All Fall Down
As far as hunts went, this one was fairly routine.
They came, they investigated, they researched, they killed the monster in the dark, then they celebrated with beers at the bar down the street from their pay-by-the-hour motel.
Faith had a scratch across the length of her cheekbone, but it wasn't deep enough to scar. Toby had popped into the convenience store across the street to grab a bag of frozen peas, and now sat holding them to his head, making the other people along the bar eye him sceptically.
"Occupational hazard," he muttered with a shrug.
Faith snorted and gestured to the bartender for another round. The night found them playing a game of darts – a game Toby was losing terribly.
"You're not entirely human," he muttered sourly. "It's an unfair advantage."
"Sore loser," she scoffed, tossing the dart with barely a flick of her wrist. It landed on the bullseye and Toby groaned. "Again?"
He snorted. "I think I know when to cut my losses."
"We're not even playing for anything."
"Just my pride."
Faith rolled her eyes. "Baby."
A low chiming filled the air, and Toby put down his beer to dig in his pocket for his phone. He was still smirking at her comment, but the moment he saw the caller ID the expression melted away. The lazy contentment was gone in an instant, replaced by something like dread.
"Toby?" she asked, tugging the last dart from the board. "You okay?"
There was a pregnant pause in which Toby just stared numbly at his phone, like an android with its power source removed. Then he looked up, a great deal paler than usual, blue eyes haunted. "I've gotta take this," he muttered, then left the bar before she had a chance to ask more.
Faith watched him nearly bowl over an older couple going through the door at the same time as him. Frowning deeply, she turned her attention back to the dartboard. She couldn't imagine it was anything too bad – probably a lead from a hunter he didn't care for – fuck knew there were plenty of those.
Hell, it might even be Dean. Just the thought of contact from the eldest Winchester made her blood fizz. She threw back another mouthful of beer.
She wasn't expecting Toby to be gone long, but when the twenty-minute mark passed, she officially began to worry. She drained the last of her beer, then the last of his too, before tossing enough cash on their table to cover the bill and following her partner outside.
The air was ice cold, the chill of winter making her breath fog. It took her a moment to spot Toby, slumped against the mouth of a nearby alley, just out of the yellow glow of the streetlights. "Toby?" she asked, stuffing her freezing hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.
Toby didn't say anything, and she picked up her pace, all but jogging towards him. He didn't even seem to notice she was there until she had him by the jacket, shaking him once and ducking low enough to catch his unfocused eyes.
"Toby, what the hell?" she demanded. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"
One hand reached for her weapon while she peered into the depths of the alleyway, half expecting to see evil, glowing eyes peering back out at her from the shadows. Toby grabbed her wrist, keeping her from drawing her gun.
"No, nothing's here. I'm fine," he rasped.
"Bullshit," she argued, but let go of her gun all the same. "You look terrible. Who the hell died?"
Toby winced and she regretted her words with plenty of time to spare before he opened his mouth and said, "My father."
Faith felt speechless. She stared, her jaw loose with shock. "Your father?" she finally echoed, feeling stupid.
She'd never considered Toby's family before; had never given it so much as a second thought. She supposed, in some way, she'd assumed he was like her, or Dean and Sam – with no family to speak of but each other. But she realised now that assumption was short-sighted and callous. How had it never even occurred to her to ask Toby about his life? What kind of friend – what kind of partner – did that make her?
"That was my brother on the phone," Toby said, voice curiously devoid of emotion. Like someone reading back a report they'd been forced to write on a topic that didn't interest them. "Just a heart attack," he added, before Faith could ask what had happened. "Apparently Mum wants me to go back for the funeral."
He finished with a bitter-sounding scoff and Faith stared at him some more, feeling like she'd stepped into the gods-dammed Twilight Zone.
"Go back," she echoed again, not entirely unlike a parrot. "You mean, to England?"
Toby nodded grimly. For a long few moments, the two of them could only stand there, both staring at nothing, the weight of what was happening before them heavy on their shoulders. Faith knew the alleyway behind a dive bar in Detroit wasn't the right place for this conversation, but the inevitable questions itched the tip of her tongue, heart heavy like lead.
"I didn't know you had—" she began tentatively, but Toby cut her off.
"If we leave tonight, we can make it to Bobby's place by mid-afternoon," he said, leaving no room for argument. Faith watched him turn away, feeling vaguely like she was experiencing it all from underwater.
He strode off without so much as a glance in her direction. Faith was left with nothing to do but scramble after him, cold all over.
"Tonight?" she asked dumbly.
"The funeral's only happening in a few days," Toby explained, his words spoken with sharp, detached precision. "Counting the day it'll take to get you to Bobby's, then the day it'll take to fly over, we need to leave as soon as we can. Can you do me a favour and look up flights while I pack the car?"
Faith could only nod wordlessly.
The motel they were staying in was only two blocks away from the bar. The winter air had a bite to it, and while Faith had to pull her jacket tighter around her body, shivering from the cold, Toby seemed numb to it all. He stared blankly ahead of himself, as if he were nothing but a train on a track, being guided to his next destination.
She didn't say anything as they walked back to the motel, Toby fishing the key from his pocket, unlocking the door without a word. Faith watched as he made a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door after himself and leaving her in the ringing silence of the room.
Without any idea what to do with herself, Faith opened the laptop they shared and pulled up flights to England. She didn't know where exactly she was booking it for, so once she'd pulled up the site with the flights, she just stared at the screen, a million questions churning like butter in her mind.
When Toby finally left the bathroom, he didn't look dishevelled or wrecked, or even like he'd shed a tear. Instead, he looked hyper-focused. He began to move about the room, packing their things swiftly. Faith could tell he didn't want to talk about it, but that alone wasn't enough to hold her tongue.
As a kindness, she decided to start small.
"Which airport am I booking the flight to?"
Toby cleared his throat once. "Heathrow."
She nodded and began to plan accordingly. "There's a flight out of Detroit in a few hours—"
"No. I'm taking you to Bobby's. Book the flight from somewhere near South Dakota."
Faith stared at him, that part of the plan finally registering. "Who says I need to go to Bobby's?"
It was enough to break through his haze, and his expression twisted with confusion. "What else would you do?"
She frowned. "Work?"
"You mean hunt?" he scowled. "Alone?"
"I'm not a child, Toby," she reminded him tersely. "I don't need a babysitter."
"Faith, you can't go off hunting alone—"
"Why not? You did it for months before you met me. Bobby does it all the time."
"That's different—"
"How is it different?"
"We're more experienced," he argued lamely.
"And I'm a demigod," she retorted quickly.
Toby's scowl deepened. "We don't even know what that means yet, Faith."
That was definitely true, but she was left feeling indignant by Toby's suggestion she needed to be cared for like a child. "The point is," she insisted, "I can look after myself."
Toby opened his mouth, and she knew what would come out would be impatient and full of frustration – a return of the person he'd been when they'd met – but instead he took a deep breath and seemed to steady himself, shutting his eyes long enough to rein in his irritation. When he opened his eyes, he was calmer.
"I need to know you're safe," he said quietly; honestly. "If I know you're out here, hunting on your own, I'll be distracted. So please, for my sake, could you just spend a couple of weeks hanging out with Bobby? Where I know you're far less likely to get yourself killed? Just – please."
She wanted to argue some more – but Toby suddenly looked so tired, and pained, and sad, and old. He watched her now with bags under his eyes and skin that looked sagging and dull. Faith got the inexplicable urge to wrap him in a warm blanket and pass him a mug of steaming tea, but she ignored that impulse and instead just nodded her head.
"Okay," she agreed, because right now she couldn't do anything for him except this one small thing. So, she would.
She booked him a flight from Minneapolis to Heathrow, with a three-hour layover in Boston, departing in two days' time. That would give him enough time to get her safely to Bobby's and drive back north-east to Minneapolis, with a little time to spare before his flight.
As she worked, Toby finished packing. They finished their tasks at the same time, and she shut the laptop, shoving it into its usual bag and following Toby from the room.
"All booked?" he asked in the sort of voice that told her he was saying it just to fill the silence.
"All booked," she confirmed. "Courtesy of Mr," – she fished the credit card from her back pocket, squinting at the falsified name on the front – "J. Gatsby."
Toby frowned as he started the car, the engine a comforting rumble beneath her seat. "A little on the nose, isn't it?"
"Aren't they all?" she said of their usual pseudonyms, which were sometimes so blatantly fake that she wondered how anyone could ever believe them in the first place.
It was still late at night, and the lights of Detroit were nothing but a blur of shining colour as they made their way steadily west. Toby didn't turn on an audiobook, and Faith left her headphones untouched. They sat in silence until they needed to stop for gas, just as the sun was coming up.
Faith lifted some granola bars from the gas station for their breakfast, and they ate as the shimmering light of the early morning shone through the rear window. Faith sipped the coffee they'd gotten, too – paid in full, because it was a lot harder to steal cups of coffee without getting noticed, and she wasn't feeling up to a challenge today – and she was just starting to think about nodding off when Toby spoke.
"You can ask, you know?"
Faith gnawed on her lip, tapping an uneven rhythm onto the plastic top of her cup. "But will you answer?"
At first, Toby didn't reply. Faith sank into her seat, readying herself for a nap she knew was unlikely to come. But then, a miracle – Toby began to speak about himself, and his past, without any prompting whatsoever from her.
"I come from a family of hunters," he began, his grip on the steering wheel too tight, though his voice was steady and soft. "Goes back generations, actually. Most hunting families do. But mine – they're not … they're not like the Winchesters, or Bobby, or hell, even like Garth."
He paused, seeming to struggle for words.
"How so?" Faith asked gently.
"They're…" he made a face, like something rank had been shoved under his nose, "…religious."
It took her a moment to put the pieces together. Once she did, all Faith could say was a quiet and sympathy-filled, "Oh."
"They don't hunt because they think it's the right thing to do, or because they have some sort of personal vendetta to settle," he continued, knuckles white, mouth a hard line. "They hunt because they believe they're on a mission from God. Which, I s'pose, sounds great in theory. God's the good guy, right? Which means they're on the right side?"
His voice told her everything he wasn't saying, and Faith turned to stare at the lightening sky, the heat of the cup in her hand fading with every passing minute.
"But because they see this as some sort of a … a mission … they—" he struggled for the words. "To them, everything's either black or it's white. Either you're with them or you're against them. They're so goddamn self-righteous … and if you don't fit into one of those two categories, then…"
"And you didn't fit," she said quietly, heart bleeding.
"I mean, in some ways I did – at first. As a kid I did and said and felt all the right things. But then I got older, and things … changed. I started to…" One of his hands left the wheel, reaching up to rub against the wiry scruff of his dark beard.
Faith reached across the console and placed her hand over the one still gripping the wheel. She didn't say anything, but then again, she didn't have to. Toby took a steadying breath and pressed on.
"To them, being gay wasn't an acceptable life choice," he said, voice breaking over the word. She wondered, distantly, how many times he'd said it aloud. How many times – if any – he'd proudly and confidently claimed it as his identity. "When it became clear it wasn't something I was willing to change," – he scoffed loudly, and Faith's lips pulled into a grim smirk, seeing the wry humour in the words – "well, then they asked me to leave. So, I did."
He stopped talking, letting them fade into silence. But Faith wasn't convinced that was the end of the story.
"And then you met Oliver," she pressed gently.
His face twisted with pain, but he nodded all the same. They were long since passed the masks and the facades. They were themselves; at least with each other.
"Have you spoken to any of them since you left?" Faith wondered.
"My brother's the most … accepting … of them all, if you can even call it that," he said with a sour twist of his lips. "He'll call occasionally, says he just wants to check up on me, chats about Mum and Dad. But it's usually awkward; more of a chore than a friendly conversation."
"And your parents?"
"Dad's a minister," Toby told her, then grimaced. "Was, I suppose."
A moment passed, full of something that wasn't quite grief – but rather something maybe closer to shock. She squeezed the hand she continued to hold, and Toby pressed on.
"He's refused to speak to me since the day I came out. Daniel – my brother – he told me once that he'd told his congregation I'd died. Which I guess was a better alternative to the shame of having a fag for a son."
He said it so casually, with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders and a wry twist of his lips. But Faith saw the pain, felt it like it was her own. And for a fraction of a second, she wished the man wasn't already dead, just so she could have a go of ending him herself.
But her fury wouldn't help Toby, and helping Toby was the only thing that mattered. So, she swallowed it like a pill and refocused her energy. "Your mom?"
Toby shrugged again. "Dad was the leader of the family, and when he said jump, she didn't even bother asking how high – she just leapt from the closest bloody cliff." He took a moment to pick up his cooling tea, taking a deep gulp. "I spoke to her once – on my thirtieth birthday. She rang, asked how I was. Her voice was low, like she didn't want to be overheard. But I'd been drinking, and I was feeling angry, and I didn't – well, I just didn't handle it very well. I don't think she deserved some of the things I said to her."
"I'm sure she did," Faith disagreed.
Toby's chuckle was a sad thing to behold. "You're so jaded, Fay," he teased, and it might have sounded like a joke were his voice not so hoarse with grief.
Faith licked her dry lips. "Do you even want to go home, Toby?" she asked him, because all she could think was that if their situations were reversed, the last place she'd want to go was back home, where everyone either thought he was dead or hated everything he that made him, him. She'd be more likely to go back just to dance on the dead minister's grave than to mourn his passing.
Toby chuckled once, but she thought the sound seemed only one notch away from a sob. "No," he told her. "I don't."
"Then why are you going?"
He turned to smile sadly, the sunlight behind them catching his beard and making the subtle red tones glow. "Family's family," he said like it was some wise a proverb, and not the most pathetic excuse she'd ever heard.
"Family isn't blood, Toby," she argued passionately. "Family's choice."
Toby looked at her askance. "Spoken like somebody without any blood relations of their own."
He certainly had her there. She couldn't empathise – not really. Her mom was ashes, and she had no other family apart from her father – wherever he might have been. But even if she didn't know his identity – not for sure – he was a Greek god. It wasn't like they were at the same level. In fact, if it came down to a hunt, she'd probably take him out without a second thought. Because family wasn't blood, not even a little bit. She'd never had blood; she'd only ever had choice. And she chose loyalty – to those who had earned it.
"You crossed an ocean to get away from them," she said quietly, still trying her best to understand. She owed him that, at least. "Why go back just to see him put in the ground? You don't owe him anything, Toby. Nothing. Not even this."
Toby took a moment to answer, staring at the distant horizon, lost in thought as he drove. She could sense him gathering his words, and she sipped at her own coffee, waiting for him to find them.
"I suppose it's not about debt," he finally said. "It's about seeing for myself that he's gone. And it's about seeing my mother, finding out if…" He didn't seem able to finish the thought.
Faith finished it for him. "If she'll speak to you, now that your dad and his influence is gone."
Toby swallowed loudly, and Faith tipped her head back against the seat, staring at the pink sky; tracing her eyes over fluffy clouds that look painted there by the hand of God himself.
"I know what you're going to say," Toby whispered after a minute of pregnant nothing. She turned to arch an eyebrow in question. "You're going to say that she doesn't deserve a second chance, and that I shouldn't hold out any hope."
Faith smiled sadly, because this she understood all too well. "Was your father a scary man, Toby?"
Toby seemed taken aback by the blunt question. It took him a second to gather the strength to say, "Terrifying."
"Then maybe she does deserve a second chance," she sighed. "Some men don't realise the power they hold over women. I've been under that power before. Felt so afraid that I couldn't speak, let alone act how I wanted to. Love who I wanted to."
Toby took a moment to process that. "Nate was—"
"A good man," she assured him with a smile. "But the people you meet in short-term foster care aren't usually so kind. And when you're young, or weak, or vulnerable – it's easy to feel so afraid that everything shuts down. All you can do is survive; even if that means compromising your morals, or dressing in a way you hate, or using words you wouldn't use – or, maybe, even pretending your own son doesn't even exist."
Toby took another sip of tea, the sky turning from peachy pink to its usual blue. Faith thought distantly that it should have been raining – but the weather was rarely so in tune with the tone of each day.
"Do you still feel like that sometimes?" Toby wondered.
When Faith smiled, it wasn't forced. "No," she said simply. "Now I have a gun."
It made him laugh, and her smile grew a few inches. His laughter slowly faded, and she realised there was more to say.
"But no matter how strong you feel, or how many weapons you hold, there's still a part of every woman that flinches when a man raises his voice. That shifts back when he raises a hand. And that's never going to go away entirely, not even if you have a whole lifetime of happiness in your relationship. It's just how it is."
"In your experience," Toby said quietly.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Yeah," she said, and left it at that.
"So you're saying I should give my mum a second chance?" he asked, sounding maybe a little frustrated with her for thinking it. She looked across the console at him, taking in the heavy set of his shoulders and the stern furrow of his brow.
"I'm saying that I think I understand her, but not that I condone what she's done to you – or rather, hasn't done," she said patiently. "Nothing excuses that, Toby. Maybe she doesn't deserve forgiveness. But maybe I also understand her in a way I'm not sure you ever could."
Toby didn't respond, and Faith was content to let their conversation fade away into nothing. She was sure he had a lot to think about, and Faith herself was operating on very little sleep. She tried to stay awake, in case Toby wanted to talk some more, but half an hour later he turned on an audiobook – some middle-grade adventure novel he was working his way through – and so Faith knew he was going to be okay. Finally, she allowed herself to sleep.
They arrived at Bobby's house a little later than they'd expected, due to roadworks and a few accidents along the way. Toby couldn't stay long, so he declined Bobby's invitation of a beer, telling him the situation in staccato tones before shaking his hand and turning to look at his partner, who scowled at him crossly.
"You're reminding me of my old social worker," she said unhappily.
"Terribly sorry," he said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. When she scowled at him, Toby loosened up and took a breath. He set both hands on her shoulders, ducking his head just enough to catch her unimpressed gaze. "You're not a child I'm leaving at a babysitter's house," he reassured her. "You're a friend I'm dropping off with another friend, in the hopes that you won't feel so alone while I'm gone."
"And also, so I don't run off and get myself killed by a werewolf or something."
Toby's smile was sincere, although the haunted look in his eyes never fully went away. "That too."
She huffed once but relented and pulled him into a tight hug. She knew things must have been dire when Toby wrapped his arms around her instantly, sinking into the warmth of her embrace.
"When will you be back?" she asked into his shoulder, aware she sounded like a child but too sad to care. Toby had taken a lightning shower in the house, and now he smelt like fresh mint and his usual body wash.
"I don't know," he said quietly, and it was at that exact moment she realised he hadn't asked her to book him a return flight.
She pulled away from him, looking up with wide, panicked eyes. "Days? Weeks?"
The weight of his hands on her shoulders was usually calming, but nothing could calm her now, panic gripping her like a vice. "I don't know," he said softly, apologetically.
The next question she didn't want to even voice aloud, but she had to know, fear clutching her heart like two icy hands. "Are you coming back?" she whispered, jaw clenched as she waited for his answer – a boxer bracing for a coming blow.
A beat. "Yes," he said eventually, but it did little to disappear the icy fear in her veins. "I just don't know… With my dad gone, there's going to be a lot to sort out. I just – I don't know how long I'll be. But I am coming back, Faith. And I'll call you while I'm there."
Faith didn't feel convinced, and she mustn't have looked it, either, because he ducked to catch her eye again.
"Faith," he said, serious as ever. "I'm coming back. I'm not going to abandon you."
He saw right to the heart of her fear, and he knew just what to say to calm her. He'd always been like that – the yin to her yang. She took a deep breath, releasing it with a cloud of mist when it met the frigid air. "Okay."
It was out of her hands, now, and she knew he had to go back, even if it did make her feel like someone was pulling a rug out from underneath her bare feet.
"I mean it," he insisted.
"I believe you," she replied. Neither was quite sure whether that was true, but both let it slide.
Toby sighed. "I'll call you when I land."
"Okay," she said again. With a final nod and a squeeze of her shoulders, he turned and walked down the icy stairs leading to the front lawn where he'd parked. Faith watched him go, feeling like a piece of herself was walking away.
And maybe it was stupid and co-dependant of her – but there was some part of her that felt like she needed him. He was her rock in this strange, weird, dangerous world. He was the only one who knew the truth about her parentage, about the fact she was officially less than human. And the thought of being without him scared her – like she was being dropped in the middle of the Amazon with nothing and no one to help her get back out again.
But then Bobby's hand landed on her shoulder, and she reminded herself that she wasn't alone. That she was going to be okay, and that she didn't need Toby to function. She had herself, and she had her other friends, and that would have to be enough.
Toby waved once as he pulled out onto the road, then he disappeared along with the light, the sun disappearing below the distant horizon just as he rounded the end of the road and disappeared out of sight. Faith stood in the cold a moment, shivering from head to toe, before Bobby opened the front door and coaxed her back inside.
That night he just ordered a pizza for dinner, and they shared it and some beers while watching Seinfeld reruns on his shitty old TV. It wasn't easy to relax – she was keyed up, thinking about how long Toby would be gone, and what she was going to do with her time, but eventually Bobby threw a piece of pepperoni at her face. It hit the side of her nose and she turned to stare at him blankly.
"You'll be fine," he said, somehow managing to sound both scolding and encouraging in the same sentence.
"I know I will," she said, making a face and taking a bite of pizza. "I'm more worried about being bored than anything else."
"Plenty to do 'round the salvage yard," Bobby shrugged. "I'll keep you so busy, you won't even know he's gone."
She didn't like the way it made her sound like a kid whose father had left her while on a business trip. She scowled at Bobby unhappily, wondering when, exactly, all these men would stop treating her like she was a goddamn child.
"What if I wanna hunt?" she asked bluntly.
Bobby looked away from the television, where Jerry Seinfeld was monologuing about wigs throughout history. He seemed surprised by her question, which wasn't actually a question. He had no authority over her – if she wanted to go on a hunt, then she'd go on a fucking hunt – she just wanted to see what he'd say.
For about five seconds Bobby just stared at her, as if gauging how serious she was. "Then I'll help you find a job in the mornin'," he eventually said, nodding like the matter was put to rest.
Faith's eyes narrowed to slits. "You will?"
Bobby flashed her an amused look. "You're an adult, Faith, and you're a hunter. I ain't got no say in what you do. You're capable. You'll be okay, no matter what Toby says."
"Toby said something?"
Bobby chuckled. "Just asked me to keep an eye on you, is all. But in Toby-speak, I figured that meant keep you here, where you can't get into any trouble. But you're good at this, and if you wanna go hunt, far be it from me to try and stop you."
She wasn't sure what to say – she felt strangely touched by his confidence in her, and his unwavering respect for her autonomy. She settled for smiling gratefully. "We'll see how I feel in the morning," she said. "I don't mind helping you out around here for a couple of days."
Bobby snorted. "We'll see how long you last, before you start climbing the walls."
"Well, there's plenty of books to read, at least," she mused, eyeing the books that seemed to cover every available surface the room over.
Bobby's landline began to ring, the shrill noise cutting through the air like a blade. Bobby heaved a sigh as he stood, the joints in his knees cracking loudly. Faith tried to focus her attention on the TV, but it was inevitable that she overheard Bobby's one-sided phone conversation.
"Dean," he said warmly, sounding pleased just to hear the hunter's voice. Faith tried not to react to the sound of his name. "Not bad, just watching reruns with Faith … Yeah … Yeah, Tobias had some stuff to take care of back in England, so she's here with me for the next couple weeks … Yeah, I guess so … What? Are you…? Uh, sure."
By now Faith was doing nothing to disguise the fact she was listening, and Bobby held the phone out to her. She could only stare. "He wants to talk to me?" she asked, incredulous. It wasn't like they'd left on good terms. Certainly not the sort of terms that warranted a follow-up chat.
"What am I, your answering machine? Just take the damn phone," snapped Bobby, shaking the phone at her.
She hurried on bare feet across the room, swapping places with Bobby and warily holding the phone up to her ear. "…Hello?" she asked, wiggling her toes into the fibres of Bobby's rug, curling the cord nervously around her finger. If asked, she'd deny how fast her pulse was racing.
"…Hey," came Dean's familiar, husky voice. Faith bit her lip at the sound of it, heart in her throat. She expected to feel familiar anger, speaking to him again, or maybe panic, but she didn't at all. She wasn't quite sure what she felt. "I hear you're holed up at Bobby's while Tobias is off dining with the Queen, or whatever."
She went from nervous to irritated in a heartbeat, scowling even though he wasn't there to see it. "I'm not 'holed up' anywhere," she said waspishly. "I'm staying with Bobby for a few days until I figure out my next hunt."
Dean paused. "You're gonna hunt?"
"Yeah?"
"Alone?"
She gritted her teeth. "I'm perfectly capable."
He hesitated again. "You're new at this. Someone should have your back."
"Ideally, yes, but my partner's halfway to Heathrow by now," she ground out. "Was that all you needed, or can I go back to my Seinfeld rerun? It's the one with the soup Nazi, and I don't wanna miss it."
Dean ignored her. "You know, Sammy and I aren't too far from Bobby's place – a couple of hours at the most – if you wanted, we could swing by and pick you up. You can tag along with us while Tobias is off gorging himself on crumpets and scones."
Faith said nothing, the offer taking her so much by surprise that the ability to speak vanished. She heard muttering on the other end of the line and assumed it had stunned Sam just the same. When she finally got her mouth to cooperate again, she blurted, "You want me to hunt with you and Sam?"
"I don't want anything," said Dean defensively. "It was an offer. Because I'm nice like that."
Faith narrowed her eyes at nothing, trying to piece together what little she had to go on. On Dean's end of the call there was more muttering, the sounds muffled as if someone had their hand over the phone. Faith chewed on the inside of her cheek and waited for the brothers' bickering to finish.
"So, what'll it be?" Dean asked casually some few moments later. "You gonna play housewife for Bobby, or you wanna come on the road with some real hunters?"
The offer was more than unexpected. After how they left things, he should be running in the other direction, shouldn't he?
"Why?" she demanded, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. Nothing came to mind – the offer would put them in close quarters and give them nothing but time with which to annoy each other into the ground – perhaps prematurely, in Dean's case. Arguments were bound to ensue; surely nothing food could come from it. Why offer? It didn't make any sense.
Dean hesitated a moment, then said, "Because life's short. Are you coming or not?"
Pain lanced through her, but her answer came unexpectedly quickly, because the truth was that Dean was on a clock. And she didn't want the last conversation they had to be filled with venom. Grim as it was, she'd like to make maybe one or two memories before she lost the chance forever.
"Fine," she agreed, heart skipping a beat. It felt dangerous, or reckless somehow. As if she'd just agreed to leap from an airplane, or bungee jump into the Grand Canyon. But spending time with Dean always felt that way; risky in a way she couldn't quite explain. "What time will you be here?"
Dean took a moment to consult with Sam. "A bit after ten?"
"I'll be ready."
"We're heading straight through to Nebraska. We've got a lead on something down in Colorado."
"I'll make some coffee."
Dean's brief second of silence betrayed his surprise. Maybe some part of him hadn't thought she'd agree – hell, maybe every part of him had. "Alright," he said slowly, dazedly, as if he'd been thunked over the head, "see you soon, then."
She hung up and turned to look at Bobby, who looked entirely too amused for her taste.
"Shut up," she snapped. Bobby held up his hands in surrender, but that knowing smirk never left his lips. Faith stomped loudly up the stairs to her room, where she began to pack up her things again.
With time to kill before Sam and Dean arrived, Faith decided to enjoy an extra-long shower, knowing such an indulgence would be scarce on the road. Once she was clean, dressed and packed, Faith joined Bobby downstairs, her bag at her feet.
True to her word, when Sam and Dean arrived, she had three travels mugs full of hot coffee ready for them to drink on the road.
Dean stepped inside and met her eyes. There was a charged moment as the echo of all the terrible things they'd said last time they'd seen each other rang between them. Faith inhaled sharply and blinked, breaking the connection. She handed him his coffee and greeted him with a brisk, "Winchester."
"Bueller," he replied with a nod.
Sam looked between the two of them, rolled his eyes skyward, and walked past them to use the bathroom.
A short ten minutes later they were ready to get back on the road again. Faith sipped her coffee as she chatted to Sam quietly about the job they'd recently worked, stood in the doorway waiting on Dean.
"A time loop?" she asked doubtfully.
"Everything you've seen so far, and you're telling me that's the point things get too hard to believe?" Sam chuckled. Despite his laughter, Faith couldn't help but notice the haunted gleam to his eyes, like a man returned from war. She wanted to ask more, but something held her tongue. She had plenty of her own secrets, and she wasn't willing to offer up any in exchange.
Dean and Bobby finally reappeared, talking in undertones that Faith got the feeling she wasn't supposed to overhear. Dean glanced up, catching her eye, then quickly looked away, nodding once at Bobby and clapping him on the shoulder in farewell.
Faith ducked close to the older hunter to press a kiss against his cheek in goodbye. "If Toby calls the house—" she began.
"I'll assure him you're in good hands."
She wrinkled her nose, taking offence. "I don't need anybody's hands—"
Dean hooked an arm around her shoulders, forcing her light-heartedly down the stairs. "Bye, Bobby!" he called behind them.
Bobby chuckled, and Faith decided against fighting Dean as he manoeuvred her into the backseat of the Impala. It was just another fight she didn't feel like fighting, but she breathed a great sigh of relief when he wasn't touching her anymore. Dean and Sam climbed into the front, and then they were out on the open road.
"So, where to, boys?" she wondered casually, sipping on the coffee she'd topped off just before leaving. It had been brewing in the pot for too long, making it stronger than tar, but she enjoyed the bite.
"Monument," said Dean, turning up the heat a few notches.
"Colorado?" she asked, and Sam nodded. "What's the job?"
"Bela," growled Dean.
Faith looked up, scowling. "Bela?"
"She stole something from us. We're going to get it back."
She knew they meant the Colt – Sam had just before informed Faith that Bela had stolen it from their safe the three weeks previous, when the whole dream root debacle had gone down.
"Damn, you're not gonna kill her, are you?" she asked calmly, like they were discussing the stock market. "You know she won't go down without a fight, and it'll be a mess. I don't particularly feel like scrubbing bloodstains out of this shirt tonight."
Sam and Dean exchanged a look she couldn't fully see in the shadowed cab of the Impala. She wondered if they were planning to be honest with her – then hoped so with a fierceness that surprised her. This – working with the Winchesters while Toby was away – it wasn't going to work unless they were going to work as a team. She wasn't going to play the role of the child, stuck in the backseat, making coffee and cleaning weapons while they did all the real leg-work. Faith realised now that she probably should have clarified this before hopping in the car with them, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
"We were more thinking of breaking into her hotel room and stealing it back," Sam finally admitted.
Faith nodded. "Simple. Effective. Less blood to mop up. I like it."
"Just to be clear, killing her wouldn't be an issue, but the clean-up would?" Sam sounded vaguely amused.
"I don't like cleaning," she shrugged. Sam's look was incredulous, and she scowled in reply. "Nobody's perfect, Samuel."
Dean snorted. "Tobias has been a terrible influence on you."
"Toby," she drawled, "has been a wonderful influence, thank you very much. I'll have you know I was always like this. All hunting did was provide an outlet for all the violence."
It wasn't a lie, and she thought Dean had to know that – because maybe he was the same. The difference between them, however, was that life had made him that way, whereas she'd been born twisted; wrong and inhuman. She wondered what he would say if he knew any of that. What he'd do if he knew just how different they were, at a fundamental level.
Strange, to be so similar and yet so different. She wondered if that was what it felt like to have a family.
Dean wasn't kidding – they drove through the whole night without stopping once. They were nearing the Colorado state line when they decided to finally stop, the sun only just peeking up over the distant horizon. They grabbed a motel room with two beds and a futon they had to pay extra for.
"Why not just keep driving?" Faith wondered as Dean half-heartedly threw some blankets down over his futon.
"Bela's a slippery one," said Dean, a note of frustration in his voice. "We need to be at the top of our game – which means rest. Besides, the usual etiquette for breaking into hotel rooms says we do it under the cover of dark."
She arched a brow. "Etiquette?"
"You've got a lot to learn, young Padawan," he said without looking up.
Faith rolled her eyes and stepped into the bathroom just as Sam was coming out.
They slept through most of the day. Dean had made a show of complaining about being stuck on the futon, but when Faith finally just said she'd take the fold-out and let him have the bed, he doubled down before she had a chance to switch with him.
When Faith woke up, it happened slowly, everything around her leisurely sliding into focus. First, sound – the distant beep of a car horn and a nearby murmuring of deep voices; then smell – the starchy, musty stink of motel sheets; then sight, as she cracked open her tired eyes – the afternoon sun slanting in through the gaps in the drawn curtains. For a moment she let the calm drift over her, letting herself wake slowly, knowing a fight was likely going to come sooner or later.
The vague murmuring of familiar voices sharpened into something she could understand, and Faith shut her eyes again, feigning sleep as she listened to Sam and Dean argue across the room.
"I just don't get why you invited her along, Dean," Sam was hissing under his breath in an effort to keep from waking her.
"What, you don't want her here?" Dean hissed back.
"She's my friend, I don't mind having her around for now – what I don't get is why you want her here," Sam replied. "These past few weeks, the only time you haven't been complaining about her is when you've been unconscious. You've got barely more than three months left, Dean. We don't have time for you to chase tail—"
"I'm not chasing anything," Dean snapped, a little louder than intended. He cleared his throat and when he spoke again, it was quieter. "The company's good for us."
"Dean, she doesn't know about the deal," Sam hissed. "How are we supposed to work on saving you if we're spending all our time trying to hide the truth?"
Dean paused. "She knows," he admitted with a sigh.
Sam literally gasped. "You told her?"
"No! She found out in my dream," Dean snapped. "I couldn't help it, okay? Look, she knows, so it isn't a big deal. Besides, she was all alone. She needed this. It's practically charity."
"Please," Sam scoffed. "If you're not going to be honest with her, at least be honest with yourself."
Dean muttered something Faith couldn't hear, then stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door after himself. Faith used the noise as a pretence for 'waking up', starting and opening her eyes to look around blearily.
"Sam?" she asked, scrubbing a hand into her eyes.
"Morning," said Sam, even though it was, in fact, late afternoon. "We need to get moving; how long will it take you to get ready?"
She shrugged. "Couple minutes."
Dean reappeared from the bathroom a moment later, drying water from his damp face. "Bathroom's free," he said, barely sparing her a glance.
Faith made a show of stretching before slipping into the bathroom. The door shut behind her, she took a moment to breathe and run her mind over what she'd overheard.
Was Sam right – was Dean just looking for a lay before he died, or was there more to this? Something deeper than she didn't – or couldn't yet – understand? She felt suddenly like an intruder. If Dean did only have three months left to live, why would he willingly choose to spend it with her? And after these three months, what happened then? Dean just … went to Hell? A demon chew toy for all eternity?
Faith didn't realise how long she'd sat there, head in her hands, mind swirling with thoughts, until Dean banged on the bathroom door. "Hurry it up, sweetheart," he called through the wood. "We've gotta hit the road."
Faith rushed to change and brush her teeth, then she slipped from the bathroom with her head held high. She wasn't going to force answers out of Dean. They all had secrets, and she wasn't giving up hers any time soon. Besides, they had canyons between them that still needed crossing.
They got back on the road, grabbing takeout from a drive-through Biggerson's and chugging coffee like it was an Olympic sport. The ride through Colorado was mostly quiet, with Dean nodding his head along to the classic rock playing from his stereo and Sam staring listlessly out the window. Faith didn't bother to try to make conversation.
Monument was a relatively small town. The hour was growing late as Dean parked the Impala a few blocks away from Bela's hotel, and it occurred to Faith for the first time to ask how they even knew Bela was here in the first place.
"I called the phone company, pretending to be her husband," Dean explained as they grabbed their preferred weapons from the trunk and made sure the car was locked. "Said she'd lost her phone and we wanted to put a trace on her cell."
"And it worked?"
Dean almost looked offended. "I'm very convincing."
"Oh yeah," she muttered. "I'm sure you deserve an Oscar. How d'you know the room number?"
"I called the hotel pretending to be her husband—"
She snorted. "Wow. You really only have one move, don't you?"
Dean looked utterly affronted. "Trust me, I have plenty of moves, sweetheart—"
Sam interjected before Dean could earn himself a slap. "Would the two of you shut up?" he hissed as they walked in the direction of Bela's hotel. "We're here to do a job; let's get it done already."
They swiftly fell quiet.
The hotel was fancier than the ones Faith and Toby – or Sam and Dean – usually frequented. It wasn't that they couldn't afford them – their phoney credit cards could take care of the charge no problem – but just that fancy hotels meant closer scrutiny. The promise of a clean room and five-star service wasn't enough to make them abandon the safety that came with a hole-in-the-wall motel where ninety percent of all its patrons booked under fake names anyway.
There was a man at the reception in the lobby. He wasn't paying attention to them, but it was unlikely they could sneak by unnoticed. Acting on instinct, Faith hooked an arm around Dean's neck and drew him towards her.
Dean looked vaguely like a deer in the headlights. "What are you doing?"
"Performing," she said simply, then pushed up onto her toes to press her lips to Dean's throat.
A choked noise escaped Dean, but mercifully he kept walking, slinging an arm around her waist in a way that looked mostly natural. Sam strolled in ahead of them, keeping his head down, attention on his phone. From where her face was pressed into Dean's neck, Faith opened her eyes just enough to catch sight of the receptionist glancing at them dismissively and returning to his computer.
"Pull that move a lot?" asked Dean once they were safely in the elevator and she'd peeled herself away from his inviting warmth.
"It gets the job done," she shrugged, ignoring the way her face buzzed where it had been pressed to Dean. She could still feel his racing pulse point against her lips, and she reached up a scrub a hand over her mouth as if to wipe the ghost of it away, the scent of worn leather, motor oil, and sunshine swirling in her head like an intoxicating fog.
Bela's room was on the second floor. They paused outside her door – room 205 – and Sam lifted his hand to knock quietly on the wood. They waited five seconds, then ten. There was no answer. Sam knocked once more, a little louder this time. Still no response.
The brothers looked at each other and nodded, then Dean slid to his knees, sliding a pick into the lock. Faith refused to be impressed, reaching for her gun when Sam reached for his, wrapping her fingers around the grip and holding tight.
The lock clicked and the door swung open without so much as a creak. Dean was on his feet in an instant, gun held aloft, Faith and Sam swooping in behind him with their weapons drawn.
The room was lavish and expensive, much cleaner than the usual rooms Faith had gotten so used to staying in. It seemed empty, no signs of life. While Dean and Sam immediately went about searching for the Colt, Faith inched deeper into the suite, making certain the bathroom and the private balcony were empty.
"Any sign of it?" Dean growled as she padded back into the room, trying to ignore the feeling of ice water dripping slowly down the length of her spine. Something was wrong.
"Nothing," said Sam. "Are you sure this is Bela's room?"
Dean held up a handful of coloured wigs from one of the drawers he was rifling through. "I'd say so."
"Guys, she's not here," Faith said, looking at the perfectly made bed and glancing into the closet that was empty of clothes. "I don't think she has been in a while."
Before either could respond, the room's landline began to ring. Faith looked at Sam, who looked at Dean, who looked back at Faith, all of them sharing in the uncertainty of the moment. Faith looked back to Dean, nodding her head at the phone. It couldn't be a mere coincidence. Faith didn't think Bela had ever not been in full control of everything and everyone around her once in her life.
Including them.
Dean answered the phone, jaw tight at whatever the person on the other end said. "Where are you?" he demanded, and Faith knew then that it was Bela – one step ahead, as always.
"Where? … I want it back, Bela. Now. … You understand how many people are gonna die if you do this? … Take the only weapon we have against an army of demons and sell it to the highest bidder. … I know I'm gonna stop you."
It was frustrating to only be able to hear half of the conversation, but Faith bit back her irritation, listening closely, waiting to know where to go from there.
"Oh, I'll find you, sweetheart," Dean promised Bela scathingly. Everything in Faith snarled at the sound of that pet name. It was said with utter derision, like an oath that promised death, but Faith supposed that – somehow – she'd thought he only called her that. That it was her name, and not just something he pulled on every contemptible woman he came across.
She bit down on her tongue, tasting blood, but kept her expression carefully blank.
"You know why?" Dean continued, oblivious to her ire. "Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to track you down."
Bela said something on the other end of the call, and whatever it was made Dean's eyes shoot wide in alarm. He glanced between Sam and Faith, mounting panic on his face.
Faith tightened her grip on her gun, shifting her weight so she was ready for a fight. But it didn't matter how prepared she thought she was, nothing in her own power could stop the hotel room door from being kicked open, police officers pouring into the room like fish from a dam, guns drawn and voices screaming for them to get on their knees.
Faith's instinct was to fight, but she knew it was pointless. Even she – in all of her demigod weirdness – wasn't enough to take down a whole squadron of armed officers (not yet).
She gritted her teeth and dropped her gun to the floor, sinking down onto her knees with her hands folded obediently behind her head.
An officer was there in an instant, grabbing her hands and thrusting his knee into her spine. A grunt of pain left her mouth at the rough treatment, the officer shoving her hard against the carpet, and Dean shouted a furious, "Hey! Take it easy!" before he was slapped in his own cuffs, face shoved against the floor.
"Faith Bueller; Sam and Dean Winchester: you have the right to remain silent," the officer over Dean was saying monotonously. Face squished against the pale carpet; Faith caught sight of shiny black shoes strolling confidently into the hotel room. She twisted back as far as she could with the officer's knee digging into her spine, tilting her head just enough to see a very unwelcome figure stood above the three of them, looking entirely too pleased with himself for comfort.
"Hi, guys…" Henriksen drawled smugly around the piece of gum he was chewing. "It's been a while."
A/N: Hi everyone, I hope you enjoyed! Very busy with wedding planning, but writing is still a priority for me.
A quick note for any fans of my DW story, Heart of the Storm – my Private Messages on here currently aren't working, they haven't been since I posted that message about wanting beta readers for the sequel. If you've messaged me about wanting to help, I'd have no idea as I haven't been able to send or receive messages. Very annoying, and help won't email me back. If you want to contact me about it, please use my socials instead (arrianereads – on both insta and the tok [I never use twitter so maybe don't try me there]).
Anyway – next time on This Curse On Our House: Faith and the boys experience Jus in Bello – and some tough truths come to light.