Jus In Bello (Part II)
Outside, the air was so cold that the breath came from their mouths like smoke. Faith held her borrowed shotgun aloft, one finger curled on the trigger, keen eyes cutting through the dark of night. There wasn't any movement, close or in the distance, but that hardly meant they were safe.
The impound lot was really just a gated square of land at the back of the station. Dean opened the gate with the key, and they slipped into the cage-like structure without a sound. Faith tried hard not to feel like prey wandering into a trap.
"You got any extra holy water?" Faith whispered, standing guard while Dean opened the Impala's trunk and began to load a duffel bag full of weapons. Without a word, Dean thrust a steel flask at her. She stuffed it into her pocket without speaking.
The air was bitterly cold, and Faith swept her eyes from left to right, scanning every nook and crevice for sign of demons. She was expecting to find people possessed, or at least the bodies of people who had been, but when the demons did show themselves, it was in no form Faith could have anticipated.
The temperature dropped by several degrees and the floodlights around them began to flicker. Dean's head was inside his trunk, furiously packing all the weapons and ammo he could carry.
"Dean," she whispered, cocking her rifle and standing up straighter. "Something's coming."
"Almost done," he hissed.
A frosty wind blew across her face and out of some instinct she couldn't explain, Faith turned to the woods bordering the station. The hair on her arms stood on end, and the back of her neck prickled like needles. "Dean," she said again, grip on her rifle tightening. He ignored her.
A great rush of air, then through the trees poured the demons – not in human form at all, but rather their natural state – a massive cloud of inky black smoke. It poured towards them, not unlike an avalanche, and Faith threw out a hand, grabbing the back of Dean's jacket and hauling him around to look.
Dean's eyes went wide. "Motherf—"
"Go!"
He didn't need to be told twice. Slamming the trunk of his car, together they sprinted furiously back towards the relative safety of the sheriff's station. The frigid air was like knives against the warm of Faith's lungs, but that didn't matter, all she had to focus on was putting one foot in front of the other and reaching the station before that deadly, ominous cloud reached them.
Dean reached the door first, bursting through and holding it open barely long enough for Faith to slip inside before he slammed it shut after them and shouted down into the station, "They're coming!"
They sprinted down the corridor just as that huge cloud of demonic force slammed into the building. The very floor shook under their feet, the walls around them rattling angrily.
The others were all gathered in the main hub of the station, and the moment they reached them, Dean tossed Sam a rifle full of salt rounds. Without waiting for permission, Faith thrust a hand into the bag at Dean's side. Her fingers closed around a handful of salt rounds, and she emptied the rifle she held in one smooth move, replacing the rounds with quick, sure movements.
The smoke surrounded the building, and what little light shone through the windows disappeared, blocked out like the sun during an eclipse. Faith shifted unconsciously closer to Dean, their sides pressed up against one another, each with a salt-filled rifle in hand. He was warm against the chill of the night and her nerves, and Faith found herself drawing unexpected strength from his presence, sure and immovable beside her.
The lights themselves flickered out, and all the six of them could do was stand in the darkness and hope. Pray, if any were so inclined. The darkness stretched, the whole building creaked and groaned under the force the demons were applying to it – a boa constrictor squeezing the life from its prey.
She tried not to think about what the demons would do if they managed to get hold of her. Deliver her straight to the Cult, surely. And the Hades Cult, while still largely mysterious, was Faith's deepest fear. They wanted her for something terrible – and they'd killed the only person she'd ever truly loved just to strike at her heart. To kill her will to live as much as just to kill her outright.
Faith's free hand moved of its own volition. There was no tentative brush of fingers, no unsure nudge of knuckles. There was just her hand and Dean's, fingers tangled, gripping tight. His skin was warm compared to the ice of winter, and Faith felt a modicum of strength return, like Dean was the sun and she was a flower soaking up his rays.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was all over.
The smoke pressing in on the building dissipated; the beam of streetlights streamed in through the windows and the lights above them flickered back to life. The sudden brightness was harsh and sobering, and Faith untangled her hand from Dean's before anyone had a chance to notice their connection. Dean's expression never wavered once.
"Everybody okay?" Sam asked the group at large.
Henriksen laughed once. It was a bitter, tired sound. "Define 'okay'," he croaked.
They didn't bother to try. "All right, everybody needs to put these on. They'll keep you from being possessed," said Dean, digging into his duffel bag and producing small anti-possession charms hung from leather cords. Once her ear had healed, Faith had her own charm replaced. But still, it had been torn from her once before; she wasn't going to refuse the extra protection. She took the charm from Dean, threading it over her head.
"What about you and Sam?" asked Nancy, noticing that they didn't have any of their own.
As one, Sam and Dean pulled down the neckline of their shirts to reveal anti-possession symbols tattooed into their skin. Faith couldn't help but let her draw drop, just an inch. That was … undeniably genius. She had the urge to reach out and trace a finger over the tattoo branded on Dean's chest, but now wasn't the time.
"Smart. How long you had those?" Henriksen wondered.
The brothers exchanged a grim look. "Not long enough."
"Genius," murmured Faith.
Dean's smile turned smug. "Thanks, sweetheart," he drawled. She ignored the way the pet-name made gooseflesh appear down the back of her neck, her heart skipping a traitorous beat. "If we get out of this alive, we can get you inked up, too. Maybe a nice lower back placement? Anti-possession tramp stamp?"
She scowled. "I hate you."
Dean had the gall to wink.
Sam offered to do a sweep of the traps, just to make sure nothing had blown loose during the attack. Eager to get some distance from Dean, Faith volunteered to go with him.
"I hope we don't die here," Faith muttered as they went from one exit to another, eyeing the traps and salt lines for gaps. "I wanna die somewhere better than a sheriff's station in Monument, of all places."
"Like where?" Sam asked, playing along.
"I dunno. Reno? New York City?" she mused. "The middle of Stone Henge? Just to freak out the conspiracy theorists, y'know."
Sam snorted. "Dream big."
Nancy was stood by a window, shifting through some stacks of files for lack of anything better to do with her time. As they passed, she caught sight of something out the window and gasped.
"That's Jenna Rubner!" she cried, doe-eyes wide with horror.
A large crowd of people were gathered in the street outside the station; but it took less than a glance for Faith to know they weren't people anymore. The station was surrounded by demons. Faith's hand strayed to the gun at her hip, but none of the demons moved to attack. They just stood, silent and staring, eyes black as ink.
"That's not Jenna anymore," Sam told Nancy gently.
She took a shaky breath. "That's where all that black demon smoke went?"
"Looks like."
Sam continued walking, continuing to check the nearby windows for gaps in the salt lines. But Faith stayed with Nancy.
Nobody could ever accuse Faith of being a particularly soft or maternal person, but there was something about Nancy – something innocent and good – that made Faith want to protect her. Faith herself had never truly been innocent, even before that fateful night the Winchesters had found her, now sometime over a year ago. But she'd once been ignorant, and there was a sort of innocence in that ignorance. Faith wanted to keep that innocence alive in Nancy for as long as she could. Because nobody had ever been there to do as much for her.
It was time to break the cycle.
Faith took a seat atop the closest desk and pulled free her iron knife. Henriksen had found a moment to return their possessions earlier, and Faith had to admit to feeling relieved at having the pretty, jagged weapon back in her hands.
"I wonder what it feels like," Nancy mused, staring absentmindedly out at the people who had once been her friends.
"What?" Faith asked, flipping the knife over her hand with a fluid dexterity.
"Being possessed," whispered Nancy. Faith looked up from the knife, finding the secretary clinging tight to the little cross hanging from around her neck like it actually meant a damn thing. "Do you think they know what's happening? Or is it like they're sleeping?"
Faith cast her mind back to when she'd been possessed. Myeus – the leader of the Cult out for her blood – had inhabited her body a good few hours before anyone had even realised anything was wrong, and then some time after that still, taunting her friends and whispering awful, terrible secrets into the very atoms that made up her soul.
"If they're lucky, the demons will go and they'll wake up thinking it was all just one horrible nightmare," Faith told Nancy quietly.
Nancy gulped. "And if they're not lucky?"
Faith didn't answer.
"Is there a way to get rid of the demons safely?" Nancy asked, voice ringing with hope. "Like Sam did for Agent Henriksen, back in the cell?"
Faith considered the question carefully, staring out at the demons who had yet to move an inch. They just stood there, staring unfathomably at the building, statues of evil. "I've only ever seen an exorcism done on one demon at a time. And there's gotta be at least a dozen of them out there, maybe more."
"But if you can do it – get the demons out – the people will be fine?" Nancy pressed.
"Well, yeah, in theory," Faith shrugged, returning to her knife tricks to keep her hands busy. Nancy was still staring out at the crowd, eyes wide with sorrow. "You know more people than just that Jenna girl, don't you?"
Nancy's smile was filled with sadness. "It's not a big town. I know most of the people out there." She paused, then pointed a finger at a tall black man wearing a trucker's cap. "That's Murphy, he runs the newsagency down on main street. And that short woman in the floral top? That's Mrs. Davies – she's a teacher. She directs the Christmas play the local elementary school puts on, every single year."
Faith slipped her knife back into her boot, pushing up from the desk and winding a tentative arm around the younger girl's shoulders. Nancy needed someone to tell her it was going to be all right, even when Faith wasn't totally sure it was. "We're all gonna be okay, Nancy," she said quietly.
A beat. "Why do you do it?" Nancy whispered.
"Do what?"
"Fight these things. What did you call it – hunting? I mean, it doesn't sound like fun."
Faith nearly smiled. "Well, who actually enjoys their job, anyway? Is working as a secretary really such a great time?"
Thoughtful, Nancy shook her head. "I guess not. But…"
"But?" Faith pressed.
"But you don't seem to hate it," she said quietly. "You seem, I don't know … comfortable."
Having had just about enough of being comforting for one day, Faith let her go and tucked her hands safely back into her pockets, kicking uselessly at the floor. "I guess, in a lot of ways, I was born for this."
Nancy was silent. She didn't understand, but she never would.
"I wouldn't recommend it, though," Faith added for Nancy's benefit. She didn't think Nancy was the type to buy a gun and turn into the G.I. Jane of the hunting world, and she didn't think hunting was the worst thing that could happen to a person – Faith had certainly found fulfilment in it, a purpose she'd never felt anywhere else – but Nancy wasn't the type of person who would thrive on the road, or in a battle.
There was a place for everyone in this world. Some, like Faith, were soldiers meant for war; people like Nancy were the whole reason soldiers went to war in the first place. To protect those who weren't broken or twisted, to save and build them a better life.
Nancy seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and she looked up at Faith with a small smile. "Don't worry," she said lightly, "I'm not interested in hunting. But knowing how to protect myself – salt lines and those weird symbols – all of that will definitely come in handy."
Faith smiled back. The demons still made no move to attack, so Faith took a seat at the desk, pulled her pistol from her pocket, and disassembled it in a series of brisk movements.
"Are you and Dean together?" Nancy asked suddenly. Taken aback by the unexpected question, the gun's magazine slipped from Faith's fingers and clattered loudly to the desk.
"What?"
"You and Dean," Nancy said again. Faith stared at her incredulously. Nancy looked shyly at her feet, cheeks flushing pink. "I just – I think it's probably every girl's dream to find someone who looks at her the way he looks at you."
Faith rolled her eyes dismissively and went back to cleaning her weapon. "Like he wants to chloroform me, then bury me alive?" she huffed, trying to ignore Nancy's radiating disapproval. But it was too hard and eventually she glanced up, irritated. "What?"
Nancy shook her head, annoyingly knowing. "And the way you look at him…"
Faith slid the magazine back into place with a loud, echoing click. "Dean and I are barely even friends on a good day," she said sternly, putting an end to the conversation.
Nancy seemed to get the message, blushing again and returning her gaze to her feet. Faith was relieved. She didn't feel up for debating the way she and Dean looked at each other. There were far better uses for her time – keeping them all alive long enough to see the sunrise, for one thing.
Out of nowhere came the loud crash of shattering glass, and Faith was on her feet before Nancy even had time to flinch, swiping the shotgun full of rock salt from the desk and hurdling in the direction of the noise.
By the time she arrived, Dean and Sam were already there, guns at the ready. But, curiously enough, nobody took any shots.
The intruder was a woman, pretty in an obvious way, with long, wheat-coloured hair and blood splatter on her face. She was stuck inside a devil's trap, leaving no question as to what she was; so, despite the brothers' hesitation, Faith aimed her barrel between the thing's eyes.
But Sam caught the barrel of her shotgun in one hand, wrenching it away from the demon before she could shoot. "Don't hurt her!" he cried.
"Why the hell not?!" Faith shot back.
"She's a demon," snapped Henriksen.
Sam shook his head. "She's here to help us."
Faith whirled on Dean with wide eyes. "Is this a fucking joke?" she demanded. Dean's only answer was to lift his hands helplessly, as if to say, 'Don't look at me'.
The demon cocked her hip and stared at Sam expectantly. "Are you gonna let me out?"
Faith stared hard at Sam, who avoided her eyes and pulled free a knife, bending down to scratch away some of the paint marking the trap.
"Sam, what the fuck are you doing?!" Faith hissed.
"It's okay," Sam insisted. "We know her." His voice wasn't quite warm as he said it, but it was certainly familiar.
"What, you're friends with her?" she snapped. Sam didn't wince, but he certainly came close. "Jesus Christ, Sam. She's a demon."
"Oh please," said the demon lazily, strolling out of the broken devil's trap like a lady at a fancy garden party; haughty and confident and completely above them all. "You're the last one here who can play the species card," she added as she passed Faith, an all-too-knowing glint to her eye.
Faith lunged at the demon, stopped only by Dean's arm around her middle. The blonde demon only smirked.
"Does anyone have a breath mint?" she asked, sauntering deeper into the station. "Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here."
Sam promptly fixed the salt line and followed her, ignoring Faith's glower as he passed. Faith turned onto Dean, fire in her eyes, and he grabbed her arm to pull her close enough to whisper a half-baked explanation.
"She's helped us out in the past," he whispered. "She's proved herself to be half useful, at least."
"Dean," she said again through angry, gritted teeth. "She's a demon."
"I'm not saying you have to trust her – hell, I certainly don't – but like it or not, she may be our only way of getting out of this damned mess in one piece," he hissed back.
Faith glared up at him, trying to tug her arm out of his grip, but his long fingers remained tightly wrapped around her bicep, holding her firmly in place. "Demons do nothing but make things worse."
"Well, for once, this one might just make things better," he offered, but she saw the doubt in his eyes, clear as day.
This time when she wrenched her arm out of Dean's grip, it was with a strength that didn't come from her human half. Luckily, Dean didn't seem to notice. "Demons like her killed everything I ever loved," she snarled, jabbing a finger in the direction the rest of the survivors had gone.
Dean flinched like she'd struck him. "Look," he tried again. "Could you just try to trust me?"
The plea brought her up short. She met his eyes, forest green just imploring her to listen, to trust him. It wrenched something inside of her, forced to choose between two instincts: killing every demon she came across, or trusting Dean Winchester with her life.
But she was nothing if not stubborn, so she jabbed a finger hard against his sternum, fire blazing in her eyes. "I'm holding you personally responsible if this backfires."
Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Understood. Loud and clear."
"Are you two done with your little lover's quarrel?!" the demon's haughty voice shouted from the next room. "We've got a job to do, and not a lot of time to do it!"
Faith glowered at Dean, cocked her gun and spun on her heel, storming away from him wilfully. The others were stood around the main office, Sam slouched in the doorway, looking worried, while Nancy and the deputy were stood at the edges of the room, as far from the demon as possible.
"Right," said Dean as they slipped back into the room, voice like gravel. "Ruby, how many are out there?"
"Thirty at least," said the demon – Ruby, apparently. Of course, the demon had a stripper's name. "That's so far."
"Oh, good," drawled Dean, utterly sarcastic. "Thirty hit men all gunning for us. Who sent them?"
Ruby looked at Sam, who was still slouched in the doorway, now looking contrite, as though he had something to hide. Didn't they all?
"You didn't tell Dean?" Ruby asked, looking like a cat who'd swallowed the canary whole. Dean stiffened where he was stood, and although Faith had lowered her rifle, she kept her fingers now wrapped around the hilt of her iron knife, ready to use it at a moment's notice. "Oh, I'm surprised."
"Tell me what?" growled Dean.
"There's a big new up and comer. Real pied piper. Her name's Lilith, and she really, really wants Sam's intestines on a stick. 'Cause she sees him as competition."
Dean turned to stare at Sam in disbelief. "You knew about this?" he asked. Sam hung his head and didn't respond. "Well, fuck, Sam. Is there anything else I should know?!" Dean shouted, knuckles white on the grip of his rifle.
"How about the two of you talk about this later?" Ruby snapped. The first thing Faith actually agreed with her on. They all had to put aside their differences if they wanted to get out of this alive. The idea of working with a demon made Faith's stomach acids turn sour, but apparently, they were out of options. "We'll need the Colt."
Faith snorted once. "Yeah, wouldn't that be nice?"
Ruby's eyes narrowed into slits. "What the hell does that mean? Where's the Colt?" she demanded in a low voice. Sam sighed heavily.
"It got stolen. By Bela."
Ruby pushed up from where she'd been leaning. "I'm sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands," she snarled. Nobody said anything, and she turned away from them to think, muttering under her breath. "Fantastic. This is just peachy…"
Faith swallowed thickly, then opened her mouth to voice the question that had been hovering, unwelcome, in the back of her head all night. "Are they here for me?"
Ruby turned back around with an irritated look on her face. "What?"
"Is it the Hades Cult?" she pressed. "How can you be so sure this is … Lilith, or whoever?"
"Because they're gunning for Sam," Ruby bit back.
"And the Cult's gunning for me," Faith replied. "Maybe if I go out, distract them long enough for you to—"
"What? No way in hell is that happening," snapped Dean before she could even finish her suggestion. His eyes were wild when they met hers. "What the hell are you thinking, giving yourself up to them? Are you crazy?"
Ruby shook her head. "I know Lilith's people, and out there? That's them," she said. "You going out would do us no good. Your willingness to self-sacrifice is noted, though. Could come in handy."
Nobody said anything, and Ruby sighed, reaching up to wipe at some of the blood on her stolen face. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then turned back on Sam with a glare.
"Since I don't see that there's any other option; there's one other way I know how to get you out of here alive."
"And that is?" Faith drawled.
Ruby's eyes cut to her, and Faith's grip on her knife tightened. "I know a spell," she told Faith in a mock-sweet voice. "It'll vaporise every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight, and now I have to die. So next time, be more careful." She slumped against a nearby desk. "How's that for a dying wish?"
A moment of silence, then Dean said, "Okay, what do we need to do?"
Clearly, nobody had any qualms about sacrificing this demon to get themselves out safely – Faith included. What was the life of a demon, anyway? Smoke and ash? An eternity of damnation? They were probably doing her a favour.
"You can't do anything," Ruby sneered at Dean. "This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue."
Dean stepped forwards proudly. "I got virtue."
Faith didn't bother holding back her sigh. "That's not what she means, dumbass. She's talking about a virgin."
Dean immediately laughed. "Nobody's a virgin."
But that wasn't true. There was no way to be sure, of course, but Faith had her suspicions. As did everyone else, apparently, because as one, the room turned to look at Nancy, who avoided their eyes and curled in on herself like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
"No," breathed Dean like this was the biggest plot twist since Psycho. "No way. You're kidding me. You're…"
"What?" Nancy asked defensively. "It's a choice, okay?"
Dean still couldn't get over it. "So, y-you've never… Not even once? I mean not even…"
Feeling strangely protective over this girl, Faith cocked her gun. "Finish that sentence and you're gonna have another bullet wound to worry about."
Dean wisely held up his hands in surrender.
"So, this spell," said Nancy sweetly, nervously, "What can I do?"
Ruby stood slowly to her feet, pacing towards Nancy predatorily. "You can hold still while I cut your heart out of your chest."
Nobody had a chance to so much as gasp before Faith was stepping between the virgin and the demon, the barrel of her gun aimed at the demon's chest. "Come any closer and I swear to God I'll send you back to Hell myself," she snarled.
Ruby was undaunted, cocking her head with dark amusement. "Aw," she simpered. "And which of the gods was it, exactly, you were swearing to?"
Faith knew then, without any doubt, that Ruby knew her secret. She half considered blowing the demon's head off right then and there, if only to keep her own secrets buried in the dirt, where they belonged.
"Goddammit, Ruby, are you crazy?" snapped Dean, shifting between Faith and Ruby, pushing down the barrel of Faith's rifle. She glowered but lowered it all the same. "You're not offering a solution. You're offering to kill somebody!"
"And what do you think's gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?" Ruby sneered.
"We're gonna protect her. That's what," snapped Henriksen.
Ruby scrunched up her nose. "Very noble."
"We're not going to hurt anyone, least of all Nancy," Faith snapped, holding so tight to her gun that she was beginning to lose feeling in her hand. But that didn't matter, she could still pull the trigger. Everyone was talking now, their opinions overlapping each other until the sheriff's station was a din of noise and confusion. "And I swear, if you take so much one step in her direction—"
"Would everybody please shut up?!"
The clamour of noise instantly disappeared, and Faith turned on the spot to look at Nancy, whose eyes were bright with tears but her expression free from panic. She looked tired; resigned.
"All the people out there…" she began, licking her lips nervously, "will it save them?"
"It'll blow the demons out of their bodies," Ruby shrugged. "So, if their bodies are okay … yeah."
Nancy shifted her weight, wringing her hands. "I'll do it," she said with one brave nod.
Dean and Henriksen surged forwards. "Hell no!"
"You don't need to do this," Dean told her urgently.
"All my friends are out there," Nancy whispered.
"And they wouldn't want you to die," Faith said, dropping her gun onto the nearest desk and taking Nancy's shoulders in her hands. "You can't do this, Nancy. You can't."
"We don't sacrifice people," Henriksen agreed. "We do that, we're no better than them."
Tears continued to glimmer in Nancy's eyes, but Ruby was unmoved. "We don't have a choice."
Dean turned on her with a snarl. "Your choice is not a choice."
Ruby just looked at Sam. "Sam, you know I'm right."
Dean looked at his brother, expectation clear as day on his face. "Sam?" But Sam didn't immediately jump on the bandwagon. Instead, he hesitated, eyes darting between them all warily, and Faith's heart turned to lead and dropped down to her feet. Dean scowled, an edge of panic in his eyes. "What the hell is going on? Sam, tell her!"
"It's my decision," said Nancy bravely.
Ruby slashed a grin. "Damn straight, cherry pie."
"Stop!" Dean shouted. The room fell silent and stared at him. "Nobody kill any virgins."
"Which should go without saying," added Faith, turning back to Nancy. "Nancy, you doing this isn't us winning; it's just all of us losing."
Tears shone in her eyes. From behind her, Dean snapped that he needed a minute with his brother, and together they stormed off down the hall where they could speak in relative privacy. Nancy's eyes continued to shine, and Faith grabbed her shoulders, desperation hot in her lungs.
"Please, think about this," she whispered urgently. "I said you wouldn't die today – don't make me a liar."
"Well, that ship's sailed," muttered Ruby from behind her.
Blood turning to ice, Faith turned on the spot, unleashing the force of her ire on the demon, who looked smug as could be, arms crossed confidently over her chest. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Faith clenched her jaw so tight, it felt wired shut. "Henriksen, Deputy, why don't you go check the traps?" she suggested tartly.
"Uh, my name's Phil—" The deputy was silenced by Henriksen, who nudged him down the hallway.
"Something tells me the ladies need a moment," he said to the deputy, firm and uncompromising. "Let's give it to 'em."
The deputy looked surprised. "You want to just leave them—"
"I have a feeling Faith can handle the demon on her own," said Henriksen, casting her a confident glance. Although surprised by his backing, Faith nodded in thanks. Together, he and the bemused deputy left the room, padding deeper into the station, leaving the three women alone.
Nancy spoke up before Faith could say anything. "I need a minute, anyway," she said, still toying with the cross hung around her neck. Faith had no doubt she needed some time with her faith.
Faith grabbed Ruby by the arm, dragging her forcefully into the sheriff's office and all but throwing her inside. She slammed the door after them and turned on the demon with a thunderous scowl. "Whatever you think you know about me—" she snarled, but the demon interrupted her.
"I don't think I know anything," Ruby sneered. "You're the Child of War, meaning you're the key to breaking the Cult's curse. Man," she took a beat to chuckle with pity, "the Fates really screwed you over, didn't they?"
Faith ignored that, curling her hands into fists to avoid punching the demon across the face. "What does it mean?" she asked through gritted teeth. Even Ruby looked confused at that, so Faith begrudgingly said, "Child of War. What does it mean?"
Now the demon looked amused, rocking back on her heels. She opened her mouth, paused, then took a step back and shut it again. "You already know," she said in the way a parent accused a child of taking a cookie from the jar.
Faith didn't answer, her own heartbeat loud in her ears.
The demon laughed. "There's no way you don't. You don't stay ahead of the Hades' Cult for twenty-six years with nothing but sawdust between your ears." She laughed again, a bitter, darkly-amused noise. "You just don't want to admit it."
Faith glowered with all the hatred of the burning sun, and the demon had the gall to grin in reply.
"Sorry to break it to you, princess, but you are the daughter of Ares," she said, each syllable clear and ringing with cheer. "Greek god of war."
And, of course, Faith had known – or at least had her suspicions – but she hadn't been able to voice them, too scared that just thinking his name might bring him forth; materialise him like some prayer she'd never meant to make. When he didn't appear in a flash of thunder and blood and war, Faith relaxed only slightly.
"I thought Athena was the goddess of war," she said, thinking on what little she knew of Greek mythology.
Still examining her nails, Ruby laughed once again, a mean sound. "Oh, you're going to wish you were her god-spawn."
The dart struck, and Faith's gut tightened. "Why?"
Ruby smiled prettily. Faith knew she was playing into the demon's hands – but she was just so glad to be getting information out of someone for once that she didn't much care.
"Because Athena is all the good parts of war – strategy, generalship, intelligence. Ares? He only represents the insatiable bloodlust of war. The pure violence of battle. Ares is a brute, but ultimately the gods' biggest weapon. They ever have an uprising, all they have to do is unleash Ares like a beast on a leash, and … poof, the problem chokes on its own blood."
Faith's fingers curled around her knife again, chest hollow and aching. "How do I know you're even telling the truth?"
"Please," she scoffed. "You already know I'm telling the truth. Just like you've already known all of this all along."
Faith scrambled for something to say. "But there's got to be others. Other god-spawn, I mean. Don't the gods breed with humans like rabbits?"
"Sure," the demon shrugged. "But not Ares. He isn't exactly … charming."
"So…"
"You're it, baby," Ruby drawled smugly. "You're the Child of War. And by all accounts, you're going to be just as ruthless, just as bloodthirsty, as your dear old pops."
Faith said nothing, staring at Ruby and trying to keep the panic from her expression.
"It's already started, hasn't it?" the demon pressed. "Sam's told me about you, y'know? How much of a 'natural hunter' you are. He has no idea that you were born hardwired for battle. It's not skill that makes you such a cold-hearted, violent bitch, it's a hereditary by-product."
Faith's fist slammed into the demon's jaw before she knew what was happening. The demon took it like a champ, though, moving with the punch and then reaching up to calmly wipe away the blood beading at her lip.
"There it is," she laughed. "Daddy's anger; that deep, untameable rage. I'll tell you this much – if that damn Cult doesn't actually manage to destroy you, the rest of us demons will be watching eagerly to see what kind of chaos you bring upon this world. It's going to be beautiful."
The door burst open with a crack, but Faith didn't turn away from Ruby, the design on the hilt of her knife leaving patterns pressed into the skin of her palm. "We good in here?" Dean's voice growled.
Ruby smiled prettily. "We'll be right out."
"Faith?" he pressed, and it was so rare to hear her first name on his lips that it forced her into action. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, flashing an unconvincing smile even as her blood roared.
"Just explaining to Ruby here why murdering virgins is a no-no," she said sweetly.
Dean wasn't convinced, but she hadn't expected him to be. Luckily, he left it alone. Clearly there were more important things to worry about. "Well, get out here. We've got a plan," he said, and then was gone from the doorway, off to gather the troops.
Faith turned back to Ruby, finding her still unbearably smug. Faith opened her mouth, but Ruby interrupted before she could get out so much as a single word. "Don't worry, I won't tell them your dirty little secret," Ruby said, though Faith couldn't really call it reassuring. "I've got my own battles to fight. Though, I can't deny, it'll be fun to watch when the Winchesters cast you away like trash once they know the truth."
Faith's nostrils flared. "Excuse me?"
"Well, they're hunters, aren't they?" Ruby said. "When someone says 'half-human', all they hear is 'half-monster'."
Faith didn't want to believe her, but she knew Ruby was right. If the brothers found out that Faith was less than totally, completely human – who knew what they might do? Cast her aside, surely, if she was lucky. Hunt her if she wasn't. It wasn't a risk she felt comfortable taking.
Ruby snatched up her hand, shaking it twice with a sarcastic smile before Faith had a chance to rip it from her grip. "From one half-monster to another," she said with an evil, toothy grin, "I can't wait to see the trail of carnage you leave on your way to redemption."
Then she swept past Faith and out into the main office, leaving the demigod feeling vaguely like she'd just been slapped across the face. Faith stared into empty air; the hand Ruby had shaken burning like she'd stuck it in a vat of acid.
"Faith!" called Sam from behind her, and she forced herself to focus.
Her species wasn't in question now – and if she played her cards right, it wouldn't ever come to be. All she had to do was act human, act normal, and everything would be all right. Nobody needed to know the grim truth; and if she had her way, they wouldn't.
Faith stepped back into the main office where everyone was gathered, Dean leaning over the floor plans of the building that Faith had dug out from the records room.
"Glad you could finally join us, princess," said Dean drily. Faith took her spot around the table and didn't respond. "It will please you to know that everyone's heart is staying exactly where it is," he added, not seeming to notice her sullen silence. Nothing new there.
"What are we going to do?"
"Right now, we're playing defence. It's time we played offence."
The deputy and Henriksen exchanged a tense glance. "You mean attack them?" asked the deputy, sounding one more bad idea away from losing his dinner. "But there's thirty of them and seven of us!"
"Oh, cool, you can count," chimed Faith without missing a beat. She might have felt panicked and dead inside, but she didn't have to act like it. That would only be red flag number one that something was wrong. The deputy scowled but Dean threw her a wry smirk, so it was sort of worth it.
"We can't just keep sitting here," he said, refocusing on his pitch.
"Why not?" Nancy asked quietly.
"They can wait us out," said Sam – gentle, like anything louder might break her. "We've only got enough food here to last us a few days, maybe less. If they're smart, they'll just sit back and let starvation kill us."
"Thus, taking the fight to them," said Dean. "That way, we might actually stand a chance."
His plan was a simple one, toeing the line between stupid and genius – but, then again, all great plans did. And it was easy enough to put into motion. Sam recorded his exorcism onto a tape while the rest of them readied their weapons. It took less than twenty minutes, and as they all worked in tandem, Ruby sat at the centre of it all, scowling up a storm.
"Get the equipment to work?" Dean asked as Sam came out of the sheriff's office, where he'd rigged the tape with his exorcism to play over the station's speaker system.
Sam nodded once, though he looked anything but confident. "This is insane."
"You win 'understatement of the year'," growled Ruby.
Dean sighed heavily. "Look, I get it, you think—"
"I don't think… I know. It's not gonna work," she snapped, standing sharply to her feet and crossing the room without looking back. "So long, boys."
"So, you're just gonna leave?" asked Sam, particularly put out. Faith cast him a frown – the opinion of a demon wasn't one anybody should worry themselves over.
Ruby spun back around, pinning Faith and the brothers with a glare. "I was gonna kill myself to help you win. I'm not gonna stand here and watch you lose." She padded closer to Sam, who stared down at her with hard eyes. "And I'm disappointed because I tried. I really did, but clearly, I bet on the wrong horse."
Nobody said anything, and Ruby scoffed once. She looked to Faith, who watched on without saying a word, and in the process turned her back on Sam.
"Do you mind letting me out?" she asked, almost as if they were friends.
It was unexpected, but considering the information she'd gotten from the demon tonight, Faith agreed. She didn't look at either brother as she led the way to the front door, Ruby close behind. Pulling the butterfly knife from her pocket, Faith scratched a gap in the paint on the floor, then stood back to her feet, looking at Ruby warily.
She wasn't sure what to say – not thank you, or even goodbye – but saying nothing felt wrong, too. "You should find your father," Ruby said first, taking her by surprise. "You've got questions, and something tells me he's the only one with any real answers."
"How do I even go about finding…" she glanced behind her; there was nobody there, but she felt like they were being listened to all the same, "…him?"
Ruby's smirk was lazy. "You'll figure it out."
"If I even survive this thing," Faith added, gesturing at nothing and everything all at once.
"You'll survive it," Ruby said surely. "I think you're probably the only one here who will. I meant what I said: you're hardwired for war. Try letting your instincts take over once in a while. You'll be surprised."
Sensing the conversation was over, Faith used her shoe to break the line of salt across the door, and Ruby pushed her way out into the frigid night air. Faith sealed the door shut after her, then hurriedly closed the line of salt once more.
She met the others back in the main office, finding Sam, Dean and Henriksen stuffing salt rounds into ammo belts.
"So, five minutes is all it takes? Now you and Ruby are BFFs?" asked Dean even as he handed over an ammo belt, already half full of rounds.
She took it from him, beginning to grab the remaining shells and stuffing them one by one into the belt. "I think she was trying to manipulate me," Faith admitted. It was true, she just wasn't yet sure how.
Dean paused. "Into doing what?"
"I dunno," she murmured. Dean watched her, and so she lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "Demons, right?" she asked, raising her brows as if it was the punchline to a joke. To her immense relief, Dean seemed to buy it, snorting once and going back to his task.
The plan was simple enough, but it wasn't foolproof. They were going to be exposed, in about as much danger as possible. But no plan was entirely without risk. Faith wasn't sure she believed Ruby – that she was made for war and could survive any oncoming attack if only she gave into her instincts – but something about the thought was oddly comforting, and as they gathered in the main office, preparing to head to their individual positions, Faith held that comfort like a timid, vulnerable flame in the hollow of her chest.
"We all know what we're doing?" Dean asked bracingly. "Any questions, concerns? Anyone wanna back out?"
"Is that actually an option?" asked the deputy, who looked particularly pale.
Dean stared at him like he was an idiot. "No."
The deputy swallowed and nodded once.
"We can do this," Dean pressed on, taking the time to meet each of their eyes. "It's a good plan, and it's our only real shot. We're going to be okay."
It was a simple but bracing speech, and some of them even seemed to believe him.
"All right," he said shortly. "Go team. Break."
Sam, the deputy and Nancy managed sad little chuckles, but the rest of them were silent. And they did just that, turned to walk in separate directions. Faith took a step towards the loading dock – the entrance she'd been put in charge of manning – but a hand caught her arm before she could leave.
"You gonna be all right?" Dean asked her, strong hand encircling her bicep, warm even through their clothes.
She frowned at him, unimpressed. "Stupid question."
Dean actually winced. "Just, stay safe," he said, a little lame compared to the bracing speech he'd just given the others, but it meant something that he'd pulled her aside, eyes caught on hers, voice lowered almost intimately.
"You too," Faith managed.
He nodded once, and then they were walking away from one another, off to opposite sides of the building, to fight their own battles.
The loading dock – mostly used for prisoner transfers and the occasional records drop-off – had both a large rolling door and a smaller, regular door on the righthand side of the room. The devil's trap gleamed in the low lighting, and Faith took a moment to brush her fingers against every weapon on her person.
The shotgun slung across her body, the pistol in the holster at her thigh, a knife in each boot and her iron dagger strapped to her ankle. It wasn't exactly an arsenal, but if what Ruby had said was true, maybe she wouldn't need one.
She stood there waiting for Dean's order, staring at the devil's trap with her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. But there was a voice in the back of her head, something small but difficult to ignore, that wondered whether her racing pulse wasn't from fear, but excitement. That there was a part of her – not new, but something which had always been there, hidden – that wanted the coming fight. That was electrified by the thought of it, fingers tingling not in fear, but with anticipation.
"All set?" Dean's voice echoed down the corridors of the sheriff's station. The others called their replies from opposite ends of the building.
"Yeah!"
"Ready!"
"Set!"
A beat, then, "Let's do this!"
For the second time that night, Faith scratched a gap in the devil's trap at her feet, and with not so much as a moment's hesitation, she kicked away the salt line at the door and turned the handle, pushing it open outwards to let the winter air pour into the loading dock. Her breath fogged in front of her face as she held her shotgun aloft.
No demons appeared, but Faith could feel that sense of otherness, knowing that they were there, hidden in the darkness, waiting.
"Here, kitty-kitty," she murmured, grounding herself, preparing for a fight.
Her skin prickled with that same terrible anticipation, and without warning a shape flew from the darkness, barrelling towards her – a train hurtling down its tracks. The kickback of the shotgun was merciless, but she moved with the recoil, watching as the demon fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
He wasn't alone.
They poured onto the loading dock like a scourge, and the single-barrel shotgun she'd been given was not enough to keep them at bay. She took down three or four with the gun, then dropped it to her side, caught by the strap around her shoulder, and pulled free her pistol.
The regular bullets didn't do much damage to the demons, but they had to sting like a bitch, and at the very least it surprised them enough to buy her time to reload her shotgun.
But they kept coming, like ants before a storm. They poured in and Faith was driven further and further back. Her racing heart kicked up into a gallop, and she fought with all she had – but it wasn't quite enough. They just kept on coming.
Faith retreated deeper into the building, firing bullet after bullet, the demons dropping like flies, but never for long.
One caught her around her neck, throwing her face-first into the wall. Her chin hit the cement and the blow reverberated through her skeleton. Her mouth full of blood, Faith recalled Ruby's advice, the words ringing in her ears in the aftermath of the blow.
"Let your instincts take over," she'd said, confident in her counsel, as if she knew exactly what she was talking about. And maybe she did, or maybe not, but either way, Faith had precious little else to turn to.
She dropped the gun, spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, and fought.
It was easier than she'd expected. When she gave over to her instincts, fighting was almost the same as breathing. Weapons were all well and good, but she was coming to understand that the deadliest weapon she'd ever wield was herself.
She took her rigorous lessons from Toby and expanded upon them, and soon she didn't feel overwhelmed so much as she did … enlivened.
Her blood was hot in her veins, and her skin felt like it was buzzing. It was better than any drug, but she fell victim to it all the same. She was living one heartbeat to the next. All she knew was the thump of flesh and the snap bone beneath her fist; the cracking of ribs under the toe of her boot.
A demon attacked; she felt the shift in the air and ducked, spinning under its arm and catching it hard in the stomach. It fell to the floor, winded, and Faith kicked backwards, landing a blow between a demon's legs. That one went down, too.
All she knew was blood and war, and some part of her felt wide awake, as if this whole time she'd been sleeping, and now finally, she was conscious. Something other than blood pumped through her veins, something not unlike rage, fuelling her, pushing her onwards, harder and more brutal.
But in the end, it didn't really matter that she was the Child of War, because no matter how hard she fought, they had the one thing she didn't: the sheer numbers. They pressed in on her from every angle, driving her further and further backwards. But luckily, that was all part of the plan. This was a trap, and she was the bait.
"Henriksen, now!" Faith heard Dean's rough voice shout at some point, vague through the haze of violence, but real and grounding, just enough to bring her out of her mindless daze.
Sam's voice flooded the station, his exorcism pouring out over the speakers, drenching the demons in its sound. By now Nancy and the deputy would have salted the doors shut again, the whole sheriff's station a giant cage, impossible to escape.
The demon who had been about to send a punch across her face abruptly tore away from her, pressing its hands to its head and tipping backwards in a silent scream. Faith stumbled back, wiping blood off her chin and watching without a word as the demons were expunged from their meat suits.
And then, in a flash of fiery light, it was all over. Formally-possessed townsfolk littered the floor like trash, and still mopping at the blood that poured from the cut in her lip, Faith picked her way through the mess towards the main room where Sam, Dean and Henriksen were stood, staring at their handiwork and revelling in the fact they were still breathing.
"There you are," said Dean at the sight of her, something like relief flashing across his face. "When I didn't see you…" he trailed off and didn't bother to find a way to finish the sentence. He seemed to get over it was quickly, clearing his throat. "You look like hell."
Faith arched a brow. "So do you."
When Dean smiled, his teeth were stained with blood. She was sure her grin looked just as grim.
Henriksen looked particularly satisfied with himself, and he stared at the room with the sort of light in his eyes that made Faith think this probably wasn't the last time he was going to find himself surrounded by demons. She'd been a fledgling hunter once before; she recognised the look in someone's eyes.
"Is this an average day for you?" he wondered, wiping the blood from his wounds.
Faith glanced at Sam and Dean, who caught her eye with a wry, tired smirk. "Maybe it's a little above average," Dean admitted, turning to Henriksen with that same, bloodied grin. "But basically, yeah."
Henriksen laughed just as the first of the people on the floor began to groan, waking up from their evil comas, holding aching heads and dislocated shoulders, wondering where the hell they were, and how they'd gotten there.
"This is going to take a while to clean up," Henriksen sighed.
And it did. By the time they got everyone the explanations (edited) and the medical attention (in some cases, severe) that they needed, the sun was peeking up over the horizon, the sky a kaleidoscope of pink and yellow.
When the last of the injured victims was taken away – a bullet wound to the leg (Faith had done her best to miss any major organs; she'd mostly succeeded) – Faith made her way over to Nancy, who was sweeping up some of the broken glass in the records room.
Nancy looked up with a surprisingly bright smile as she slipped into the room. "Crazy night, huh?" she asked lightly, as if they'd just come back from a raging house party, not exorcised over thirty demons at once and nearly gotten themselves all killed in the process.
Faith peered at her closely before saying, "You're kind of awesome, you know that?" and meaning it with every bone in her body.
Nancy blushed and batted her away.
"I'm serious," Faith insisted. "Tonight, you helped pull off a feat that most people would have considered impossible."
"Nah," Nancy chuckled. "It was a team effort. I mean, look at you," she said, gesturing to Faith helplessly. "You look like you just came back from the frontlines; not to mention the whole Lara Croft thing you've got going on."
Faith cocked her head. "Lara Croft?"
Nancy's grin was mischievous. "What my parents don't know can't hurt them."
Faith laughed tiredly. "That's my girl."
Nancy smiled too, but her eyes looked a little glassy. Faith knew it wasn't only the exhaustion getting to her. "I dunno how to … where to go from here. I mean, demons are real. What else is out there?"
Faith didn't want to tell her the truth – that nearly everything she'd ever heard of was real, and dangerous, and wouldn't think twice before putting an end to her bright, shining light. So instead, she said, "You got a cell phone?"
Nancy nodded.
"I'm gonna write down my number," she said, reaching for a nearby stack of post-it notes and a pen, scribbling down her cell number for Nancy to keep.
"Why?" Nancy seemed understandably confused.
"Because the world's a scary place, and you're gonna have questions. When you do, call me. I can answer them for you."
Nancy took the little yellow post-it note from her, peering down at the number quizzically, like Faith had written it in code. "Why?" she asked again. At Faith's raised brow, Nancy hurried to say, "You just – I mean, you three, you don't seem like the 'keep-in-touch' type."
"We don't?" Nancy shook her head. "Well, maybe that's true. But when I found out about all this – demons and darkness and things that go bump in the night – I needed someone to help me through it all…and I had it in Sam and Dean. I guess now, I'm paying that forward. Besides, you're cool, and my partner's always saying I need more friends."
"Your partner?" Nancy asked, slipping the post-it note into her pocket for safe keeping. "You mean Dean?"
Faith cheeks did not grow hot as she shook her head. "No, no, another hunter, Toby. Anyway," she said briskly, keen to keep the conversation moving, "I want you to call me if you're feeling scared, or have any questions at all, okay?"
Nancy smiled shyly. "Would it be strange if I start keeping salt on my windowsills from now on?"
"It would be smart," Faith assured her. "Now you're thinking like a hunter. And that's always a good thing. It'll keep you safe."
"Bueller!" called Dean from the main office, where he and Sam were saying their goodbyes to Henriksen.
"I'd better go, before he gets cranky," Faith told Nancy apologetically.
Nancy surprised her by swooping in for a hug, wrapping thin arms around Faith and squeezing tight. "Thank you, Faith," Nancy said into her shoulder. "I hope I see you again."
"If you're lucky, you won't," Faith chuckled, ignoring the way the hug made her ribs ache.
Nancy chuckled and let Faith go. Faith gave a final smile and a fleeting wink, then left to meet the boys and Henriksen out in the main office.
"Henriksen," she greeted him drily. "What's the verdict? Am I gonna have to assume a new identity? I'm feeling like a Faith Brontë this time, what d'you think?"
The agent chuckled. "Actually, as far as the bureau is concerned, you and your boys here died in the helicopter explosion," he told her. "You're in the clear. So long as you don't get caught jacking any more cars."
She waved him off. "I don't make promises I can't keep."
Henriksen held out a hand that she took, shaking firmly. "Thanks for the assist," he said in farewell.
"But now let's hope we never see each other again?" she finished.
He smiled. "Something like that."
Sam, Dean and Faith left the station feeling wrecked, and exhausted beyond belief, but also satisfied. They'd beaten the odds, and in the end, they'd saved more than anyone could have expected. They were somewhat high on that win, but despite that relief, there was tension between Sam and Dean as they drove back to their motel.
Faith escaped into the shower the moment they arrived, and she stayed in there as long as she could, well after her skin had gone pruney and she was dying for a glass of water. She dressed slowly, careful not to jostle any of her new, ugly bruises, and hoped it had been enough time for Sam and Dean to talk about the elephant in the room.
When she stepped back out into the motel room, dressed in sweats and a raggedy old shirt, still towelling her hair dry, the brothers seemed to have spoken and gotten over the lingering unsaid between them, sprung up in the wake of Ruby's meddlesome words.
"Shower's free," she said needlessly.
"I half thought you'd drowned in there," said Dean, looking up from his dad's journal, which he'd been flipping through absentmindedly.
"The water pressure's great," was all she said in reply.
"Sam, you go for it," Dean said, nodding his brother towards the bathroom.
Sam hesitated. "You sure?"
Dean just nodded, and Sam gladly disappeared into the bathroom. Faith finished rubbing her hair dry and threw the towel over the back of a nearby chair. Stood in the middle of the room, she felt lost. The adrenaline had left her system, but she still buzzed, the terrible excitement of the fight remaining, like an ink stain on her skin.
"You look dead on your feet," said Dean.
Faith sighed. "I am."
"Well then would you sit down before you pass out?"
Faith padded across the room on bare feet. The futon remained in the corner, but Dean had ignored it, perched instead on the bed she'd slept in the day before. It said a lot about how exhausted she was that Faith didn't say so much as a word as she crawled on top of the covers and collapsed happily on the pillows.
Dean didn't move, sitting reclined on the lefthand side of the bed, flicking through the journal. Faith didn't point out that he'd yet to move, and just wrapped her arms around her pillow, cradling it comfortably against her head.
"Think Henriksen will ever help us out?" she wondered sleepily. "Y'know, if we get arrested or something, and ever need an out?"
Dean's lips pulled up into a half-smile. "Maybe," he said quietly. "Go to sleep."
She murmured, "As you wish."
And was out like a light.
She awoke sometime later – too soon, in her opinion, her eyes burning with the need to stay shut – but the banging on the motel room door was impossible to ignore. Dean groaned, unexpectedly close to her ear, and Faith rolled over just enough to see him stretched out on the bed next to her, the futon forgotten in the far corner of the room.
The obnoxious knocking continued, making Faith realise it wasn't the maid. Dean groaned again, reluctantly climbing off the bed, stretching his back until it popped and dragging his feet across the room to answer the door. Faith watched through bleary eyes as a blonde figure stormed into the room, and it took a few delirious moments for Faith to recognise the figure as Ruby.
"Turn on the news," she demanded, each word a weapon. The exhaustion left Faith – water evaporating on hot concrete. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and running a hand through her unbrushed hair.
Warily, Sam reached for the remote, turning on the television.
The news was indeed on, a breaking story featuring a pretty reporter stood in front of the smoking remains of what had once been a familiar building.
"The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured, causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside," the reporter was saying matter-of-factly.
All of Faith's attention was glued to the TV, but some part of her was vaguely aware of Dean sinking down onto the mattress on her left.
"Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald. As well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen."
Their pictures flashed across the screen, smiling and happy and alive – only they weren't, not anymore. When Nancy's photo appeared, something in Faith broke, and a pained sound escaped her lips. Her hand snapped up to stifle the sound, but she wasn't fast enough. Dean pressed a hand to her back, but she hardly felt it, staring at the TV in mounting horror.
"Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We'll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim."
And just like that, it was over. The feed switched to a man in a poorly tailored suit with a greasy smile, but Sam turned off the TV before so much as a word could leave his mouth. Faith continued to stare, vacant and horrified, at the black screen. Her mind was an echoing cavern of shock, and she could hear her pulse loud in her ears.
"Must have happened right after we left," she was vaguely aware of Sam saying, but it sounded like it was coming from down the opposite end of a very long tunnel.
"Considering the size of the blast, smart money's on Lilith," said Ruby plainly.
Distantly Faith was aware of something sailing towards her face, but before she could figure out how to get her body moving in time to catch it, Dean's hand appeared and snatched whatever it was from the air. Faith barely blinked.
"What's in these?" Dean's voice rasped. Faith tried to latch onto it, use it as a tether to bring herself back to reality, but she still felt like she was floating in a dark void, trapped by her grief.
"Something that'll protect you. Throw Lilith off your trail," Ruby muttered. "For the time being, at least."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me," Ruby snapped. Faith finally blinked, turning to stare at the demon, who looked at them with well-earned righteousness in her eyes. "Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people. So, after your big speech about humanity and war, turns out your plan was the one with the body count. Do you know how to win a battle? You strike fast and you don't leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss. So, next time … we go with my plan."
With that said, Ruby stormed from the room. Faith watched her go, somehow both numb and also in incredible pain.
Sam didn't seem to know what to possibly say, and neither did Dean. Faith couldn't have spoken even if she'd wanted to, and she was aware of nothing until Dean's hand settled tentatively on her back again.
"Faith?" he said in such an alien, gentle voice that she thought she really must have looked awful.
Suddenly the room was too small, the walls closing in around her, the scrape of the starchy bedsheets too harsh, the lights too bright and the sound of the ticking clock on the far wall too loud.
"I need to go," she blurted.
"Faith—" Dean tried, but Faith was already out the door.
Outside, the sun assaulted her sensitive eyes, but she would take that over the shrinking walls of the motel room any day. She started walking – not with anywhere specific in mind, just aimlessly onwards. The motel bordered on a forest, and she headed towards it without actively deciding she wanted to.
It felt easier to breathe out in the fresh air. But her body still felt wired, muscles tense like some part of her expected something to jump out from behind a tree and attack.
Faith didn't walk far, but she would have if not for Dean, who caught up to her at a brisk jog, shrugging out of his jacket and holding it out to her. "Jesus, Faith," he said crossly. "You can't just leave like that."
Faith stared at him wordlessly.
"It's like forty-five degrees out, and you're not even wearing shoes," he added disapprovingly.
Numbly, Faith looked down. He was right; her feet were bare, and now that she thought about it, the soil was frozen under her toes, and she was shivering. She hadn't noticed that before, as if she wasn't inhabiting her own body, but was instead running on pure shell-shock.
Dean pressed his coat harder against her until finally she had to take it, holding it in limp hands. She made no move to put it on, and Dean muttered something under his breath that she was sure would have offended her if she'd listened. But instead of bothering to retaliate, she just met his eyes, feeling dead deep down to her soul.
Dean's sour expression crumpled, replaced by something pained. "I know," he said softly, almost a groan. "I'm sorry."
"They're all dead," she whispered, the reality only just beginning to settle over her. She couldn't feel horrified or even embarrassed by the tears that welled in her eyes. "They're all dead because of us," she said, staring up at him with her lower lip trembling, doing her best to hold back a sob.
Dean looked like it might have hurt less if she'd kicked him. He stared down at her, pain glittering in his forest eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, because it was all he could possibly say.
"I don't want you to be sorry," she bit back, the tiniest hint of fire igniting in her chest, "I want them to be alive." But one look in Dean's eyes and that fire was gone, replaced by such sweeping sadness that she thought she might drown in her own guilt. "Dean," she whimpered.
Dean's only response was to press a hand to the back of her head and slowly, gently draw her face into his chest, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist. Faith's hands moved up as if controlled by somebody else. She balled the fabric of his shirt in her hands, burying her face in his shoulder and just allowed herself to be.
She didn't sob, in fact she barely even cried. Pressed against Dean, she trembled with the all-consuming force of her grief. Dean said nothing. He didn't so much as shush her. He just cradled Faith against him, holding her tight. He smelled like worn leather and sunshine, and she pressed her face into his neck, his skin warm against hers.
A small eternity passed there, under the trees behind that motel, with her seeking solace in the hollow of his throat, his hands holding her like he worried she might blow away in the breeze if he so much as loosened his grip. Faith could have stayed there forever, even despite the chill of the wind and the bite of the frozen soil at her toes.
But all things must end, and so did this.
Dean was the first to pull back, looking down at her unfathomably. It wasn't until he gently ran his thumb underneath her eyes that she realised any tears had escaped at all, sliding hot and unwelcome down to her cheeks. She pulled away from him and rubbed angrily at her face.
"What was the point?" she asked, the shell-shock fading, turning into something close to fury. Fury at him, them, herself, the world. Fury at the sheer unfairness of it all.
"The point?" Dean asked quietly.
"Of everything? Of the whole last twenty-four hours? What was the goddamn point of it all if they were just going to die anyway?!"
Dean swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I don't know," he admitted, looking down at the jacket he still held in one hand, frowning at it like it might hold the answers they longed for. "All I do know is, this world ain't a fair one. And people die."
"People die?" she echoed scornfully. "They didn't die, Dean. They were murdered because of us."
His countenance hardened like stone. "Loss is part of hunting," he said darkly. "If you can't handle that, then maybe you shouldn't be a hunter."
"Oh, fuck you," she spat. Dean rocked back on his heels in surprise, but her ire didn't lessen. "I can handle loss just fine. All I've ever done my whole damn life was handle loss. But this wasn't a loss, Dean. We fought for those people! We saved them, and they saved us, and they earned the right to walk out of there alive!"
Dean seemed to sense an oncoming meltdown, holding out his hands calmly. "I know it isn't fair—"
"No, it isn't fair!" she shouted. "Nothing about this was fair! It was a waste of my goddamn time. It was – it was so stupid, so naive of us, to think we could actually win for once! Fuck, maybe we should have just cut out Nancy's heart and saved ourselves all the damn trouble!"
Dean cocked his head. "You don't mean that."
No, she didn't mean it, not at all. With that realisation, all the fight left her and she slumped like a marionette with its strings cut. Dean caught her, arms strong and capable as they wound around her middle. She didn't have it in her to cry any more. Her tears had dried, and she was just so tired.
"Come on," murmured Dean, seeming to sense the way every atom of her had at once given up. "We could both use a few more hours of sleep before we hit the road."
He began to walk them back towards the motel. The road was hard and cold against her bare feet, but she relished the pain and the warmth of Dean against her.
"Dean," she said, so quiet he nearly missed it. He looked down at her in question. "How long do you have left?"
He frowned. "Until?"
"You know what I mean."
Dean stiffened, his body rigid. "Let's just get some rest," he said firmly, a deflection if she'd ever heard one.
"Dean," she pleaded.
He sighed. "We'll talk about it later," he promised, devoid of feeling, as they reached their temporary room. He opened the door and gently guided her inside. Sam was sitting on his bed, not appearing to have moved an inch since she'd left. There was grief on his face, but his eyes remained dry.
She wanted to press Dean for more, but instead she just crawled back onto her bed, this time burrowing underneath the covers. Dean disappeared into the bathroom, and Faith expected to lie awake, waiting for him to reappear. But the warmth of the covers and the softness of the pillow beneath her face were too enticing, and she was asleep before he came back out again, surrendered to the merciful black.
A/N: Thanks for the response to the last chapter, guys, and I really hope you enjoyed this one too!
Next time: Faith gets a call from Toby, she and Sam have a heart-to-heart over a round of darts, and then she and the boys take on a case where Dean gets a call from the ghost of a familiar voice…