A/Ns: Holy crap did I struggle to get this one out. Not writing it, but editing! What the craaaaaaaaaap. I had all weekend and several calendar reminders and every day was just….ugh, I'll do it later. Anyhoo, sorry it was late, ladies and gents! Hope you enjoy the conclusion to our (of course) three chapter long bank episode (because nothing can ever be shorter than three chapters).
Quality Warning: So I did manage a full read through and lots of edits, but given my mood the entire time and the thick lines in the carpet from me dragging my feet, I have serious doubts about the quality of said edits. Please forgive any errors and I apologize for the interuption they may bring to the story.
Chapter Warnings: Some blood, some near death, some freaking out, some smoke, some barking, some laughing, and some serious Deus Ex Machina rescues going on (I think we can blame Chuck for that one). Oh, and some love from our new favorite dog!
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The Road So Far (This Time Around)
Season 2: Chapter 78
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'Cas?'
Dean was aware of someone grabbing his ankles and dragging him across the floor, but it was a distant sort of awareness. The kind that says, 'sure, this is happening to us, but really…do we care?' And the answer to that was no. Not really. All of his care was currently taken up by his shoulder and chest, which were on fucking fire.
'Cas!'
"Owwww, fuck. Fuck, shit, shit, shit, fuuuuck," he groaned once Sam had stopped pulling him across the lobby floor and his jaw unhinged itself from the death grip pain had on it. His brother rolled him onto his back and that jaw went right back to clenching around every swear word in the book as the hard, unforgiving lobby tile jostled his entire upper torso and, oh yeah, bullet hole.
Sam frantically searched his brother for the wound that had left a trail of red gleaming over polished tile as he'd dragged him. Dean was clutching at his left shoulder, fingers digging in to cloth soaked red, his knuckles white. The wound was way too close to his heart, just a couple inches up and to the left, and Sam's own dropped into his stomach once he found it.
"Oh god," the younger Winchester whispered at the bloody mess that was his brother's chest. There was a small but gaping hole in Dean's torso, and it was gushing blood out in raging rivulets that Dean's fingers were doing nothing to stunt. Sam could feel the color draining out of him, matching Dean's pallor for entirely different reasons. "Oh god, Dean."
The older Winchester raised his head at his brother's whispered words, eyes bleary and half closed. He stared down at his own blood-covered hand and soaked chest, only to drop back with a thud and a groan. "That's- that's a lot of blood."
Sam's brain – momentarily stalled by shock and 'Dean's going to die' and also 'Again' – kicked into survival mode. He tore his arms out of the security uniform he was still wearing, desperate to get to the flannel he had on beneath. Shrugging the long-sleeved shirt off, Sam balled it up, shoved Dean's hand out of the way with no extra time to be gentle, and pushed down hard.
Dean gurgled and grunted and groaned another set of swear words to make even a sailor blush, but he managed not to scream. He knew it needed to be done if he was gonna live through this (and he was significantly concerned about that bit. He was losing a lot of blood and the cold seeping through his body felt terrifyingly familiar).
"Okay…" the older Winchester shut his eyes against the pain and tried to reason with a brain that seemed to be shutting down inconveniently quickly. "T-time for plan, uh…E. Are we on E?" He let out a hiss as Sam shifted, applying as much pressure as he could which was painful, damnit. "Tell me you have a plan E."
The look on his brother's face – as close to panic as Sam was ever prone to get – was answer enough, and that answer was a resounding no. Dean tried to look around the bank for something, anything, even though turning his head pulled at the wound, and wasn't that just peachy? "Wh-where's Ronald? What hap-happened to…"
Sam looked irritated at the question (and he absolutely would be annoyed – infuriated even – if he wasn't busy trying to keep his idiotic brother alive), but glanced back to the center of the lobby where he'd dragged Dean from. Next to a puddle of fresh red, Ronald was unmoving, stomach down on the tiles, upper body cast in the light from the windows.
His eyes were open wide, staring.
Dean met those big eyes – bulging and all but frozen in shock – and almost collapsed at the life in them. Those terrified, confused, oh-god-oh-god-I-almost-just-died, but very much alive eyes.
"Fucking finally," the hunter muttered, all but going limp against the cold, blood-slicked floor. "A win."
"Yeah, maybe don't celebrate just yet," Sam grunted right back, still applying the full weight of his upper body to his brother's wound. The blood just kept seeping through. Dean's head was listing to the side and Sam knew he was losing him, for all that he refused to admit it. "We still have to get out of here."
Which was looking less and less likely. Sam was holding back the panic but he knew – he knew – that wound was fatal. Even if they surrendered themselves to the cops, no medic was going to be able to save Dean now.
Shit. Shit!
"C-Cas can get us out," Dean mumbled like it was the most obvious answer in the world, belied only by slur starting to effect his words. Sam purposefully jostled his brother as he pushed just that much harder. The older Winchester groaned, but those slowly drooping eyes popped back open with momentary awareness. His fingers fumbled near his hip like he was trying to dig out his phone. "J-just gotta call him."
"Cas is still healing," Sam growled back, but there was little heat. Just desperation. "She can't help, Dean."
"Oh." Dean blinked, and it took half a second too long for his eyelids to open again. Just like it took his brain a good half a minute too long to process his brother's words. "Shit."
Ron shifted, his expression (which was definitely shock along with a healthy dose of fear) slowly changing with the realization that he should try to help. As he started to rise, Sam sent him a fierce glare, barking, "Don't get up, you idiot! Stay low, and get out of the light."
The man froze, then glanced around him, realizing the light from the windows is what had given him away to the sniper. A sniper that had taken out Dean instead. Ronald swallowed roughly, his eyes already as wide as they could go, feeling the shaky shock of mortality racing through him faster than the adrenaline, but nodded hastily. He started inching his way out of the light like a wiggling worm. It took a couple minutes, but he was able to clear the line-of-sight from the windows and climb to his knees. He stayed mostly still, crouched in the shadow cast by one of the standing counters.
"Is…is he going to be okay?" Ron asked, voice hushed and trembling. His eyes remained wide as saucers, locked on the groaning older Winchester.
"I don't know," Sam responded desperately, even though he knew the answer to that question. It wasn't one he was prepared to accept yet, though.
"Th-they're gonna come in here. The c-cops," Dean muttered, his words becoming breathy and labored in an entirely un-encouraging manner. "You g-guys gotta go."
"Shut up, Dean."
"It'll be 'kay, S'mmy," the older Winchester whispered, and Sam refused to acknowledge the wetness in his eyes at his brother's tone. He wasn't losing him again. Not again. "C-Cas'll bring me back."
At least, Dean sure hoped the angel would be up for a rescue run to Heaven once she woke up. Dean could probably help, up there as a soul. At least once he figured out he was in a memory again. The actuality of a rescue was probably a lot more complex than the concept, but Dean's ability to think beyond 'ow, ow, and more ow' was kinda fading.
"Man, I r-really wasn' plannin' on dyin' ag-gain anytime s-soon," Dean groaned in one long, mumbled breath. Next to the counter, Ronald had a cute little frown pulling at his brow, made far less cute by those saucer-sized eyes. He was mouthing the word, 'Again?' and somewhere in the back of his mind, past the blood and the leaching exhaustion, Dean thought that was funny. "'Sp-specially not from 'nother frig-friggin' b-bullet."
"Shut up, Dean!" the younger Winchester growled, repeating himself almost on rote as he looked around desperately for a Hail Mary. An exit, a miracle, something they hadn't thought of. But there was nothing. Nothing! And Sam was starting to feel the true panic creep in. "You're not going to die."
The look Dean gave him was a little bit sad, but mostly sardonic. And yeah, shit, this wasn't looking good, Sam could admit. But his brother could be helping.
"'M helpin'," Dean mumbled back, and Sam hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. His brother's eyes had fallen closed, and something deep down – something desperate and terrified that he often kept locked away – told Sam they wouldn't open again. "Callin' C-Cas. L-let him…uh, her... Let her know…to come get…me."
By the end, Dean was almost unintelligible, the words so slurred together and quiet. Dean's eyes stayed closed and, while his chest was still rising and falling, he fell too still. Too calm and peaceful. Dean Winchester was never at peace, and the thought terrified Sam.
"Damnit, Dean, you have to stay awake!" Sam yelled frantically, even as he took one hand off his brother's wound, soaked in blood, and scrambled for his own cell. He left bloody, smeared fingerprints on the buttons as he speed-dialed the number they'd gotten Cas after the fiasco with Gordon. They hadn't had time to teach her how to use it – she'd pretty much passed out the minute they made it to Bobby's – but the old hunter promised he'd keep it by her bedside. Just in case.
It took several attempts, between his trembling fingers and the slippery blood coating each button he pushed, to find Castiel among his contacts before he was pressing the phone desperately to his ear.
It rang, and rang, and rang, long past the point it should have switched over to voicemail. Distantly, Sam realized they'd never set it up for the angel.
The younger Winchester cried out in frustration and futility, letting the phone slip through his numb fingers to clatter on the floor. Then suddenly Ronald was freaking out, glass was shattering in the distance, and muffled shouts of police officers identifying themselves all erupted at once. There was a scream from far away. Probably one of the civilians that had run from the vault, yelling for someone not to shoot.
"What the-" Ronald tried to scrambled back, away from Sam and Dean, but there was nowhere to go against the counter. "Wh-Where did you come from?!"
"Move, Sam."
Sam looked up even as heavy feet pounded down the stairs to the lobby and from the hallways that led to the back offices and alleyway exit. No doubt the police he'd promised their 'hostages' were on the way. Five minutes ago that had been a major concern. Five seconds ago it had been a resigned reality. But now…now…
"Cas," Sam breathed out, starting up at the angel in all her righteous, Warrior of God fury, tan peacoat and pantsuit. Two fingers pressed to his forehead, another hand sliding over Dean's wound as Sam stiltedly pulled his own away.
Then they were no longer in the bank.
They landed hard, or maybe it was an illusion of a hard landing that came with the adrenaline of Angel Air and the knowledge that Dean was seconds away from death yet again. Well, that, plus the chaos they'd landed in the middle of sure wasn't helping.
There was a dog barking close by – loud and scary and way too close for comfort – and Bobby hollering, his heavy footsteps pounding down the hall. Sam knew, instinctually, that they were in the den. They always landed in Bobby's den when Cas angel-aired them to safety. The dog was new, though.
Things got infinitely worse when Castiel disappeared in the next second, only to return with a positively freaking out Ronald. He was screaming in that kind of what-the-hell-just-happened manner, which definitely wasn't helping the dog barking in the not-so-distant background (in that extra fierce kind of way that you just knew meant you were about to get chomped on). Sam managed to shove all of that to the side and scrambled back to his brother's side. It was panic and instinct more than logic, especially considering Castiel's presence kneeling right beside them. Sam's knew, subconsciously at the very least, that the angel would have healed his brother. She must have. When his fingers found no torn cloth, no slick but cooling blood, no life-threatening wound, he almost collapsed atop Dean. His brother's chest was heaving with all the strength and surety of a healthy, twenty-eight year old man.
"Thank God," Sam whispered. The younger Winchester closed his eyes, shutting out the chaos, the adrenaline and fear, and the sight of his brother, wide-eyed and still recovering from the near miss.
"Son of a bitch," the older Winchester muttered, hand pressed to his perfectly fine chest. His let his head thunk back to the floor of Bobby's living room as his body went limp, all that pain and tension suddenly gone. Sam could relate, sagging back onto his heels, struggling just to breathe normally in the wake of an adrenaline crash.
Ronald, on the other hand, seemed to be ratcheting up in anxiety.
"How are we…where are…but we were in the….what is happening?" The larger man spun around, eyes wide as he tried to take in Bobby Singer's house but likely saw none of it. "Did…did we just teleport?"
As his voice continued to climb in volume, Cas spun on her crouched knee, gracefully standing in one swift move, trench coat swirling, and pressed those two fingers to the man's head. He went down with a hefty thud that shook Bobby's bookcases. Then the angel turned once more, fierce blue eyes locked, this time, on the German Shephard still barking ferociously at them from the hall. It fell silent with a reproachful whimper.
"What the hell is going on here?" Bobby came charging in, still in his pajamas but shotgun in hand. He straightened, pulling the butt of the gun away from its braced position against his shoulder when he spotted the newest round of houseguests. He glared first at the not-so-comatose angel currently having a staring contest with his dog, then shifted his eyes to the Winchesters and the newest blood stain on his rug. Bobby lowered the shotgun with a look the entire household was coming to expect any time their resident angel wasn't upstairs on life support. "Balls."
Sam, on the other hand, was looking between him and the German Shepherd with wide eyes and a confused frown, brown hair flopping over his forehead. "When did you get a dog?"
Bobby huffed, sharing a look with the dog which was very much returned. Dean had the audacity to look insulted. Still not the oddest thing to happen that night, not by a long shot, Sam figured. The old hunter, meanwhile, finally relaxed and set the shotgun against the wall. Dean was clearly no longer dying if those were the first words out of Sam Winchester's mouth. Damnit. What did a man have to do to get one good night's sleep in his own friggin' house these days?
"Cas," Dean interrupted, still a touch breathless (which left Sam frowning and visually inspecting him for any remaining injury, to which his brother gave him a look). The angel knelt beside the hunter, who hadn't attempted to get up from the ground any further than bracing on his elbows. "There's a shifter, in the bank. You gotta find him before he escapes."
Castiel nodded with all the intent and seriousness of a Warrior of God. She stood, prepared to take flight, but was stopped by a hand wrapping around her wrist. She glanced down, noticing the warm slide of liquid, and realized Dean Winchester's hands were still coated in his own blood. Blue eyes slid over to Sam, noticing a similar state. With a frown and a blink, the Winchesters were properly restored. Neither seemed to notice, though that was hardly a concern to the angel.
"Baby," Dean muttered, offering a weak grin that was hardly convincing. Beside him, Sam's forehead immediately smoothed out and he hit his brother in the arm. The expression did not relent, even when Dean yelped and rubbed at the targeted limb. "What? She's one of us and you know it." He turned back to the angel. "She's parked, like, a block south of the bank, in a parking structure attached to one of the buildings. Grab her for me, will you?
Castiel looked about as annoyed as Sam. At least, she did to Dean. To everyone else they may have only imagined it on the angel's face, whose expression hardly shifted. But Castiel disappeared once more, leaving Dean's hand hanging empty in mid-air.
"Really, Dean?"
"What?" the older Winchester grunted, rubbing at his newly wound-less shoulder as he hauled himself to his feet. Sam offered an assist halfway and Dean took it gratefully, clasping his arm and heaving himself upwards. "She's going back for the shifter, she might as well get Baby too."
"Somebody want to tell me what the hell's going on?" Bobby asked, sarcasm turned all the way up, just like his eyebrows. The boys turned to him, one sheepish, the other trying to get away with a hundred watt smile that clearly wasn't cutting it.
"Uh, sure, Bobby. But seriously. When did you get a dog?"
-o-o-o-
Glass shards crunched and shifted beneath the feet of police and SWAT and federal agents alike as they cleared the rest of the bank, securing hostages that hadn't made it out on their own or were locked away in private offices. Victor Henriksen stood in the middle of the organized chaos, staring down at a puddle of red that a sniper swore – on his job, on his badge, on a bible, and so on – had come from one of their perps. He couldn't be sure which one, but that didn't really matter now, considering Victor was short two, possibly three perps, one with a life threatening wound. And no one could tell him how in hell's name those men got out of the building, right underneath the noses of half of Milwaukee's finest and a damn federal agent.
The radio in his hand crackled to life and Victor raised it to his lips without looking away from that damn puddle of blood. "Tell me you found something."
Lieutenant Robard's voice was hesitant. No more pleased to be bossed around by the federal agent than he had before this newest round of shit hit the fan. But Victor knew by the clench in his gut that it wasn't just that.
"My, uh…. My men found that car you wanted."
Victor turned sharply away from the puddle, already making his way for the front doors. "Where?"
"A parking garage a block south of here, but…uh…"
"Spit it out, Lieutenant."
"It's gone."
Henriksen stopped mid stride, frowning harshly. "What do you mean, gone? I told you to have your men sit on it!"
"They were," Robards bit back defensively. "I don't know what to tell you, agent. My men had eyes on the vehicle one second, and the next it was gone. They can't explain it."
"Are your men drunk?" Victor accused sharply, though he knew it was unlikely and probably unfair to put this failure squarely on the Milwaukee police. Nothing about the Winchester case ever came easy, and although he refused to believe those boys had outsmarted him, he also knew there was something he'd missed. Something that let them get away every damn time. Henriksen didn't know what – another partner, an inside man, something.
It made him furious just thinking about it. Certainly furious enough to take it out on the Milwaukee police.
"Listen here, Agent Henriksen," Robards barked back, clearly out of patience for being bullied about by the federal agent. "My men are good men. Good officers. You can talk to them yourself if you don't believe me, but that car is gone and security footage from the parking garage is going to back my men's story. I can tell you that."
Henriksen snorted, but didn't bother holding down the radio button for Robards to hear it. The lieutenant was probably right, but Victor didn't really care, and he certainly wasn't worried about wounding egos or making enemies. He had two monsters to catch, no matter the means or cost.
"It better, Lieutenant. And I will be talking to each of them. Separately. So bring them in and keep them apart. We'll see whose story holds up."
With that, he turned the radio off, resisting the urge to chuck it across the bank, and instead strode purposefully – angrily – out the front doors. How? How did the Winchesters keep slipping through his fingers, always leaving behind more questions than answers? Disappearing suspects – and not for the first time – and now disappearing cars?
Victor wanted to know just what the hell was going on. And how to put an end to it.
-o-o-o-
"Wait, Andy got you a dog?"
Dean's grin said it all – that hundred watt Winchester smile that was somehow charming as much as it was infuriating – and Bobby didn't miss a lick of it. His eyes narrowed at the boy, leaning against his desk like they hadn't just shown up in the middle of the night (again) half bleeding to death and scaring the crap out of his household.
"What are you grinning at?"
Which was apparently the wrong thing to say to wipe that smirk off Dean's face (something Bobby definitely should have expected). If anything, it only got more damn smug.
"Nothing, just, uh…it's kinda sweet."
The old hunter harrumphed. It might be a lot of things, but sweet wasn't one of 'em. "It's a pain in the ass, s'what it is."
Sam managed to stifle his disbelieving chuckle behind an incredibly poorly faked cough. He blamed his recent trauma, only minutes passed and still buzzing through his veins like something ugly. Dean, meanwhile, had a big smile on his face that was just about ready to split in two. Sam tried not to stare. Tried not to think too hard, either.
Bobby glared at them both as Dean's eyes dropped quite pointedly to the dog sitting obediently by the old man's side, long snout resting atop his thigh.
"Oh yeah," the older Winchester said, eyes switching from Sarge to Bobby with a pair of eyebrows that were gonna get him kicked out if he wasn't careful. "You're really suffering there."
Bobby glared, expression saying what he didn't bother to: Watch your tone in my house, boy.
Sam, who was struggling to hide the shaking of his shoulders right along with the laugh causing it, cleared his throat. He turned on the puppy eyes, and Bobby knew he'd just lost any ground he had in his own damn house. "For only having him a couple weeks, he seems really well trained, Bobby."
The younger Winchester's sincerity didn't go far in soothing Bobby's ruffled feathers – what ever did? – but he allowed the change of topic. Of course, he sent Dean a look that said he was allowing the distraction and damn well knew it (to which the insufferable kid just raised those eyebrows again and Bobby reconsidered changing the locks and warding the house against late night, winged visitors and her cargo).
"Sarge is a retired K-9 unit." Ignoring the fact that he was being watched by two nosy brats, Bobby gave the dog a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears. "Already knows his commands, fully trained."
Sam's smile turned more genuine, less teasing-slash-overly-pleased-with-himself-because-he's-a-damn-Winchester-and-it-runs-in-their-blood. "And now he gets a cozy retirement."
"With another retiree," Dean snuck in under a loud clearing of his throat. He ignored the look Bobby shot his way, immune by now, and pulled his head back as a thought occurred too him. "How the heck does a mute kid new to town wrangle up a retired police dog in, what, like two weeks?"
"Four." The old hunter just huffed again, shrugging uninterested shoulders with such controlled nonchalance that neither Winchester believed his disinterest for a second. No way he hadn't needled that story out of Andy the second such a particular dog showed up on his doorstep. "You can ask him."
Sam glanced around the study. Ronald still lying unconscious on the ground (though Sam and Dean had moved-slash-rolled him over towards the couch to keep him from getting stepped on) and the younger Winchester was pointedly avoiding the smears of red leftover on the carpet. The rest of the house was quiet. It was just the three of them, no stray psychic in sight. "Where is Andy, anyway?"
"Out in his van."
The way Bobby said it – the verbal equivalent of a head shake mastered by a parent in charge of a would-be rebellious teenager – had both boys equal parts curious and wary.
"What van?"
-o-o-o-
It wasn't much. An old Dodge Tradesman, probably a '77, maybe a '78, painted an absolutely hideous orange color that was now patchy with rust and faded from age and sunlight. The expanse of the driver side of the van, free from any doors or windows, had been spray-painted with a mural of…erm…something. There were two large blobs of white, with something resembling beady black eyes and a pink nose enough to vaguely (emphasis on the vague) identify them as polar bears. One sported a stick figure upon its back, adorned with a particularly large pair of boobs (just about the only detail added to the painting) and a sword raised high above her head.
Dean snorted out a laugh at the attempt of a Viking Queen and her polar bear warriors. An ode to another van from another life.
"Is that what that's supposed to be?" Bobby muttered under his breath as they circled to the other side of the van, where an impressive dent suggested she wasn't exactly in working shape. Dean wondered if the poor thing even had an engine in her. Bobby banged his fist on the cargo door twice. "She don't run, but the look the kid got when he saw her…"
The hunter just shook his head rather than finish the thought (which was unnecessary anyway. It was obvious Bobby hadn't been able to deny the kid the van the second he saw how happy it made him) then the doors were sliding back with an obnoxious creak of poorly treated metal. Smoke poured out of the van, revealing what could only be a contained wildfire given the amount. Dean let out a choked sound caught between a cough and a laugh as both Bobby and Sam stepped back, waving away the tainted air in front of their face.
Through the clearing haze, Andy recognized them with slowly widened eyes and a smile worthy of one of those sloths from Zootopia (shut up, Dean could enjoy kids movies if he wanted to. It wasn't like he watched them on purpose, of course. Just channel surfed and gave up when nothing else was on. Yup, that's how it went down, always.) He raised his hands in joyous greeting, mouthing their names with such excitement that he almost dropped the bong he was holding. Sarge jumped into the van with no hesitation, tongue lolling as he settled against Andy, happy as could be and soon to be high off second hand smoke alone. Andy lazily scratched behind his ears, grin never fading.
The images that flashed through their heads made absolutely no sense, but Andy was cracking up like he'd mind-said the funniest thing. Bobby just harrumphed, shaking his head once more, and both Winchesters got the feeling this was a pretty standard occurrence when the kid got stoned.
Sam, ever the mother hen and absolute rain cloud ruining the city parade, made a little frowny face with his brow. "Andy, should you really be doing that?" he chastised, still waving away the haze. "I'm pretty sure someone with a throat injury as severe as yours, even healed, shouldn't be smoking anything."
Bobby let out a snort that clearly said he'd tried and lost that argument at least once (probably more). Andy, however, developed a thoughtful look. The next image they all received was a whole lot clearer and Dean barked out laughter.
"Yeah, kid, definitely go for the pot brownies," he said, still chuckling.
Before Bobby could retort - face already screwed up and ready to start hollering about exactly who could be cooking what in his house, damnit - the sound of wingbeats interrupted the group. They turned almost as one to find Cas standing behind them, stoic as always even as she tucked a bloodied angel blade back into her trench coat.
"The shifter is dead," the angel announced, then turned directly to Dean. "And your 'baby' is in the front yard."
Despite the finger quotes, Dean looked so damn thankful that Cas was slightly – just slightly – less annoyed by the request to 'rescue' the car in the first place. Then, as humans were wont to do, he opened his mouth.
"That's my girl," Dean said with a bright smile. The moment of silence that followed seemed to stretch longer than just a moment and was certainly long enough for Sam's cough-covered laugh to fill it, before Dean's eyes went wide. "Not my girl, I mean. And not a girl! Woman. Or, uh…not…woman. Angel. Definitely an angel. Not my angel, just…you know…an angel."
As Bobby sat there staring, wondering when Dean would just go ahead and shove the whole foot in his mouth, and Sam had to press a fist to his mouth to keep from laughing (an almost hysterical relief bubbling up that he was trying not too hard to examine), Dean groaned.
"This is definitely blood loss talking," he announced, rather loudly.
Cas tilted her head to the side, frowning at the insinuation that her healing job may not have been adequate. She scanned her charge from head to toe, looking for proof. "You are no longer suffering from blood loss."
Sam's face said it all. Or it did before he had to turn away to hide the growing laugh. And if that laugh sounded a little off…well, he'd almost just lost his brother. Again.
"Thanks, Cas" Dean said, grimacing. The angel frowned, but righted her head.
"You are welcome, Dean."
Several seconds too late – minutes really – Andy's eyes lit up through the new layer of smoke he'd just finished expelling. He waved his hand lazily in a big arc and, given the flashes of wings, a halo, Gilmore Girls (for…some…reason), a TV-rating, a clock, and the letters U, S, and T presented Sesame Street style (again…what?), said something along the lines of 'Whoa, hey Cas! When did you get here?'
Dean let out another groan, this time completely unrelated to his own foot and mouth, as Sam shook his head in bewilderment. Bobby was harrumphing again, staying well out of this one. The angel only stared, momentarily concerned by the state of one of the humans under her protection, if not charge.
"You are intoxicated."
Andy's shoulders shook with a silent giggle and lazy grin. He raised his hand well above his head and they all saw a classic red and white kite fly through their brains.
'High as a kite.'
He held out the bong to Cas.
'Want to join me?'
The angel looked just curious enough that Dean immediately reached out, took the bong, and tucked it right back into the van out of sight. Images of a human Cas drugged to the gills, holding orgies and just…wrong flashed through his memory. So that was gonna be a hard no for the angel there.
"Not happening," he growled lowly to Andy, who shrugged hardly apologetic shoulders, but raised his hand in truce. Dean pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest. Time for a pointed change of topic. "Alright, kid. How exactly does a mute psychic find a retired police dog anyway?"
Andy's grin shifted from lazy to downright pleased with himself. He raised his hands, and body language alone spoke the words faster than the ASL he started rapid firing.
'Let me tell you a story.'
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
A/Ns: How's that for a crazy turnaround? Cliffhanger, blood, blood, blood, near character death and then Wham! German Shepherds, marijuana, polar bear riding Viking queens, and Cas! Not my usual style – and oh boy was it both hard and weird to suddenly go goofball with it (but very fun). Hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Next Up: Guys, guys, guys! Next chapter, heehehehe, next chapter is an entire filler chapter. But don't groan! I swear, it's the best filler chapter to ever fill a chapter, cuz it is allll about Andy and how he managed to get Bobby a new dog XD
See you all in two weeks!
Cheers,
Silence
P.S. Happy Martin Luther King birthday to those in the US. I hope you'll join me in honoring the holiday by giving back to your Black community, patroning a Black-owned business or artist, or donating to a charity that helps fight racial inequality in our country. Black Lives Matter!
P.P.S. Not to take away from Doctor King or the BLM movement, but today is Betty White's 100th birthday as well. If you can spare it, please donate just $5 to your local animal shelter in her name! Together we're going to change the world, one injustice and one animal in need at a time.
Okay, I'm done preaching causes now. Have a wonderful day everyone!
UPDATE: 2/1/2022 - Hey guys, so sorry for the missed chapter this weekend! I went skiing with a friend for his birthday and didn't end up getting the chapter edited beforehand like I had hoped I would. But it'll be up this weekend! Thanks for your patience!