Chapter 9

Then:

"It's your first hunt," Sam agrees, grinning at my confusion. "It's good practice for you."

"Uhh. I guess we find where his chips are stashed?" Bobby and Sam nod approvingly and I relax.

"And steal me fifty," Dean adds, "Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?"

Grinning, I tell him, "I think you ought to put some clothes on." Bobby and Sam vehemently agree and Dean grudgingly goes to do so.

Now:

"Do we normally let housekeeping in?" I ask as I peer out the window.

"Not really, why?" Sam frowns at me just as someone knocks on the door. Dean reaches it first and I throw a triumphant look at Sam when a maid is on the other side, carrying an armful of towels.

"Ready for housekeeping, sir?"

"Born ready," Dean replies with a cheeky grin and the maid simply laughs.

"You're just like my grandfather." Dean's grin fades. "He hits on anything that moves, too." She walks past him into the room. "You're adorable."

"And dangerous," Dean insists, trying to salvage his dignity.

"Aww," the maid giggles as she walks into the bathroom. Dean sulks as Sam and Bobby smirk. I'm laughing too hard to even try to hide it. Dean whacks me lightly on the head in retribution.

"Can we just go?" he grumbles.

Sam takes over driving Bobby's truck from then on, and we're now parked across the street from the bar where Dean and Bobby had played poker against the witch named Patrick. Which reminds me...

"Hey, why is a male witch called a 'witch?' Shouldn't he be, like, a warlock or a wizard?"

"Nah, totally different thing." Dean shakes his head. "It can go either way."

"There's different hierarchies," Bobby adds, "Warlocks are generally more powerful than witches."

"So essentially, gender roles have been switched because of this typecasting and people expect every 'witch' to be female when in reality, they can be male, too," I summarize and Dean looks at me oddly. "Shut up, I took AP Psych in senior year." I flush.

"Shh," Sam shushes our debate, staring at the bar, which a tall, dark-haired man is leaving. The man glances at his watch and crosses the street, not looking as a car smashes headlong into him. A noise somewhere between a gasp and a shriek leaves my throat and Dean, surprisingly, is the first to react, drawing me against his side and allowing me to bury my face into his shoulder so that I won't have to look.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs to me before suddenly chuckling wryly. "Look." I look up warily and see the man who had been hit driving away in another sleek car. "Gotta say, I like that guy's style," Dean laughs.

"I'm guessing that's Patrick?" I ask wearily, my shock waning slowly.

"Yep." Sam starts the truck and we tail Patrick through the city. We stop at an apartment building that looks more like a skyscraper.

"One of us is gonna have to find his apartment," Bobby says as we watch Patrick leave his car and go inside.

"He knows what Bobby and I look like," Dean adds.

"And I stick out like a sore thumb," Sam points out.

"No kidding, Gigantor," Dean snarks and Sam bitchfaces at him before turning to me.

"That leaves you, Air. Think you can follow him?" Uneasily, I nod even as I get out of the truck. Dean gives me a thumbs-up, which does nothing for my nerves, and I close the truck door before entering the apartment building. I break out into a jog when I see the elevator door sliding shut, Patrick inside.

"Hold the elevator?!" I call, trying not to sound too nervous, and Patrick places a hand on the elevator door, stopping it from closing. I duck inside, relieved, and lean against the wall to catch my breath after pressing a random floor's button. "Thanks."

"No problem." Patrick has an Irish accent, and I bet that if Piper were here, she'd be having a fangirling frenzy. She has a thing for European accents.

The witch's eyes are locked on me the entire time I'm in the elevator and I swallow, trying not to appear too terrified. I'm in an elevator with a witch. A very powerful witch who had aged Dean fifty years in a game of poker. Who could probably snap my neck with a snap of his fingers, should he choose.

Crap.

Patrick smiles politely at me, taking the toothpick in his mouth out. "Problem, sweetheart? You seem a little jittery."

What's with everyone calling me petnames? "No, not at all. Just, uh...internship interview." I shrug, trying to play it off. After all, it's half-true; my mom had been nagging me to apply for summer internships for a while. "I just got back now. Guess I'm not over the nerves yet."

"Ahh, that'll happen." Patrick nods. "Don't worry 'bout it. You seem smart, you'll get the job."

I manage a weak smile. "Thanks."

Much to my relief, the elevator stops and Patrick gets out with a tossed "Cheers" over his shoulder at me. I don't move, trying not to appear interested in his location, but note that we've stopped on the seventh floor. I subtly press the 'Open Doors' button to keep it open until I see Patrick open his apartment door: the first on the right. Finally, I reach the ninth floor, the button I had accidentally pressed, and choose not to get out, pressing the first floor again. I reach the lobby and book it back across the street to the truck.

"You look like you've seen a ghost instead of a witch," Sam teases as I climb into the backseat.

"Not funny," I scold him, "He's on the seventh floor, number 3701."

"Awesome. Guess we camp out here till he comes back out and then we can look for those chips." Dean nods conclusively and leans back in his seat. Sam and Bobby keep an eye on the door of the building while I do a bit of both: I keep one eye open for Patrick while relaxing against the backseat. My heart's still hammering away in my chest loudly, a result of my terror at having been near a witch.

If I'm this scared of a witch, how will I react when faced with Lucifer himself? I suppress a shudder and try not to think about it.

It's not more than an hour of waiting before Patrick leaves the building, getting in his car and driving away. The instant he's out of sight, we mobilize, setting up Bobby's wheelchair and getting Dean up - he'd fallen asleep while waiting - before heading inside the apartment building.

"Seriously?" I groan when we see the "ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE" paper sign posted on the elevator doors. "It was fine an hour ago!"

"Well, I'm out," Bobby sighs. Leaving him behind, Sam, Dean, and I take the stairs.

By the second floor, Dean's gasping for breath and Sam pointedly glances at the floor sign. Huffing determinedly, Dean trudges along behind us. I climb the stairs a little slower than Sam, too, whose longer legs allow him to take two at a time. When we finally reach the seventh floor, I wait patiently for Dean while Sam goes ahead and starts picking the lock of apartment 3701.

"Need some help?" I ask, seeing that Dean's struggling for breath, and he glowers at me. "Okay, jeez. Touchy." I hover near his shoulder as we follow Sam into the apartment, anyway, just to make sure.

"Split up," Sam suggests, glancing around the neatly-organized and large apartment, and we get to work.

I'm searching through a nearby cabinet when Dean calls, "Hey!" Sam and I stop searching and join him. "Dime-store model." Dean taps on the safe he's uncovered. "Piece of cake." He squints at the dial and we realize the problem: his vision's too bad for him to read the numbers.

Sam sighs. "It's like Mission: Pathetic. Watch out." He pushes Dean aside and turns the dial quickly, opening it to reveal piles of poker chips inside.

Dean sulks as he moves to stand next to me. "I could have done that." Sam rolls his eyes and takes a handful of chips.

"What are you doing?" We all turn sharply to see a pretty young woman standing behind us, looking angry. She has a silver locket around her neck.

"Aren't you the chick from the bar?" Dean demands.

"I'm a lot more than that." She lifts her hand and clenches it into a fist, causing Dean to gasp and drop to his knees.

"Dean!" I grab his shoulders, startled, and suddenly, the spell lifts.

"It's all right, sweetheart, it's all right. They're harmless." I look up from helping Dean to his feet to see Patrick holding the woman's arm. "You boys want chips?" The witch grins. "Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch." Patrick looks at me then. "You really thought you'd fooled me? Sweetheart, no one comes home from an internship interview in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt."

I look down at my clothes and facepalm.

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it, I thought it was cute." He grins at my embarrassment. "First time on the job?"

"Is it that obvious?" I grimace.

"Good thing you're dealing with me and not a wild spirit, then." Patrick turns back to Sam and Dean. "You boys want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em."

Dean nods. "Fine. Let's do it."

Patrick smirks as he fiddles with the toothpick in his mouth and pulls out a card from his pocket. It's the eight of hearts. "What card am I holding up?" Dean squints at the card and we've got his answer. "That's what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer. You, on the other hand..." Patrick looks at Sam and Dean and I round on the younger Winchester immediately.

"No, Sam." We glance at each other, thrown by the unison, and Sam blinks at us, bewildered.

"Don't be stupid, I could-"

"What? Sam not much of a player?" Patrick tilts his head. "I'd make an offer to Ariel, but she's under the gambling age."

I don't bother asking how he knows my name and my age. Weirder things have happened.

"Okay." Patrick claps his hands together. "Well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should've taken better care of that ticker, though." He heads for the door and opens it, gesturing to the hallway. "You're free to go."

Dean takes the hint first and heads for the door, Sam and me following.

"Oh, and Sam?" We turn back to Patrick once we're in the hallway. "Now Dean's situation is punishment enough, and of course, the little lady's only here because you two are. But I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." He claps his hands slowly three times and then smirks at us.

"What are you doing?" Sam looks confused.

"You'll find out soon enough." Piecing together the slow-clap and the grin on Patrick's face, I start laughing.

"Wha-? Ariel!" Sam rounds on me, his eyebrows raised, and Dean only blinks at me.

"He...!" I control my laughter long enough to say, "He gave you the clap!" I descend into laughter once more as Patrick winks at me cheekily before shutting the door after us. Dean starts to grin and Sam huffs.

"Let's just get out of here." He looks distinctly uncomfortable by the time we reach the first floor again, scratching at the insides of his thighs, and I'm beyond help as I lean against Dean, laughing hysterically. Dean's grinning shamelessly, too, and Sam glares at us. "You guys suck."

"No regrets!" I giggle breathlessly.

It's only when we're halfway up the incline back to the motel when I realize the problem.

"Oh, crap." I turn around to see Bobby struggling to wheel himself up the incline.

"Little help here?" he asks plaintively. Thankful for my summer volunteer hours at the Princeton Hospital, I double back and wheel him up the incline.

"You know, I still think I should play," Sam says when Bobby and I catch up to him and Dean at the top of the incline.

"No, no, no. You're not good enough. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost," Dean says sharply. Bobby takes over wheeling himself from there and I let go of the handles.

"So, what? So I don't get a say in this anymore?" Sam snaps.

"Sammy, when you get to be our age-" Dean begins sagely.

"Dude, you're thirty, shut up," I scold him lightly.

"Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker-" Sam begins.

"Knowing the game is not enough, Sam. It's not about playing the cards," Bobby says sternly.

"It's about playing the other guy. I know that."

"Well, hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him."

I turn around, startled. "Wait, when did we get back to you playing?"

"Right around now." Bobby scowls back at me.

"No, Bobby. You don't have enough years in the bank," Dean protests.

"I got enough," Bobby says stubbornly.

"But you'll die if you lose," Sam retorts.

"So what if I do, huh?" The harsh answer stuns us all into silence. "What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn Apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?"

Is this what Bobby's been keeping from me all this time? There's a lump in my throat that won't go away, no matter how many times I swallow.

"Bobby-" I hear Dean begin, sounding shocked.

"No, no. It's the facts. I'm old, and broke down, and I can't..." Bobby's voice cracks and trails into silence. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I didn't have Ariel to worry about, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth the day I got home from the hospital."

"Stop it." My own voice breaks this time. "Just-" I clench my fists, trying to keep my tone even. "Just don't." Sam's hand rests on my shoulder, marginally helping, and Bobby avoids looking at me. Dean glances between all of us helplessly.

"Bobby, you are not playing again," Sam says quietly, "I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's gotta be. And I'm gonna find it." He squeezes my shoulder once more and then lets go, walking past us. Without looking at either Bobby or Dean, I follow him. When my back's turned, I wipe my eyes.

"Hey, for the record, you're not playing, so there's no point in you coming with me," Sam tells me sternly when we're about halfway back to the bar where Patrick had played against Dean and Bobby. Dean had called while we were walking; apparently, he and Bobby had been given a spell by Patrick's girlfriend that would reverse all of his magic, but they would need some of Patrick's DNA for the spell to work.

"I know, but the grumpy old men can work out their issues together in their own time." Not to mention that I can't look Bobby in the eye anymore without feeling useless to help him. "'Sides, now I get to learn how to play poker from a distance." I force a smile and Sam places an arm around my shoulders, leading me into the bar.

"Bet your mom would be horrified."

"Ugh. She wouldn't even have let me learn the rules of the game before." I grin back at him. "By the way, you still got the clap?" Sam stiffens and drops the arm around my shoulders, walking away while bitchfacing at me. Laughing, I follow him. "Oh, come on, I'm only kidding! Learn to laugh at yourself, Sam!"

"Screw you!" he shoots back over his shoulder as he opens a door in the wall. We go down a flight of stairs to an underground room. Patrick is sitting across a wooden table from an elderly man.

"Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah," Patrick addresses us cheerfully and the elderly man looks up at us, a little surprised by our sudden appearance.

"Thanks again, Patrick," he says, turning back to the witch, who smiles.

"Shalom, my friend. Shalom." Hesh gets up and tips his hat before leaving.

"That was nice of you," Sam notes.

"I'm a nice guy." Patrick begins shuffling the deck of cards in front of him. "What can I do you for?"

Sam sits in the chair across from him. "Deal." I take another seat in the corner of the room anxiously. Even Dean and Bobby had admitted Sam is a bad poker player, so it would take a pure stroke of luck for Sam to win. I just hope said luck is enough.

Ten minutes in and I have no idea what's going on. The cards and words are flying faster than I can keep up, and Patrick keeps throwing pitying glances my way because I clearly look confused. Eventually, I give up trying to pay attention. Finally, a halt to the game is called and I blink as Sam waves me over.

"Time-out." The pretty woman from the apartment had appeared and was now kissing Patrick.

"Oh, jeez." I roll my eyes. "Get a room, you two."

"Intend to," Patrick replies and winks at me before going back to making out with the woman. Sam places a hand on my shoulder and leads me up the stairs. We leave through the back of the bar and meet Dean there.

"How's it going in there?" he asks.

Sam bitchfaces. "How do you think it's going?"

"I thought it was pretty good," I volunteer and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Air, that was awful. You really should learn the rules of poker." He turns back to Dean. "What about you? You have everything you need?"

"We still need a little he-witch DNA."

Sam holds up a toothpick. "He was chewing on it." Dean takes it. "Hurry up, Dean, please."

"All right. Just keep him busy. And, Sammy...don't lose." Dean pats Sam reassuringly before turning to head back to the truck. As Sam and I head back into the bar, I tell myself I'm imagining Dean rubbing his arm in pain.

Sam and Patrick resume their game, cards flying too quickly for me to keep up. I take my seat in the corner, the pretty woman sitting down beside me. She looks worried, which is surprising, but then I remember that she's the one who had given Dean and Bobby the spell.

"Question," Patrick says suddenly, holding up a toothpick, "Is this what you meant to give your big brother?"

I freeze. Sam's expression doesn't change.

"The one you gave him never passed my lips. Won't do a scrap of good." Patrick throws the toothpick carelessly aside. "I don't like cheating, Sam." He clenches his fist suddenly and Sam doubles over, clutching his throat.

"Sam!" I launch out of my chair and Patrick holds out his other hand. I'm slammed against the wall so hard that I see stars for a moment and am suspended there, an invisible force on my throat tightening.

"Stop it!" The woman grabs Patrick's wrist. "Let them go! I did it! I gave them the spell!"

The spell on me and Sam is released and we both gasp for air.

Patrick stares at the woman in shock. "What?" He reaches up to touch her cheek. "Why...why would you do that?"

"You know why." The woman's eyes shine with tears as she grasps the locket around her neck. "You know."

Patrick's expression flickers between hurt and anger before settling on cold blankness. "Keep. Playing." He wrenches his hand away from the woman and sits down.

Sam looks at me, gauging my well-being, and I shake my head at him to tell him that I'm fine and to focus on the game. He nods and turns back to the cards, still rubbing his throat, before setting five chips down.

"Well, look at you - the percentage player betting the farm. Awful transparent of you, Sam." Patrick smirks. "I mean, if I had a monster hand like you have, I'd trap you. But you get so excited, you bet yourself right out of a big pot." He places down his cards. "Fold. Set of ladies, I'm guessing."

I have no idea what's happening anymore as the woman takes a seat beside me once more.

Sam turns over his cards and Patrick nods as Sam stacks his chips. "Nice bluff. If we had time, I could make a real player out of you."

Sam says quietly, "I got time."

"Maybe. But I can't say the same for Dean. Your brother's gonna be dead soon." Sam looks up sharply. "And when I say 'soon,' I mean...minutes." Sam pushes back his chair, but Patrick slams his fist down, yanking Sam back into his seat with magic. Sam looks at me desperately and I get out of my chair, running for the stairs. The same invisible force from before shoves me forward before I can reach them and I crumple at the foot of the stairs. I can taste coppery blood in my mouth from where my lip hits the concrete. "The game's not over till I say it is," Patrick says coldly from behind me, "Blinds."

I groan and turn over, wiping the blood from my lip with my sleeve as I return my attention to the game.

"So. When it's about your brother, you get so emotional, your brain just flies right out the window." Patrick slaps down three cards face-up. "Good to know."

"Go to hell," Sam snarls and shoves all of his chips into the middle. "All in."

"Don't do that, Sam," Patrick sighs.

"I can't leave until it's over? Fine. It's over. Now, where's my brother?" Sam's already getting up.

"Look, there's poker and then there's suicide."

"Just play the hand." Sam's tone is deadly now and Patrick obeys.

"Fine." He turns over his cards. "I'm sorry, kid. Aces full."

Sam looks worried and my heart stops. I look at the woman to see if she has any help to offer, but realize there are tears trickling down her cheeks. "You're crying."

She sniffles and turns away when Patrick stops and looks at her. His expression flickers between hurt and confusion once more.

"Y'know, for a witch, you're so nice, it's actually kind of creepy. It's okay," Sam reassures the woman before turning to Patrick. "It was a great hand." Patrick moves to collect his chips. "Just..." We all freeze as Sam smirks and my heart resumes its normal pace as I beam. "Not as great as four fours." Sam drops his hand.

Patrick looks between the cards and Sam before smiling wryly. "Well played. You know, that whole...going-out-of-your-head bit, very method. Well, there's more to you than meets the eye." He lifts his glass of alcohol in a mock-toast.

"Cash these in for Dean," Sam says calmly.

Patrick sets down the glass. "With pleasure." He waves his hand over the chips and they disintegrate. Sam nods conclusively and stands, helping me to my feet.

"C'mon, Air." I let him lead me up the steps, glancing back at Patrick and the woman one last time before we left the bar.

Sam calls Dean as soon as we're outside.

"Dean? You cured?" He looks relieved at the response he gets and smiles at me, nodding to show that Dean's okay. "Yeah, we're both okay. Ariel just got knocked around a little, got a busted lip. You might want to get the antiseptic out." I make a face at the thought and Sam grins at my expression. "Yeah, see you and Bobby there." He hangs up and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Not bad for your first hunt, huh?"

I wrinkle my nose. "It'd be better if my mouth wasn't bleeding." Sam ruffles my hair and laughs as we start walking back to the motel.

The first thing I do when I see Dean back to normal is hug him tightly. He squirms in my embrace until he's mostly free.

"Get off, midget! Don't get your blood on me!" I let go reluctantly and Sam immediately finds the first-aid kit, hovering over me until I allow him to dab at my lip with an antiseptic wipe. It stings, and I accidentally kick Sam once or twice when the pain gets to be too much, but thankfully, I don't need any stitches or bandages. It's then that Bobby rolls in, a bag of food hanging off the back handle of his wheelchair. Dean takes it off so that Bobby can move around freely and the older hunter wheels up to me.

"Hey."

"Hi," I reply.

There's an awkward pause before Bobby finally asks, "We, uh...we good?" I nod, unsure of what to say, and he grasps my hand briefly, squeezing my fingers with a slight smile before nodding to the bag. "Better grab your burger before Dean decides to eat that one, too."

With a grin, I go to save my dinner from Dean's hungry clutches.

"Dude, you're gonna have to get a booster shot," Dean suddenly tells Sam, who stiffens and glares at his brother.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

I'm too busy laughing to add my own two cents.

See, I made up for the other few chapters being short by making this one slightly longer. This ends The Curious Case of Dean Winchester and marks the end of Ariel's first hunt. Next up is one of my favorite episodes of all-time, and you all know what it is, so I won't even say it.

Patrick is really underrated, he needed more stuff to do on Supernatural. Poor guy.

With that said, please review!