A/N: Sorry for the protracted wait. Had some personal things come up that needed my attention for a bit, but that situation is now resolved and I should be posting much faster again. :)
CHAPTER 15 - "Going Home"
By the time we made it back to Bobby's house, Trent seemed to have gotten over himself and we were both feeling a lot more energized by the realization that we would, in fact, be going home soon. Of course, we had to stay alive and free until then, which proved to be a little easier said than done.
As soon as we made it inside, Sam and Dean went into full siege-preparation mode. Salt was poured across every threshold and windowsill; wards were swiftly spray painted onto all the windows and several of the walls. Weapons of various types and descriptions were placed in strategic locations around the house along with corresponding ammunition. Like settlers in an old west movie circling the wagons and breaking out the rifles, they fortified the house with a practiced rapidity that once again left me wondering just how often they'd had call to do this kind of thing before.
Dean finished spray-painting several bright red, squiggly figures onto the living room windows and tossed the paint can to Sam. "Put some angel sigils on the windows in the back. I'm gonna go mix up a bunch more holy water," he said.
Sam caught the spray can with a nod and set aside an empty salt canister before making his way to the back of the house.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Trent slipping into the library while everyone was distracted. I'm not sure how I knew, but I felt sure he was going to return the book he'd taken earlier to Bobby's desk before any of the hunters could notice it missing. None of them had said anything about it yet, so I assumed they hadn't noticed that bit of larceny and I would just as soon it stayed that way.
"You can ward against angels?" I asked Dean, partially to keep his attention away from Trent and partially out of true curiosity. I'd been assuming the runes they were using were protection wards of some kind, but perhaps I was mistaken and it was some other kind of spell. Despite their dim view of magic, it seemed to me that the hunters used some form of it fairly frequently. I felt kind of useless standing around watching their rapid preparations without being able to contribute. I wasn't familiar with their methods, and mine wouldn't do any good without my kind of magic, which I knew we must not use again until we were home.
Dean shrugged a nod. "Yeah, fortunately."
That was good to know. I took a moment to study and attempt to memorize the symbols on the window, just in case any of Castiel's buddies tried to follow us home, since angels were apparently some of the few beings capable of the whole reality-hopping thing.
By the time I turned around, Dean was already halfway down the hall. I followed him for lack of anything better to do. As we descended the basement stairs, I suddenly wished I hadn't, but to my surprise the basement showed little reminder of the fight that had happened here not that long ago. The blood had already been mopped up and the bodies were gone. It could not be denied that these people were good at clean-up.
"Won't that keep your friend Castiel out, too?" I asked, suddenly struck by that thought. Dean rummaged through a couple boxes before finding what he was looking for. He glanced over at me as he pulled out a rosary and set it on the edge of an industrial sized sink.
"Yes, but Cass will let us know when he gets here and we can wipe enough away to let him in. It's why we put them on the windows. Paint scrapes off glass easier than most things, and if we're in a real hurry, we can always just break it," the hunter explained as he hefted a box of empty water jugs up onto a chair to put them in easy reach. I watched him consecrate one of the jugs with interest. Except for the fact that it didn't have to be done by a priest or holy man, it wasn't all that different from the way it was done in our world.
"I can do that, if it would help," I offered as I watched Dean quickly set the jug aside and fill another.
I wasn't sure if my not being exactly human would be an issue, but apparently it wasn't, since Dean regarded me for a moment before finally shrugging and gesturing me over. He watched me do it a couple of times to be sure I had the procedure right, then left me to it and jogged back up the stairs, just as I heard Sam calling down that Bobby was back.
Trent joined me a minute or two later.
"You return the book?" I asked him in a low, stern voice as soon as he'd cleared the bottom of the stairs. If he hadn't, I was going to do it myself. These people were going way out on a limb for us and we were not going to do anything to cause them further trouble.
He pulled a face at my tone, but nodded. "We no longer need it," he said, a trifle defensively. Then he seemed to notice the water jugs I was filling and cocked his head curiously to the side. "What are you doing?"
"Making holy water," I informed him, my expression daring him to make a joke about the appropriateness of a demon consecrating anything. "You don't have to be a priest to do it here," I added preemptively.
"Ah," was all Trent said, then, after a moment. "In that case, would you like assistance?"
"Um ... sure." I don't know why the offer surprised me. Maybe I just wasn't used to seeing Trent roll his sleeves up and get his hands dirty. The elf had his foibles to be sure, but he was not the same fussy business man he'd been in years past. He hadn't been for a while, but in some ways I was only now beginning to really see that.
The older hunter, Bobby, came down the stairs at about the time we'd finished filling the last of the jugs. Sam and Dean must have filled him in on the situation, including who and what we were, because he gave me and Trent a long, appraising look as he set down the tool chest he was carrying.
Sam came down the stairs behind him, carrying several lengths of wood and what looked like the hood or trunk lid off one of the old cars from the junk yard.
"Don't suppose either of you two are any good with a hammer or a blow torch?" Bobby asked us dryly. "Seems we're probably going to come under attack, and some idjits put a big ass hole in what was formerly the safest room in my house."
Trent and I exchanged somewhat sheepish glances. Bobby seemed on board with helping the brothers protect us until the angel came back, but he was clearly none too pleased with the mess we'd made. I couldn't blame him.
Neither Trent nor I were particularly handy with tools, but we helped Bobby and Sam patch up the hole we'd made in the roof as best we could. It would need a more permanent fix later, but the hunters seemed to feel that this would do for the time being. Against my will, my gaze kept sliding to Trent as we worked. In jeans and flannel, perched on a ladder, nailing 2x4's into a cross-joist ... it was a picture I'd never imagined of him.
As I pounded nails through the metal rim of the trunk lid for Bobby to use as solder points, I saw Trent smile at something Sam said, his grin wry as the tall Winchester reached up and looped a rope around a broken spar of rebar that no one else present could have reached. Dean was keeping an eye out for any incoming trouble, but came down at one point to check on us. He leaned against the bottom of the ladder, looking up and giving Sam and Trent intentionally obnoxious advice. Sam "accidentally" almost dropped a beam on him and Trent had to look away to hide his grin.
I couldn't help thinking the normally reserved elf looked so uncommonly comfortable working with these men who were in so many ways his complete opposite. I was reminded of that road trip we took to California, the first time I'd really seen an adult Trent in casual clothes and out of his board room persona. I'd thought then that he seemed more comfortable in that less formal skin, and I thought it even more now. If I were honest, I had to admit that Trent was stunning in pristine Armani suits and thousand dollar shoes ... but there was something more real and unguarded about him here in thrift store jeans and army surplus boots, so far removed from the people he had to lead that he could just be himself for a few minutes. It wasn't really the clothes at all, I realized, it was more about his demeanor. We had nothing left to hide from the hunters and they were far removed from the politics of our world. Trent didn't seem to feel the need to put on a front for them now and was simply pitching in and being himself. Maybe that's what kept drawing my gaze back to him like some annoying magnet. I found myself suddenly wondering what Trent would be like if he'd been able to choose his own paths growing up. If he'd been allowed to find out what he liked and who he was outside the demands of his heritage ... what kind of man might he have become?
It wasn't a fair question, I supposed. Duty was a part of Trent's life, a large, integral part that was so wrapped up in the core of who he was that it could never be separated out. Didn't we all have forces that shaped our lives? My long childhood illness, losing my father ... realizing I was a demon ... what might I have been without those things? Did it matter? We were all affected by our pasts, but they did not determine who we were. Trent and I were both living proof of that, if in slightly different ways.
Bobby coughed next to me and I started, nearly dropping the hammer I was holding. I realized I'd been gazing over at the three men by the ladder for a little too long, the nails and hammer still in my hand as my mind wandered. The boys were oblivious, but Bobby's weathered gaze was both amused and somewhat knowing when it caught mine. I felt my cheeks warm for reasons I couldn't even articulate. What the hell? Where were all these flustered feelings coming from suddenly?
Ducking my head back to my task, I quickly got back to work. Focus, Morgan. Possibility of immanent attack, remember? Quit letting your mind wander, geez!
"Shouldn't you ward the patch like the rest of the room?" Trent asked as we finished up, stowing the tools in a corner of the basement. "It will be a weak point."
Sam gave us a small smile. "Only if we really wanted to keep them out. Right now it's better to use the perceived weakness to our advantage."
"Rat trap has to have an opening to catch rats," Bobby concurred.
It took me a moment to catch their meaning, although Trent appeared to get it instantly. "Of course. Breaking into that room would be like an insect flying into a pitcher plant. Once in, they can't get out."
"Well, they probably could get out, but not quick," Dean said as he jogged down the stairs. He grabbed a few of the holy water jugs and started back up the stairs again. "The idea is, we'd be able to take care of them before they did."
After all we'd seen I could understand their caution. If I had been inclined to think that the hunters were perhaps taking this preparedness thing a little too seriously, the next 48 hours would surely have proved me wrong.
It was as well that they had prepared for an attack and prepared swiftly, because it wasn't long before the demons came. There were more of them this time. I couldn't be sure how many because they quickly learned to stay out of sight lest they get shot. It wouldn't kill them, but apparently it still hurt enough to be worth avoiding.
They hid amidst the cars in the junk yard, circling the house like wolves. They cut the power and the phone lines almost immediately. The hunters seemed to have expected that and simply broke out the lanterns, flashlights and candles. They still had their cell phones, but were apparently not inclined to call anyone anyway. I understood why they didn't want to call the police. Pulling in people who didn't understand what the demons were would only get them killed.
I was less clear on why they didn't call any other hunters for back up like they had in Cincinnati, but I was beginning to get the idea that these men were used to working alone and that that had been an unusual circumstance. In Cincinnati, they had clearly known they needed more hands. Here, they appeared to feel they could handle the situation on their own. I hoped they were right.
Of course, it wasn't as if they were totally alone in this. Trent and I may not be able to use ley line or wild magic, but we weren't about to sit back and just depend on the hunters to defend us either. Well, I sure wasn't, anyway. I didn't need to draw on Trent to perform earth magic. That had been useless to us before, but under these circumstances I now had both the time and tools for it to do some good. Bobby turned out to have a veritable treasure trove of spelling ingredients tucked away around his house and after a little initial wariness from the hunters, I got them to let me cook up some spells in the kitchen. Fortunately, he had a gas stove that required no electricity.
I didn't know that many spells by memory, but I knew a few and Bobby had plenty of books from which I could get other recipes. It wasn't full dark yet, but it was still too dim inside to see well, so the kitchen glowed with lantern and candle light, lending a slightly eerie ambiance to the spell prep. Bobby stayed close, watching me with a mix of wariness and interest. I knew we'd probably never totally get past the whole "witch" thing, but I could tell that he wasn't only watching me to make sure I didn't try anything funny, he was also watching to see how much he could pick up. I had no problem with that, and intentionally walked him through what I was doing while I did it. My willingness to be transparent about the process seemed to put him a lot more at ease. I had nothing to hide, I was mixing only white charms. I wouldn't have minded if the hunters wanted to learn and use them, although most would not work for them since the spells needed to be invoked with witch or demon blood ... or "fae" blood, I supposed, since that's what they considered us here.
I explained that to Bobby as I finished up a batch of sleepy time potion with great care. I shouldn't be making the sleep potion without a protective circle, but given the circumstances it couldn't be helped, so I was simply trying to be extra cautious.
"Although..." I said thoughtfully as I carefully poured the liquid into a bottle. They didn't have any empty paintball shells or guns to shoot them, so I was putting the potion into flasks instead. "Sam might be able to kindle them with his blood, I'm not sure." I thought it was at least a possibility after what I'd sensed from him earlier.
Bobby grimaced and frowned, his weathered gaze fixing on me intently. "I wouldn't go telling the boys that if I were you," he said quietly. "I know you think that's a good thing, but it won't be for them. Trust me."
I held his gaze for a long moment. I could see that he was sincere in both his warning and his concern. I didn't know what kind relationship there was between him and the Winchesters, but in that moment I could tell that he cared about those two quite a bit. I nodded slowly. "Okay," I agreed simply, willing to trust his judgment on that. It was possible I was wrong anyway and the last thing I wanted to do was cause them more problems.
"Okay what?" Dean's voice from the doorway made me tense slightly in surprise. I turned my head and saw his eyebrows crinkle as he took in the candlelit kitchen littered with my spelling supplies. "Wow, creepy much?" he jibed lightly. "All you're missing is a couple of skulls and some robed dude chanting."
I shot the younger hunter a dry look and chose to completely ignore him. Capping the bottle of sleep charm I was holding, I handed it to Bobby. "Be very, very careful with this," I warned. "Usually, I put these in paintballs and that size dose is enough to put humans and most inderlanders in my world down for a while harmlessly. From what I've seen, I don't think a dose that size would do much to your demons, but a good splash of it should at least slow them down. However, you can't let any of it touch you or anyone else who isn't a demon. Too big a dose could kill normal people and it will definitely knock them out."
"Sweet," Dean said as he made his way over, ignoring the fact that I was ignoring him. "I get one of those?"
I gestured to the other bottles I had already filled standing ready on the table. "Yes, but only if you promise not to accidentally put yourself to sleep," I added dryly. The charm was very dangerous with this kind of delivery method and I would never have put these into the hands of anyone I didn't trust to be responsible with them.
"Promise," Dean said with a charming smile as he snagged one of the flasks, tucking it into his pocket along with the rest of the arsenal he was already carrying.
"Take one of these too," I gave both he and Bobby a second bottle, this one filled with a strong salt water mixture. "Anybody accidentally gets the sleepy time potion on their skin, you douse the area with salt water right away to break it. You won't be able to do it for yourselves, the charm works almost instantly, so everybody keep an eye on each other. You see someone go down, don't wait."
The hunters nodded at about the same time Trent appeared in the doorway. His face was grim. "We have company," he warned. "I think they're on the roof. Sam just went upstairs to check."
The demons found the weak spot over the panic room, as intended, and the trap worked fairly well. There were two of them in there. When the door was opened in the basement one somehow managed to get out, but Bobby splashed it with some of the sleepy time potion and it went down hard. Nice to know it worked like I thought it would. I wouldn't have put any money on how long the charm would last, but it was long enough. Dean killed the demon before it could recover, then tossed the knife to Sam who took care of the other one still trapped within the pentagram in the panic room.
It was over in less than a minute. I barely had time to register what had happened before I was watching some man I didn't know stare sightlessly up at the ceiling, blood pooling slowly beneath him at my feet. The abruptness of it was strangely disconcerting.
Feeling less than I felt I should be feeling, I went back upstairs, leaving the hunters to do whatever it was they did with the bodies. I had the vague notion that I would keep watch up here for the next attack, but in reality I was trying not to think too much about anything. It was all very well to prepare for a war ... then you saw it unfolding and somehow it was uglier than you expected. It was stupid to react this way now, I supposed, given everything that had happened over the last few days. I had seen so much death lately that I seemed to be hitting some kind of saturation point. The fact that I just felt numb now scared me more than the actual bloodshed did. I didn't want to become used to this. I would never have thought I could become used to it. Life was not something I could afford to take for granted, ever. I could not go where that would make me. Hadn't I condemned Trent for years as a monster because he could? I didn't think he was anymore ... but did that simply mean I was slowly becoming one myself?
Try as I might, I simply couldn't think of what I could be doing differently that would change this situation somehow, that would keep the body count from rising like this. There hadn't been any time for me to object to the swift and brutal disposal of the enemy just now and I knew it wouldn't have done any good if I had. The hunters were doing what they felt they had to do and I had no alternative to offer. There was a war going on in this world that I was only getting a glimpse of and the hunters were soldiers in a way that I would never ... could never be. I wasn't upset with them, not really. They were trying to protect us, for goodness sake, this wasn't even their fight. No, I was just ... kind of sickened, by everything. Knowing it was necessary and that the creatures in question were undoubtedly evil helped a little, but it didn't dull the pain of knowing that innocent lives had still been shattered along the way.
Because of me. That was the worst part. These demons were possessing people and destroying them and forcing us to destroy them because they were after me. If I weren't here, if I wasn't what I was, none of this would be happening. That wasn't an easy thing to live with.
There were no more immediate follow up attacks, so I guessed the demons were being more wary now, pulling back to check for any other traps. Needing a little alone time, I made use of the lull to make my way around the house, placing the warning charms I'd created in front of all the doors and windows. If anyone was able to enter or break through from the outside at any of those points, we'd be instantly alerted. I thought that would help since it was a big house and there were only five of us. We couldn't be everywhere at once and the demons outside would figure that out soon enough. I didn't want them attacking us on one front only to try sneaking in from another while we were distracted.
I finished in the living room and then just kind of stood there numbly, staring out the window covered in those strange, red glyphs. Light seeped in from the hallway but there were no lights on in here and I could see the darkness of the salvage yard beyond the glass, the hulking shapes of dead automobiles looking like prehistoric monsters in the settling gloom of night. The jumbled shadows shifted and fluttered in ways that suggested movement out there amidst the wrecks and my gut twisted, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rising. The demons weren't coming for us just yet, but they were out there, plotting, waiting. They'd attack again, there was no doubt and we'd either have to kill them or they'd kill us. Because of me. Because somehow, no matter what reality I was in, I attracted trouble and death like a magnet, and the people around me always seemed to pay the price.
I shuddered dully, trying to shake off the dark and unhelpful feelings. I didn't have time for this crap. I wasn't usually so depressive and moody about things, especially not in the middle of a battle when my adrenaline was flowing and there was danger at hand ... but everything that had happened recently just seemed to finally be all catching up at once.
"Is everything all right?" Trent's quiet voice on my right made me flinch and whirl quickly towards him, proving that despite my mental funk, my keyed up reflexes were working just fine. He held his hands out in a non-threatening gesture, apparently realizing he had startled me.
I ran my hand through my tangled hair and was reminded of how much I really needed a shower. "I'm fine," I said with an irritable sigh, trying to brush off both Trent and my own thoughts.
To my relief, Trent didn't press. I don't think he believed me, but he seemed to know that badgering me about it wouldn't help - something that Jenks and Ivy never seemed to understand. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll be glad when we're home," he added. "This world is ... exhausting."
"You can say that again," I muttered. I was surprised when Trent reached over and took my hand. For a moment I almost jerked away, anger and worry bubbling up at the thought that he might be doing something stupid again. Then I realized there was no magic in the touch, he was simply holding my hand for some reason.
"I wish you didn't have to be here." His soft words caught me by surprise and my brows drew together as I looked at him questioningly.
I snorted. "Gee, thanks. Didn't realize I was cramping your style," I said sarcastically, trying not to feel hurt because that would have just been stupid. I attempted to pull my hand away, but Trent held on with unexpected persistence and didn't let me.
"No," Trent protested. "I mean ... because of this corner we find ourselves in. I know you ... " he hesitated, free hand carding through his hair as if trying to pull together what he was attempting to say. "I don't see any other, less costly paths through this," he murmured.
"That bothers you?" I asked before I could stop myself. I wondered dully why I asked questions to which I already knew the answer.
Trent studied my hand in his, avoiding my eyes. "Not really, not as much as it probably should," he admitted honestly and with a hint of regret. His body was tense as if knowing I wouldn't necessarily like that answer, but he could have lied to me and didn't, I appreciated that. I didn't need pretty lies; I didn't need him trying to be what I wanted him to be on top of everyone else's expectations. What I did need was to feel that he could and would be honest with me.
"However, I know it bothers you." Trent's clear green gaze rose to meet mine now, the small swirl of concern in them solely for my sake. "I would spare you that, if I could."
He meant that, I could tell. Looking into his eyes just then, I understood that Trent saw himself as damaged goods in this department. He had no innocence left to lose and perhaps that was why he seemed so desperate to protect mine, like in the Ever After when he stopped me from killing Nick. I realized then that if Trent could find a way to take all the dirty, ugly parts of our current situation on himself and leave me out of it, he would. Not because he didn't think I could handle it, but because he didn't want me to have to. He didn't want me to become like him.
I frowned. That was what Trent did for too many people, in my opinion. He got his hands dirty so they could stay clean. I appreciated his desire to protect, I did, but no one fought my battles for me. I would not let Trent sacrifice bits of his soul any more than I'd wanted to let him sacrifice physical parts of his body earlier. There was a difference between being truly backed into a corner and out of options and killing because it was convenient. I don't know if Trent used to understand that or not, but I think he did now. So did I. If I couldn't figure out any alternatives, then I would take responsibility for that; I wasn't about to hide behind anyone else.
I have him a firm little smile. "Thanks, but you better not try. I fight my own battles, Trent, and I damn well take my own smut be it literal or figurative. We're in this together."
I could tell that Trent didn't agree with me 100%, but the smile he gave me was genuine, if somewhat unreadable. My words had affected him, I just wasn't sure how. There was a glitter of ... something ... in his eyes and he squeezed my fingers fondly. "It's a good thing we are. I realize we are not out of the woods just yet, but ... quite honestly, I do not believe I would have survived this, or found a way back without you, Rachel," he admitted quietly.
I studied his smooth features in the shadowy dimness of the room. Hearing something good right now, feeling like I'd done something other than hurt the people around me was strangely important suddenly. Some need for honesty compelled me to try to push it away just the same.
"You wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, if it wasn't for me," I pointed out with a small, disgusted frown.
Trent shook his head. "You're here because of me as much as I'm here because of you. Maybe more. There's no sense assigning blamein any of this, Rachel. Things simply happen and must be dealt with. One must adapt and survive, no matter how unpleasant the circumstances or what unpleasant things must be done."
"You're good at that." I honestly hadn't meant it as a jab, but I realized Trent took it that way when his gaze slid away for a moment before returning to mine.
"Yes, I suppose so," he said, his voice still quiet but now a little more withdrawn. He let go of my hand.
I winced, realizing that in light of our previous conversation, Trent thought I was rubbing his nose in the fact that he was skilled at doing unpleasant things when push came to shove ... which was true, but not what I'd meant. The elf was actually trying to be nice to me, I really hadn't meant to verbally slap him for it.
"Trent ... " I sighed again in exasperation, frustrated that I could cause hurt even when that wasn't my intention. "I didn't ... I just meant you're good at adapting and thinking on your feet. For what it's worth, I don't think I would have survived this without you, either."
Trent's face relaxed a little and he smiled. "No, you certainly wouldn't have," he teased, ruining the moment, but also thankfully keeping it from getting awkward.
I gave him a small, indignant shove. "Hey, you don't have to sound so certain and smug about that," I protested dryly. "I wasn't the one who was bleeding out a few hours ago." I stuck my tongue out at him like a child and Trent chuckled. For some inexplicable reason, I felt a little better.
The demons tried to breach the house several more times that night and repeatedly throughout the following two days, but the attacks were repelled each time. Three more of them died in the attempts. Our little party didn't exactly escape the encounters unharmed, but there were no significant injuries. As time dragged on, however, weariness began to set in. The demons apparently didn't need to sleep and as a result no one inside the house was getting much either. The hunters seemed able to keep running on two hour naps which they took in rotation and which were often disturbed by the latest attack. Trent and I weren't quite so used to sleeping in a combat zone. I tried, but found rest impossible under the circumstances. Trent gave up even trying fairly early on, as if realizing it was a fruitless venture. The constant feeling of being under the threat of imminent danger at any moment just did not allow my brain to slow down enough to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, even as exhaustion began to settle deeper and deeper as day and night bled into one another and the hours either crawled with waiting or raced with the jangling adrenaline of fighting. I wondered how soldiers could deal with this. I wondered how the hunters dealt with it. I guess the answer to both was practice, but that meant it was a skill I wasn't terribly eager to cultivate.
Sitting on the couch in the living room, half stupid with exhaustion, I watched Dean pace back and forth like a caged tiger. He'd already checked and cleaned every weapon within reach and although his agitation was contained, it was visible. He clearly didn't like this passive method of fighting, of digging in and having to simply wait for the attackers to come. I pegged him as more of a front-lines kind of guy. Battle he could handle, it was the waiting that drove him up the wall. He wanted to go out and take the fight to the enemy. It was an idea he'd suggested repeatedly, but which Sam and Bobby had continually shot down ... like Sam was doing again, right now.
"Dean, I wish we could just go out there and kick their asses, you know I do, but for one thing, there's so many of them the odds suck, for another we can't risk breaking all the secure perimeters we've established by leaving the house," the younger Winchester was saying with a remarkable amount of patience, the edge of weary frustration in his tone only just audible. I had a feeling the irritation wasn't so much at Dean, as at the fact that he didn't like the inaction all that much better than his brother; he was simply more practical about it. "We have no idea how many actually are out there. They could have a hundred traps laid. Besides, we can't risk leaving Rachel and Trent with less of us to guard them."
Forty-eight hours ago, I probably would have taken offense at that. By now, two days and counting into the ordeal, I was so exhausted and worn out that I didn't care. There was strength in numbers and that was the truth, especially with all of us running on as little sleep as we'd been getting.
"I know, I know," Dean said tersely, also appearing to be more annoyed at the situation than at his brother. "But come on Sammy, you never win a fight by hiding in the fort. Ask the dudes at the Alamo. I don't like sitting on our hands here just waiting for them to come up with something bad enough to make all these defenses of ours useless. You know they will eventually." Dean paused by the couch, leaning over to twitch the curtains a fraction apart with two fingers, assessing the salvage yard through the long shadows of the fading evening beyond the window.
"I agree, but this isn't about winning the fight, not yet. Right now, this is about waiting. We just have to hang tight and keep Rachel and Trent safe until Cass shows up. Once we send them home, then we can go kick demon butt, okay?"
I almost giggled, my exhaustion-loopy mind thinking that Sam sounded an awful lot like someone telling a kid they could go out and play only after they'd finished all their vegetables.
"Yeah ... " Dean sighed. He obviously got it, but just as obviously didn't want to let it go, even if only because arguing was better than sitting around doing nothing. "But don't tell me that doesn't worry you just a little too," he muttered.
Sam grimaced. "Waiting for Cass?" He hesitated. "Yeah," he admitted after a moment.
"I mean, he's gonna come," Dean said quickly, almost as if he felt the need to defend the angel. "But we don't exactly know when or what constitutes a long or a short time for an angel, you know? I'm just saying ... we should have contingency plans."
Sam nodded. "Agreed. But we need to wait more than a couple days before we start considering them, all right? We can hold out here for a pretty long time. Bobby has this place stocked like a fallout shelter."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, reaching for the beer he'd left on one of the cluttered end tables. "But we're gonna run out of alcohol pretty soon, then we may have to start considering desperate measures," he joked.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you and Bobby laid off a little, we could make it last until the cavalry arrives," he mocked with amusement. The brothers were teasing each other, although there were perhaps a small sliver of not-joking beneath the surface on both counts.
I personally didn't quite understand how both Dean and Bobby seemed to be able to mix coffee and alcohol in fairly frequent bouts and still stay sober and alert like they did, but I had a feeling that at least for Dean, the alcohol was part of his trick to being able to sleep when it was his turn. Thinking back to the night we'd spent with them in the hotel room, maybe it was how he ever slept at all. That made me a little sad. I found myself wishing in a sleep-drunk way there was something I could do to fix these brave, beautiful, screwed up men ... but then, I couldn't even fix my own life, so the best thing I could probably do for them was to get the hell out of theirs as fast as I could. Trent and I had certainly brought them nothing but trouble since we showed up, although I hoped we'd at been able to help a little what with that whole mess with the zombie-ghoul things in Cincy.
My meandering little brain realized belatedly that I'd thought of the brothers as beautiful and I almost giggled again. Not terribly appropriate, probably, but hey, it was true, wasn't it? I was a healthy, warm-blooded female, I was allowed to notice these things. It wasn't my fault they could still look so damn handsome three days into a siege while running on minimal sleep. It was unfair though. Hideously unfair. I was sure I looked like hell.
I blinked and realized that both brothers had stopped talking and were giving me a funny look that meant they'd probably caught me staring at them and that my expression may have been a little more transparent then I'd have liked. Great.
"Something on your mind, Rachel? Or you just enjoyin' the view?" Dean teased, apparently not too tired to jump mercilessly on any chance to give someone a hard time.
"The only view I'd enjoy right now is a nice, comfy bed," I groused, frowning at him and trying hard not to flush. I only realized how that could have sounded after seeing the amusement in Dean's lively green eyes. I made a face. "You know what I mean!" I said irritably. Stupid sleep deprived brain.
"Rachel is tired, I'm sure we all are," Trent defended crisply from the other end of the couch. His tone seemed inordinately annoyed, causing me to glance in his direction and observe the death glower he was directing towards the Winchesters ... well, mostly just Dean. I had the funny feeling his irritation came more from the way I'd probably been looking at them then the way Dean was looking at me. Trent was jealous. The thought pinged amusingly through my brain before I dismissed it as another product of sleep deprivation. Trent was probably just extra pissy because he was as exhausted as I was. Unlike the Winchesters, he at least he had the decency to look it. He still managed to look disgustingly good - damn men with their ability to make scruffy attractive - but at least his hair was tousled at funny angles and there was a hint of dark circles under his weary eyes. Hey, it was something, I'd take it.
For some reason, I found it suddenly fascinating that even when Trent got scruffy, he didn't seem to accrue a stubble. I tried to remember if I'd seen him shaving any time over the past few days, or if the elf simply didn't actually have facial hair. I couldn't remember.
I must have drifted off for a while then without realizing it because the next thing I knew it was full dark and the lamps were on in the room. Someone had placed a blanket over me which now slid to the floor as I sat up abruptly. My heart thudded in my chest as I looked around, trying to figure out what had woken me. Beside me I saw Trent also startling awake, his normally clear eyes clouded with sleep as he blinked and scrubbed at them in an attempt to pull himself to alertness.
The old clock on the wall said it was almost 2 AM in the morning. I'd been asleep for longer than I thought. To say I felt refreshed would not have been true, in reality I felt in some ways more exhausted and crappier than before, but the sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through me for reasons yet unknown at least lent me an edge of clarity that I hadn't had before.
I clapped my hands over my ears when a high pitched sound warbled through the house like a million crystal glasses all humming in unison at a very high register. Maybe it was what had woken me, maybe it wasn't, but a moment later Dean was rushing into the room with Sam hot on his heels.
I just had time to scramble out of the way as the elder Winchester jumped up to stand on the couch. Yanking the curtains apart, he scrubbed vigorously at one of the red symbols painted on the glass. The high pitched sound came again, short, sharp and somehow urgent. I saw Dean flinch at the ear-splitting tones and try to work faster.
"I heard you, I heard you ...!" he muttered. "Aw, fuck it," he said, giving up on clearing the pane of glass. Turning his arm, he used his elbow to smash it out instead, the glass shattering with crash that brought Bobby running into the room and Trent and I staggering quickly away from the couch.
The instant the glass broke, a figure came crashing into the room. He hit the floor and rolled once. I thought for a moment that he'd crashed in through the window, but no, aside from the pane that Dean had just broken the window was whole. The new comer had appeared inside the room, but given the rate and angle at which he was moving he might as well have tumbled in through the window. When I saw the tan trench coat, I realized it was the angel from a few days ago.
"Cass!" Dean was off the couch and by his side in moments, crouching beside the fallen angel and placing a hand on his shoulder in concern. "Human voice, man," he chastised, clearly worried and babbling to cover it. "You know I can't understand a fucking thing you say when you talk angel."
Castiel was already sitting up on his own, but as he got to his feet I could see he was moving stiffly and favoring his right side. That's when I saw the blood. Castiel was holding his right side, about where his liver would be if his human looking body were actually human. Blood stained his fingers and the white dress shirt he wore beneath the trench coat.
Worry clenched my stomach. Angels could bleed? I saw that he was still wearing the same vaguely rumpled business suit, tie and trench coat that we'd seen him in a few days ago. Either he didn't have any other clothes and didn't care, or that was simply the projection of appearance that he preferred. I didn't really know how the whole angel thing worked, but I was willing to bet this wasn't his true, or at least his only form. I wondered how that translated to his injuries. Was this just the way we saw them? Or was he more tied to his physical manifestation than I understood?
Sam and Dean saw the blood at about the same time I did. "Whoa, Cass, what happened? Are you okay?" Sam asked quickly.
"I will be fine. It is nothing I cannot survive," Castiel assured, his tone a little breathless. I noticed that blood flecked the corners of his mouth as well, although his startling blue eyes were as clear and intense as ever as they fixed on me. "I have found the world to which you belong. I can return you now, but we must make haste. I was pursued and I do not believe I have lost them for long."
Castiel stumbled to the table in the corner. He pulled what looked like a vial of sea water and a finger bone out of an inner coat pocket and looked across at Bobby. "Salt, lambs blood, bowl," he said succinctly. Bobby, aware of what was needed, was already halfway out of the room.
The angel's warning and sense of urgency had everyone in the room humming with tension. I saw Dean shift warily from foot to foot, shooting sideways glances between me and his brother. I didn't understand what was on his mind until he spoke a moment later and it made sense. "So ... Sam's healed, right? He's going to be okay when you leave and he doesn't have your, uh ... aura ... thingy ... anymore?"
I should have thought of that myself. I really should have checked on the progress of his healing aura sooner than this. I guiltily blamed the weariness and strain of the last few days for making me not even think of it. "I think so, yes, let me check," I said quickly. It had been several days, Sam should be all right now, but I had to remember to take into account how thin his aura was. Not about to take chances, I turned to the younger Winchester and brought up my second sight so I could be sure.
I saw the gold sheath shimmering around him and smiled in relief. At least some things could go right. "Yes, he's fine," I confirmed. "His own aura's recovered and he's not even using mine anymore. The seal must have released on its own when it was no longer needed."
Bobby returned with the items Castiel had requested and with my second sight still up, I saw that his aura was green, hinting at an underlying nurturing nature that I bet would surprise some people given his gruff exterior. It was no surprise to me, however, not after the way I'd watched him interacting with the Winchesters over the past few days.
Without thinking, I turned, gaze shifting from Bobby to Castiel as the hunter moved towards him. I had about half a second to feel curious what kind of aura a self-proclaimed angel had before my vision exploded with a brilliant, blinding blue-white light that stabbed physical pain into my eyeballs as if my very retinas would burn.
"Do not look!" The sharp command rung in my head, sounding like the angel's voice even though I hadn't actually heard it with my ears. It was an order I was more than ready to follow, only it didn't seem to help. I pressed my eyes shut desperately, but the burning didn't stop. I cried out in pain, my knees suddenly feeling weak as I floundered for my sense of direction and balance.
Immediately, a large, warm, strangely soft hand clapped over my streaming eyes, shutting out the painful light and plunging me back into a blessed, healing darkness. I felt a body against my back and leaned against it to stay upright as I panted for air. The scent of frankincense and blood enveloped me, telling me that it was Castiel who had somehow gotten across the room in a blink and was now holding me to him from behind with his hand firmly over my smarting eyes.
For the briefest of very weird moments, it reminded me of when I was little and my Dad would put his big palm over my face because he considered some part of the rather grown up action movie we were watching too violent for my 6-year-old mind. Unlike then, I made no move to try to push the hand away. There was a warm, intense power in the touch that tingled against my skin and I could feel the angel doing something that countered the pain I'd been in a moment before.
"Do not look at me with true sight," Castiel's low, faintly gravelly voice by my ear warned me. The light stubble of his 5'oclock shadow scratched my cheek when he spoke. He was holding me very close against his body, but there was strangely nothing remotely sexual in the contact or in his touch. "Mortal vision cannot withstand my true form; it will burn your eyes out," he informed me. It would have sounded pretentious if my eyes weren't still stinging and if his words hadn't been so straight forward and matter-of-fact.
I quickly dropped my second sight, swallowing compulsively. I felt really awake now. "Right. Looking bad. Eye burning. Got it," I babbled shakily. His nearness made me feel both safe and frightened at the same time and I was completely unable to reconcile the contradiction. It was the first time I'd had any prolonged physical contact with the deceptively mild looking man since he'd accidentally tried to kill me and I could feel the power in him humming against my back.
Castiel released me a moment later and stepped back. I blinked my eyes open to find Trent and the Winchesters all watching me with concern around the dancing spots still fading from my vision. I had a headache and felt like I'd looked into the sun at mid-day, but seemed to be otherwise okay.
"Rachel, are you all right?" Trent was asking. His body was tense with worry and his face dark with not understanding what had just happened. Given the glances he was shooting Castiel, I got the feeling that he and the angel were never going to be chummy at this rate.
"Fine, fine," I tried to wave him off, blinking hard against the spots in my vision. "Just never look at an angel with your second sight up, okay? They're really ... uh ... bright."
This only seemed to worry Sam and Dean more for some reason. Dean reached out unexpectedly and tilted my chin up, gaze quickly searching my face and then darting questioningly to the angel in a way that told me they'd maybe seen something like this go horribly wrong before. "Cass?"
"She is fortunate; she is more resilient than a human and only glimpsed the edges of my visage. I was able to reverse the damage; she has taken no permanent harm," Castiel assured distractedly in response, already back at the table dumping things together in the bowl Bobby had fetched.
Dean let go of my chin, looking relived. I was kind of glad to hear that too.
"Damn, how many bones you got in those pockets?" I heard Bobby say in mild amusement or confusion. Although I didn't see what had prompted the question, he must be speaking to Castiel. I flinched and squinted instinctively when I looked back towards them again, but with my normal vision Castiel merely looked like he had before - a slightly rumpled and injured brown haired man in a trench coat.
"Six hundred and eighty two," Castiel answered factually as he quickly hauled a dusty wall mirror out from behind a stack of other junk in the corner of the room. He yanked down the clock and put the mirror in its place.
"Mostly finger and toe flanges, they travel easiest. I have extra amounts of the other necessary and harder to acquire ingredients for this spell as well," the angel explained as he dipped three fingers into what I hoped was lambs blood and used it to quickly painted a symbol on the glass surface of the mirror. "As I feared, Raphael has learned of the faes' existence and sees them as a possible tool. Some of his minions are on their way."
From outside, there was a sudden shriek and then a general buzzing clamor of commotion. Light flashed from behind the drawn curtains and the hairs on my arms all raised at once.
"That would be them," Castiel said, much too calmly I thought. "Dean, get ready to secure the angel warding again as soon as I'm gone," he warned. "You should have a few minutes of safety while they battle the demons camped outside. Both sides will fight each other to the death to keep one another from getting their hands on the prize. With any luck, they'll whittle one another down significantly."
Dean got a funny, kind of proud lop-sided grin on his face. "That's why you were shrieking in angel-speak when you blew in here. You wanted all the hell spawn out there to realize that angels were coming so they'd spring a counter attack when Raphie's thugs showed up." He clapped the angel on the shoulder approvingly. "You sneaky little bastard."
Castiel smiled. Just a little.
"Wait, if they're angels too, can't they just follow us to our own reality?" I asked quickly when Castiel grabbed my shoulder, me towards the bloody mirror. I had seen Castiel's power, I did not want to risk leading his evil cousins or whatever right to where I lived. I had enough powerful enemies gunning for me already in my reality.
"That's what the extra supplies are for," Castiel explained quickly, with just a hint of impatience as if we should have already understood that. "After I drop you off, I am going to make six hundred and eighty two other trips to other neighboring realities. By my estimate, given the realities I have chosen and their relative locations, the resulting ripple pattern will create a tear large enough to prevent further passage for some time. By the time the rift mends itself, it will be impossible for anyone to ascertain where you two went. Although once you are back on your own world, I do not believe they will try too hard to follow. In your own world you will have the support of your kin and your own magic and it would be more akin to them going after someone in Avalon, which we know better than to attempt. While you are here you are fair game, but once you are home you should be fairly safe."
"Okay, good ... I think," I said a trifle uncertainly as Castiel quickly guided Trent to stand beside me in front of the mirror. I wanted to go home more than anything, but this was all happening very quickly now and even though we'd been waiting for this for days, suddenly it felt like the goodbyes were coming too abruptly.
"Damn, those demons aren't gonna last much longer." Dean was looking warily out the window at the fight going on outside. He glanced back towards us. "How long is it going to take for you to make that many trips?" he asked Cass and it suddenly dawned on me what a terrible situation we were leaving them in.
"Roughly a minute and a half," Castiel replied. "If the angels break through, I need you to hold them off that long. If they do not leave when they see that they have lost their objective, then as soon as I am done I will lead them away."
"No, wait ... wait!" I protested, holding out a pleading hand to stop the angel as he lifted the bowl in which he'd stirred the spell. "We can't - we can't just leave you like this!" My urgent, guilty, panicked gaze caught Dean's from across the room.
To my surprise, he smiled at me, the gesture warm with genuine reassurance. "Hey, don't worry about us, we got this," he promised. He tilted his head, giving me that cocky, boyish grin that would always be my enduring memory of him. "This is what we do," he said simply, meaning it.
"We'll be fine, Rachel," Sam promised, mirroring his brother's smile, although on him it looked more earnest and less wry. "As soon as you're gone, they'll be no reason for them to keep attacking anyway. Go home. Good luck to you both."
Bobby simply gave us a nod of farewell and I realized I would never see these people again. I hadn't expected that to ache quite like it did.
I wanted to say goodbye, I wanted to say thank you, I wanted ... but there wasn't time. Castiel threw his hand out towards us with a murmured word I either didn't hear or didn't understand and the world went suddenly weightless. I felt like I was flying backwards towards the mirror. I didn't have time to say goodbye or thank you, but I think the hunters knew and I think maybe they preferred to leave both unsaid. Maybe it was best this way.
Trent and I crashed into the wall and mirror behind us, but neither wall nor mirror proved to be solid, giving way unexpectedly for our abrupt passage. "You go get his kids back," I heard the echo of Dean's voice follow us as darkness folded about us like an envelope. "And kick the butts of the people who sent you here!"
"We will," I promised silently. "You can bet we will."
A/N: So now they're finally on their way back! But as I mentioned before, don't think this is over just yet. Next chapter is going to be ... difficult, for everyone involved. :S