the front of the car.
"Hey!" Dean shouted in a voice sure to wake the neighbors. "Hey, moron! Get off the roof!"
Sam's eyes searched the night, aided by the streetlights, to find a small figure huddled on top of the roof.
"You!" Dean pointed a finger as he yelled. "Go inside! It isn't safe up there!"
The person on the roof waved a single finger at Dean, and it wasn't complimentary. Sam felt Dean's anxiety and irritation double.
"Probably ought to leave the airhead up there," Sam heard his brother mumble.
"Dean," Sam hissed, "just go knock on the door. The kid's parents can take care of it."
Dean shook his head, staring straight up. "You do it, Sam. There's something really wrong with the roof."
Sam, still carrying his shoes, headed for the front door. As he approached the porch light flickered on and the door opened.
"Can I help you?" A lanky man demanded. "What are you people doing in my yard?"
"Sir," Sam said, hopefully cutting off the beginning of a tirade, "my brother and I were driving by when we noticed someone on your roof. Could it be one of your children?"
The man frowned as he stepped outside. "Not again. Lizzie!" He walked slowly to stand beside Dean. "Lizzie, we talked about this. Now you have strangers coming to the house. Go inside. Now!"
The huddled mass on the roofline moved. She stood slowly, her face illuminated by the streetlight. Now Sam could see Lizzie was a young girl, probably not even a teen, with frizzy dark hair and a scowl.
"Don't move!" Dean ordered. "One more step and you'll fall through." The girl on the roof shot him the finger again, her foot raised in the air. "Freeze!"
"Hey pal," the man shoved Dean in the shoulder. Sam thought that showed pretty poor judgment. "Back off, she's going inside."
Dean turned his head to reveal that his eyes had an angry glow. "And I'm trying to save her life," he growled, "so keep your nose out of it."
His brother looked up again. "Lizzie, listen to me." Dean's voice was as smooth as when he picked up women in a bar and he held both hands up to show he wasn't a threat. "There's a weak point in the roof, right in front of your foot. Can you see how it's kind of dipping down?"
The girl's arms stretched out as she balanced. One foot ran along the top of the roof in the dark. "It does dip down and it's kind of big."
"Okay, uh, just stand there. Don't move." Dean turned around to face the father again. "Tell me you have a ladder."
"Uh, what? A ladder?" He shook his head, as if he needed to clear it. "Yeah. Um, in the garage."
"Sam!"
"On it." Sam raced through the unlocked front door. Finding the garage did not take as long as finding the freaking light switch. Fortunately they had an electric garage door opener, so while the door rose Sam could search for a ladder. It was behind the lawnmower leaning against the far wall. Yeah, great place. Sam wrestled it out, knocking some old paint cans over and a bucket full of bolts, screws and crap. He hefted it over his shoulder to head back out front. It looked like the girl had not moved.
Sam set up the ladder. As his foot mounted the first step, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.
"No, Sam. This is my job," Dean said gently.
Sam shook off the hand, hurrying up the ladder to save the girl. His brother might break his back, again, if the girl was too heavy or if he slipped coming back down the ladder, or something. He couldn't risk it. Sam scooped the girl up in one arm. Holding her on the ladder, Sam reached out with one hand to tap on the roof about an inch in front of where the girl had been standing.
The dip in the roof shuddered before falling in, taking over a quarter of the roof with it. Sam let out a whistle as his ladder shook from the impact.
"Sam!"
The girl gasped, arms wrapped tight enough around Sam's neck to make breathing difficult. Sam wasn't worried, however. That was his brother standing below, holding the ladder. He and the girl were perfectly safe. Sam brought them slowly down, taking care to position the center of his foot on each step. When he reached the ground the father wrenched the girl away from him to hold her close.
"Probably past time to have that roof checked," Dean said as he steered Sam away. As they crossed the damp lawn, Sam realized he was still shoeless.
"Hey mister!" the father shouted from behind them. "Are these yours?"
Sam turned around. The man held out Sam's sneakers. He gave his brother a sheepish grin as he headed back to retrieve his shoes. Sam reached out to take them, but the man held fast.
"How did you know?" he asked in a soft voice. "What, uh, what are you people?"
Sam shrugged as he pulled his shoes from the other man's grasp. "Just trying to help. And for the record, shoving people whose eyes glow isn't a healthy pastime." Sam turned his back on the girl and her father.
He was beside the car and opening the driver's door when he heard the man call out, "Thanks! Thank you!"
Sam found Dean studying him curiously when he slid behind the wheel. "What?" he asked as he fired up the car. Its soft smooth purr sounded pleased and content.
"What was that?" Dean asked. "You tell him to thank me?"
"What? No." Sam snorted. "I just advised him not to try getting physical with people who can slam him into the next eternity, that's all."
Dean's right eyebrow went up. "And he still thanked you?"
"Us," Sam corrected. "He thanked us."
"Uh-huh." Dean's head shook from side to side. "You're really something, Sam."
Sam grinned. "That's because I have an awesome big brother."
The gentle slap to his shoulder was expected. Some things never changed.