A/Ns: Ooookay guys. This is me, giving you all a courtesy heads-up: please remember that I do not do well with silence. Between the two sites, 1400 people get an e-mail that this story updates (which is... so, soooo damn cool) But when only one percent of those people review (and I mean exactly 1%), my mind supplies aaaall sorts of nasty reasons. Like...Okay, clearly the April Fools joke pissed you all off? The last chapter absolutely sucked? Then I move on to excuses, because I know that's the depression talking, not reality: it was an irregular posting day and a weekday to boot, maybe not everyone has gotten a chance to read it, maybe because I deleted a chapter and reposted it, the site didn't send out e-mails? I do *try* not to be the depressed-paranoid-slightly-manic mess of a human being that I actually am, but having so few people put in the effort of a simple comment after I spent a month and a half of my life getting season 2.1 ready to post *isn't helping*
I will never hold this story hostage for reviews; I think that behavior absolutely sucks. But I will be fair and upfront with you guys: silence makes me think I've done poorly and is an immediate downer for me. I can not and do not write when I'm down. Basic equation is: without people telling me they enjoy this story, I don't end up writing it. I'm a people-pleaser and an attention whore; it's a lovely combination that means I only do shit if I can see it makes other people happy (which in turns leaves me puffing out chest feathers and preening like a damn peacock).
I know these sites do not let you "like" individual chapters, so you guys can seriously just write "like button pushed!" in a review now and then, and the message that you are out there enjoying will be received!
Those That Have Reviewed: I am sorry you have to keep reading such things from me, but please know this message is not for you. And please do not apologize for not having reviewed every chapter or feel bad. I do not expect a review every chapter; it is simply very hard to know so many people read this story and so few are willing to let me know my work is enjoyed. But those of you who have are, quite literally, the reason this story is still going. And I mean that, 100%. I am not a self motivated person. This story, this chapter, is for you guys.
Chapter Warnings: We've got severed heads and mutilated cows, Dean's now naming his Deja vu, and Time isn't giving the Winchester's even an inch. For extra measure, let's throw in a little Lilith and some more of Demon Tom being an ass because that, as we all know, is exactly what a demon named Tom would do.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The Road So Far (This Time Around)
Season 2: Chapter 27
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The Impala door closed with the satisfying creak of well-loved metal, and Dean turned to look at court house in front of them. He gave Sam a wry look as they headed up white stone staircase of the mostly brick building that also housed the Sheriff's office.
"So two severed heads and a dozen cases of cow mutilation. And that sounded familiar?" Sam opened the front door, Dean entering first with a shrug.
"Not really much to go on. Could be half the cases we work, could be brand new. We'll just have to see." He'd told Sam as much that morning, as the kid read the newspaper aloud, circling potentials. The town had sounded familiar, and the particulars of the case not unfamiliar. It wasn't quite the sense of déjà vu he usually looked for when picking which direction to go next, but it was something. "Still think FBI would be faster."
"We don't need to go full-felony," Sam argued (not for the first time, likely not the last either), keeping his voice low as they passed the administrator's desk and headed for signs to the Sheriff. "Reporters raise fewer eyebrows and can get enough information to at least get us started."
Dean's brow pinched, that same not-unfamiliar tingling in his gut. He was starting to think of it as his spidey sense, only from the future. AKA: his timey sense. Sam had not been as amused, practically face-palming in the front seat, stuck in the car with his brother who had taken fifteen solid minutes of excited rambling about déjà vu not being unlike a tingling supernatural sixth sense, before landing on 'timey sense' of all things. God help him.
"Gentlemen," the sheriff greeted them with a nod after the front desk gal escorted them into his office. Sam responded in kind, introducing him and his brother as reporters from some newspaper, but Dean was too busy staring at the man's mustache.
It was… well, it was something.
"Oh, we've definitely been here before," he muttered into his brother's shoulder, body half turned away to keep his voice quiet. Sam nudged him back to front and center because, well, not exactly subtle there, Dean. The Sheriff was watching them with narrowed eyes.
"What newspaper did you say you worked for?"
"World Weekly-" Sam's arm across Dean's chest shut him right up.
"Weekly World News," his younger brother corrected, the 'Why me?' bitchface going strong (an offshoot, subcategory of #6, 'Am I really related to you?'). He gave the LEO a grimace of a smile. "He's new."
"And probably not long employed." Dean offered a hundred watt grin of his own. "Now, what can you tell us about the recent cow mutilation?"
-o-o-o-
"Well, he was friendly." They were climbing back into the Impala after getting all but kicked out of the Sheriff's office. "I always love when we – we – get lectured about how Satanism doesn't exist. Give it four years, buddy. You'll be singing a different tune!"
Sam ignored his brother shouting at the driver side window and the brick building beyond. He pulled up the case information they'd printed out that morning, staring at the autopsy report. "Coroner's office isn't far. Maybe we'll have more luck there."
"Yeah, yeah." Dean put the car into drive and pulled out onto the street. It took a second – about four minutes and three turns, actually – but eventually he realized Sam was staring at him. "What?"
"You said we've done this before?"
Dean shrugged one shoulder a little defensively. "Did you somehow miss the Sheriff's face caterpillar? Can't say we run into that every day. But hey, he's probably not the only Montana man with an impressive 'stache. And I'm not picking up anything major on the Timey Senses-"
"Don't call them that-"
"-so maybe, maybe not. Why?"
"Nothing," Sam returned lightly, going back to the paperwork. "It's just, I didn't give you the address for the coroner."
Dean slid the gear shift into park even as Sam said it. His brother blinked at him, the Impala idling outside the town morgue. The older Winchester leaned forward, staring up at the building sign through the windshield. "Whoa. Well…that's freaky."
"Little bit." Sam climbed out and Dean scrambled to follow.
"I'm telling you, Sam. Super powers!"
"Yup," Sam answered in that easy way that meant the little bitch was being sarcastic as hell. "If there ever comes the need to find dead people in Red Lodge, Montana, you're the man for the job."
Dean flipped him off as they entered the morgue.
-o-o-o-
"Son of a bitch." The man from the future (not that that fact was helping him much at the moment) pulled back from the severed head of a girl, propped in a plastic bin sitting on one of the autopsy tables. "She's a vamp."
Sam was giving the entire setup hazarded looks from the three feet away, a hand wrapped around his stomach and complexion a bit green around the gills. Honestly, Dean's comfort around a severed head was giving Sam just as much pause as the appendage itself. His brother had just shrugged at the first look sent his way. Ten years was a lot of cases with dead bodies and missing parts.
"That, uh, that changes things," Sam muttered, surprised, as he shuffled over a little cautiously. He took the tongue depressor out of Dean's hand and lifted the girl's lip again to stare at the small, almost unnoticeable holes in her gums.
"You think?"
"Was the other vic a vampire too?" Sam set the depressor aside, expression thoughtful, the green fading from his face as curiosity and a case took over. One dead vamp could be a coincidence. But two meant a hunter, and twelve cases of cow mutilation meant a nest.
"Don't remember." Dean shook his head. They had no way of knowing, now. That body had been cremated well before they got to town.
Sam leaned against the edge of the table, watching his brother closely. "Those spider senses picking anything up yet?"
The phrasing may have been sarcastic, but the question itself wasn't.
"Yeah. Nothing good." Dean stared at the decapitated vampire as his stomach started stirring unhappily. This was familiar as hell, yet he still couldn't place it. He wished those twisting knots that spelled nothing but trouble would spell something more helpful so his brain could get on the same page as his déjà vu.
-o-o-o-
They hit up the local dive bar next to scout for unfriendly faces, or anyone who'd noticed something like that lately. They kept an eye out for the hunter variety, but Dean didn't spot anyone he knew, and hunters did know how to blend in when they wanted to. He didn't see anyone who stood out as a vamp, either. Not that those were that much easier to spot than hunters. The bartender offered up a couple suspects – hippies on a farm at the edge of town – after Sam offered him some monetary incentive.
Dean's déjà vu got worse.
"We've got company." Sam said it quietly, but Dean already knew. He'd already sensed the eyes on them as they left the bar. The feeling hadn't gone away, more than a block down the road.
The two brothers communicated in perfect silence, barely a physical sign of the conversation that passed between them. As they rounded a corner, they both broke into a run to make it to the next corner before whatever was following them caught up. Dean was expecting a vamp, so when Sam tackled Gordon Walker – the hunter drawing up short, spinning around in search of his disappearing prey – Dean was taken completely by surprise.
Son of a bitch. No wonder he was having déjà vu.
"Show us your teeth!" Sam barked, shoving the hunter by the shoulder. His back hit the wall and Sam kept him there, arm pressed across his chest.
Dean was the one with the knife pressed to the hunter's throat, body acting on auto-pilot even while his brain froze up. But now he didn't know whether to pull back or finish the damn job. Gordon caused them a hell of a lot of trouble once upon a time, and ended up a hunt himself after trying to kill Sammy, who knew how many times. Trouble was an understatement, and Dean didn't take kindly to anyone who had it out for his brother, least of all this asshole.
Still, killing a hunter in cold blood wasn't a great idea, and it hadn't been so long ago for Dean that that kind of murderous bloodthirst sang through his veins like heroine. He wasn't eager to go back there. So he pulled away, sheathing the knife.
"He's not a vampire, Sammy. He's a hunter."
Gordon, arms raised and cool as a cucumber, fixed narrowed eyes on the older Winchester. "You know me? Cuz I don't know you."
Dean didn't answer right away, lip twitching with indecision. Knowing that any lie of who they were would only cause them more grief when Gordon actually found out, he said, "Dean Winchester. This's my brother, Sam."
Sam hesitated for a moment, glancing back at his brother with raised brows and getting an imperceptible nod in return, before he pulled off of the other hunter. Gordon huffed in disbelief, lowering his arms with a little chuckle. He straightened his jacket.
"Sam and Dean Winchester. Well, I'll be damned." He shook his head with a stronger chuckle. "You know, I met your old man once? Hell of a guy. Great hunter." Gordon lowered his head, eyes still locked on the two brothers. He probably meant it as consolation. All Dean saw was a threat. "I heard he passed. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, thanks." Dean cut him off before he could keep going, the dismissiveness in his tone standing out particularly strong to Sam, who was eyeing him warily. But Dean was utterly unimpressed with anything this son of a bitch had to say, to hell with the fact that he actually came across like a decent guy. Dean knew he wasn't, and had been fooled by it once already. How he'd ever thought of Gordon Walker as anything but a creep, he sure as shit didn't know now. "You the one taking out the vamps in the area?"
He knew he was, but after all this time, the man from the future was more than competent at this game.
"Yep. Been here two weeks."
"Did you check out the Barker Barn?" Sam asked, still unsure of Dean's cold disposition, but they had a job to do all the same and he knew how to follow his brother's lead. He'd pry answers out of him later.
Meanwhile, it took quite a lot of restraint on Dean's part not to tell him to stop talking to Gordon entirely. That asshole shouldn't even know Sammy's name, let alone be talking to him. But it would be a hell of a lot more suspicious than just dismissiveness were Dean to call him out on it. So the older Winchester gritted his teeth and stayed quiet, trying to remember how this went the first time.
They had ended up in a bar together, Sam calling it quits while Dean and Gordon got all chummy. Bastard.
"It's a bust," Gordon answered, a wry smile in Sam's direction. "Just a bunch of hippie freaks. Though they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone."
Sam, frowning, glanced at Dean. He just shook his head as minimally as possible. Gordon was a damn good hunter, though, even if he was also the scum of humanity. So he picked up on the silent conversation between the brothers.
"Look, I got this one covered, fellas." Gordon gave them a toothy grin. "Don't get me wrong, it's a real pleasure meetin' you, but I've been on this thing over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it."
"We could help," Sam offered even as Dean opened his mouth to tell him sure-fucking-thing, hope you go and get yourself killed there buddy. He closed his jaw tight enough to hear his teeth squeak in his skull. Damnit.
"Thanks, but, uh, I'm kind of a go-it-alone type of guy." Gordon was still smiling, despite the growing tension between the three.
"You know what?" Dean cut in quickly, before Sam could say anything more. Maybe a little too quickly – both Sam and Gordon seemed a little started by it – but screw it. He was ending this now. "So are we. You seem to have this handled."
He gave Sam a pointed look – smile tight and eyes telling him to shut-the-fuck-up-and-play-along. Sam frowned in response, but Dean could tell he'd follow the lead. So he turned back to Gordon with as friendly a smile as he could muster. "We'll leave you to it. Besides, I hear there's a Chupacabra two states over. Maybe we'll check that out instead."
Even as he said it, Dean thought, 'what?' But that was about as much thought as he gave it. Wouldn't be the first time he'd spewed lines like he was reading a script his conscious mind didn't remember. The joys of re-living the same days over again a decade later.
"Uh, okay," Sam said a little uncertainly against the heavy silence suddenly between them. Gordon's eyes were locked on Dean, a tight frown making him look dangerous. Sam glanced back and forth between them, but he stuck his hand out in an attempt to salvage whatever this was. "It was nice meeting you. Good luck with the hunt."
"Yeah…" Gordon hesitated for a moment, eyes darting back to Dean again, before he smiled at Sammy and returned the hand shake. "You too. Have fun with that Chupacabra."
Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder and nudged him back the way they came. He didn't bother with a farewell, hoping they never saw Gordon Walker again.
-o-o-o-
The vampire hunter watched both Winchesters walk away, continuing down the street they'd first been on when he'd followed them from the bar. He'd been expecting hunters, though to be honest vampires hadn't been ruled out either. He hadn't expected them to be the Winchester boys, though. Hadn't expected meeting them to feel so…off, either.
And what Dean had said there, at the end. Gordon had just been about to open his mouth and say the same damn thing. He'd meant it as a joke – what was a little pissing contest between hunters now, anyway? – but the older Winchester had said it first. And not just a random, tossed-on-the-wind insult. Dean had used the damn same words – word for word – that he'd had been about to say himself.
Gordon watched the two of them walk away, an uneasy feeling in his gut. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew one thing for sure. He trusted his gut, and it sure as hell didn't trust the Winchesters.
-o-o-o-
As soon as they were back in the car, Sam was on him.
"What was that about? That was one of the few hunters we've ever met outside of Dad's contacts!" Sam sounded pissy, but Dean knew him better. He was more worried than anything else. "Why rush off? We could have helped him with the nest."
Dean was shaking his head before his brother was finished. "Not this one, Sammy. Gordon's bad news. We want nothing to do with him."
He glanced in the side mirror, looking for any signs that the hunter had followed them. He hadn't sensed anyone tailing them again, but he didn't trust Gordon Walker and he didn't trust Time as far as he could throw either of them (and considering one of them was a friggin' unattainable physics concept, that wasn't very friggin' far).
"We should get out of town tonight." And not stop at a motel like they'd been planning. Gordon could go and get himself killed by one of those vamps, for all Dean cared. Hell, he was half hoping for it. Would sure save them a lot of future pain. "Trust me on this one."
It was clear by the slant of Sam's eyes that he was going to need more explanation than that (and Dean would give it) but he didn't argue as he started up the car and pointed them away from Red Lodge, Montana.
-o-o-o-
It was later that night and two towns over, settling into a motel for the night, that Sam finally figured out why leaving Gordon Walker to his hunt bothered him so much.
"We can't always run."
Dean looked up at the words, delivered evenly. Sam wasn't looking for a fight, but he knew it could escalate into one easily enough, especially if they kept doing it.
"You said we let one of the vampires go last time. Because her nest was only killing cows. If Gordon finishes the hunt, she's dead. That's on us; we should have stayed."
"Sam, she was a vamp." Dean held his hand up before Sam started talking over him. "I know things aren't always black and white, alright? She may not have deserved to die, but her nest was still calling a hell of a lot of attention to themselves. That's on them, not us."
"And the next time?" When the older Winchester just frowned, Sam continued, "The next time we're on a hunt you know ends badly, are we just going to keep running? Cas said we had to stay on the timeline-"
"Screw the damn timeline!" Dean was shaking his head. "Gordon tried to kill you in that timeline, damnit. Multiple times, and he got damn close to succeeding! That same timeline wants you dead, Sam, or did you forget? So no, I'm not putting you and Gordon Walker in the same state if I can help it. If Time wants to say the same, she's going to have to work for this one."
All good points, Sam could concede, but he had a point too. After all, what if that vampire they had saved went on to do something important? It could be something as minor as convincing one more vampire to go human-free. One more vampire they didn't face in the future. Maybe the vampire that finally took one of them down. Or someone they cared about. Or someone else vital to the future.
Time was a pond full of thousands of ripples. They couldn't afford to keep making more.
"We can't always run, Dean."
His brother sighed, scrubbing at his short hair. "I know, alright? We pick our battles. But this is one of them."
"Alright," Sam answered after a pause, yielding because he had every intention of keeping his brother to that compromise. It didn't sit right with him that they turned tail as soon as they knew a battle wouldn't go their way, and he had the feeling Dean wasn't planning on changing that strategy any time soon.
They were better men than that. Better hunters. If they were going to stop an apocalypse, they would have to be.
-o-o-o-
As luck would have it, Gordon Walker did not get killed by vampires that night. It had been one hell of a close call though. Close enough he'd even thought, for just the briefest of moments, maybe he should have taken Sam on his offer to team up. He'd shaken off the thought just as soon as the vampire who nearly took his head off was alleviated of his own.
He cleaned the rest of the nest out by dawn, burning the bodies and making sure none had escaped like in Austin. Then he packed up and left town, looking for his next hunt. A couple weeks of travel and killing eventually landed him close enough to the Roadhouse for a stop, and low and behold, it was poker night. He figured, sure, he could do with a little more cash on the side – the werewolf two states back and cost him a pretty penny in silver before he'd gone down.
They were several hands in, Gordon already on the up in both money and his companions' ire, when he casually dropped the Winchester name. It sparked a new round of conversation, a couple of the boys telling tall tales about run-ins with John. One man that Gordon didn't know well enough to trust stood up for him. Another muttered something dark that wasn't quite catchable.
"What about his boys?" Gordon asked, again keeping his tone carefree. "I met them a couple weeks back. They offered a team-up. Think I should have taken it?"
Anyone who knew Gordon Walker would have thought it a weird question. He didn't do team-ups. But these men didn't. Or had a drink too many in them to notice.
A couple more stories got passed around – rumors mostly. Only one of them had actually interacted with John's boys. He'd kept them pretty tucked away, was the overall consensus. It wasn't the kind of information Gordon was looking for and he'd just about called it a bust when someone new spoke up.
"Dean's psychic." The voice hadn't come from their table, and Gordon snapped a sharp gaze to the man sitting just behind them, nursing a drink of his own. He was pretty far gone already, hiccupping into the beer as he took another sip.
"Bullshit." Steve Wandell – the man who had spoken in John's defense – glanced at the others for support. "Dean Winchester ain't no psychic."
"Heard Ellen say it herself," the man grumbled defensively, glaring their way. "Handed her a hunt – thing was confusing as shit – and she straight up called him 'bout it. He already knew all 'bout the damn thing. Couple hours later, Dean Winchester strolls in like he owns the place."
The poker table fell quiet as the men glanced at one another in shock.
"Well, shit," Ramsey Masters – a dunce of a man, but build like a brick shithouse – shook his head in disbelieve. "No wonder he hid those boys away. Bet John didn't want that getting out."
The conversation turned to the hypocrisy of a hunter like that having a psychic for a son, how that must have put John's boxers in one hell of a twist and that the boy was lucky to be alive at all. Gordon stopped listening. The others didn't even notice that he wasn't laughing along.
"I fold."
The vamp hunter pushed back from the table amid minor outcry. Sort of cheap to walk out when you had everyone's money, after all. He tossed a couple of bills back onto the pile, pocketing the rest. On his way out he offered Ellen a wave and Jo a wink which wasn't returned. It never was, but he didn't mind much.
He left the Roadhouse, tossing his keys in the air as he went, a whistle on his lips and Dean Winchester on his mind.
-o-o-o-
Lilith was pouring over maps of North America, more specifically the four potential Hell Gates located across the continent. Azazel was correct; Fossil Butte Cemetery was their best option. It was the most accessible, the best positioned for getting demons into hosts quickly and efficiently, and there were at least two dozen seals primed and ready in the United States. Not to mention the entrance of Lucifer's cage this century had lined up on the east coast of the country.
One of the States' hell gates was clearly the superior choice for their plan.
If Fossil Butte fell, the backup was the one in Arizona. It was still within the boundaries of the country, so they wouldn't need to worry about getting hundreds of possessed humans across borders. But it was a tricky one to open, with multiple factors needing to line up perfectly and the timing damn close. Lilith had her best people on it, but still their success rested entirely on things outside their control.
The Canadian and Mexican Gates were the backups of their backups, and Hell's Princess was really hoping it didn't come to that. The gate in southern Wyoming would be so much easier. Which was probably why Samuel Colt had built a fucking hundred square mile devil's trap around it.
"I want forces on both backup gates, but put the larger contingent at Oaxaca." Her lieutenant shuffled the papers around at her command, writing a quick note down before he pulled out a detailed map of the Hell Gate located in southern Mexico.
"It's a long distance to travel, and that border will be harder to cross in mass without calling attention to ourselves," he commented blandly. Lilith didn't have a particular like or dislike of this soldier. He was good with the paperwork, fast to answer her commands and see her will done, and didn't seem terrified of her in the slightest. Which was probably what let him point out flaws in her plans without getting his head removed.
Useful, but it still pissed her off.
"The Slave River Gate may be closer, but it's in the middle of nowhere," she bit back, the challenge in her words more or less a reminder to him who was in charge. Not that he ever questioned it. Another thing that pissed her off. "We need available hosts. Line the men up for Oaxaca."
He jotted down another note in silence, gathered the maps in a shuffle, and peeled an entirely different paper off the top of the stack he'd been carrying when he entered the room. "The newest report from Azazel."
She took it harshly. That yellow eyed bastard hadn't checked in by blood for weeks now, and she was starting to take it personally. As she read the report, she went from being affronted to full fury.
"He's lost the Winchesters again?!"
Her lieutenant didn't even blink. He took the paper back. "Only the ability to track them. They appear to have warded themselves. Azazel has not been able to enter Sam Winchester's dreams in some time. It is unclear if he has found a way to ward his mind or is simply not sleeping."
"I told him he was pushing Sam too hard with the blood!" She let out a howl of rage, kicking at the base of the rock-formed table and scuffing her little white shoe. They should have sent in Ruby. She wouldn't have messed this up so royally. "Get me our best demon for tracking humans. We'll find them the old fashion way."
"So…" her man finally hesitated, raising a bland eyebrow. "I'll summon Crowley, then?"
The Princess let out another enraged shriek, but braced against the rock table rather than break the entire thing in two like she wanted. He had a point, even if she was loathe to admit it. God, she hated that bastard. There was just something so… slimy about him, even for a demon. And lazy. And entitled! But…he did have all the connections they needed and the time he spent topside as the King of the Crossroads (a title he had given himself)meant he was the best of those in high command to utilize human's ever developing technology.
"Yes, fine, whatever." She kicked the rock again for good measure. "And tell Azazel to move up his timetable. Now. I am done playing games with these hunters!"
Her lieutenant excused himself with a dip of his head and she went back to studying the gate just outside Gallup, Arizona. She was pretty sure the damn pagans had sealed that one up, if the level of tricks and riddles hiding the damn thing was any indication. Nuisances, the lot of them. But she had her best, the girl she'd been ready to set on Sam, hunting down the last of the Hopi gods and guardians, looking for an answer.
Another hour or so passed before Crowley was knocking on the smoldering stone entrance to their war room. She waved him in without even looking up.
"I need a way to track the Winchesters." As he opened his mouth, likely to deliver a rivetingly unhelpful and sarcastic comment, she clarified, "A human way."
"Have you tried microchipping them? It's all the rage with lost pets these days." He rolled on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets and she considered breaking every last one of his fingers.
"A realistic option, Crowley. Now." Her snippiness never seemed to affect him much. Unlike her lieutenant, whose calm was unbreakable, Crowley just didn't seem to give a crap. It always rubbed her the wrong way. She wasn't stupid; the demon in front of her was intelligent. One of the more intelligent among the High Command. He just didn't seem to care about applying it for anything more than irritating the rest of them.
She didn't trust that either. No demon was passive.
"Do you have a number we could track?" he asked instead, shrugging half-heartedly. "Cellphones have GPS nowadays. It's quite easy, if you have the right people in your pocket. We just need a number to call, love."
She chewed on the inside of her lip, annoyed. She didn't need the obvious answers. "We tried that; there are no numbers registered under their real names. They have to be using aliases. And we can't tap their friends' phones to wait for them to call. Most of them have warding on their landlines."
And no cellphones under their names, either. Damn paranoid, tax-evading hunters.
Crowley hummed, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Lilith raised her eyebrows at him and he gave her a tight lipped smile. "Hmm, I think I recall reading something in the prophet's work. Wasn't a number left in John Winchester's voicemail – one of the early books? You know, I believe there was..."
She hadn't gotten to read them herself – they had a hard enough time keeping their own paperwork from bursting into flames down here – but she'd personally slit the throats of the eleven demons she'd put on the task for missing that.
"It'll be a one-time shot, of course," Crowley continued. "Once they figure it out, Dean will surely change numbers."
"Do it," Lilith commanded with a nod. "Get Azazel the results."
He gave a mock little bow, and Lilith decided to put off ordering his assassination for at least another week. Damn demon always seemed to provide the right amount of information just when she was absolutely at her limit and would suffer him no longer. Slimy bastard probably did it on purpose.
-o-o-o-
The woman looked up from her book as Tom's cell phone rang. The demon pulled it out of his pocket with a taunting smile her way, which she returned with a sneer. He flipped the thing open and pressed it to his ear.
"Hello?" His tone remained neutral, and the woman could not hear the other side of the conversation. So it was with some surprise that Tom lowered the device, said, "It's for you," and tossed it to her.
She caught it with a fumble, having to hastily drop the last of the Supernatural series, and practically snapping the device shut in the meanwhile. She shot him a glare, raising the phone to her ear, but there was nothing.
"Your sense of humor leaves so much to be desired." The woman snapped the phone shut and picked her book back up. She had no intention of returning the mobile device to the demon and far more interest in what happened with the reaper and the hospital.
"Oh, you have to dial first," he interrupted her reading again with a shark-toothed grin. "Don't you know how phones work?"
She glared at him, neither of them blinking since neither of them had the need, until she flipped the stupid thing back open. He was well aware she'd never actually used one before.
He smiled widely. "866-907-3235."
The number sounded vaguely familiar, which the woman found curious. She had no experience calling anyone (the phone in the motel had been conveniently disabled shortly before the Professor was brought in) and the only numbers she had heard since came from the television, and those were rare. Somehow, she doubted her babysitter was having her call one of those.
She pushed the buttons without taking her furious green eyes off of the demon, raising the phone to her ear. "And who am I calling?"
Tom didn't answer, but the owner of the number she dialed did. "Hello?"
The woman kept narrowed eyes on the smirking demon. "Hello."
"…Yeah? Who is this?" the man on the other end, suspicion now in his voice, sounded annoyed.
"Who's this?" she parroted blandly, still eyeing her keeper, who seemed content to lean back in the motel chair, crossing his arms behind his head. She was pretty sure she had seen this conversation occur on television. It had been funny then.
"Look, lady, you called me."
"Did I?"
Tom chanced a glance at his watch.
"Yeah, you did. Now what the hell do you want?"
The demon watched the seconds tick by before he gave her a thumbs up and then swirled his pointer finger in the air. She was unfamiliar with the gesture, but got the gist.
"Must be a wrong number." She pulled the phone from her ear and pressed the end call. The woman tossed the phone back to the demon, unimpressed. "What was the purpose of that?"
"Oh, just finding a wayward sheep." He sat up from his relaxed position, looking down at the phone like he expected a call. Sure enough, a moment later it started ringing. He flipped it open without so much as looking at the number. "Got it? Great. We'll see you there."
He stood, stretched his arms over his head until his back gave a loud pop, and then bent over to the duffle bag at his feet that he had brought with him the day before. He pulled a new set of fabrics out along with a pair of ridiculous looking things that the woman could only assume were shoes, given their vague foot-like shape, if one ignored the six inch spikes protruding from the heel. She'd seen such nonsense on the television, and had wondered how the women (and that one man on that one very weird show she'd stumbled upon) had managed to walk in them.
"Get dressed, Princess." Tom tossed her the pile. "It's time to meet your Prince Charming."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Dean's number: I take anything mentioned in the show as being written in the books. Apparently, while I was not part of the fandom in those first two years, the number listed in John's voicemail for Dean was an actual number the show set up that you could call, which went to a voicemail of Dean telling John to call them if he got this. It was eventually disabled, but I thought that was pretty damn cool. Gotta love those guys, they always go all out for the fans :D
High Heels Bit: Okay, so that last paragraph was supposed to have an additional line at the very end about actresses in high heels, but I had to remove it due to chronology. However, I loved the line so much (and it gives more info about our mystery woman) that I think you all should get to have it anyway:
"One actress had even run in a pair, chased by a large, lizard-like beast that apparently represented a dinosaur (if she had correctly understood the plot) but looked nothing like the actual creatures she'd once seen roam the earth."
I was so excited to put it in there because that seen in Jurassic World cracked me up and also because feathered dinosaurs for the win! But I *couldn't* because that movie didn't release until 2015. I actually didn't catch that until my third read through :P
P.S. Since we're talking about chronology (and mistakes), a reviewer brought attention long long ago (and I've been so bad about getting back to people) to my use of Twilight jokes. S/He was correct that the movies did not come out until 2008 but by 2006 the books were in full swing and gaining mass popularity. So I figured it was fairly safe to keep using those jokes, as I can only imagine vampire hunters (Dean particularly) would find the idea of sexualized teenage sparkly vampires worth laughing about.
Keep keeping me on my toes, guys! I get stuff wrong all the time (and barely catch most of it last minute. Looking at you and those terrifying red heels, Bryce Howard!)
P.P.S. I've kind of been assuming that you all either enjoy my little A/N rants and behind-the-scenes tidbits or just skip them if they're not your thing. But maaaybe someone should tell me if they're annoying, because I can also cut them out. As if the A/N rambles at the start of each chapter weren't hint enough, I am a *little bit* of a chatterbox. (Just a little ;P)
Reviews: "Like button pushed!" There, you can even copy and paste it now :P Come on, guys, Gordon Walker thinks Dean is the psychic this time around! That means he's gonna try and kill HIM, not Sam, and Dean has no idea it's coming! Yell at me about it! I've got chest feathers that need preening! XD