Chapter 5 The Hand That Rocked the Cradle
I-74 W
Dean stared at the road, acutely aware of the silence that filled the car like syrup, pressing against his ears. In the back seat, Kevin sat slumped, staring morosely out the window. Beside him, Sam was hunched into the corner, face resting against the glass. He couldn't see if his brother's eyes were open or shut.
He could understand Kevin's position, although he thought that the guy was taking the loss a little harder than was strictly speaking necessary. But Sam … Sam knew what was at stake here, this was the brass-ring, the thing that would change their lives, change the fucking world. His brother should have been hopped up, crackling with energy, ready to fight to the death for the chance to end a nightmare that had held them both.
His fingers twitched against the leather wheel under his hands, itched to put a tape in, something primal and wild and at max volume. They itched to feel the smooth bone shaft of the weapon that lay in the trunk, ugly and unbalanced and made to take life with one long stroke. They itched to close up tight into fists and feel the satisfying crunch of bone on bone. He stared out through the windshield, unaware that he was trembling, very slightly.
Galesburg, Illinois
The diner had an outdoor area, and Dean had made a beeline for it straight away. He couldn't help it. He wanted a clear line of sight in every direction, and the air against his skin. The over-warm interiors of the places they'd been in the last few days made him uncomfortable.
He looked at the menu when the waitress brought it, barely glancing at her, not seeing his brother's brow wrinkle up and smooth out as Sam noticed that lack of attention. The menu was long. There were a lot of things in it. Steak sandwich. Burger with the lot. Toasted sandwiches. Soup. Salad. Pasta. Desserts. Beverages. Side orders. After a couple of minutes, he looked up, rubbing the heel of his hand against his temple. Burger. A burger would be okay.
He handed the menu back to the girl when she returned, giving his preference tersely and looking around again, at the cars that drove slowly by on the road beyond the parking lot, the people walking through the lush, green park on the other side of the deck, and those who were talking and eating and laughing at the small tables surrounding them. At the trees that were waving slightly in the breeze.
"Dean?" Sam looked at him, then turned to follow his eyeline, eyes narrowing as he saw the top of the tree moving lightly. He turned back to his brother.
"Dean."
Dean looked at him, one brow lifted. "What?"
"You okay?"
The scowl appeared immediately. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Sam sighed softly and looked at Kevin. The teenager was hunched up in his chair, staring at the table top, brows pulled together, something bubbling away in there.
"How long is this going to take?" Kevin looked at Dean, his face set.
Dean looked at him. "As long it takes. You got a hot date waiting for you?"
"I want to go to Michigan," he said, his voice low and stubbornly certain.
Sam looked at his brother. The waitress returned to the table holding a plate.
"Your burger, sir," she said brightly, setting down the plate on the table. Dean looked down at the burger, and picked up the bottle of ketchup. The waitress looked at Sam and Kevin. "Your orders will be along shortly, can I get you a drink?"
"No!" Kevin blurted out, then looked down at the table.
"Okay," she chirped, turning and walking away.
"What?" Dean picked up the burger and took a bite.
"I want to see my mom," Kevin said, looking up at him, his eyes hard.
"Are you kidding me? You're kidding me," Dean said around the mouthful, staring disbelieving at the teenager. Was it fucking essential to have these conversations while he was enjoying eating? Enjoying the one fucking thing he could actually enjoy?
"What?" Kevin demanded. "Is it too much to ask if we can swing by and check on my mom?"
"'Swing by?' It's a day's drive in the opposite direction," he said, shooting a glance at Sam. "You know that, right?"
"Yes," Kevin agreed, voice tense with barely held control. "I understand we're in a hurry."
"Okay, well, then, what's the problem?" He leaned back, with a half-shrug.
"Channing's broken neck is my problem!" Kevin snapped, his voice rising as his hands closed into tight fists on the table.
Dean looked away, eyes rolling. Back to the fucking girlfriend.
Kevin glanced around, remembering that they were in a public – and quiet – place. He modified the volume as he continued. "As in I'd rather not see my mom twisted into a corkscrew."
Sam watched them. Kevin was twisting himself into a corkscrew with his worries, and he could see that his brother knew it, just wasn't interested in easing the pressure. "Kid's got a point, Dean."
"Stay out of this," Dean said automatically, not looking at him. Sam smiled at the brush-off. That, at least, was the old Dean.
"Kevin, your mom is fine," Dean said patiently to Kevin, putting his half-eaten food back on the plate.
The waitress came back and set Kevin's order on the table between them.
"How can you possibly know that?"
"Because Crowley needs her to be, okay?" He leaned forward over the table. "In fact, he's probably got the place stacked with bodyguards right now, protecting her so that when you do show up, they'll pounce on you both."
Kevin looked at him miserably. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
Dean glanced at Sam, rolling his eyes. "She's bait, man, plain and simple. And you want to swim right up and bite the hook?"
Kevin looked away, the muscle at the point of his jaw jumping. Kid was going to start crying in a minute, Dean thought. He inhaled and looked around. It wasn't rocket science. They had the opportunity of a lifetime – of half a dozen lifetimes for that matter – he wasn't going to risk it. He needed this.
"Look, we have got Crowley by the short and curlies, okay? All we need to do is find the tablet, whip up the spell, and – boom! – sunshine and sandy beaches." He picked up the burger, and took another bite.
Kevin had already learned that the man sitting opposite him actually listened when emotion was left out of the conversation as much as possible. His fingernails drove into his palms under the table as he struggled to shut his feelings away.
"Dean, my mom's all alone. She's surrounded by demons," he looked at Dean's face, pausing a moment to let that sink in. "Can you really not understand why I want to make sure she's okay?"
Dean looked at him, chewing slowly. Sure, he thought sourly. Go ahead. Play the mom card. Why not? He dragged in a deep breath and looked at Sam. Sam's brow furrowed unhelpfully. His brother didn't have to say anything out loud.
He looked back at Kevin. He wanted to talk about Hell, about demonkind and the curse they were on the human race. About what they did to people, how they tortured and tormented and drove their victims insane. What they'd done to his brother, to Bobby, to Lisa, to his mother and grandfather. Then the words were swept away by those memories that filled his mind and vanished, and it was too late. He knew he'd lost the argument before he'd begun.
"Son of a bitch." He slapped the rest of the burger back on the plate, and threw his hands up, scowling around the food still tucked into one cheek. "Fine. Let's go."
Kevin looked at him as he got up from the table, pushing his chair back. Dean stopped abruptly beside him, and leaned on the table.
"For the record, what we're doing is going to make it more dangerous for her, you get that, right?"
He nodded nervously, staring into the dark green eyes. Dean nodded and walked off.
I-90 E
Sam drove, keeping the car at sixty-five, occasionally glancing sideways at his brother. Dean was curled awkwardly into the corner, sunglasses over his eyes, one shoulder hunched higher than the other, his posture expressing his disapproval of the side-trip eloquently.
In the back seat, Kevin sat behind him, forehead leaning on the glass, his face blank as he stared out at the passing scenery.
Something had changed Dean's mind, Sam knew. He was pretty familiar with every one of Dean's expressions and he'd seen the jaw set as Kevin had spoken, then seen the muscles relax, just for a second, before the scowl had kicked in. Some thought or feeling or memory, he thought. Something from their past that had reminded him that people loved, cared. His brother would never tell him – hell, even Dean pre-Purgatory would never have told him – but something had happened.
His brother was harder now, he could see it. Whatever had happened down there, it had made Dean's walls stronger, higher. Even his anger was held under control now, far more than it had ever been in the past. He slowed as the traffic ahead showed a sea of brake lights, and looked at Dean again, his attention sharpening as he saw the collar of his brother's jacket shivering, the motion clear against the pale upholstery of the seat back. He wasn't sleeping, he thought. Or if he was, he was already dreaming of something that had tensed him to the point where his nerves were humming like overstretched wire.
Bloody. Messy. And what else, Sam wondered? What else?
Neighbor, Michigan
The neighbourhood was postcard-perfect. Not a speck of litter desecrated the smooth black asphalt of the cul-de-sac to offend or trip up the pert blonde jogging past them or catch the nose of the pedigree Weinmarer being walked on the other side of the road. The round garden barrier in the centre was green and pleasant, every plant pruned and trimmed, the dead flowers culled, quite possibly as soon as the first streak of brown appeared. Every house was immaculately painted, delightfully framed in established gardens, mature trees in the backyards, young, healthy trees glowing verdantly in the front.
The black car stood out sinisterly on the other side of the roundabout, a crow in a tropical bird enclosure, the three inside watching the blue house at the end of the street intently not suspicious-looking at all.
"Tiger mom, 9 o'clock," Sam said softly, holding the glasses against his eyes.
Kevin leaned forward and grabbed the binoculars from him, scanning the house front. "Where?"
"Left window," Sam said. Beside him, Dean's eyes moved over the house and the street steadily, pausing occasionally as something tugged at his instincts and observation confirmed it.
Through the binoculars, Kevin watched his mother stand by the window, looking outside, her body tense, as if she was waiting for someone, someone important.
He lowered the glasses slowly, relief flooding through him. "She seems okay."
He watched as she turned away from the windows and walked into the shadows of the room. "Sad. But okay."
"Check out the mailman," Dean said quietly.
Kevin raised the glasses again, looking at the mailman's face as he put letters into the box. "Yeah, that's Carl. So what?"
"Yeah, well, Carl's filled your mom's mailbox three times since we've been sitting here," Dean said dryly, eyes narrowed as he watched the mailman looking around.
Kevin lowered the glasses and looked at him. "He's a demon?"
"And see the gardener?"
Kevin lifted the glasses again, looking at the pony-tailed man dressed in khaki shirt and pants, standing by the front path, hosing a brilliant clump of hydrangea, the water pouring through the grass and down the concrete.
"Think that plant needs any more water?"
Kevin let the binoculars drop, his mouth tightening.
"We have to kill them," he said, looking at the house.
Dean's mouth curled up on one side. "Just check that she was okay, you said."
"I know but I can't leave her here like this!"
"They won't hurt her, Kevin. Crowley wants you." Dean looked down at the wheel. "We go in and stir things up, then she'll really be in danger. And so will you."
"I don't care, Dean. I can't leave here knowing those things are all around her," Kevin said tightly. "I'm not like you."
Sam looked at Dean's profile, watched his mouth tuck in slightly at the corner.
"No, you're not," he said, so softly that Sam barely heard the words.
Dean looked up, exhaling slowly. "All right. Let's do it."
Behind the house, Dean leaned against the wall and turned off the tap, unscrewing the hose end unhurriedly. He moved back beside the stairs, crouching out of sight. And five, four, three, two … one.
The pony-tailed demon came around the corner of the house and unlatched the gate, looking down the stairs at the uncoupled hose and shaking his head. He walked down the steps and picked it up. The knife was in his chest before he'd even thought to look around. The demon's scream gargled as the meatsuit lit up violently under the skin. Dean yanked the knife clear and shoved the body down the stairs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at his brother.
Dean stood eight feet from the back gate as the man opened the gate and walked through it. He smiled and lifted his hand in a friendly wave and Carl, who'd once been the neighbourhood's mailman before the black smoke had slipped through his living room vent, stared at him uncomprehendingly with black eyes. Sam burst out from beside the gate, Ruby's knife sliding into Carl's chest easily, the demon burning up as Sam let him fall. Dean looked down at the dead mailman.
Must have been a lot of new recruits, he thought. Neither demon had recognised him.
"Any others, you think?" Sam looked around the yard and the neighbouring houses.
"No idea," he said, shrugging. "It's been a year; Crowley might have just put these two on since it's a long-shot Kevin's going to be stupid enough to come back."
Sam made a face at his brother's sardonic tone. "If it'd been Bobby or Lisa, you'd have done the same thing, Dean."
Dean looked at him for a moment, then turned away without answering.
Kevin knocked on the door softly, aware of the men to either side of him, feeling more exposed standing on his own front porch than he had in months. His mother opened the door, her face lighting up, disbelief and joy mixed and taking her breath away.
"Hi, Mom."
"Oh! Kev– Kevin!" she squeaked, staring at him, taking a single tottering step toward him.
Kevin waited on the mat as Dean and Sam stepped out from behind the side-panels of the door, squirting bottles of holy water and borax over the woman in front of them.
"Ah! Oh!" Mrs Tran stumbled backward, staring from one to the other, hands raised helplessly as she felt the liquid run down her neck and arms, the strong chemical scent of the borax drowning out every other smell. "What ...?"
Dean looked at her reaction consideringly. "She's clean."
Kevin stepped across the threshold and put his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly. She closed her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck, relief shuddering through her, bringing tears. Dean glanced past them into the house.
On the porch, Sam's eyes narrowed. "You smell that?"
Dean inhaled and they moved together, coming into the house and peeling to either side of the Trans, following the scent of sulphur through the rooms to the kitchen. Sam gripped the hilt of Ruby's knife in his jacket pocket as he came around the corner into the doorway, seeing the woman in front of him, her mouth opening wide and a thick streamer of charcoal smoke emerging.
Do you know how to run a battle? You strike fast and you don't leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss!
Ruby's voice echoed in his mind and he stepped forward, the words coming automatically and with increasing strength. "Et secta diabolica, omnis congregatio, omnis legio, omnis incursion –"
The ribbon of smoke was sucked back inside the human vessel, twisting against the implacable pull of the spell. "–infernalis adversarii, omnis spiritus exorcizamus!"
The demon looked at him, eyes black, flicking past to look at the woman and young man who were standing open-mouthed in the doorway. Sam felt his brother brush by and take the knife from him, as Kevin stopped his mother's involuntary step forward, holding her back against the cabinets.
Thrusting the knife blade deep into the woman, Dean turned his face to one side when the demon inside coruscated in hell-hues as he kept his grip on her.
Behind them, Kevin and Mrs Tran stared, transfixed by the sight of the woman screaming as the demon was immolated under her skin. Casually, Dean pushed the body off the blade when the light faded, and she fell to the floor.
"Eunice!" Mrs Tran pulled free from her son's hold, staring down at her dead friend.
Dean looked down at the corpse. "That's not Eunice."
He glanced at Sam, wondering why – and how – his brother had decided to keep the demon in the body instead of letting it go.
"Come on, Mom, you need to hear what they've got to say – what I've got to say." Kevin pushed his mother out of the kitchen, turning her away as she tried to look back.
Dean took a step toward the door, then stopped, looking back at Sam. "How'd you do that – reverse exorcism thing?"
Sam blinked, lifting a shoulder. "Just said the verse backwards."
"Why'd you do it?"
Sam looked at him for a moment. "You would've."
"Yeah," Dean nodded slowly. "I would've, stop the demon from telling Crowley what was going on, but why'd you do it?"
"Same reason, Dean." He looked back at the body. "She didn't deserve to have a demon living inside of her, no argument. She didn't deserve to be knifed by you to stop it either. But we're in a war and we can't afford to let Crowley know what we're doing."
Dean looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "Good."
Sam followed him out of the room.
The living room was small, but gracious and comfortable, decorated in muted earth shades. Sam and Dean took the armchairs, as Kevin settled his mother on the sofa and sat beside her.
"Mrs. Tran, your friend was possessed by a demon," Sam said, as gently as he could. He could feel his brother's impatience at the impromptu counselling session, even though Dean knew it was necessary.
"Have you ever seen The Exorcist?" Kevin asked his mother. She looked at him and heaved a sigh.
"Is that what you've been doing all year – watching television?" she asked him tartly. It wasn't much of a joke, but it was all she could come up with under the circumstances. The image of the dark-haired man sitting across from her plunging his knife into Eunice's chest rose again in her mind and her face scrunched up as she looked at him.
"Did you really have to kill her?"
Dean looked away briefly. No lady, I could have let her live, he thought acidly, could have let the demon shoot back to the King of Hell and then we could've had all the demons out on this plane fighting us for possession of your son – how's that scenario strike you? That one rock your socks?
He shunted the thoughts away and drew in a breath. "The demon would have warned Crowley where Kevin was if we didn't."
He was surprised to see her accept that explanation without further argument. He had the feeling that anything that involved the safety of her son would redraw the lines for Linda Tran, and conventional morality be damned.
Mrs Tran turned to her son. "And Crowley is the one who kidnapped you?"
Kevin nodded, wondering how much detail he needed to go into about the past year. The less the better, he decided. "Yeah. He needs me to translate his stupid tablet so he can take over the universe or something."
"Which is why we need to get it so that we can slam the gates of Hell forever with Crowley inside," Dean added, picking up on Kevin's sudden lapse into teen-speak.
"So that things like that don't ever happen again," Sam added, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.
Mrs Tran looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. Despite the fact they were all treating her as if she couldn't follow a decent plot, she understood why. Most people would have been curled up in the foetal position under a chair at the sight of their friends stabbed by a stranger and lighting up like a lava lamp in front of them, at the ideas of demons and Hell and even a King of, taking a personal interest in them. Of course, she wasn't most people, and never had been.
She looked at Kevin. "Prophet of the Lord, huh? It does have a nice ring to it." The barest hint of a smile touched her mouth, then her face tightened as she shifted her gaze back to Dean. "I'll get packed."
She got up and started to walk out of the room. Dean and Sam got to their feet as well.
"We're going to need a safe house since Crowley's been to the cabin, so –" Dean murmured to Sam, when Mrs Tran stopped dead at the doorway, turning back to them.
She cut him off. "Safe house? I thought we were going to get the tablet."
"Uh, we are." Dean looked down at her. "You're taking a trip to a demon-free zone," he added, unable to help the slightly patronising tone in his voice.
"And risk letting Kevin fall into the hands of this Crowley again?" Mrs Tran asked disbelievingly, ignoring the man's condescension, her eyes narrowing a little. "I don't think so."
Sam saw Dean's back tense up and stepped to one side. "Ms. Tran, all due respect, Dean's right. Crowley – he's not just a killer. He trades in torment. And if he can find a way to separate your soul from you, he'll take that soul to Hell and – and roast it till there's nothing left but black smoke," he said honestly, hoping that the truth would make her think again. "Look, it's best if you let us handle this."
"I understand," Mrs Tran said quietly, looking down. "But it's not my soul I'm worried about. It's my son's."
She looked at Kevin for a moment, then faced Dean again, crossing her arms slowly over her chest in defiance of whatever they might come with up with. Dean ducked his head, wondering how upset Kevin would be if he knocked her out and put her in the trunk. Probably fairly upset, he decided. He looked at Kevin.
"Kevin, you want to back us up here? Came all the way down here to pull her out of the fire, and now she wants to jump right back in."
"Like I can tell her what to do?" Kevin stared back at him, wondering where the hell the hunter'd gotten that idea.
Dean looked back at the diminutive woman standing in front of him. He'd known this trip would turn out to be a pain in the ass. He just hadn't realised how much of one. Or that the pain would come in a five foot nothing package brimming with protective mommy attitude.
What the fuck. It didn't matter to him if she wanted to put herself in harm's way. So long as she followed orders, he could deal. He turned back to her, shrugging.
"All right, coming with us has conditions – uh, hex bags to stay off the bad guys' radar and uh …" He grinned a little at her. "You're gonna have to get inked up."
"Do what, now?" Kevin looked at him blankly.
"Yeah, uh..." Sam drew back the collar of his shirt to show them the anti-possession tattoo. "You, too, Kevin." He shifted his shirt back into place, and looked at Kevin, adding softly. "Keeps the demons out."
"Fine," Mrs Tran said lightly, her gaze unwavering.
"Really?" Dean smirked at her, sure she was bluffing, waiting for the list of medical reasons she couldn't actually go through with it.
"What?" Mrs Tran saw his disbelief in her in his face, her expression flattening into boredom. "Like it's my first tattoo?"
She turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Behind her Kevin stared dumbstruck. Dean's mouth curved up as he watched her leave, the tickle of amusement genuine for the first time in a while. He wouldn't go so far as to say he liked her, but she definitely had more backbone than a lot of the people he'd met.
The Inked Pig Tattoo, Coldwater, Michigan
The parlour was clean and bright, with comfortable leather recliners. Dean and Sam stood by the window, watching the Trans get their matching sets. For a kid who'd learned demon evasion and hunting from God, he sure had a low pain threshold, Dean thought. Kevin was twitching and sweating and whimpering non-stop. Beside him, Mrs Tran stared straight ahead, her face impassive and calm. She could've been having her nails done for all the reaction the needles got from her.
Plenty of control, Dean thought, hiding his amusement. That was good. She was going to need it.
"You smell it, Sammy?" he asked, feeling the tension rising through him again. Closing the gates – all the gates – had filled his mind for the past two days. Demons, be gone, and stay gone. Just leaving him with the monsters he'd been practising on for the past twelve months – monsters that took skill and strength and speed, but couldn't just call down magic on him (couldn't drag him back to Hell). Old-fashioned, blood-soaked, adrenalin-high hunting. He couldn't wait.
Sam frowned, looking at the Trans. "Burning flesh?"
"Revenge," Dean clarified. "So close."
Sam looked at him closely. Dean was under control, no question about that. But he was humming, the collar of his jacket trembling again, his eyes the vivid, brilliant green they seemed to turn when he was hyped.
"Dean, you been sleeping?"
"Yeah."
He hadn't looked at him, Sam thought. Dean couldn't lie for shit to his family.
Laramie, Wyoming
Dean parked the car in the lot. Kevin and Mrs Tran walked in through the front doors and took a seat on a bench next to the banks of lockers. Dean turned left and came in through the bus transfer doors at the one end of the building; Sam turned right and walked around to the street entrance on the other end.
Walking through the thin crowds, Dean wondered at the last few demons Crowley had sent. One of them had recognised him, the others had not. It could mean nothing, or it could be an advantage, he mused, his eyes tracking through the station, letting his instincts determine what they saw. Twice, said instincts had prickled as he scanned the moving mass of people, both times he'd slowed and realised he was looking at plain old human evil, nothing supernatural about the sexual predator lurking near the rest-rooms, or the cold-blooded murderer getting his ticket for a bus to nowhere. He'd slowed down a little after seeing them, not sure how he'd known what they were.
He nodded to Kevin and Mrs Tran as he came up to them, his brother sauntering up from the other direction at the same time.
"So, place is clean, far as I can tell," Sam said, glancing around casually.
Kevin and his mother stood up, and the young man handed Dean a key, the bright yellow plastic tab on the end of it matching the keys in the lockers behind them.
Dean took it without a word, going to the locker it matched and opening it, his brows rising slightly as he saw the contents. The locker held a large soft bag, the type of which he recognised after a moment's contemplation. Lisa's sister'd had one just like it for her kid.
"You hid the Word of God in a diaper bag?" Dean frowned and pulled it out.
"No," Kevin said, staring at the bag without recognition.
Searching through it, Dean's face hardened. He tossed the bag back into the locker and closed it, looking at Sam.
"Plan B?" Sam asked.
"Plan B."
The goddamned suit still felt uncomfortable, Dean thought, pulling at the collar absently as he looked at Jerry Redman, bus station guard. Redman stood with his hands tucked into his belt, weight squarely over both feet.
"Been nothing but trouble with these lockers. Got broke into damn near every day for a while. Could never figure out who it was till yesterday," Jerry said, looking from Dean to Sam.
"Oh, so you know who did it?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother.
"Sure. Was Clem Smedley, a guy who worked the desk before me." Jerry nodded readily.
"Please tell me he's down at County right now." Dean looked at him.
"Yep, waiting for arraignment."
"Thanks," Sam said over his shoulder as they turned away. It was better than their usual luck in finding a petty thief, he thought.
The interview room smelled of cigarettes, fear and old sweat. The cinder block walls were pale grey. The door and one-way window frame a deeper charcoal colour. The single table in the centre was a government special issue, timber frame and a heavy plastic-coated top, the same dark grey as the door, the smooth top easy to get blood off, Dean thought as he looked at it.
Sam sat at the end. Clem Smedley, a small-time criminal who looked completely at home in his oranges, sat midway down the long side, leaning on his elbows, a knowing smirk apparently glued to his face. Along the wall, Dean was pacing slowly, hands in his pockets. Sam didn't look at him. He didn't need to. His brother was radiating impatience like a defective reactor.
"Should have known they'd plant a LoJack in one of them bags," Clem said, with the ungrudging admiration for a cleverer opponent that someone who'd spent a lot of time in the system often had. "Sharp guy, that Jerry. He'll be a fine replacement for me."
"Right," Sam said, looking up as Dean paused on the other side of the table. "Well, in one of those lockers, there was a tablet. Do you know where it is?"
Clem looked at him, grinning slyly. "Can I even acknowledge that without my lawyer here?"
"Uh … look, I'm sure we can work out a little, uh, something-something with the locals if you just cooperate."
"What kind of something-something you got in mind, Agent?"
Dean stared at the man's face. The guy was a rat. One of the sewer rats that crept along the edges of any society, every society, and fed off the droppings from the tables of others. No loyalty to anyone but himself. No feelings for anyone but himself. You couldn't appeal to a rat. You could scare one though.
"Leniency?"
He heard Sam's voice distantly as he considered the possibilities he had here. There was no one behind the mirrored window opposite. The guard who'd brought Smedley in had worn a harried look and had muttered something about a coffee break as he'd closed the door behind him.
"So, here's what I'm thinking – full immunity from all charges," Clem said, amusement threading his voice as he looked at Sam. "Both past, present, and future."
Dean loosened his tie and walked around the table behind him.
Sam was over it. He recognised bleakly that he could have spent his life dealing with this very same crap if he had in fact made it through law school. The thought was not helpful. He rubbed his temple, turning away from the smug countenance of the man sitting across from him, not even a man, he thought tiredly. Just another rat.
His head snapped back around as Dean's tie flew into his peripheral vision, wrapping around Smedley's neck, and he watched in disbelief as his brother dragged the smaller man backward out of the chair, slamming him against the wall beside the window. Dean was holding Smedley tightly, and his knife appeared in his hand, the razor-edged blade drawing a line of blood from Smedley's neck as Dean pressed against it.
"Hey!" Sam banged on the table, his heart in his throat, not sure that his brother could actually hear him. "Dean. Come on."
"You feel that?" Dean asked Smedley, oblivious to Sam, the room, the guards and police who could have been (but weren't, Sam had heard the guard's comment too) watching from the room behind the mirror.
"Hey!" Sam pushed back the chair, getting to his feet, as he saw his brother's mouth curving into a frightening smile, the knuckles standing out white where he held the tie. "Dean!"
"Pawn shop," Smedley said, staring into chilling dark eyes, feeing the fist holding the tie turn, twisting the material more tightly around his neck, the serrated edge of the blade push its points into his skin. "First and Main."
"Dean?" Sam saw the smile disappear. Dean looked down into Smedley's face, his expression contemptuous as he released his grip on the tie, the knife vanishing away again. He yanked the end of the tie from around the smaller man's neck and stepped back.
Smedley remained pressed against the wall as Dean walked toward his brother, rolling up the tie and putting it into his pocket. The small-time criminal had been in and out of jail his whole life, had seen the seamy side of most of the major cities in the country … he'd never seen anyone who'd wanted to kill him as much as the man who'd just faced him had wanted to. In the dark green eyes he'd looked at Death and it had been panting for him.
"Come on," Sam said, opening the door and heading out. His heart was beating too fast, and he could feel sweat trickling down his neck into the collar of his shirt. He walked fast down the hall, nodding at the guards they passed, hearing Dean's footfalls behind him. He pushed open the building's access door to the parking lot, his feet stuttering down the short flight of steps, and he gulped in a deep breath, turning to look at his brother.
"What the hell was that!?"
"What?" Dean frowned, looking at him from the bottom step. "We needed the information. We got it."
"You wanted to kill him, Dean. I saw it."
His brother's slight one-sided smile sent a shiver up his spine as he looked at it. It lifted one side of the mobile lips, but got nowhere near Dean's eyes.
"Guy was a bottom-feeder, Sam," Dean shrugged. "I might've wanted to, but I didn't."
He stepped past Sam and walked unhurriedly to the Impala, pulling out his keys and unlocking the driver's side door, looking back over the hood.
"You coming?"
Sam turned around slowly. He knew what he'd seen; Dean couldn't pretend that hadn't happened. He didn't what to think about it. He could still feel the sense memory of his stomach lurching when he'd thought Dean was just going to slice open the guy's throat. He walked toward the car and got in.
"Relax, Sammy," Dean said, starting the engine and twisting around to look out the back window as he reversed out of the space.
Relax, Sam thought hopelessly, his gaze shifting to his brother's profile. In the open neck of Dean's shirt, he could see the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. It was beating very fast.
Dean pulled in behind the lipstick-red Ferrari Spider, parked outside the pawnshop, cutting the engine and getting out. Sam got out the other side, and Kevin and Mrs Tran followed. Glancing at his brother as he came around the front of the black car, Sam wondered uneasily how the next conversation would go down.
Following Dean around the front of the Impala, Kevin looked appreciatively at the Spider. "Whoa."
"Hey," Mrs Tran reproved, gesturing to him as she followed the men into the store. She stopped just inside the entrance, her hand staying Kevin's attempt to move closer to the hunters. They were blocking the front door and that was the idea.
Sam pulled out his badge as he walked up to the clerk behind the glass display counter. Lyle Connor was lounging back in his chair, reading a magazine, sneakers crossed and resting on the countertop.
"Hello, sir. Agents Neil and Sixx, FBI," he said pleasantly, holding up his ID. "Uh, we're looking for a tablet."
"About, uh, yea big …," Dean added, showing the size of the tablet roughly with his hands. "Got some hieroglyphic crap on it."
"Sold to you by a local thief, first name Clem," Sam looked down at him. "Ring a bell?"
"Nope," Lyle said unconcernedly.
"Hey … Lyle." Dean looked down at the name tag on the guy's shirt. "I've had a really, really bad day today, so I'm not in the mood. If you want to do this the rough way, I am happy to oblige." His short-lived smile didn't reach his eyes. Sam looked at his hand, resting on the glass counter and saw the fingers draw up a little.
"Sure. We can do it that way," Lyle said, looking behind him and then along the wall to the front of the store. "If you want to get famous."
The brothers followed his gaze, seeing the security cameras mounted at the rear and front. Dean's hand curled up a little then relaxed, fingers tapping lightly on the glass.
"That your car outside?" Mrs Tran asked, raising her voice a little.
Lyle looked at her insolently. "What's it to you, mail-order?"
"Hey!" Dean barked suddenly, slamming his palm on the counter. "Pal!"
Mrs Tran laughed softly as she walked up beside him. "I got it."
She looked at Lyle, her face a study in cool courtesy. "I notice you're driving with expired tags, maybe because you just acquired it in a trade, and I'm guessing that means you haven't registered it yet, which means you haven't paid the tax. Is that correct?"
Lyle got to his feet slowly, staring at her uncomfortably. "None of your business."
"Kevin, average blue book on a 2010 Ferrari F430 Spider?" She cut her gaze to the right, not turning all the way.
Watching her, Dean struggled to keep his face expressionless. His respect for the small woman went up a couple more notches.
"Two hundred and seventeen thousand," Kevin rattled off immediately.
"And the five percent Wyoming tax?" she asked gently, looking back at Lyle.
"Ten thousand, eight hundred and fifty," Sam said instantly, getting a raised brow from his brother and a matching look from the woman in front of him.
"Ten thousand dollars," she said happily. "Something tells me you're the type who might baulk at a tax bill that big."
Lyle looked at Sam in confusion, his earlier confidence scattered by the certainty in the tiny woman standing in his store. "W-what is this, an FBI audit?"
"No. But my brother, who happens to work for the Wyoming tax assessor's office could arrange that if he thought something untoward was happening here," Mrs Tran said smoothly. She paused to let the clerk see the trap she'd wound around him. "So what's it going to be – the tablet or that piece of Euro trash crap you call a car?"
Lyle looked at her, then back to Sam and Dean, unsure of how he'd gotten from there to here in such a short time. Dean felt the twitchiness in his nerves dissolve and disappear as he watched the clerk's bewilderment. Kevin's mother was providing more entertainment the longer she was around, he thought, the slight smile on his face definitely reaching his eyes this time.
In the warm afternoon sunshine, the motel was very green, Dean noted as he pulled into the lot. He wasn't sure he could deal with a motel that colour, considering the way the day had gone so far, and he was glad that he didn't have to see – or sleep in – or fail to sleep in – the interiors.
The parking lot wasn't full and the room was easy enough to find. They got out of the car and he and Sam walked to the door, Kevin and his mother remaining close by the Impala. Sam knocked on the door, listening to the silence inside. He tried again, finally turning to his brother.
"Sure this is the right place?"
"It's what the pawn slip says," Dean said, gesturing at the number on the door. They looked around the courtyard, both thinking the same thing.
"Kevin?"
The voice came from behind, and all four turned around to see a well-dressed man standing behind them, felted top hat, pin-striped suit, and cane in matching shades of pale grey, the delicately pale pink shirt set off by a tie and silk handkerchief of fuchsia and violet.
Dean walked toward him, automatically moving to flank Mrs Tran and Kevin. "Who wants to know?"
"Oh, relax, Dean, I'm not going to steal your prophet." He looked at Dean dryly, acknowledging Dean's narrowed eyes with a lift of his brow. Looking back at Mrs Tran, he beamed.
"Ah, and you must be Kevin's mother," he said, taking a few steps toward her, his glance cutting aside to Dean for a second. "Beau. And it is my absolute pleasure." He reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips. Mrs Tran hid an uncertain smile at the old-fashioned gesture.
Taking a courteous step back, with a slight smirk in Dean's direction, Beau added, "And Kevin. Imagine my luck. Here I was, working so hard looking for you that I never stopped to think you might be looking for me. I have something for you." He reached for his coat pocket, slowing down as Sam and Dean both straightened, their hands disappearing into their jackets.
"What is it?" Dean asked brusquely.
"An invitation, dear man," he said to Dean, drawing out the envelope with two fingers and holding it up. He looked back to Kevin. "To a very exclusive auction."
"Let me guess – where you'll be selling the tablet," Dean said sardonically.
Beau looked at him wryly. "Well, when we acquire an item as hot as the Word of God, it's smart to unload it as fast as possible." He looked back at Kevin. "And we are in such desperate need of a headliner for tonight's gala."
Mrs Tran moved in front of her son instinctively, hearing the thinly veiled thread of avarice in the man's voice as he stared at Kevin.
"Well, I hope you have three extra tickets to your little eBay party, 'cause the Prophet's with us," Dean said, dragging Beau's attention back to himself. He'd seen Kevin's mother's movement and felt the man's greedy attention on Kevin. How many others would want the scrawny kid when the word got around, he wondered bleakly.
Beau looked at him witheringly. "Oh, if you're worried about the safety of the prophet, rest assured that we have a strict 'no casting, no cursing, no supernaturally flicking-the-two-of-you-against-the-wall-just-for-the-fun-of-it' policy."
"Is that right?" Sam looked at him expressionlessly. "How'd you manage that?"
Beau sniffed disdainfully. "Well, I am the right hand of a god, after all – Plutus, specifically."
Dean smiled. "The god of greed? Didn't see that coming at all."
Beau looked at him sourly. "My liege has warded these premises against Hell, Heaven, and beyond. Quite necessary with some of the players we see," he added confidingly. "And incidentally, quite possibly the safest place your precious prophet could be."
Neither Winchester moved or reacted to the assertion, and Beau let out a small sigh. The old days had been so much more fun.
"Well, since time is of the essence, perhaps I'll just go ahead and add a plus-three to the Prophet's invitation. Copacetic?"
He threw the envelope in the air and vanished.
"Well, thank you, Mr. Peanut!" Dean growled as he scanned around the empty lot. Mrs Tran picked up the envelope and he turned back to her, looking at the white rectangle unhappily. Invitations to an auction. Where the thing they needed was up for sale.
"All right. What do we have to bid?" He tried to think of what they actually had right at that moment. It wasn't a long list. He looked at his brother. "What? We can't just show up there empty-handed."
"Dean, all we have to our names is a few hacked gold cards," Sam said, looking at him.
"All right. Well, then, we're gonna have to get creative," he said, staring at the ground. Creative. Huh.
"Huh," Sam looked at the Impala. Dean looked up. "Well ..."
Dean turned and followed his gaze, eyes widening slightly as he realised what his brother was considering. He still didn't feel exactly the way he'd used to about her, but the same could be said for sleep. Or sex. Didn't mean it wasn't all going to come flooding back … one day.
"No." He shook his head, striding across to the car and standing in front of her protectively. "Mnh-mnh. Say it and I will kill you, your children, and your grandchildren."
"Okay, okay," Sam raised his hands placatingly, fishing around for another solution. Any other solution. Anything. "Uh ... wait a second. They – these auctions – they display the items to the bidders beforehand, right?
"Yeah, so?" He wasn't going to give his brother a free pass, not after the last idea.
"So all we got to do is get Kevin close enough to memorize the spell," Sam said, looking at Kevin.
Dean considered the plan. It would depend on whether or not Kevin could actually do that. "What do you think, brainiac? Think you can swing it?"
Kevin looked uncertainly from Sam to Dean. "I don't know. I've always had the tablet in my hands … before. Just looking at it … I don't know."
Dean chewed on the corner of his lip, then looked up at Sam. "Only game in town, though, right?"
"Only game anywhere," Sam agreed quietly.
"In high school, you memorised four chapters of Calc theory the night before the exam," Mrs Tran reminded her son.
Kevin smiled a little ruefully. "Didn't think you knew about that."
She smiled, then looked at Dean and Sam. "We've got the invitations. We've got no money. This isn't a brain-teaser."
Tough little cookie, Dean thought, looking at her and nodding.
The neighbourhood was, in the immortal words of Harold Ramis, a de-militarised zone, Sam thought, as Dean pulled over next to the narrow alley. On one side of the alley, a three-storey warehouse towered over the street. On the other, a brick apartment building offered a completely blank wall. They walked down single-file, looking for the neon-bright tags that the invitation claimed would be there.
"There," Kevin pointed ahead and to the right, a pair of archaic-looking symbols spray-painted onto the double side-doors in the warehouse's wall, brilliantly visible in fluorescent yellow.
Sam knocked and a tall, heavily-built man in a black suit opened the door, standing back to let them in. Directly in front of the doors stood a metal detector, a pair of red lights on the lintel showing that it was active. Kevin walked through it, and it gave a single beep. Sam, following, got the same, as did Mrs Tran. Behind her, Dean looked unhappily at the detector, hesitating in front of it, then finally walking through, his shoulders hunched around his ears against the multitude of beeps that sounded with his entry, red lights flashing furiously above him.
Three feet away, Sam made a face at him. He gave his brother a had-to-try look and waited by the table.
"Now, now, Dean. The system only works when everyone participates." Beau stood on the other side of the table. He waved his hand and a metal box appeared on the table in front of him. "Unload and don't take too long, we're on a schedule here, you know."
Sam turned away after the third knife went into the box, following the flasks of holy water, bags of iron nails, guns, grenades, what seemed to be an adjustable wrench and a number of other assorted weapons which had already filled the box to the halfway mark. Beside him, Kevin had also turned away, distancing himself. Mrs Tran continued to watch, fascinated by the number and variety of things Dean had drawn out from his clothing.
"How'd he walk from the car without clanking?" she whispered curiously to her son.
Dean slapped the Colt automatic on top of the pile and pulled a long, serrated knife from his belt, tucking it next to the ivory-handled gun.
"I'll be back for this," he said to the black-suited man who picked up the box and staggered away with it.
Beyond the entry point, the warehouse resembled a minimalist art gallery. Every window was covered with glowing symbols, the wards and guards and spells against mischief making in the building itself. The items for sale were displayed in glass cases, individually lit and containing a short screed about the item itself. They walked past cases containing Solomon's Eye, an elaborate golden device for seeing into other planes of existence; past the helmet of Pallas Athene and Excalibur, past the codex of Leonardo da Vinci, and Mjølner, the Hammer of Thor.
Dean looked from side to side uneasily at the people who browsed through the large open space. "How the hell are we supposed to know who's who?"
"It's pretty simple, Dean," Sam said, shrugging as he scanned the room. "They're all monsters."
Before he could come up with a comment about that, Dean saw what they were looking for. "Hey."
"Hey," he repeated disappointedly as he walked to the glass case and looked at the tablet. The stone had been placed in a solid metal u-shaped holder, hiding both sides from view.
"Great," he said, turning to look at Sam, his lip curled up in disgust.
Kevin looked at the tablet. "I guess we're not as original as we thought."
"It's okay. It's okay," Sam stared at the case, willing himself to think of something. "We just got to come up with a plan B."
"And what, pray tell, could possibly have been plan A?" Crowley drawled softly from behind them. Dean and Sam, Kevin and Mrs Tran turned around. The King of Hell stood there, the dark eyes watching them filled with a mixture of amusement and thoughtful consideration.
"Bring the prophet to the most dangerous place on Earth, memorize the tablet, and then va–Moose?" He glanced at Sam with a half-smile. "Hello, boys."