Author/Underhill's Note: Chapter 24! I... I tried to get this out sooner than I did, but failed miserably. Work has somehow - - and I have no idea HOW - - gotten inexplicably worse. But, writing this cheers me up, so more updates! Yaaay! So, 1) disclaaaaaaimerssss I own nothing except the original plot and if I did there would be so much more slashfic in the show, 2) THANK YOU reviewers! You make this so worthwhile, like, I am totally giddy when I see I've got a new review. 3) ... I swear someday I will remember what 3 is. But anyways, here's Chapter 24, and I hope you enjoy it and that it doesn't suck. Now I'm gonna go write chapter 25 or maybe pass out for a while and then write 25. Not that I'm sleepy... Of course not. I sleep. I totally sleep. Oh my god what is wrong with me
March 11, 2 AM, Blue Earth, Minnesota
They'd started researching five hours ago, almost as soon as they'd gotten back from the Hunt Lea had sent them all on. There were some close calls, and then that demon under the Impala, but all in all it had gone well.
Dylan looks longingly at the beers Sam and Rufus have cracked open. The pick-up truck revs it's engine as a reminder of "Dylan, we're waiting," and Dylan starts climbing in the back. At the last look Dylan gives them, the beer, and the car, Rufus scowls and points two fingers at his own eyes, then turns those fingers towards Dylan. The teenager gulps and hits the side of the truck, which speeds off.
"Did you have to do that, Rufus? The kid was just trying to - - "
"That kid wanted free beer and to drive the car," Rufus scoffs.
"… You just didn't want to share, did you?"
Rufus takes another drink and neither confirms nor denies the accusation.
"Rufus, I can't think straight," Sam whines. "Can we take a break, please?"
Rufus rolls his eyes but Sam can tell he's tired too. "You are one of the laziest kids I've had the displeasure of working with. Let's get a drink. Preferably a stiff one," he mutters the last.
Sam grins and grabs his coat. "To Paul's Tavern then," he says, more cheerful than he's been in days.
Dean's Dreamscape
It's wearing Cas's face again, and It's acting kind. It's smiling, stroking Dean's face all too familiarly, and Dean's not sure whether the kindness is better or worse than holding his own intestines.
"You know I'd love you if I could, Dean. You know I would love you in a heartbeat."
God, why. Why is it doing this? Anything, anything, he'll do anything just not Cas's face again. Not after that first time. But It's wearing it more and more now, and Dean's mind is in tatters.
"I would love you, so so much. So beautiful. If only you weren't so worthless." Dean closes his eyes and wills it to all go away. "If only you weren't so pathetic. You are so fucking NEEDY, Dean," It says in Cas's voice. "You're nothing without someone to take care of, are you? Your parent's marriage, your baby brother, your father, then me. Thought you could make me all better, didn't you? You thought I could be human."
Dean shakes his head no no no no.
"Think of all the things you did for them. Think about all that effort for nothing, because your mother burned. Think of all the terrible things you did to keep your brother fed when your father was away. Think of all opportunities you threw away once Sam left to make sure your father didn't drink himself to death. And me? Look where you are now, Dean." It grabs his chin and jerks it forward. "LOOK AT ME." Dean's eyes snap open. "So beautiful, Dean. And no substance."
Dean screams as Cas turns flames on him, his skin begins to burn crackle oh god - -
"Dean." The heat stops. The pain stops. Dean closes his eyes and breathes out, then opens his eyes again. He looks up. He's been on his own in dreamland for a while now, since he told Bela about all this in fact, and hearing the familiar Voice is a bit disorienting.
"Whuh?" he asks stupidly. He's still on the slab and he's covered in blood and - -
"Dean, I need a little help here."
Dean swings his feet to the ground. "…you're back?" He's not sure if he feels relieved or exposed.
"Yeah." Dean can feel rather than see the Voice take in the dreamscape: blood and searing heat and the smell of burning - - "I'm sorry it took me so long," It says sadly.
Dean ignores that, not wanting to address what's around them or how often he dreams about it (always, goddamn always). "Where were you?" he asks instead.
"I did something that attracted a certain amount of attention from my brothers. Not that they could find me here," he assures at Dean's panicked face. "But I needed to lay low. I shouldn't even be here now. It's risky to move at this point."
"So, why did you?"
"Yes," a female voice adds. "Why did you return?"
The Voice's rough outline flinches back. Because there's Bela right besides him, looking like it's completely natural that she's be in someone else's dream. "What the - - where the hell did YOU come from?!" the Voice shrills.
Bela smiles, all coy aggression. "Did a little spell." She pulls the neck of her shirt down over her shoulder to reveal a new string of Enochian symbols. "Made it so all dream invasions are joint. So every time you come into Dean's dreams? You're coming into OUR dreams."
The Voice is quiet. "Where the hell did you find this one?" he asks bemused.
Dean smiles and positions himself slightly in front of Bela, a protective gesture. "In Hell," he answers.
After a moment, "Touche," It says.
"Now," Bela says, pushing Dean aside; the man makes a sound of protest that she ignores. She brings herself toe to invisible toe with the Voice. "Let's talk."
March 12, 11 PM, Blue Earth, Minnesota
Sam's back at Paul's Tavern, and everything's gone to hell. Leah's come up with a whole bunch of new Commandments, and all of them are so anti-bartender and anti-Hunter that there's no way disaster COULDN'T strike. He wishes desperately that he'd convinced Rufus to come with him, but the older Hunter is back at the motel and poring over the bible. "Think I'm on to something," he'd muttered.
"Just, everybody cool down for a minute!"
"Cool down, hm? My friends are trying to run me out of town. Do you think I should cool down?"
"I'm sorry, Paul," Rob says, not sounding sorry at all. "It is not our choice."
"Oh come on," Paul mocks. "That's bull."
"You've got to go, for everyone's sake!"
"We grew up together. I stood up at your wedding!"
Dylan's mother snarls, "Yes, you did. But that was then. And now you're standing against the flock."
"That's not true. I fight with you."
"This is a town of believers, Paul. You are not a believer!"
"Don't make this hard for us," Rob tells him - - it's not a plea, it's a threat.
"Hard for you? No. This is my home. You want me out of here? You'll have to drag me out."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you don't want to do this," Sam says, coming to stand between them."
"Get out of my - - "
Sam happens to be looking at Jane when the gun rises. He opens his mouth to yell, to tell Paul to get down, but there's no time - -
WHACK.
There is silence. Dylan stands behind his mother, who is now on the ground, with a rifle facing butt-forward. He drops the gun with a clatter. "She," he says. "She was gonna…" Rob drops to the ground to check his wife, whose head is already sporting a sizable bump. "She was gonna shoot him." Dylan sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than anyone else; Sam feels sorry for him. "She was… He's like an UNCLE to me." The kid is staring at his hands like they've betrayed him somehow.
At his son's last statement, Rob leaps to his feet and grabs his son with a snarl. "Like an uncle? You just hit your MOTHER, Dylan."
"But - - "
"I am your FATH - - "
Sam punches the man in the face. He can't help it.
He sees the pastor bury his head in his hands out of the corner of his eyes, but he really doesn't care. "You okay?" he asks Dylan.
"I… He's my UNCLE." He looks up at Paul and says, "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to hurt her, I swear!"
Paul's moves are careful, deliberate, approaching Dylan like he's a skittish colt. "I know, Dylan. I'm glad you did. She was going to hurt someone. She had a gun, son." He reaches out a hand for the teenager's shoulder. When he's not rebuffed, he pulls Dylan into his arms. The boy tenses before collapsing into the hold; he begins to cry, and when Paul starts whispering platitudes and reassurances in his ear, he starts to sob in earnest.
"She's okay," Pastor Gideon say. He's crouched by Jane now, feeling for her pulse. "Your father too," he calls to Dylan. Dylan keeps crying.
That's when Cas and Rufus drop into view.
Rufus collapses and puts his arms over his head like he's hiding from a bomb threat. "Damn… angels…" are his muffled words.
Everyone meanwhile is staring at Cas in shock and awe. Cas plucks self-consciously at his sweater. "I'm Castiel," he says. "And I'm an angel of the lord."
Sam huffs a laugh. This night? It's strange, even for him.
Dean's Dreamscape
"What do you want with my Dean?" she asks. Dean smiles when she says 'my Dean.'
"I already told him, I need his help."
"Yes, about that. Explain."
"I already did explain," the Voice protests, but Bela is a force to be reckoned with.
"Yes, but I want you to explain it to ME."
The Voice lets out a long breath. "Fine. Fiiiine," it concedes in a whine. "What do you want to know."
"How are you in Dean's head? You said you're not quite an angel. I want to know what that means."
"It means I'm an angel but not."
Bela glances back at Dean. "I see what you mean." Back at the Voice: "That's the only annoyingly vague answer to a question you get to give, or else we walk."
"What?!"
"You don't honestly think we're going to garner GOOD attention aiding a rebel angel, do you? We're trying to stay out of this conflict. However, Dean seems to think we should give you a chance."
"You're welcome," Dean waves over her shoulder.
"I did him a favor!" the Voice protests. "I got his brother out of Hell!"
Bela's face gets hard. "If Sam ended up in Hell somehow, you could have left him there for all I care."
"Not Sam. Sam's Heaven bound - - " Dean snorts. "Adam. I helped your brother Adam."
"Adam's dead." But didn't the Voice mention him, Dean wonders, a few dreams ago?
"Yeah, well, not anymore. He's topside. I left him in Chicago."
"WHAT?" Dean yells.
"Uh…"
"You LEFT him in Chicago?"
"Hey, it's not like I have a vessel to go after him."
Dean glares. "Whatever," he mutters.
"Where is he?" Bela asks, because this is Dean's brother - - other brother, the one he has nothing personal against, and family means so much to him - - and if he's out there they need to find him. If nothing else, to see if he's okay.
"I'm not sure where he is now. I told him to keep moving. I COULD tell him where you are, if you told me."
"Nice try," Bela snorts, incredibly unladylike. "Apparently you can get into our heads, but you won't be getting into our home."
"…Was he really in Hell?" That's Dean, quiet, eyes averted. It's important.
"Only five minutes," the Voice says guiltily.
Bela takes a step back and wraps an arm around Dean's waist. She's never had a family to care about, but this, this she gets.
"I'm sorry," He says.
Dean squares his shoulders, lets Bela lean into his side. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Next question: what the hell is your name? I'm not going to keep calling you 'Voice'."
Dean swears he can see a line of a smile cross the insubstantial shape of it. "You can call me L," it says.
March 13, 8 AM, Blue Earth, Minnesota
It's over, Sam thinks. Cas is back in Sioux Falls. The Whore is dead, killed by the Pastor. Now it's him, Rufus, and Paul and Dylan standing outside Paul's Tavern in the early morning light.
"So," Sam says. His hands are in his pockets and he's scuffing his right foot against the ground awkwardly. He's not exactly sure what to say. He feels like he came into this town and ruined everything. Dylan's not welcome at home anymore, and Paul? Paul no longer wants to stay. It was a total 180 from refusing to leave the night before to wanting to get the hell out of dodge in the morning. But almost getting shot by your best friend's wife does that to a person. "What are you guys going to do now?"
Paul smiles and claps a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "We were thinking of going on the road, actually."
Rufus raises his eyebrows. "On the road, eh?"
"Yeah. It's still the Apocalypse, right? And we know what we're doing, at least a little, minus the bogus Enochian exorcisms. Figure maybe we can do a bit of good."
Sam expects Rufus to scoff and tell them they're idiots, but instead Rufus looks at the hand Paul's got clasped on Dylan's shoulder, and the vaguely hopeful look Dylan's got on, and says, "Sounds like a terrible idea, and we'll be happy to have you. Can always use the help. Now give me your phone." He punches his number in Dylan's phone (which the boy produced immediately almost in fear, because damn, Rufus is kind of scary).
When Paul climbs into his pickup, Rufus stops him. "Here kid." He gives him a beer. "Guess you deserve it."
The boy's smile is like a hundred lightbulbs all lit up.
"Aww," Sam coos as the truck speeds away. "How sweet!"
"Shut up."
Sam does shut up, but he can't stop the smile spreading across his face. Rufus, he thinks, is secretly a softie. Who would have thought it?
"Get in the goddamn car, Sam! And get out the map! We got a case."