Chapter Reference – the Baltimore Case: Before Croatoan, the boys were on a case with a dirty cop (Peter Sheridan) who murdered a lawyer and his wife, pinning it on Dean when he was found at the crime scene. Sam was also arrested, but Andy managed to pose as their lawyer and get Sam out using his Jedi powers (which was seen on the security cameras). Agent Henriksen showed up at the end to interrogate the partner, Diana Ballard, who helped the Winchesters escape. See Chapters 69-73 for a refresher!
Chapter Reference – the Shapeshifter in St. Louis: In this story's version of events, Sam and Dean were able to track down the shapeshifter in the sewers before he managed to impersonate Dean. See Chapter 12 in the main story and Chapter 3 of the Deleted Scenes for refreshers on how that case went down.
Chapter Reference – Cold Oak Kids: Just a quick reminder since it has been several chapters (and that equals several weeks in Real Life), the kids at cold oak with Andy were Scott Carey (emo-looking kid who had an electrifying touch), Amanda (Berkley University Softball player and reader of minds), and Jonathon Bailey (teleporter and all around asshole). See Chapters 79-82 for a refresher!
Chapter Reference – Meeting Andy: In this timeline, the boys met Andy while driving towards Guthrie, Oklahoma. Andy was fleeing the crime scene (Tracy's coffee shop) where Weber had killed Tracy and Andy had killed Weber. He swerved to avoid hitting the Impala, and crashed his awesome van into a tree on the side of the road. See Chapter 63 for a refresher!
Chapter Reference - God's Talk with Dean: At the end of Chuck's talk with Dean, when the hunter showed up on his doorstep, demanding he fix things, God told him that he was helping, as much as he could, even if Dean didn't believe him. Then he wiped Dean's memory of most of that conversation, leaving the hunter with the notion that he had gone to chat with God, but couldn't really remember what they discussed or what God even looked like. See Chapter 38 for a refresher of their conversation.
Chapter Reference – Meg and Tom: Very quick reminder, not even a chapter reference really, that Tom and Meg are considered siblings under Azazel's tutelage, and Meg is dead in this timeline (killed by Dean via the Colt).
A/Ns: Man. Phew. I think I like action chapters more, there's way less I have to go through and mark than these chapters where we talk and puzzle and solve and recall all the things!
Chapter Warnings: We are talking and puzzling and solving and recalling all the things! The boys try and figure out how Henriksen got on their case early when he should have even less to go on this time around. Andy enjoys things worth living for, and Tom graduates to the big boy table.
Oh, and the boys stop at Starbucks.
-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 54
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
While his phone played annoyingly typical elevator music in his ear, Victor stared at the set of photographs, printed by the hospital for him. They would be included in the final report the staff at Sturgis Hospital sent to the FBI's – the real FBI's – but for now Henriksen insisted they give him hard copies. They couldn't afford any more mess-ups where the Winchesters were concerned.
Henriksen set the pictures onto the conference table. He was in a private administrative room that the hospital hastily offered up upon his request. (Really, it had been nothing short of a demand; Victor wasn't shy about that fact). The room would also serve as a base of operations for the Sturgis Police, when they got there. They had been called in to handle the paperwork shit-show this was about to become. Victor would be lucky to get out of there by nightfall, and that was with him passing off as much responsibility as he could to just about anyone else.
Glancing down to the top photograph, fingers spread across its glossy surface, the face of Andy Gallagher stared up at the FBI agent. The lawyer. Henriksen shook his head. Their missing body from Cold Oak was the lawyer from Baltimore that had so mysteriously aided in Sam Winchester's escape from custody. Victor had almost laughed when the hospital staff handed the photos to him.
The man's injuries, however, were anything but laughable. Mr. Gallagher – the FBI had run facial recognition on the CTV images from the Baltimore precinct and gotten a hit for an open warrant out of Oklahoma – was now a mute, according to the doctor who had dealt with the injuries that night he'd come in. The same night Ranger Danson found three bodies burning on a funeral pyre in Cold Oak.
An interesting turn of events, the significance of which was not overlooked by Agent Henriksen. The guy that Detective Diana Ballard and several other BPD officers testified could hypnotize people into doing just about anything, had been attacked and permanently silenced. Some coincidence.
"Yes, I'm still here," Victor growled into the phone as David Attingwood, his go-to data analyst, came back on the line. He was way too chipper for Agent Henriksen's current mood. He was always way too chipper for Victor's mood. "Did the blood match?"
"Patience is a virtue," Agent Attingwood said down the line, voice a little sing-songy. Victor snorted, rubbing at his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose. David was a damn good analysis, Henriksen reminded himself, and he would not be as good if he had to work through a broken nose and two black eyes.
Victor took a deep breath in, then let it out way too fast to be calming in any way. "How long?"
He'd requested the unidentified blood they'd found at Cold Oak be sent to Guthrie, Oklahoma. There, the police could compare it to the unidentified blood found at the scene of a double murder. It remained an open case in Guthrie, with Andy Gallagher as the lead suspect. Given Mr. Gallagher's connection to both victims – the owner of the café and an employee – along with a witness claiming he'd delivered a message for Andy to head to that same coffee shop earlier that night, the young man had become an immediate suspect, wanted for questioning. The Guthrie Police never found him, but they did find his van, also covered in the same unknown blood, and the blood of both victims. No one could say for sure until they found Andy Gallagher, but general consensus and common sense suggested the man was a killer.
Victor had no doubts, considering the company Mr. Gallagher was currently keeping.
"Probably tomorrow at the earliest, Boss."
The FBI agent sighed. Ah well. Matching the blood to the open murder in Guthrie wasn't that crucial a piece of evidence in this. Confirming it was Andy Gallagher that had been injured in Cold Oak was not his primary concern. Finding him was.
"Alright, fine. While we wait for that, then, I want the records of every phone call and text made in this area for the last three days. Any number that pinged off the four nearest towers. If direction becomes a choice on those, go towards Cold Oak."
"Uh…" David sounded the most hesitant Henriksen had ever heard him. The kid lived to please, and Victor had definitely taken advantage of that more than once in his career. David cleared his throat. "That's going to be a lot of numbers."
"I don't care," the agent growled again. "I'll cross-reference them myself if I have to. I'll put money on the Winchesters chatting with each other, and with the kid. The nurses confirmed Gallagher had a phone on him and that the Winchesters respected visiting hours. That means they likely texted back and forth outside of those times, so look for three numbers chatting with each other and no one else in the area."
If they could get those numbers, they could get a warrant to track them.
David sighed down the line. "Alright, I'm on it. But you're signing my overtime checks this month."
Victor rolled his eyes and reminded himself, again, that his annoying little analyst was the fastest, and he would no longer be the fastest if he had to work with broken fingers. Henriksen slid the photo and medical report into a blue folder, tucking it under his arm and and heading for the door. Time to review the hospital security tapes. Maybe he'd get lucky and catch one of the Winchesters on their phones. Then he'd have a time stamp to cross-reference with the call logs.
-o-o-o-
It took almost half an hour of flipping through stations on the radio, driving away from Sturgis as fast as they reckoned was safe without calling attention from any highway patrols, before the Winchesters found what had tipped Henriksen off.
"There are no new developments as of yet on the three bodies found at the old mining town of Cold Oak, located in Black Hills National Forest," the female newscaster announced, calm and detached, through Baby's speakers. Dean glanced at Sam, the two sharing an identical look. In the backseat, Andy blanched, body going rigid. His hand crept up towards his neck. "The victims remain unidentified, but we are told police are working on sketches that they plan to release to the public. Anyone with any information is urged to come forward regarding the blaze or any suspicious activity in the area."
When the woman switched to the next news story, Dean turned the radio off and a heavy silence pervaded the car. Clearing his throat, the older Winchester glanced at Andy in the rear view mirror, but the kid wasn't looking back. He was definitely too pale, and Dean fretted internally about taking the kid from the hospital too soon. Not that they'd had any other options, of course.
"We should have stayed," he muttered, more under his breath than out loud, but Sam heard it all the same, and knew he was talking about Cold Oak. Probably because he was busy thinking it himself.
"We needed to get back," Sam added, just as softly spoken, like Andy somehow might not here them, sitting two feet away. Might not realize he was the reason they needed to get back. Not a decision either Winchester regretted for a second. "We didn't have an option, Dean."
Which the older Winchester knew. He hadn't even wanted to leave Andy in the first place. Part of him, even now, wanted to bitch about how it had been the wrong decision. The newscaster mentioned a blaze. The only reason those bodies had been found at all was because the Winchesters started that fire. If they'd just left the bodies where they lie or, better yet, not gone in the first place, Andy would still be recovering in a hospital where he belonged and Henriksen would be none the wiser.
Of course, then three bodies would have been left to rot without so much as a proper burial – a regrettable fate for two of the three – and left alone, the situation was more than perfect for churning out vengeful spirits. Plus, Andy never would have known the fate of Scott or Amanda, something Dean was very sure would haunt the kid.
It wasn't the wrong decision and, for the most part, it had worked out in the end. Except for the whole, FBI being hot on their heels, now.
"How'd he know it was us?" Dean asked aloud, realizing that three bodies on a funeral pyre in a ghost town should, in no way, lead the FBI to the Winchesters. Not yet, anyway. They shouldn't even be known by most of the agency. Not four at least another year. Dean glanced at Sam, who had one eyebrow up in silent question, and explained, "Henriksen. How did he show up at that hospital?"
The younger Winchester shrugged. "There was a lot of blood at Cold Oak." Sam winced even as the words left his mouth, glancing over his shoulder, but Andy still wasn't looking at them. It hadn't even been Amanda or Scotts. It had mostly been his. "They probably found at least some of it that didn't match any of the victims, and started searching hospitals for a fourth body."
"Right, but Henriksen was on our case specifically."
Sam frowned as Dean glanced between him and the road several times. He tried to go back through the brief interaction at the hospital, but didn't come up with anything that would give his brother that idea. He hadn't realized Henriksen was there looking for them, specifically, so much as he was on the Cold Oak case, looking for a missing victim, and happened to find them. "Last time, you mean?"
"Yeah, Sam. He'd been following us for months before he caught up. Since…" Dean frowned, going silent as he often did when trying to recall events from his other life. It was getting more difficult. He had two sets of memories for more than a year's worth of time, and every year forward was one more year between him and those original memories. Shit was slipping through the cracks every day.
Dean tapped his thumb on the steering wheel as he finally came up with the right memory. "Since St. Louis."
"St. Louis?" Sam's brow furled. He couldn't recall anything that would have the FBI on their tail. The only case they'd even worked in that town this year had been minor, at best. "What happened in St. Louis?"
Dean swore softly. This was definitely one of those double memories. "That shapeshifter. The one in the sewers."
Andy shifted in the backseat, attention drawn back to them ever so slightly. He always had enjoyed hearing about the cases the Winchesters worked before they'd run into him and become his life. Sam, though, still wasn't following. He remembered the shapeshifter. Remembered Dean going a little overkill on the takedown, actually.
"Did…something happen differently last time?"
Dean blew out a breath that said yes, absolutely yes. "He might have gotten a sample of my DNA before we managed to take him down."
Well before, but Dean didn't really want to go into details.
Sam's eyes widened, eyebrows climbing into his hair, and Dean refused to look at him. It hadn't been his proudest moment, alright, getting kidnapped and tied up, stuck in the filth and smell of a sewer with that damn tarp draped over him while some psychopath went and murdered women with his face.
"Cops took him down, but he was wearing my face. I took all the blame. Five women murdered, and one dead Winchester to show for it."
"Holy shit," Sam said. At the same time, an image of a cow wearing a halo and angel wings flashed purposefully through both their brains. Dean sent Andy a raised eyebrow through the backseat, but the kid still wasn't quite making eye contact yet.
"So…you were dead?" Sam hazarded, ignoring Andy's well-timed and similar reaction.
"I mean, on paper, yeah." Dean shrugged a shoulder shrug, going for nonchalant and not quite making it. "Pretty sure me showing up in a Baltimore Police Department months later on another murder charge kinda drew the attention of the FBI at that point."
"Wow." Sam turned back to the windshield, a little shell-shocked to learn his brother had fake-died in another universe. Fake-died after being framed for the murder and rape of five women. Including the sister-in-law-to-be of one of Sam's closest college friends. Holy Cow indeed. "That sucks."
"Yeah," Dean huffed out, voice more amused than bitter, but bitter all the same. He was pretty damn glad they'd avoided that incident this time around, too. Although, it still begged the same question they didn't have an answer to. "But St. Louis didn't go down that way this time. So what tipped Henriksen off?"
"Well…we still got arrested in Baltimore." Sam's tone stayed even, but Dean was pretty sure he heard the 'no thanks to you' comment in there.
It did not help the case when Andy sent several images, the first of Dean, the second of a kid wearing a dunce cap, and the third, probably what he'd been trying to send all along, was a composite image of the two; Dean sat on a stool, dunce cap on head, frowny face on full. But the image was fuzzy at the edges with an overall blurry quality, not nearly as clear as what had all previously been things he'd seen firsthand.
Still, the message behind it was clear enough.
"Shaddup," Dean grumbled in Andy's direction, the kid looking inordinately pleased with himself. Like he'd told his 'lawyer' that day in the interrogation room: he didn't remember getting arrested on that case. At least, not till later, when it was entirely too late and unhelpful. "That doesn't answer my question. I still wanna know how Henriksen got from there to here. We didn't exactly take the time to be careful in Cold Oak, but what could possibly have tied it to us-"
Andy sat upright in the backseat, startling realization wide in his eyes and open mouth. Then they were bombarded by too many images to understand. Dean was glad he didn't get anything more than a mild head rush from the kid's powers. Poor Sam, on the other hand. The images themselves were enough for Dean, and he didn't get a real clear read on any one of them, except they all had a unifying theme: blood. Blood, blood, and more blood. Enough blood to be seriously concerning on where Andy's head was at.
"Andy, slow down, we don't understand," Sam managed to say through a clenched jaw, automatically rubbing at his temple and the headache that spiked there.
Andy leaned forward, hands curling around the top of the front seat, knuckles going white, as he tried again. He started slow, attempting desperately to get the message across well enough to interpret. What came next to both the Winchester wasn't an image so much as a feeling. A memory, really. Less of one seen and more something physically felt.
Sam didn't move, he knew he didn't move, but he had the distinct impression he was tapping his hand against his chest.
Then the feeling cut out abruptly, replaced by an image of Wiley Coyote, a blinking arrow pointing to him in only the blatant way of Looney Tunes comedy. That didn't make much sense, but then it was replaced with a different cartoon character, one Sam didn't recognize, holding up a sign that read 'That's me!' and finally, an image of Andy himself. Then the Wiley repeat, red arrow blinking on and off.
'It's me.'
The distinct feeling of patting his chest came back, and Sam realized it wasn't just a memory or a thought. Andy, remembering that he was half a foot away from the two of them, that the brothers had eyes and he had more than just his powers as a method of communication, started animatedly tapping his chest. He was mouthing the words.
'It was me.'
"Okay," Dean said slowly, getting better at seeing both Andy's persistent images and the road at the same time without swerving or drifting into the other lane. Well, mostly. "How?"
Another flash of blood, too much blood, followed before Andy was able to wrangle control back from his brain. They'd discovered over the last two days that he often thought faster than his control could handle.
It was the first set of images he'd tried to send, only slower this time. Dean wished he hadn't asked. It wasn't a set of images, it was a memory. Like a video, only Dean had no control over the play and pause buttons.
He was on his hands and knees on hard-packed dirt. Only it wasn't his hands beneath him. He didn't necessarily recognize it as Andy's hand, but Dean had a pretty damn good idea what he was seeing. His other hand – not his hand – was out of sight, but the hunter knew where that was, too. Clutching a throat that wasn't his, recently split open. Blood poured to the ground below in a god damn waterfall of death and Dean knew what he was witnessing, like he had lived it, firsthand.
The older Winchester's hands tightened dangerously on the steering wheel, Baby's leather creaking under the undeserved punishment.
Then the image was gone, thank god, and Dean heard Sam let out a slow, measured breath beside him. Practiced calm in the face of a situation – a god damn memory – that was anything but. Four images followed before either Winchester was ready to see any more. It was a clip from a show Dean didn't recognize, but the CSI-style lab was obvious enough, with a person in a white coat running something through a spectrometer. A small kitchen soaked in blood was next – red splattered on the walls, pooling on the floor, dripping off a knife – with a very obviously dead woman lay in the middle of that kitchen. The same girl, alive and smiling, turned towards them in the next clip, her face lit up with a smile that practically made her glow. Sam wouldn't recognize that girl, but Dean knew who she was. Tracy. Andy's girl. The one who Weber had tried to make jump off a dam in another lifetime. He'd done a lot worse in this one. The last image was another memory, like the one of Tracy smiling. It was the inside of a car, a steering wheel covered in blood and the sensation of shakily raising a hand to an injured head. Steam rose from a crunched in hood, visible through the cracked windshield. Dean had never been inside Andy's van, but he'd seen the end result of that accident enough to piece together the clues.
"Blood," Sam said aloud, connecting at least that much, though that much was the easy part. "You think they were able to identify the blood at Cold Oak as yours?"
Andy shrugged. Hadn't some of the evidence against him in Tracy's murder been blood at the scene? Blood the cops would have later found in his van? He'd left one hell of a puddle of that same blood back in Cold Oak. If the cops tried running it, looking for a match, they'd eventually get his name from the open murder case in Oklahoma. And since all three of them had been caught on camera in Baltimore, his name would lead the FBI right to the Winchesters.
"They'd have had your face from Baltimore. From the cameras," Dean worked through the same equation out loud, glancing in the rear view mirror as Andy nodded along. "I'm sure the FBI got called in to deal with the whole scandal. They would have run facial recognition on all of us."
"Which would have led them Guthrie, Oklahoma," Sam added. "A search on Andy's face would have gotten them to his warrant."
"Okay, that's all back in Baltimore, though. It still doesn't explain how the hell Henriksen figured out we were here. Any other cop or even FBI checking hospitals for an injured vic from Cold Oak, I'd buy." Dean rapped his knuckles against the steering wheel. "But Henriksen himself? Doesn't running blood take, like, time or something? It hasn't even been three full days!"
Dean huffed in frustration, thoughts circling back through that night and everything they'd done. They hadn't been careful while torching those bodies, but what could they have possibly left behind that screamed Winchesters loud enough that somebody thought to call the FBI. He got how Henriksen might have been on their case in Baltimore due to security tapes and the fact those cops had their names, but it wasn't like there was CCTV in Cold Oak.
His brain came to a stuttering halt.
That car. They'd passed only one car on the way into and out of that stupid town. Dean hadn't paid it any attention, far more concerned with their ailing third member, shaking in the backseat as the next round of morphine started to kick in and the car just started to warm up. But if it hadn't been some random passerby to spot that blaze in Cold Oak, if it had specifically been a ranger… Then a LEO had gotten a visual on the type of car they drove and probably a loose description of the two men in the front seat.
"Shit," Dean muttered. Sam eyed him for more to go on. "That car we passed, you think it could have been a Ranger? One that got our license plate or managed a police sketch?"
Even that, though, was a leap to landing in Henriksen's lap. Sure, the Impala had been included in Baltimore PD's report the last go around, but this time… Dean didn't think the cops had ever caught sight of it. Baby hadn't ended up in impound, and had stayed relatively safe and out of the way with Andy. But, really, Time was a bitch who liked to screw with them, so what did Dean actually know anymore, anyway?
In the end, the how didn't matter so much. If the plates were what tied them back to Baltimore and ultimately the feds, they'd have to change them ASAP.
"Some Forest Service vehicles are equipped with dash cams," Sam reasoned even further, though the subject wasn't something he knew a lot about. He hadn't even noticed another car passing them in Black Hills; he'd been busy taking care of their passenger struggling not to pass out in their backseat. However, Sam had seen a documentary once on illegal logging, poaching, and vandalism in State Parks. It had been four in the morning, several years ago when he was still a freshman at Stanford struggling with keeping a non-hunter's sleep schedule in a room not nearly warded to his father's standards, listening to an unfamiliar snoring in the bed across from him. Sam had watched a lot of mindless documentaries those first few months. "If they got an image of us…"
"Facial recognition takes a lot less time to run then blood." And a lot less guess work than a police sketch. Dean shook his head, realizing that possibility was even more likely than the license plate. Even if it wasn't, they should still change them out at the next stop. Henriksen likely did get a look at those plates as they tore away from the hospital. "Damnit. We should have just left the bodies there."
Andy retreated away from the front seat slowly, like he was hoping maybe they wouldn't notice as he sunk into the back and tried to disappear into the seat. Of course, he had no such luck among these brothers, who noticed immediately. Dean swore softly under his breath, glancing in the rear view again. Andy wasn't as pale as he'd been the last few days, but he still looked quietly stricken, realizing Dean was talking about Scott and Amanda.
"I'm sorry, kid." The apology was sincere, and brown eyes flickered to Dean's in the mirror. Andy shrugged and raised a hand, three fingers spread out, pointer and thumb forming a circle.
'It's okay.'
"We need more information," Dean switched topics, or at least circled back to the original one with the kind of conviction that screamed guilt and avoidance. The other occupants in the car didn't call him on it, though, or the way he had to clear his throat to get the words out.
In the passenger seat, Sam shrugged. "Find me a place with wifi decent enough for a hack and we'll see what the police reports say."
It took them almost another twenty minutes to find a place with free wifi. God, Dean missed the days where friggin' McDonalds had free wifi, and it didn't matter anyway because Sam could have just done all of it on his phone to start with. Those were the good days; the past sucked.
-o-o-o-
They ended up in the parking lot of a Starbucks. Dean went in to get the wifi password (had he mentioned he also missed the days where places no longer cared if you were a paying customer?) and was about to grumble out the most basic order he could think of in the frou frou coffee shop, when Andy bounced into the store behind him. He beamed at the lady on the other side of the counter, then tugged on Dean's elbow like a five year old getting their dad's attention. The hunter was, unsurprisingly, accosted by seven different images.
"Pick an easier order," he growled beneath his breath, but Andy shook his head, smiling that innocent little piece-of-shit smile of his. He repeated each image, slightly slower this time, and Dean tilted his head back, praying for patience from a God he knew wasn't listening but oh, he hoped He was if only to have Him share in Dean's annoyance firsthand. The older Winchester lowered his head back down, meeting the understanding but also amused eyes of the barista. "Large decaf white chocolate peppermint mocha, extra whip cream."
Deadpan green eyes slid to the beaming idiot beside him in a pure glare of deep-seated, big brother loathing. But Andy was holding his hands out in a the-fish-was-this-big gesture Dean didn't understand.
"I said large," he grumbled defensively, since Andy was clearly indicating size.
"It's called 'grande,'" the young woman behind the counter piped up. She smiled widely at Andy's enthusiastic thumbs up. Now Dean wanted to murder two people instead of one. Yay, him.
"Grande," he repeated, the monotone a flat, palpable thing in the coffee shop. The barista caught his look at her smile dropped, tinged with embarrassment. She ducked her head, ringing up the order and moving them along as quickly as she could. Andy gave her another thumbs up, which got him a shyer version of that conspiratorial smile, then the kid was pushing at Dean to move to the pickup spot at the end of the counter.
"I can't believe I just dropped five dollars on a drink that's more whip cream than coffee," Dean grumbled as they headed out of the café. "Is there even coffee in that thing at all?"
Andy turned to him, whip cream mustache game going strong, and raised his forefinger and thumb in the tiniest of pinched positions. Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, opening the driver side door and sliding into the car.
"Espresso one two three. No caps, no spaces," Dean said as he plopped onto the seat. Sam already had his laptop out, looking over expectantly. Before he could start typing, however, Andy climbed into the back, slurping loudly at his whip cream. Sam cast a judgmental eyebrow his way.
"Are you even supposed to have caffeine right now? Or…that much sugar? Or hot things?" Mother Samantha was rearing her head, apparently. Which, hey, they did just bust the kid out of a hospital a couple days earlier than was medically recommended and after the worst injury either hunter had ever seen. So…touché, Mother Samantha. But when the younger Winchester turned that scolding look on Dean, like it was somehow his fault, the older of the two raised his hands like he had nothing to do with it. Andy slurped a little louder, smacking his lips happily at the first thing worth living for that he'd gotten to enjoy since his (multiple) near death.
This was what life was all about. Whip cream and peppermint chunks.
Sam rolled his eyes at another loud mouthful but eventually let the argument – if you could even call it that – go. Andy was a grown-ass adult, if drinking that hurt his throat, he wouldn't do it. Well, probably anyway. Instead, the younger Winchester got to work looking up any information the local news channels had concerning the Cold Oak case. There wasn't a great deal readily available, which was unsurprising, given the FBI were involved.
"It looks like it was a ranger that spotted us – two men in a classic car, black or dark blue, heading away from the scene. They are wanted for questioning." Sam cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the police – the FBI – having even that much on them. "None of these articles have much more than the radio report did. Three bodies were found in a deliberate fire at Cold Oak by a Ranger who spotted the smoke." Sam looked up from his screen, casting a far-too-casual look towards Andy, who had gone quiet, though he was still sipping his drink. Sam's voice was slightly more hesitant as he continued, "They're as-of-yet unidentified. Custer and Rapid counties are looking into missing person reports."
Andy swallowed his miniscule sip of peppermint mocha a little too hard, wincing at the pain. He was still on a small dosage of morphine, as the Winchesters did not have much of a supply to start with, at least until they had time to fill the prescriptions Sam got off the doctor. The morphine did help take the edge off, but Andy felt too-quick movements a lot more thoroughly now that he wasn't at the hospital on steady doses of painkiller. Dean promised they would get those pain meds as soon as they were far away from Sturgis to make that kind of stop safely.
Andy concentrated on an image in his mind, picturing it as clearly as he could before sending it to the Winchesters. Composites – images that weren't just memory but bits and pieces put together to create a new image – were a lot harder to maintain. Sam had reported on each attempt so far that what got through was always fuzzy, lacking details and solidity.
Luckily, this one was not so complicated.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," Sam hedged cautiously as the image of an ad for an anonymous tip hotline – the number too unclear to make out, but the rest easy enough to read – faded from his mind's eye. He turned in his seat so he could look at Andy fully. He wanted the sincerity of his hesitation to come across as more than just concern for their safety. Sam understood this was about Amanda and Scott too, not just the Winchesters and Andy. "With the FBI after us now, we may need to lay really low."
"We can look into it," Dean added, meeting Andy's eyes in the rearview mirror, despite the fact that they were still parked.
Although it sounded like nothing more than meaningless conciliation, Andy nodded, believing the older Winchester. Dean was usually pretty good about his promises, and even better when guilt-tripped into them. It was something Andy had seen Sam do more than once in their three months together, and Andy had used the trick once or twice himself.
Tracy always said he was a fast learner.
Andy understood Sam's concern, really, he did, but he didn't want Amanda and Scott's families to live the rest of their lives wondering what happened to them. He didn't know Amanda's last name – she'd never told him it – but he had her first, her college, and the fact that she played on the softball team. That would be enough to find a missing persons report from the Berkeley area, so long as the police or FBI went nation-wide.
Andy dropped his gaze, head hung as he stared into his whipped cream mocha, fighting back the fresh flood of guilt. The hospital had tried to get him to talk to their stationed psychiatrist, but they hadn't gotten far. And only partially because Andy couldn't actually talk.
"Hey." Dean's voice, soft in volume but confident and in control as always, called Andy's attention back to his green eyes. Dean could always look so damn certain when it came to everyone else's problems. Andy had always liked that about him. "It wasn't your fault, kid. We'll do what we can to let their families know, alright?"
They could get a friend of a friend of a hunter's other friend to make an anonymous call, need be. Something that could never be tracked back to the Winchesters or any of their known associates. Between their Roadhouse contacts and Bobby's, that shouldn't be too difficult.
Sam, though, was thinking about something else entirely. "A black, classic car," he murmured, currently considering hacking into the Rapid City police data base to see if they had anything more specific than that. If all they had was the Ranger's eye witness report, they were probably fine.
"We should change Baby's plates," Dean said in response. They always carried spares in the trunk, able to change them out quickly should the Impala ever be spotted fleeing a crime scene. It was a necessity not only as a hunter, but especially as a hunter with such a memorable car. Of course, there was no way the Winchesters were ever walking into a fight without Baby. She was one of the team, after all.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere, tone absentminded. He shifted in his seat again, a small frown pulling furrowing his brow as he looked back over at his brother. "It was a good thing the parking lot at the hospital was so full this morning. An FBI agent would have spotted the Impala before he ever made it through the doors."
"Huh." Dean made a face at that, having been annoyed earlier at the inconvenience that seemed out of nowhere. In fact…something distant and far away, like a word stuck on the tip of your tongue but going no further, swam lazily through the fog of Dean's memory. The hunter frowned. What was that? Something…something about someone helping them as much as they could…but still not enough?
The older Winchester shook his head. That made no sense. This was an overfull parking lot they were talking about, not a favor from some hunting buddy. It was a lucky break for once, which they rarely got, or a hell of a coincidence, which was much more likely.
Dean cleared his throat and the thought drifted away. He glanced back over at Sam. "You wanna see if they know more, or we good?"
The younger Winchester gave the thought of hacking the police website another half second before shaking his head. He closed his laptop and slid it back into his bag. "Wifi's too spotty for that. We can do it when we're back at Bobby's."
Until then, it didn't sound like the local cops had enough to go on for the Winchesters to truly worry. They pulled into an alley behind a grocery store in the same lot as the Starbucks. There was a large blind spot in security cameras that Dean took full advantage of. The older Winchester swapped out Baby's Kansas plates for an Ohio pair in the same amount of time it took Andy to finish off his peppermint mocha cappuccino whip cream whatever.
The whole stop took less than half an hour in total before the boys were back on the road. In the backseat, Andy licked the last remains of whip cream from the inside of his empty cup and Dean threatened him with a death more painful than the last five days combined if he even thought of tossing that thing onto Baby's floor.
-o-o-o-
Tom stared at the chalice of blood, thick and silent, with a great deal of distaste. His new meatsuit itched, this apartment wasn't nearly as nice as his last borrowed-slash-I-murdered-your-previous-owners-so-your-mine-now place, and, as Azazel's sole surviving protégée on earth, it was now his duty to contact the Prince of Hell. Who was currently trapped in hell.
It was times like this that Tom would have been quite happy to have his sister back alive.
The demon cleared his throat self-consciously, prepared himself for his father's ire, and reminded the two rotting human corpses in the corner of his vision that he wasn't the one who'd gotten himself exorcised. He was still on Earth, and it was Azazel who needed his help. Tom didn't need the reminder, of course. But those two measly humans hadn't even known who it was who'd killed them. Tom was merely reminding them of the honor they should feel, and not bolstering himself up in the slightest in preparation of talking with this father.
He put his hands on either side of the chalice and began to chant.
"Find me a door."
Those were the first, furious words that bubbled out of the blood in a language that wilted the fresh flowers sitting on the quaint kitchen counter. A guilt-laden purchase by the male owner of this apartment for his female partner, who had no idea he'd spent the previous night with a hooker rather than 'working late at the office'. Culpability made humans do the stupidest of things. Tom did not miss the days when he'd been one himself.
Well, the flowers were as dead as their cheating owner now, so, that ought to teach the adulterer not to waste money on such an impermanent and ultimately futile gift.
"That will take time," Tom reminded his father. While it would be easier to locate and open a small door to the underworld – nothing more than a hole the size of a button – from Earth's side than it would be from Hell, it was still a tedious endeavor. One that would take Tom away from the Winchester's trail, away from the trials his father had begun on his special children, and no longer able to check in on Persephone.
Not that Tom thought the last even counted as a real reason. He was no babysitter and everything he'd seen from the woman so far only convinced him his father's plan for her was a waste of time. But it had been Azazel who told him, very strictly, not to leave her unattended for long, not to unleash her unless in the presence of the prophet, and absolutely, under no circumstances, to trust her.
Like he was foolish enough to do such a stupid thing. That didn't mean he saw a point in watching the creature like a hawk when she was clearly a glorified nanny and nothing more. A long distance nanny, at that, given her only contact with Sam Winchester was through the prophet's writing. For all the good she did them, Tom could keep a better eye on the hunter than that bitch.
"We don't have time!" Azazel hissed, the blood bubbling viciously, drops spattering onto the table with his annoyance. Tom winced, grateful this conversation was not in person for his father to see such a reaction. "Open the cemetery Hellgate."
Tom stared at the blood, wondering for only a moment if he'd misheard the command, or if his father had truly lost his edge. They had the Colt, so they could theoretically unlock that door, but they didn't have a human under their control yet to get to it. In fact, his father had just wasted their best bet; a human he had chosen to send to Cold Oak right before springing their trap on the angel in Oregon.
Jonathon Bailey had been their first and best option to cross Samuel Colt's iron rail lines to open that gate. He was eager to prove himself, enjoyed gorging on his newfound abilities, had a blood-thirsty streak that guaranteed the boy a first class ticket to Hell, and was easily manipulated with a simple promise of glory and power. He'd been a shoe-in! But Azazel wasted him in round one, and now their best shot at Fossil Butte Cemetery was dead.
Not only did they not have a human to work for them at the moment – and getting one last minute would mean involving Crowley, something his father had avoided from the beginning for obvious reasons (the man was a snake, even by demonic standards) – but they weren't ready to open the gate. Their contingent of demons so far amassed on earth, increasing every day with each demon slipping, one by one, through the holes and doorways they could find out of Hell, were not gathered in one place. They'd have no defense against the forces of Heaven that would surely be sent out to investigate the Hellgate opening. Even if that force remained nothing more than the current earth-bound unit they'd had on the planet for centuries, a dozen angels would still be enough to thwart much of their plans.
Every one of those demons that escaped the Hellgate would be needed in the coming battle They couldn't afford to lose any to a skirmish with Heaven so early on. More importantly, their primary purpose in opening the gate to begin with was freeing Lilith. Tom might not know the end goal of his father's plans, but that much had been crystal clear. Hell was going to war with Heaven, and they didn't stand a chance without Lilith topside.
"Father, unless you want to deal with Crowley's people, we don't have someone to cross the lines. Jonathon Bailey is dead. All the children from Cold Oak are dead except the Winchester's pet, who escaped," he explained, voice tight to keep the majority of condescension from his voice. Azazel should know better than this. Both messes were from his short-sidedness and, frankly, Tom was unimpressed with the temper tantrum his father was putting on through the blood. A Prince of Hell should handle a little set back better.
Oh well. It was only an opportunity for Tom to shine.
"I suppose we could send the Princess over the lines-"
"No." The word was fierce. Spoken with the kind of spitting disgust Azazel had been born from. "I don't want the Colt within a dozen feet of Persephone. Under no circumstances are you to give her that gun."
Tom rolled his eyes, knowing his father couldn't see him. Yet again, on with the woman like she was a real threat. They had all the leverage they needed to keep her in line. Granted, the Colt could kill a demon, so Tome wouldn't exactly want to be in the same space as their borrowed captive when he gave the weapon to her.
"Then we don't have a guinea pig and I can't get you out of Hell without abandoning everything else." Tom let the words sink into the blood, the bubbles settling with general aversion. Then, fighting back the urge to smirk, he added, "You are the one that said we didn't have time to pull anyone out of Hell if they got themselves exorcised-"
The chalice rattled with the inhuman growl, blood spilling over the silver rim and sliding down its ornately curved sides. More blood spattered the desk, the viscous liquid boiling with Azazel's rage. But Tom knew there was nothing his father could do about it. Sure, he might suffer his father's wrath if he ever did make it back to the surface – and he would, eventually – but by then Tom would prove himself. He'd finish Azazel's plans all on his own.
As silence descended in the small room, smelling heavily of iron and rot, the blood eventually stilled. With a ripple, Azazel's voice came through, calmer, though still spoken through gritted teeth. "Very well, son. Continue the plan for opening the Hellgate. And gather the next round of children. Tonight."
"Cold Oak is compromised," Tom replied, almost lazily. The first thing he'd done upon getting himself a new meatsuit was get back to his appropriated-by-murder apartment and look at Ruby's map. The little fire that was Sam Winchester's demon-tainted soul had been burning small and bright on I-90, trucking right on towards the haunted mining town. "It's the first place the Winchesters headed."
"How did they know to go there?" Azazel's voice was like ash and fire, spitting from the rim of a volcano. Tom was glad he wasn't around to feel the burn. "One angel alone is not enough to explain all of this…"
The demon waited for his father's conclusion, looking more bored than anything else. Tom didn't have a clue how Dean Winchester seemed to have all the answers. A halo in his chest was bad enough. Now, however, it really was starting to look like he might have all of Heaven on his side. That, or Hell had a mole. Tom dismissed the thought. A demon turning on one of his own was like a human breathing air, but a demon working with a hunter, especially one with an angel all up in his soul? Hell was closer to freezing over.
"It doesn't matter. We move on as planned. Find somewhere else."
Easily done. Tom grinned. He already had the perfect place in mind. It was simply too bad it wasn't the right year to make the experience a truly interesting one. Still, even outside of an intercalary year, the place was plenty haunted to provide Azazel's special children with all the weaponry they'd need.
"I'll get the kids there by the end of the week. Anything else?"
The blood gurgled with hesitation and Tom straightened, interest finally flickering across his features. Azazel never hesitated, so whatever this was about had to be good. Tom leaned unconsciously towards the cup.
"Father?"
The Prince of Hell growled down the line, the blood bubbling with it.
"There's more to this plan that you don't know." Azazel sounded terse and impatient. He had kept most details of this grand scheme of his and Lilith's to himself, and Tom was all the more eager to hear it now. "Was Sam Winchester immune to the Croatoan virus?"
Tom shrugged a shoulder. "He hasn't turned, so I'd say it's safe to say he is."
"Good. Now…for our plan to work, he needs to be the last child brought to Cold Oak – or whatever new location," Azazel corrected himself with another low growl.
Meanwhile, Tom's eyes narrowed slightly on the chalice. He had already known the Winchester boy was to be in the last group tested, so what exactly could it be that his father hadn't told him? He edged forward in his seat, gaze locked on the bubbling blood.
"And he needs to lose."
Tom blinked. What? But…that made no sense. Sam Winchester had always been his father's favored special child. The one to beat. The rumored General to lead Hell in the upcoming battle, as preposterous as that may sound to any demon.
"I don't understand. He's been your favorite since the beginning-"
Azazel's voice was quite clear as it came through, thick and demanding. "It's very simple, boy. Either Sam Winchester loses or you make sure he doesn't leave that place alive."
Tom – son of Azazel, turned by the yellow-eyed Prince of Hell himself – stared at the blood. That…made even less sense. Unless…unless their end goal was something entirely different than he'd been led to believe. The smile was slow to form, but wicked once it got its start. Tom leaned his elbows onto the table, eyeing the chalice of blood with newfound interest.
"Father…what exactly is this plan?"
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
A/Ns: OMG you guys. I had to start *another* word document for this story. Season 2 point 1 was over 350 pages, 190,000 words, and took more than two minutes to save every time - . - Now I'm onto Season 2 point 2. Good. Mother. Effing. Grief.
It's been at least three chapters since I said it, so I'm just gonna say it. Verbose. As. Fuck.
Up Next: The boys finally get back home, Bobby is Bobby (aka pure awesomeness), Andy's got all the feels, and Dean decides he really just can't do it anymore. Time to activate Operation Monumentally Stupid!