Author's/Underhill's Note: CHAPTER 7! YEAH! Again, not sure if this is any good, I rewrote bits of it a lot so it's all a bit mashed up in my head. This chapter is Dean and Bela centric, and finally explains the title kind of. Next chapter will have more Cas, Sam, and Bobby, because I do love those guys, even if I harbor some resentment on Dean's behalf against Sam (my mother says it's because I'm an older sibling-kind of). So, uh, regular disclaimer and all, and I hope this chapter doesn't suck as much as I fear it does, and ... I'll stop talking now. Review?
Chapter 7:
He's coughing up blood now. First drowning in it, now unable to keep it down. Hell is funny like that. Funny being an extreme stretch of the definition.
"Six years. It's been six years. No one's coming for you, Dean. No one cares."
A part of Dean's brain is screaming that it's only been a few months topside, not that long, but that part is drowned out by the sheer horror of what he is experiencing. Reason has long since fled the building.
"No one cares. No one's coming. Say it."
Instantly, Dean's lungs clear, and he can hear his own sobs again.
"Say it."
He's already been broken, Dean knows that. But he'd had one last shred of hope, and it is here that he loses it. He clears his throat and croaks:
"No one cares about me. No one's coming for me." And that's when he becomes convinced finally that it is true.
"Take my hand, Dean."
They spend a week tangled up in each other before they get down to business. It's been a long time since either of them have had no responsibilities beyond having the gas and water hooked back up. All they do is order pizza and watch old horror DVDs.
Upon first glance, anyone would have thought them lovers, but Bela and Dean have never been that way. Before Hell they had hated each other too much, and in Hell there'd been no time for that kind of thing. Besides, Dean was still torn up over someone else, and, "You're not my type, Winchester. You're too noble and self-sacrificing."
They start by warding the building. They redo the Devil's Traps. They mix salt in paint and paint the window sills. They demon-proof the place as best they can before they move onto angel-proofing, which is infinitely more difficult.
First they write out Enochian symbols large and precise over the outside of the building in holy oil-unseen to the human eye but still a perfect ward against angelic warriors. Every spell they learned in Hell is used on their walls and their door and their windows; they make it a fortress. Then, they ward themselves.
"Just get it over with, Bela," Dean grits out.
She frowns as she looks up at him. "It's going to be bloody, Dean," she warns. She's holding a consecrated knife poised over his chest, ready to carve. Dean's heart skips a beat as he flashes on Hell for a moment, before he shakes his head.
"I know, Bels. Just do it." When she frowns and looks further worried, Dean continues, "I'll be fine."
She nods, trusting him, and cuts the knife into his skin-writing out symbols in Enochian to hide and protect them from Heaven. It hurts like a bitch, but Dean clenches his jaw and lets her get it over with. Afterwards he does hers, and they both end up with strings of Enochian written across their collarbones.
"So," Bela says, when they're finished and all bandaged up. She walks into the sitting room, setting a cup of tea in front of Dean before sitting herself. When Dean makes a face at the tea she hushes him. "Do we have any plans?"
"Besides celebrating for the next few decades? Not a one. Why, any ideas?"
She hmmm-s. "Maybe. I was thinking of going back into business." At the sound Dean makes, she holds up a hand. "This place is all paid up, but it would be nice to have some spending money, get out of the house a bit." It's true, too; neither of them is the type to stay still for too long.
"I remember your business, Bels. And let me tell you right now, ripping old women off and selling dangerous artifacts on the open market isn't my thing." He takes a sip of tea and makes a face.
Bela rolls her eyes. "Yes, I know, Dean. You have morals and whatnot. I swear, you and your brother-" She stops, wincing. Dean's gone still, fingers gripping his cup so tight they go white. "Sorry," she apologizes.
"No, no, it's fine," he tells her. "I can't avoid the subject forever." Though I'd like to, he thinks. "They're out there and now so am I." He pauses. "At least I think they are."
"We could check into it, if you'd like," she says, already half way out of her seat. Dean sighs as she fetches her laptop. "Seriously?"
"Research, Dean. Research."
Dean snorts.
It takes a few hours of surfing the web and a few well placed phone calls to find what they're looking for.
"Here." She points Dean at the screen. A picture in a news article from about a month ago faces him, and there in the background…
"Shit, is that Sam? Bitch finally got a haircut."
"And according to my contacts in the Hunter world, the 'remaining Winchester boy' has been hunting with one Bobby Singer. No mention of an angel with them," she adds. When Dean doesn't respond, she looks over shoulder at him, and sees a hurt expression on his face. Immediately she knows what he is thinking.
"Dean… You know it's possible that they tried. You were only gone six weeks. Maybe…" she says, feeling compelled to play Devil's Advocate.
He shakes his head. "So we get the word out," he says, changing the subject. "Say you're back in the game. Your old customers'll still be interested?"
"Definitely. We can deal in antiquities."
"On the up and up," Dean interjects.
Bela sighs. "As much on the up and up as we get in this business. I can go back to doing seances, spells…"
"For real, not faking it to con crazy old cat ladies out of their savings."
"You're making this difficult, Dean."
"Deal with it, Bels. Keep going."
She huffs, "Fine. We acquire rare objects from less than savory individuals."
"Genk monsters and steal their stuff?"
"Exactly."
Dean grins. "Alright, I like it."
"So you're in?"
"I'm in. Let's make a little money, raise a little Hell, and do a bit of good along the way."
Bela grins at him and Dean grins back.
Then Bela sobers momentarily. "You of course want to stay off the radar."
"Yeah. Don't know how to do that though if I'm gonna be out in the field." He frowns. "This sucks. I refuse to play housewife while you go have all the fun."
A smile slowly starts to spread across Bela's face as a lightbulb flashes above her head. "I may," she says brightly, "have an idea."
A few hours of discussion later:
"It's official then: Lugosi and Steele Antiquities is now in business."