Grief is the Price
It wasn't easy for Bobby to convince her to leave, but he was persistent.
"Faith, you're covered in blood, and you look two minutes from passing out," he said sternly, and not for the first time. "Let me take you home to patch you up; you can come back tomorrow."
They were outside the derelict house Dean had taken up residence in, exchanging hushed whispers, trying to keep from disturbing Dean with their squabble. "I'm not leaving him," Faith said, voice just a rasp, her head and neck both throbbing something terrible.
Bobby's eyes were compassionate. "I don't want to leave him either, Faith, but there's nothing we can do. We need to … to let him grieve," he said, the words coming out rough with pain. His eyes were red from his own shed tears, and Faith didn't want to go anywhere near a mirror – she knew she had to look a hundred times worse.
And despite thinking all her tears were dried up, the thought of leaving Dean there alone made her eyes sting all over again. "He shouldn't be alone, Bobby," she sniffled pathetically.
Bobby pulled her into another hug, and as he squeezed, she forced herself to swallow back the tears, pulling away a moment later only slightly more in-control of her emotions.
"We can't do anything here," he told her again. She still hesitated, so Bobby went for broke. "Sam would want you to take care of yourself, Faith."
Faith scowled at him, but her resolve was already shattered. "Just let me tell Dean we're going, and when we'll be back."
Bobby didn't argue. Faith guessed he didn't want to go inside and look at Sam again, because instead of following her, he simply leant back against the wall of the hollowed-out house and waited. Breathing deep, Faith stepped inside the house of horrors.
Dean was sat on a rusted metal chair in the corner, Sam's body lain on a righted table, unnaturally still, already beginning to turn cold and stiff. Faith skipped her eyes over Sam, going straight for Dean, who sat there staring into empty space, expressionless.
"Dean," she said gently. He didn't so much as blink, so Faith crouched down in front of him, reaching out to tentatively press her hand to his knee. He finally seemed to realise she was there, bloodshot eyes snapping to hers. "Bobby's wants us to go – he's got the stupid idea that I need medical attention or something," she said, struggling to maintain her usual wit.
"He's right," rasped Dean, his haunted eyes narrowing. "I'm staying here."
She nodded peacefully. "I figured. But, Dean, if you need me to stay—"
"Why would I need you to stay?"
That brought her up short. She didn't have a good answer. She breathed deep. "I just meant, if you'd rather not be alone—"
"Just go, Faith," he said, voice so rough, it was easy to tell he'd spent hours crying his rage and pain into the barren nothing of the stormy night. He was already checking back out again; eyes glassy as he returned to staring at the empty air.
"Dean—"
"Go."
Swallowing back anything else that might have wanted to bubble to the surface, Faith slowly stood. She hesitated, staring down at a lost Dean Winchester, her heart a gaping wound. Bobby was right – there was nothing she could do.
Turning, she crossed the room to Sam's body. His face was creased in pain – like there was no peace for him, not even in death. Faith's fingers trembled as she reached out to stroke a lock of hair from his slack face. He was cool to the touch, skin waxy beneath her fingertips. Faith's eyes began to sting again, and she knew she had to leave before Dean saw her cry.
She bent to press a swift kiss to Sam cold, hard forehead. "Sorry, Sam," she whispered, running her hand over his hair. A tear fell onto his cheek, and she hurried to wipe it away, sniffling pathetically before forcing herself to leave, each step ringing like a gunshot in the empty hut.
She said nothing as she passed Dean, moving out into the night with Bobby, who didn't say anything either – he just led the way back through the forest to where their cars waited.
The drive back to Bobby's place was made in complete silence. Bobby didn't even turn on the radio. They just sat, each lost in their own mourning. They really weren't too far from the salvage yard – barely an hour by car. As the familiar house and yard came into focus through the dark of the night, Faith felt her breath come a little easier.
Toby's car was parked on its usual patch of dry grass, and Faith was out of Bobby's truck before it had even come to a complete stop. Toby was waiting on the porch, and she watched as he set his beer down on the railing, opening his arms just in time to catch her as she flew into them.
She was still damp from the earlier rain, hair tangled and matted with blood – but Toby made no complaints. He held her to him with a fierceness, and she clutched him like he was the only thing keeping her together. Maybe he was. She felt his hand press against the back of her head and shuddered against him.
"What's going on?" Toby murmured, but the words were meant for Bobby, whose footsteps thudded up the stairs behind her.
Bobby heaved a great, pain-filled sigh. "Inside," he said roughly, and together they gently corralled Faith into the warmth of the house. Strange, how a place so familiar could suddenly feel so alien.
Bobby guided Faith to the table, where she robotically took a seat while he went to collect the first aid kit. Toby said nothing while Bobby was gone, seeming to sense that Faith was in no place to fill in any blanks. Bobby returned, setting the kit on the table before moving to run a cloth under warm water.
He handed it to Toby, who began to gently scrub away the dried flakes of blood on her skin without so much as a word of instruction. "Wanna start at the beginning?" Toby asked Bobby, who was digging in his supplies. Faith watched all of this happen without a word. Once again, she felt like an observer in her own life. A ghost floating above her body, watchful and intangible.
As they worked to patch up the cuts and bruises on Faith's face, neck and arms, Bobby began to talk. He started with when Sam went missing, how he and Dean had banded together to look for him, only for a call from Ash to interrupt their search. He was a little blurry on what happened from there, so Faith forced herself to numbly fill in the blanks.
She told them about the call she'd received that drew her out of the Roadhouse, then the demon attack and the fire that was set moments before she'd been knocked unconscious.
"Why would they lure you out of the Roadhouse?" Toby wondered, brow furrowed in concentration as he placed a series of butterfly bandages over the split at her temple.
"Something about me being important to someone…I don't know," she sighed, letting her tired eyes shut.
"Ash? Ellen?" he asked Bobby, clinging to hope. "Are we sure they didn't get out?"
"We found parts of Ash in the wreckage," Bobby said grimly. "Ellen…we're less sure about, but if she somehow got out, I doubt she'd've left Faith lying, unconscious, in the dirt."
It was a good point, and Toby knew it. He gripped Faith's shoulder, and she got the feeling he needed her strength as much as she needed his. Unfortunately for him, she was fresh out. "What happened then?" he asked Bobby in a voice like sandpaper.
Bobby began to explain how Dean had an unexpected vision that led them to where Sam was being held, and then how they'd driven through the whole afternoon to reach Cold Oak, only to find they got there moments too late. Toby's grip on her shoulder turned painful as Bobby's voice broke over the news of Sam's death.
Her partner was incredulous. "Sam didn't make it?"
Bobby didn't answer. Faith shook her head once, jaw clenched tight.
"Jesus," he muttered, abruptly dropping into one of the chairs at the table, like he could no longer hold up the weight of his own body.
Bobby pressed an ice pack to Faith's bruised neck, and she grabbed it before it could fall. "It's been hours," she rasped. "This isn't gonna do anything."
"Humour me," he snapped, so she did just that. "I'll make us some dinner," he continued gruffly. "Got a frozen shepherd's pie I can heat up…" His eyes strayed to the bruises on Faith's neck and he changed his mind. "Actually, I'll heat up some soup. Should only take a minute."
Faith shot him a grateful look that he grunted at, walking into the kitchen to get started. Faith turned to Toby, who had his head held in his hands, elbows braced on smooth wood of the table. She reached out with a tired arm, gently pressing a hand between his broad shoulders.
"I'm sorry about Ellen," she whispered.
When he looked up from the cradle of his hands, his eyes were rimmed with silver. "I'm sorry about Sam."
Throat stuffed with emotion, Faith simply rested her head on his shoulder. He lifted an arm to bring her against him, and she fell into his comforting scent of tea leaves and gunpowder. Shutting her eyes, it should have been easy to pretend everything was okay. But it wasn't – nothing was okay, and she was painfully aware of it.
"I'm sorry I left you alone," Toby said, regret soaking his tone.
"Don't be an idiot," she muttered without opening her eyes.
But he wasn't in the mood for her brush off. "If I hadn't gone with Pamela…"
Faith reluctantly lifted her head and cracked open her eyes just enough to glare at him. "If you hadn't gone with Pamela, you'd probably be dead as a doornail right now, Toby."
"Or…the others might still be alive," he argued.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring how it sent pain shooting through her skull. "We can't travel in time, so the point's moot anyway," she reminded him. "Did you at least get something good out of your time with Pamela?"
Toby opened his mouth to answer, but the silver in his eyes doubled and he pressed his lips into a harsh line, as if to hold back a torrent of emotion. Faith shut her eyes, tucking her head under his chin once again. "You don't have to tell me," she said quietly, peacefully. "I just hope it helped you, in some way."
Toby wrapped an arm around her again, holding tight. "It did."
They stayed like that a few minutes, until eventually Faith pulled back far enough to ask, "Did you get any more information about the Devil's Gate?"
Toby shook his head. "We got … distracted," he said guiltily.
Faith's smile was soft and layered with exhaustion. Bobby reappeared then, placing bowls of tomato soup in front of each of them. He set out some bread, too, but Faith didn't want to risk trying to swallow it around her swollen throat, so she stuck to the blissfully hot soup.
They didn't speak as they ate – grief and exhaustion warring for pride of place in the room. When they finished, Bobby gruffly ordered her to have a hot shower before bed. Of course, she tried to argue.
"We have to go back to Dean—"
"You're not going anywhere until you've had time to rest," said Bobby, the words coming out harsher than expected. Faith was prepared to argue, only to realise with a start that he'd already lost one pseudo-adopted kid tonight; he wasn't about to risk losing another, not for anything.
"I still think we should go back to Dean—" she began, gentler than before.
"I've known Dean a long time," said Bobby gruffly. "He don't want us there right now, Faith. He's grieving, and the last thing he wants is an audience. We'll go back tomorrow and check in. Now, you look half dead on your feet. Shower and sleep it off. I mean it, kid. Please."
It was sound logic, and Faith couldn't deny her own exhaustion. "Okay," she whispered. Bobby sagged with relief.
She looked to Toby, who nodded her on, and without another word Faith wandered up the stairs to her room. Toby had already brought in her bag from the car, and she had a moment of heady relief as she realised that she'd never taken it into the Roadhouse – it had stayed in Toby's car, safe from the flames. She dug out an old hoodie and some sweats, then shuffled like a zombie into the bathroom to shower.
The hot water against her bruises was beyond soothing – and if she let everything go and sobbed her heart out underneath the spray, nobody but her would ever have to know.
Faith woke up the next day feeling vaguely like she'd been hit by a truck. She forced herself upright, slowly peeling off her pyjamas only to pause when she caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Her whole side was a menagerie of black and purple bruising. She gently prodded at the blooms of colour, the skin tender and sore. She cussed quietly and found her voice sounded like she'd taken a shot of bleach the night before. Scowling to herself, Faith looked at her clothes.
She ached to pull on something soft and comfortable, the sort of clothes someone in mourning usually donned, the perfect outfit to curl up in, and stare out into nothingness. But despite the urge to hide away from the world, people still needed her – Dean needed her. And so did Toby, and Bobby; she couldn't give up now.
Besides, there were still so many unanswered questions, so many dangerous possibilities. All that in mind, despite the way her body felt like one massive bruise, Faith knew she had to be ready for a fight. Just in case.
She painstakingly pulled on a pair of black cargo pants, then threw on a tank top and her usual leather jacket over that. The bruising on her neck would be easy enough to hide with a scarf, but what was the point in hiding it? Everyone who was going to see her already knew where it came from. And it wasn't shameful. She'd survived; that was enough.
Pulling on a pair of boots, she hastily ran a brush through her hair before slipping into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Finally, feeling a tiny bit more human, Faith walked carefully down the stairs to where Bobby and Toby were sat in the study, each nursing a glass of whiskey.
"Whiskey for breakfast?" she asked in an attempt to act like their world hadn't shattered around them not twelve hours ago. "Very classy, gentlemen."
The two exchanged a look. "It's two p.m.," Toby said, and she turned to frown at the clock across the room. He wasn't kidding.
"Must have been tired," she muttered, then looked expectantly at Bobby. "Have you been to check on Dean already?"
He shook his head. "I was waiting for you."
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You needed the rest."
"Bobby—"
"Sam's already dead, Faith," Bobby said, gentle but blunt all the same. Faith sill flinched from them like a blow. Bobby's face softened into something apologetic, but she'd already looked away. "Look, kid, all I mean is that…no matter what happens from now, that fact's not gonna change. The damage is done. You can't fix this."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Maybe not," she allowed. "But I can make sure Dean isn't alone. That, I can do. And will do."
Bobby shook his head ruefully. "He's not exactly the care-and-share type. You're more likely to piss him off than actually help him feel better."
She shrugged. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
Bobby eyed her a few long moments, then seemed to come to a decision and just nodded his head. "All right. You coming, Toby?" he asked, climbing to his feet and moving to grab his keys from where they lay in their usual dish on the sideboard.
"This isn't a the-more-the-merrier sort of a situation," Toby said calmly. "You two go. I'll stay here; hit the books."
Faith paused. "Hit them for what?"
Bobby sighed and began to explain. "Demonic omens – they're coming like nothing I've ever seen, or even heard of for that matter."
"What kind of omens?"
"Cattle deaths, weather anomalies, crop failures. You name it, it's happening. They're coming in hot and fast, all around Southern Wyoming."
"Around it?"
He nodded. "Almost like the eye of a storm."
"Well, that's disconcerting," Faith murmured. Something clicked into place. "Wyoming," she parroted, pulse like a hummingbird's in her chest. "You don't mean Riverton?"
Toby's expression was grim. "Not far from it," he confirmed.
The air was suddenly hard to breathe. "You think it could have something to do with Emily and the Cult?"
"We're not ruling it out," Bobby said. "It's a good idea you stay behind, Toby. Dig a little deeper, see what you can find. We'll be back in a few hours – with any luck, Dean'll be with us."
Faith kissed Toby's cheek in friendly farewell, but her thoughts were miles away.
She and Bobby began to head west, in the direction of Cold Oak. They didn't speak much – there wasn't a lot to say. They stopped at a KFC about halfway there, grabbing lunch for themselves and a bucket of Dean's favourite, knowing he wouldn't have eaten since the night before.
"Is Dean going to be okay?" Faith wondered Bobby as they grew closer to Cold Oak.
Bobby's grip on the wheel tightened. "Eventually, I s'pose," he said. It wasn't particularly convincing.
Faith didn't say anything else, and when they reached the town, they got out of the car and wordlessly walked back towards the house Dean was using as a temporary mausoleum for Sam. The town was somehow even creepier during the day, when the sun was high in the sky, and she could see every single shack and abandoned saloon in terrible, horrific detail.
The feeling that they were being watched reappeared in full force, but she did her best to ignore it.
"Dean?" Bobby called as they approached the house, giving Dean plenty of warning that it was them. The last thing they needed was Dean shooting salt rounds at them because he thought he was being attacked by a spirit – or something worse. Bobby opened the front door, waving Faith through her first.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting Dean to look like, but somehow it was worse than she could have imagined. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings underneath. His hair was in oily disarray and there was a deathlike pallor to his face, as if he was the one who'd died last night, rather than Sam. She knew he wished that were the case.
"Hey Dean," Faith said, voice soft in the quiet room. Dean didn't react other than a blank, fleeting glance, and something in her chest tightened painfully. "We grabbed your favourite," she added, holding up the bucket of chicken.
"No, thanks. I'm fine," said Dean without turning around.
Bobby met Faith's eyes, shutting the door after them and moving deeper into the room. "You should eat something," he said, injected a hint of levity to his voice.
Dean didn't appreciate it. "I said I'm fine," he snapped, stalking towards them. Faith felt rooted in her spot as Dean came close, but he didn't even glance at her as he swiped the whiskey bottle from where it was sat, already half-empty, on the windowsill. He swigged it down, dead in the eyes.
Bobby looked down at the ground, and Faith gnawed on her lower lip. "Dean… I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time … we bury Sam?"
Finally, Dean looked up, meeting Bobby's gaze frostily. "No," he said, without emotion or inflection. There was no give to the word. He wouldn't even consider it. And his dark expression warned them that pushing the issue wouldn't end well for anyone.
But Bobby had always been braver than most. "We could maybe…"
"What? Torch his corpse?" Dean asked darkly. "Not yet."
"Dean," said Faith, her voice breaking on his name. Dean's green eyes flickered to hers for the briefest flash of a second before he looked away again and swigged back some more whiskey.
She realised in that moment that Bobby had been right. Dean might have needed help, but that didn't mean he wanted it. Least of all from her. The realisation hurt, and she turned away before either of them could see the pain in her eyes, trailing her eyes over Sam, who hadn't moved an inch from where he'd been lain the night before.
Bobby sighed. "I want you to come with me," he said, attempting a firm hand.
Dean didn't hesitate. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Dean, please."
"Would you cut me some slack?" Dean growled.
"I just don't think you should be alone, that's all. I gotta admit, I could use your help."
Dean snorted scathingly, and Faith looked away from Sam's body to frown at him. "Don't be an ass, Winchester," she said, just as scathing. If he wanted to play it that way, then she was game. He didn't want to be babied, or treated with any sympathy? Fine. She'd always been better at hatred than love, anyway. "Some serious shit's about to go down."
Dean's only reaction was to take another swig of whiskey.
"Dean, this is serious," Bobby said sternly. "End-of-the-world serious."
When Dean exploded, he did so unexpectedly. "Then let it end!" he roared, grip on the neck of the whiskey bottle tightening until Faith genuinely worried it would shatter. Faith took a step back, hands balled into fists. Even Bobby seemed stunned.
"You don't mean that," he breathed.
Everything about Dean went as hard and as cold as stone. He shot to his feet, taking a large step forwards to he was in Bobby's face, thunder in his forest eyes.
"You don't think so?" he asked, bitter and jaded. "You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd turn around, and get the hell out of here. Both of you."
Neither of them moved, and Dean shoved Bobby with enough strength to force him back several steps.
"Go!" he shouted in Bobby's face, eyes burning with rage at an unfair world. Faith took a step forwards, shifting herself in front of Bobby.
It wasn't because she thought Bobby was in danger, or because she thought she'd be of any use against a Dean Winchester with nothing to lose. It was because she wanted Dean to know it wasn't okay. That if he wanted to be physical with anyone, he sure as shit had better be willing to start with her.
But she'd wanted to be stoic and stern. She'd wanted to look unaffected – a judgemental wall for him to come against. Instead, her face betrayed her, and her eyes burned with the tears that seemed to have no end, her lips pressed into a hard line just to keep them from trembling. Sam's corpse was feet away, and Dean was right there, shaking with fury, and…
Confronted with her pain, the ire seemed to drain from Dean like a plug being pulled from a drain.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, turning away like he couldn't bear to look at her. He combed his fingers through his hair and let out a sharp puff of air. "I'm sorry."
"Dean," she said, melting just the same and taking two steps towards him.
But when Dean only stepped further away from her, she froze, lip trembling some more, her eyeing burning with grief. Dean seemed to take a moment, gathering his strength to say, "Please, Faith. Please, just go."
She didn't want to – everything inside of her wanted to stay and help him. Like he'd helped her, in those days after Nate had died. Their relationship had never been easy, even in the very beginning. But there had always been something about the sureness of it, the predictability of their tumultuous connection, which had been comforting.
She might not have been able to count on much, but she could count on Dean being a jerk. And there was something beautiful about that. Because it wasn't out of malice or hatred, but maybe some likeness they shared, something of themselves they recognised in one another. It was just how they communicated. And Faith had come to rely on that. Even look forwards to it, a little.
She didn't know what she was going to do if that, too, was going to be taken from her.
Bobby pressed a hand to her shoulder as a tear escaped her eye, trailing hot and unwelcome down her face. She swallowed back the urge to sob, staring at Dean a final beat before forcing herself to stride determinedly to the door.
"You know where we'll be," Bobby told Dean quietly, and that was all she heard as she pushed her way out into the day.
She didn't wait for Bobby, just stormed her way out of Cold Oak. No longer did it seem creepy –instead, it just felt like another place, an obstacle to work around. Faith scowled all the way back to Bobby's car, slamming the door shut after her. Bobby joined her a few moments later, and she was relieved when he said nothing as he took them back out onto the main road.
The silence didn't last long, though. She wasn't that lucky.
"He's just hurting," Bobby said into the quiet.
"I know."
"He cares about you, Faith," Bobby continued when she'd really rather he wouldn't. "In the coming months – hell, years – he's gonna need all of us. All of us."
She knew that was true, but that didn't assuage the sting she felt in her heart. "Yeah."
Bobby sighed and reached forwards to turn on the radio. Faith settled in for the drive, listening to some Bon Jovi song she wasn't familiar with, letting the lyrics of it fill her head, blotting out all memory of Dean's haunted, bloodshot eyes.
Faith, Toby and Bobby spent the rest of the night with their heads in ancient lore books, researching demonic omens throughout history, searching desperately for something – anything – that might explain the current situation in Wyoming.
The possibility that it had something to do with Faith's mother and her sacrifice all those years ago continued to swim in her head. That, along with that demon boy's mysterious warning that the Cult's curse had nothing to do with Emily Jett at all, had Faith all tied up into knots. Toby could sense her anxiety and kept plying her with calming teas.
Eventually, as the clock ticked to midnight, Faith fell asleep on the couch. Instead of waking her, Toby simply covered her with a blanket, and she woke up the next morning warm but with an aching spine.
After a shower, Faith redressed and hit the books again. Toby sat on the floor, making shorthand notes on a pad while he read, and Bobby was in the kitchen, fixing some stew for dinner. It was peaceful, even despite the overwhelming sense of dread filling the house. The haunting knowledge that they were more than likely fighting a losing battle.
Something was coming, and none of them had the faintest clue what it was, or how to stop it. They knew it was going to be bad, though, and from within the safety of her mind, Faith wondered if this was it – the Devil's Gate. If it was, what did that mean? How was she supposed to find it, let alone stop it?
The questions piled, one on top of another, until all she had was a wall she couldn't penetrate, and Faith began to rely on the tea Toby forced upon her. The taste of the herbal ones even grew on her, after a while.
Just when the words on the pages of Bobby's old books were beginning to blur into complete nonsense, there came a knock at the front door. Faith was honestly relieved for the interruption.
"I've got it!" called Bobby before she had the chance.
"Have you tried that old Greek translation of Revelations yet?" Toby asked conversationally, lifting his right hand off his legal pad and rolling his wrist clockwise to get some feeling back into it.
"I've checked it twice," she groaned. "I think we're more likely to find the answers we're looking for on the back of a Biggerson's menu than in that old thing."
Toby hummed. "So cynical."
She flicked him in the ear, and for a brief, shining moment things were almost normal – and then Sam Winchester strolled around the corner, alive and none the worse for wear. Toby and Faith froze at the sight of him.
"Hey guys," Sam said, perfectly healthy, chipper even.
Faith gaped, watching dumbly as Toby's fingers twitched towards the nearby fire poker. But before they could gather themselves enough to attack the evil thing stood before them, Dean stepped around the corner, looking unmistakably contrite.
Dean noted their stunned horror and hurried to say, loudly and very obviously, "Bobby's a better nurse than you'd think. Didn't I tell you he'd pull through?"
Faith tore her eyes away from Sam to find Dean staring at her. He was screaming with his eyes, begging her to play along. She had no idea how to react, frozen in place, warring between a singing sense of relief – Sam was alive! – and a mounting sense of horror – Sam was alive?
To her surprise, Toby was the first to recover. "You look good, mate," he said, reaching out a hand. Sam took it and helped the slightly older hunter to his feet. "Y'know, for a guy we were almost certain wasn't gonna make it," Toby chuckled smoothly.
Sam laughed just as grimly. "It was that bad, huh?"
Faith stood too, abandoning her books and crossing the space to pull Sam into a hug. He was warm again, soft and so very alive. Faith's heart felt like it was trying to burst from her chest. She wanted to believe it was a miracle, but she didn't think they were the sort of bunch who qualified for something as lucky as miracles.
"Yeah, it was that bad," she mumbled into Sam's shoulder, voice coming out wrenched.
"Well, I'm fine now," Sam said, patting her on the back, seeming just a little bit awkward. Faith made herself pull back, sniffling once and attempting a watery smile. Her gaze strayed to Dean, who was stood across the room. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. Faith knew guilt when she saw it.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Dean cleared his throat loudly. "As nice as all this catch-up is, we're sort of in the middle of a demonic crisis?" he said pointedly. His attention slid to Bobby. "What've you got?"
Bobby hesitated so briefly that it was almost impossible to notice. Then he nodded once and moved over to the table, grabbing the map they'd been using to mark the omens on since the night before. "Well, we found something. But we're not sure what the hell it means."
Sam braced both hands on the edge of the table. "What is it?"
"Demonic omens … like a frickin' tidal wave. Cattle deaths. Lightning storms. They skyrocketed from out of nowhere. Here," Bobby said, jabbing a finger at the map before them. "All around here, except for one place … Southern Wyoming."
Dean's eyes slid to Faith, who met his stare grimly. "Wyoming?"
"We don't know if it's in any way connected to my mom's death," Faith said, keeping one eye on Sam as she spoke, unable to help it. Was she in the Twilight Zone? Or was this all just a very confusing dream? "Although, it isn't happening very far from Riverton. Something to consider, at least."
"That one area's totally clean – spotless," said Bobby, tapping the map. "It's almost as if the demons are surrounding it."
"But we don't know why?"
"No, and by this point my eyes are swimming," he added with a theatrical sigh. He turned to Sam. "Sam, would you take a look at it? Maybe you could catch something I couldn't."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, sure."
"Come on, Dean," said Bobby. "I got some more books in the truck. Help me lug 'em in."
The true meaning of his words couldn't be more obvious, and Dean ducked his head as he said, "Yeah."
Faith grabbed her jacket, sliding it on over her tank top, but when she went to follow them, Dean paused in the doorway and held out a hand to stop her.
"We've got it," he said shortly – rudely. "Stay here, help Sam."
Faith's expression fixed into a glower. She wasn't sure how to sidestep the order – how to smoothly make some excuse to follow them anyway. But it didn't matter in the end. Dean didn't give her the chance. The door clanked shut, leaving the three of them in a stifling silence.
Sam turned to her and Toby, who glanced at one another in varying states of anger and discomfort. "Er – am I missing something?" Sam asked warily, sensing the dip in the atmosphere of the room.
A moment of communication flowed through them – an understanding that they didn't know what Dean had done to get Sam back, but that whatever it was, he wanted to play it close to his chest. They were under no obligation to go along with it, but there weren't many things powerful enough to raise somebody from the dead. And of the things that were, none of them were any good. Dean didn't want Sam knowing the truth for a reason, and reluctant as she was to just blindly follow Dean's orders, she couldn't help but believe he knew what he was doing.
Toby, apparently, decided the same.
"Nah," her partner lied casually, "we just all thought you were a goner. Faith and I were in the middle of deciding who got to keep your iPod."
Thankfully, Sam seemed to buy it. Or, if he didn't, at least he realised they weren't the ones he should be getting the truth from in the first place.
"So, what're we looking at?" he asked, crossing the room to where the maps and books were piled high. Faith and Toby walked Sam through what little they knew for sure, plus the list of unknowns still gnawing at them. As Sam began reading over the materials they'd gathered over the last day, Faith took a moment to observe him.
He looked healthy enough – colour had returned to his face, his movements smooth and graceful, hardly the look of someone who'd she'd seen dead on a table mere hours ago. Faith looked at him and wondered what in the name of all hell could possibly accomplish this.
She knew there were creatures capable of resurrecting the dead. Not many, but some. Tricksters, necromancers, witches and some demons were at the top of her theory list – though none of them seemed to perfectly fit. A trickster would have some evil ulterior motive, and there didn't appear to be one here. A necromancer wouldn't leave Sam so healthy or sane of mind. Sam and Dean were well-known for putting witches in the ground, so she doubted any of them were going to work their mojo just to bring a Winchester back from the dead. And Dean would sooner die himself than make a deal with a demon, especially after what happened to their mom.
Right?
Or maybe wrong. She was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that she didn't know Dean. Not really. Who was she to say what lengths he would or wouldn't go to, to save Sam's life? She'd never had a brother; she didn't know that kind of love. Maybe Dean was stupid enough to bribe a trickster, or consort with witches, or hell, even make a crossroads deal.
But even if he was, it wasn't any of her business. He'd made that very clear.
Sam and Toby were still bent over the old texts and Faith busy making a pot of coffee when the back door creaked open and Bobby walked in, Dean close on his heels and a shorter figure behind him. Faith reached for her gun on instinct, but then Dean stepped aside to reveal the figure was Ellen.
Everything in Faith went quiet.
"Ellen?" she whispered, blinking her eyes as if to clear away a stubborn mirage.
Ellen seemed to melt at the sight of her. "Faith!" she cried, all but shoving Dean aside to reach Faith faster. Faith set down the mugs she was holding, coffee splashing over the rims, but she didn't care. She just gathered Ellen in an embrace, relief so potent in her veins it left her feeling dizzy from the force of it. "Oh my God," Faith cried into her shoulder. "We thought you were dead."
"I thought you were dead," cried Ellen in return, clutching her more tightly than Faith had ever been held in her life. It was a powerful embrace, strong with comfort and love. Faith guessed this was probably what it felt like to be hugged by your mom.
"How did you get out of the fire?" Ellen asked, pulling back to smooth a hand down Faith's hair, such a tender gesture that Faith's eyes grew wet.
"I wasn't in there when it started," Faith told her. "That phone call, remember? How did you get out?"
"I left to get more pretzels only a few moments after you went outside – I told Ash—" she paused, choking up at the name. "I told him to tell you where I'd gone."
"You didn't see me? The demons?"
Ellen shook her head, angry with herself. "I took the backroad, it cuts through the valley rather than going around it. Makes a ten-minute trip into five. I had no idea…" She looked away, her graceful brow furrowed. "It's all gone," she murmured, sadness deepening her voice.
"I'm sorry, Ellen," came Toby's voice, and Ellen fell into Toby's arms the way Faith had so many times before. For such an incurable grump, Toby really did give the best hugs. They stayed that way a long few moments, the embrace broken only by the clearing of Bobby's throat.
"Sorry to break this up," came Bobby's voice, and the two of them turned to look at him, Ellen subtly wiping at her eyes, "but Ellen, I don't s'pose you'd feel up to taking a shot?" He held up his flask of holy water and gave it a little shake.
"Bobby," huffed Faith, but Ellen held up a hand.
"It's okay, honey," she said, meeting Bobby's eyes unflinchingly. Bobby took a seat at the table and Ellen slid into the chair opposite him. Faith sat beside her while Sam and Dean took their places on Bobby's left. Toby sat on Faith's other side, and they all watched as Bobby poured Ellen a shot. Ellen hesitated in taking it.
Bobby's smirk was a challenge. "Just a belt of holy water," he said sweetly. "Shouldn't hurt."
Without breaking his stare, Ellen threw back the shot. "Whiskey now, if you don't mind," she said, and Bobby's smirk widened as he reached for the nearby bottle of amber liquor.
"So, you got back to the Roadhouse, only to find it in ruins?" Dean pressed, piecing together what they knew to try and create a timeline that made sense.
Pain flickered across Ellen's face like a fork of lightning, but it was gone just as quickly. She picked up the shot of whiskey and tossed it back like a pro. Faith supposed she'd have to be, having owned a bar most of her life.
"I was still at the store when Ash called. Panic in his voice. He told me to look in the safe. Then the call cut out. By the time I got back, the flames were sky-high. And everybody was dead. I couldn't have been gone more than a half hour."
There was a moment of mournful silence.
"Sorry, Ellen," said Sam quietly.
Ellen's eyes turned glassy and rimmed with silver. "A lot of good people died in there," she said softly, bitterly. "And I got to live. Lucky me."
Bobby frowned but didn't comment. "Ellen, you mentioned a safe."
Her eyes refocused. "A hidden safe we keep in the basement."
"Demons get what was in it?"
The barest hint of a smile flickered across Ellen's stoic face. "No."
From her pocket she pulled a large, folded sheet of paper. When she set it on the table and flattened it out, Faith could see it was a map of Wyoming marked with five separate X's, like clues to a pirate king's treasure.
"Wyoming," said Dean, glancing so briefly at Faith that she might have even just imagined it. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Ellen muttered. "But I figure if anyone can figure it out…" She looked pointedly at Bobby.
He stood to his feet without a moment's hesitation. "First thing's first, we've got to find out what those crosses are marking," he said, beginning to order Toby and Sam about like he was a general, they his faithful commandos. They were the research-train, and they worked like a well-oiled engine.
Which left Faith, Ellen and Dean hanging around, feeling only somewhat useless. Sometimes, more hands in the field didn't help, they only made things more chaotic than necessary. Faith went back to the coffees, making up a fresh batch for all of them while Dean and Ellen spoke quietly at the table.
"You should call Jo," Dean was saying earnestly.
"She doesn't wanna hear from me," Ellen replied softly. The others' voices drifted through the open doorway, all three deep in research mode. Faith focused her attention on the coffee she was brewing, but she couldn't help but listen to Dean and Ellen behind her.
"You don't know that," Dean said sternly.
"You don't know what I know," Ellen snapped. "She's my daughter. I think I know what she wants."
"Ellen, you almost died today. She'll want to know about it."
Ellen scoffed. "No use in bothering her."
"I think you're scared," Faith found herself saying. She turned, balancing the old plastic cutting board she was using as a drinks tray across the length of her forearm. She was thrown back to the year before, when she'd still been waitressing at that seedy diner, surviving almost entirely on tips from passing truckers who'd gotten a good look down the front of her shirt.
Faith placed a coffee in front of each of them, and Ellen looked up at her through narrowed eyes. "What'd you say, girl?" she demanded.
"I said you're scared," Faith said shrewdly, calmly taking the seat next to Dean, who subtly shifted away from her as she settled into place. Faith tried not to take it personally. "You're afraid that you'll call her, and she won't want to speak to you. And the thought of trying only to be rejected seems harder to bear than just not trying at all."
Ellen didn't seem to know what to say, staring hard at Faith like she wasn't sure whether to smack her or just cry.
"As someone who's spent her entire life without a mom, I know how hard it can be when yours isn't there. Even if she doesn't pick up this time, or the next, she'll still know you tried. She'll still know that you'll be there for her, whenever she's finally ready to pick up the phone."
For another excruciating moment, Ellen didn't react. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she contemplated Faith's words. Then, just when Faith was sure was going to get smacked for her ballsy, unsolicited advice, Ellen reached for her coffee, picking it up and holding it in the cradle of both palms.
"I'll call her," she said, and that was that.
Although the relief was strong, Faith kept her expression blank as she picked up her own mug and blew on the steaming liquid within. She became suddenly aware of Dean's green gaze pinned to the side of her face. She tilted her head to the side, brows furrowed in question. "What?"
Dean pursed his lips and seemed to think better of speaking his mind. "Nothing," he said gruffly. Faith knew when to let sleeping dogs lie and simply sipped at her own coffee, allowing herself a moment of rest before the inevitable fight they were hurtling towards.
It wasn't too long before Bobby managed to find the answers they needed. "I don't believe it," he muttered out of nowhere about a half hour later.
By then, even Dean had picked up a book, thumbing through it lazily, not really sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Ellen had taken Faith's advice and stepped outside to give Jo a call. She was back now, looking tired but privately pleased. Faith guessed that meant things went well. Faith had gotten antsy with nothing to do, so she pulled out her arsenal of weapons and began to methodically clean them, one by one, just to keep herself busy.
At Bobby's exclamation, all five of them looked up expectantly. "What? You got something?" Sam asked, hopeful.
"A lot more than that," said Bobby. Faith snapped the barrel of her clean rifle back into place, setting it aside and crossing the room to where the rest of them were gathered around the table with the maps. "Each of these X's is an abandoned frontier church – all mid-19th century. And all of them built by Samuel Colt."
"Samuel Colt?" asked Dean. "The demon-killing, gun-making Samuel Colt?"
"Yep. And there's more. He built private railway lines connecting church to church. It just happens to lay out like this…" Bobby used a marker to draw lines between each X. It quickly became obvious exactly what shape the lines were taking.
There was a moment of shocked silence. "Tell me that's not what I think it is," said Dean slowly.
"It's a devil's trap," said Sam, voice low with awe. "A 100-square mile devil's trap."
"Bloody hell," said Toby, setting down his mug of tea with a clink. "That's brilliant."
"Iron lines," pointed out Dean, just as impressed, "demons can't cross."
Ellen shook her head. "I've never heard of anything that massive."
"Because I don't think anything else that massive even exists," said Faith, reaching out to trace her pointer finger over the lines of the devil's trap. It was certainly an awesome thing; a feat beyond anything she'd dreamt of. Faith thought that she'd have liked to have known this Samuel Colt – had they lived in the same century. He seemed like he'd be a fun party guest.
"And after all these years, none of the lines are broken?" Dean asked. "I mean, it still works?"
Sam was nodding before he was even done. "Definitely."
"How do you know?"
But Faith picked up on Sam's train of thought. "The omens," she murmured, and Sam looked up at her with the grin of an academic whose crackpot theory was being proved right before his very eyes. "They're happening everywhere except inside the trap. It must be working."
Sam nodded eagerly. "They're circling, but they can't get in."
"Yeah, well … they're trying," muttered Bobby.
Ellen shifted her weight. "Why? What's inside?"
"Nothing," said Toby, reaching forwards to tap his own fingers against the centre of the devil's trap. "I've checked the whole area. The only thing I can think of that might matter to a hoard of demons is a cemetery. An olden-time cowboy one, dead centre."
"A cemetery?" asked Ellen. "What's so important about that?"
"Maybe he's got something hidden there, and he was trying to protect it," Faith suggested, because it seemed to make the most sense.
But Dean had another theory. "Well, unless…" He looked up at them, something like horror sparking in his forest eyes. "What if Colt wasn't trying to keep the demons out? What if he was trying to keep something in?"
Ellen grimaced. "Now that's a comforting thought."
"Could they do it, Bobby?" Sam asked. "Could they get inside?"
Bobby shook his head. "This thing's so powerful, you'd practically need an A-bomb to destroy it. No way a full-blood demon gets across."
That seemed to be a relief to everyone – except Sam.
"No," he said gravely, "but I know who could."
Faith glanced at Toby, who caught her eye, looking just as grim.
"Who?" Ellen demanded.
Sam sighed and hung his head. "Jake."
"Who the hell is Jake?" Ellen was understandably confused.
Sam sat down at the table, steepling his hands in front of his face. "When I went missing a couple of days ago? It wasn't random. I was taken somewhere – me and a bunch of other kids like me. I was taken for a purpose."
Toby cocked his head. "And what purpose is that?"
Sam told them everything; beginning from waking up in that haunted town and ending with the white-hot pain of his 'near-death' experience. Faith listened raptly, her insides roiling as she imagined herself in Sam's position – then more so when she considered that it wasn't so far from the realm of possibility.
Maybe she wasn't one of the Yellow-Eyed Demon's 'special children', but she was something – somehow other. It wasn't impossible to think that one day something similar might happen to her; that someone might want to use her abilities – strange and unreliable as they were – for their own gain.
"So, this Jake guy might be heading into the middle of that trap right now?" Ellen asked, rigid with tension.
"Could be," said Sam grimly.
"Then what in the hell are we doing standing around here?" she demanded, reaching for a gun and throwing it over one shoulder, the body of the barrel pressed to her collarbone. Her words were the only motivation they needed. Like a well-oiled machine, the six of them swept across the room, pocketing all manner of weapon. They weren't sure what they needed to be prepared for, so they needed to be prepared for everything.
Faith stuffed her things into her duffel, so that way if things went on for longer than the day, she'd have clothes to change into, wherever she may find herself.
Sam and Dean took the Impala, Bobby and Ellen shared his '71 Chevelle, and Faith and Toby slid into Toby's beaten-up old Toyota. The sun was still high in the sky as they began to drive, the Impala at the head of the pack, all the way into Southern Wyoming. They were just crossing over the state lines when Toby paused his current audiobook and turned his attention to Faith.
"What do you think he did?" he asked unexpectedly, but Faith didn't need him to elaborate; by now she knew him well enough to know what – and who – he was talking about. Slowly, she lowered the magazine she'd found a few weeks back in a lonely Missouri gas station.
None of the gossip in it mattered when there was the job to do, or demons on her tail to deal with. But it passed the time easy enough.
"I don't know," she said quietly, peering out the window into the pitch-black night, trying to calm her own swirling thoughts. "But I know one thing – Sam was dead and gone. He was cold to the touch – already halfway through rigor mortis. Whatever Dean did, it was powerful enough to bring Sam back from the dead."
Toby let go of the wheel to run a hand down the whiskers on his face. "Do you think we need to be worried?"
Faith sighed and leant forwards until her temple pressed against the cool glass of the window. "I honestly don't know," she whispered, shutting her eyes and trying fruitlessly to find comfort in the steady rocking of the car. "I think Dean won't be honest if we ask him outright, and I think Bobby's too loyal to tell us the truth."
"It can't have been good news, Faith," Toby said quietly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm bloody thrilled Sam's alive … but if there's one thing a hunter knows, it's that the dead should stay that way. Nothing good ever comes from the alternative."
"I know," she breathed, shutting her eyes tighter, as though it might block out all the bad things and leave her only with all the good things left in this world. Kicking Toby's ass at darts; when Bobby insisted on cooking her a meal; any time she could make Dean lost for words.
"You should talk to him," said Toby suddenly.
She opened her eyes. "Who?"
"Dean."
"Why in the hell would I do that?"
"Because he'll listen to you. And, by some miracle, he might even talk back."
Faith scoffed. "Are we talking about the same Dean, here? The guy can't stand me. He'd sooner have a heart-to-heart with a chaos demon."
Toby shook his head. "You're both idiots," he said tonelessly. A statement of fact. "You know that, right?"
Faith slumped petulantly in her seat and didn't answer. A minute passed, and just when she was sure he was going to turn his audiobook back on, he spoke again.
"Something's occurred to me."
Still slumped, Faith crossed one leg over the other and said, "Please, do tell."
"Pamela's warning," said Toby, staring hard at Bobby's tail-lights ahead of them, grip tight on the wheel.
Faith frowned. "Her warning?"
"Well, Oliver's warning," he amended, voice wavering over his old partner's name. She remembered, then, what Pamela had said that Oliver had warned them about, all those days ago, when the Roadhouse was still standing, and Ash was still alive.
The Devil's Gate.
"You think it could have something to do with this job?" she asked tentatively.
"I think that if I was going to hide a Devil's Gate somewhere in the world … well, inside the largest, most fortified devil's trap of all time would probably be the place to do it."
Faith turned those words over in her head, and Toby cast a look at her in the dark. "You didn't mention this around the others," she pointed out, if only to buy herself time to think.
"They have their private business, we have ours."
Faith chewed on her tongue. "We have to stop it," she finally murmured. "That was Oliver's warning, wasn't it? To keep the Gate from opening, no matter what? And besides, if we take what the demon said into account" – she didn't need to specify which demon she was talking about – "then it's a no-brainer. If this really is it – the Devil's Gate – then we need to do everything we can to keep it from opening. Because if the Cult gets free – what they'll do to me…"
Her partner's hands tightened even more on the wheel. "They're not gonna touch you, Faith."
"You don't know that," she whispered. Toby said nothing, but the sound of his angry breathing was loud in the quiet cab of the car. "What happens if we fail?" she wondered, partly to Toby, but mostly just to herself. She'd wondered for a while now, but saying it aloud made it real. Made it a question that could actually be answered. "I mean, what's really going to happen if it opens?"
"I mean," began Toby mildly, "it's a door to Hell. I don't imagine it's going to be all puppies and butterflies."
They arrived at the edge of the giant devil's trap a few hours later. As they drove over the iron train tracks that made up the humungous pentagram, Faith felt an uncomfortable chill prick its way down the length of her spine. She didn't feel so much safe from the demons outside of it as she did trapped with whatever was inside – somehow a million times worse.
Dean pulled up only a couple hundred metres from the cemetery in the centre of the trap. Bobby and Toby pulled up near him, their cars hidden smartly from view behind the underbrush surrounding the graveyard.
"We don't know what he's coming here for," said Dean as they met near the entrance of the cemetery, deadly weapons held in rock-steady hands. "We need to wait and see; once we're sure, then we stop him."
It was all the pep talk they needed. The six of them fanned throughout the space, ducking out of sight behind rotting headstones and chipped statues of guardian angels. Faith crouched behind an angel with its face pressed sadly into its hands, most of the finer details worn away by time.
They weren't waiting long, and as a tall, young, black man stepped into the cemetery, she glanced up at the indistinct visage of the angel above her, wondering at the timing, and whether things weren't quite so random as they appeared.
Jake wandered slowly through the statues and headstones, like he had all the time in the world. Faith watched from around the wings of the angel as he leisurely made his way to the mausoleum in the centre of the cemetery. She kept her lips pressed tight, her breathing shallow and quiet, waiting for their cue.
It came from Sam, who stepped out into sight just as Jake grew close enough to the mausoleum to touch it.
"Howdy, Jake," said Sam, and like soldiers obeying their general, the five of them stepped out from their hiding places, guns aimed at an unsuspecting Jake. He looked only mildly surprised at first, but as his eyes focused on Sam, something like horror bled into his face.
"Wait…" he said, staring at Sam like he was looking at a ghost, "…you were dead. I killed you."
Sam was unbothered. "Yeah? Well, next time, finish the job."
"I did!" Jake insisted. "I cut clean through your spinal cord, man." Sam hesitated, glancing over to the others. Dean wouldn't meet his eyes, but Faith caught Sam's gaze without flinching, the sadness in her eyes impossible to mask. "You can't be alive," Jake breathed, and Sam looked away from her. "You can't be."
Bobby intervened. "Okay, just take it real easy there, son."
Jake's entire body went rigid. "And if I don't?"
"Wait and see," growled Sam.
"What, you a tough guy all of a sudden? What are you gonna do – kill me?"
"It's a thought."
"You had your chance. You couldn't."
"I won't make that mistake twice."
To their surprise, Jake didn't cower or beg or even look afraid – instead, he just began to laugh, the sound deep and full of dark amusement. A man confident he'd already won.
Dean cocked his gun. "What are you smiling at, you little bitch?"
Jake's smile was unbothered, and Faith's grip on her gun tightened. "Hey, lady," he said to Ellen with a careless jerk of his head, "do me a favour. Put that gun to your head."
All of them watched in abject horror as, slowly but surely, Ellen began to turn her pistol onto herself, the barrel pressed dangerously to her temple. "Ellen," Faith breathed, shifting her weight as if to run to her. Toby slowly lifted a hand, rooting her in place. She stared at Ellen, whose gun trembled in her hand.
"See, that Ava girl was right," Jake was saying proudly. "Once you give in to it, there's all sorts of new Jedi mind tricks you can learn."
Faith couldn't hold her tongue. "Let her go, you goddamn bastard," she hissed at Jake, whose smile only widened – a player only one move from checkmate.
"Shoot him," muttered Ellen, voice trembling as much as her gun.
Faith turned to do just that, but Jake's calm demeanour threw her off. "You'll be mopping up skull before you get a shot off," he warned them, eyes flickering to Faith as a smile grew on his face. His eyes flashed yellow for the briefest of moments, just as he said, "Why don't you put that gun to your sweet heart, sweetheart?"
Faith didn't want to do it – she was entirely aware of just how much she didn't want to do it – every single atom in her body screamed not to obey, to just shoot the prick where he stood. But her body didn't listen, and she was forced to watch as her own hand betrayed her, turning the gun she held until the chill of the barrel was pressed between her breasts, right over her racing heart.
"You rat bastard," snarled Dean, taking a large step forwards.
Jake held up a hand and Dean abruptly froze, his eyes darting from him to Ellen to Faith and back again. "Now, everybody put your guns down," said Jake calmly, a slow, smug smile growing on his face. "Except for the two of you," he added, eyes meeting Faith's in the dark. She glowered at him hatefully, but he didn't seem bothered.
Slowly but surely, all four of the other guns still aimed at Jake lowered.
"Okay," he said, seemingly satisfied. "Thank you."
Then, so fast that Faith didn't have time to think, Jake spun away from them and lunged towards the mausoleum. Faith felt her trigger finger flex and shut her eyes against the swell of panic within her. She realised this was it – a sad end to her story, but an ending all the same. She wondered, in a distant way, whether she'd see Nate in the afterlife, or whether the two of them were bound for very different destinations, post-death.
But before she had the chance to find out, something hard slammed into her side and wrenched the gun from her grip just as she fired off a round. The bullet shot harmlessly into the sky and Faith hit the ground with a grunt. Splayed on the ground, a heavy body pressing her into the dirt, Faith opened her eyes expecting to find Toby, only to suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Dean's shellshocked face hovering over hers.
Somewhere nearby there was a series of shots, then a low groan followed by a thump and a clicking noise, like the rattle of a great machine. Through it all, Faith stared up at Dean, their eyes locked, each mirroring the panic within.
"Faith…" came Toby's voice from somewhere distant. Like he'd been shocked, Dean leapt backwards, suddenly on his feet above her. He reached out a hand which she numbly took, letting him heave her to her feet. Upright once more, Faith let go of his hand and turned to look for Toby, only to find him beside the mausoleum, which was the source of that foreboding clicking noise.
There were engravings on the door to the mausoleum, the barrel of the Colt slid into its centre like a key in a lock, activating some sort of mechanism. Dean took two steps towards it, gripping the Colt and yanking it from its place. But it was too late – the damage was done.
The engravings began to spin, lining up to create another, miniature devil's trap.
Horror swelled in Faith, making it hard to breathe. "It isn't—?"
"It's the Devil's Gate," Toby confirmed grimly.
She sucked in some air. "How do we stop it?"
It was Bobby who answered. "We don't," he said urgently. "Take cover – now!"
But Faith didn't move, staring with a mounting panic at the spinning engravings. Her brain tried to work, tried to come up with something that would stop this and save them all. But her mind remained blank, and her head felt stuffed with cotton. This time it was Toby who saved her, grabbing her by the arm and all but throwing her behind a nearby gravestone. She hit the dirt hard, feeling her wrist twist as well as something in her chest crack.
The doors to the mausoleum blew open and it was like standing next to a supercell, all the angry fury of the underworld blasting out at them. It was both cold and hot in the same moment, and the roar of the demons escaping was deafening. Toby wrapped an arm around Faith and held her tight to the earth. She didn't argue, pressing against him much the same, her face hidden from the rage of the demons escaping Hell.
"What the hell just happened?!" Dean was screaming, his voice little more than a muffled cry over the furious shrieking of the escaping horde.
"Toby was right – that's a Devil's Gate!" shouted Ellen. "It's a damn door to Hell!"
"What do we do?!" Faith screamed back, her own gun having disappeared at some point, thrown from her hand in the blast.
"We gotta shut that Gate!"
They moved as one, throwing themselves up against the roar of the fleeing smoke. It was like trying to walk against the worst gale known to man, the force of the wind threatening to blow Faith away like she was nothing more than a piece of trash floating on the wind.
But she still fought, forcing one foot in front of the other and stalking her way towards the gaping doors of the Gate. It felt like a small eternity, but it was really only seconds until she reached them, throwing all her weight against the righthand door, trying to force it shut. But the strength of the things fleeing Hell was not insignificant, and the doors proved a challenge to close.
There was shouting from nearby, but Faith knew nothing except her own desperate effort to shut the doors to the Devil's Gate, before the damage they caused was too big to fix. Before they cursed the world to Hell on Earth.
Something slammed into her with an unmitigated force, and her grip on the door to Hell slipped like her fingers were coated with butter. She flew backwards unnaturally far, as though caught on a breeze. She thought she might have screamed, but any noise she made was drowned out by the haunting howl of Hell.
There was something over her, attacking her from above. It was large and incorporeal, a cloud of smoke with teeth, clawing and scratching at her. She reached for her knife and jabbed the blade up into the smoke, but it might have been a toothpick for all the help it did. She didn't dare breathe, afraid to inhale even the smallest piece of the demon surrounding her.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, there came a sharp pain in her ear. A scream ripped from her throat, but before it could properly take form there was something thick forcing its way down her throat. It was slimy and slick, somehow both white-hot and ice-cold. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, and as it poured into her like everything evil from inside Pandora's Box, Faith realised dimly what that pain in her ear had been – her anti-possession charm ripped from her helix.
And when she opened her eyes, Faith wasn't Faith at all. She was a prisoner inside her own body. A voice like oil and fire whispered inside of her mind, "Oh Child, I've waited a long time for this…"
A/N: Hey guys, hope you enjoyed!
Next time: Dean's POV as Faith takes a backseat to a white-eyed demon. See you soon!