Exodus (Perseides, Chapter 4 of 7)
Oct. 7th, 2012 12:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Exodus (Perseides, Chapter 4 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.
Word Count: 45,000 total
Summary: The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.
Notes: This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. Hope this will give you a few minutes distraction while we all wait for Wednesday!
Sam was wiping up salt. He had overturned the shaker on the table between them, and a small stream of white crystals had spilled out over the tablecloth.
“Sorry, Ruby,” he said. “Did I get any on your dress?”
“I don’t wear dresses,” she muttered, edging farther from any grains that had ended up on the wooden bench beside her. Sam courteously got up and swept a hand along the bench, causing the girl to cringe, and then relax. “Try to be less clumsy, OK?” she asked.
He hadn’t meant to do it. Really. His arm had bumped it over. “You know what you do when you spill salt!” Sam smiled.
“No. What do you do, genius?” grumbled Ruby. The pouty-faced girl hadn’t been in the best of moods to start out with, and now she seemed even grumpier.
“You throw it over your left shoulder,” said Sam, suddenly unscrewing the saltshaker. He noticed that Ruby once again turned pale. Sam casually tossed a handful of salt over his back, and then refastened the shaker, to her obvious relief.
“Sorry. Superstitious,” said Sam.
“I didn’t think Easterners were superstitious,” said Ruby, who was momentarily distracted by the arrival of the waitress with their lunches. Sam took the opportunity to cast a glance over his shoulder down the road from the cafe where they sat. His drivers still weren’t back. Good.
He turned back and started picking at his salad. “We can be superstitious,” he said. “I mean, we’ve all heard about stuff like angels. And demons. We just don’t meet them every day.”
“Not gonna run into any angels around here,” Ruby said definitively, cutting into her steak.
“Really. Why is that?” asked Sam.
“I dunno. I guess they just all, you know, took a hike,” she told him.
“That’s too bad,” said Sam.
“Why?”
“Well, I would have like to have met one,” he said, poking at some wilted lettuce.
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”
“Really? So, what are they like?”
“Like you and me,” Ruby told him, dabbing a bit of blood on her chin with a worn cloth napkin. The steak was rare. Very rare. “Only with a stick jammed up their ass,” she said. “Why are you so jumpy?”
Sam turned back around. Ash had just gotten back to the truck, and given him the high sign. “Me? Oh, nothing. Funny, there’s rumors going around the camp that the foreigners are planning something.”
Ruby looked shrewd. “Foreigners? You’re a foreigner.”
“I mean the guys from overseas? They have ‘em all bunched together in one bunkhouse. They seem really secretive,” he told her, poking again at his wilted lettuce.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know. My family doesn’t like me to mix with … foreigners.”
“I’d like to meet them.”
“Meet who?” asked Ruby, looking baffled.
“Your family, of course,” said Sam.
“Oh. Uh, I don't think we're ready for that. Do you?”
Sam smiled. “Probably not,” he admitted. He turned and glanced at the truck. “Sorry to cut lunch short,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back. Gonna get in trouble.”
“No problem,” said Ruby, who also hopped to her feet, wiping a bit of blood on her chin. “I gotta go.”
Sam nodded. Ruby tossed some money down on the table and was already hastening off. Sam walked back to the truck. Ash and Victor were already there. He jumped up on the truck bed, gave the side a thump, and they were off.
“All rightie!” said Gabe, who had been running around all morning packing this, that and the other into the capacious trunk of the black Impala while, with increasing impatience, Dean and Cas watched.
“What are you packing, Gabe?” Cas complained. “What do we need besides a couple guns and knives and some salt?”
Dean smiled and decided Cas was his kind of guy. Wait. “Salt?” he asked.
“Demons!” both Cas and Gabe answered.
“Oh, that’s right, you told me that,” said Dean.
“Look, guys, I know it’s hard to forget, since the fighting has moved on, but we’re in a war zone,” said Gabe. “A war zone where I hear some guys keep rooms full of clipped angel wings.”
“That’s just a stupid rumor,” scoffed Cas.
Gabe held out a long coat to Cas. “Here, try this one. It’s gonna be cold.”
“I don’t get cold,” said Cas.
“Humans get cold. You’re gonna pass for one,” said Gabe.
Cas grumbled almost as badly as when Bobby had made him don the suit, but slipped on an old tan overcoat, which also looked at least a size too big for him. “I am wearing too many layers of clothes! I’ll never be able to get out my wings this way!”
“No, no wings! Never!” Gabe scolded Cas. “Remember, we are not angels. That means no angel names. You are Cas and I am Gabe and that’s it. No talking Enochian, no smiting, no wings, no flying….”
“Aw, Gabe, that’s being overly cautious,” Cas complained. “No one is going to clip my wings.”
“Not on my watch they’re not,” said Gabe.
“Well, I have some rules of the road too,” said Dean, impatiently jingling the car keys.
“What would that be, Dean?” asked Cas.
“Driver picks the music. Everybody else, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”
“Your rules sound hauntingly familiar,” said Cas, who was nonetheless grinning again.
“And here’s the last rule!” said Dean. “Get in the damn car, or we drive off without you!” He hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The motor ground to life with a rumble. Cas grinned at Gabe and hopped in the passenger seat.
“Hey, you didn’t call shotgun!” yelled Gabe. The car lurched forward, sending Gabe running after it, his hands still full of things to pack. He flung open the back seat and jumped in.
Dean was on the road before Gabe had gotten the door shut.
Shit, Rufus was right, thought Sam. I meet a cute girl for the first time in six fucking months, and she’s a demon. He shook his head.
“Whatsamatter, Gigantor?” asked Ash. He and Victor were now sitting in the nearly empty truck bed with Sam as they rumbled down the road, feeling every bump and pothole. And, as they hadn't been doing highway maintenance around here, there were many bumps and potholes. “You haven’t said word one since we pulled outta town!”
“Sam. My name is Sam,” said Sam, who smiled nevertheless. “Not Gigantor, or Moose, or Hulk, or Chewie....”
“Were you successful, Sam?” asked Victor, eyeing Sam up and down.
“Well, I learned two things about my girl today,” sighed Sam. “One, she doesn’t like me spilling the table salt….”
“Ouch,” said Ash.
“And two, hearing about news of the ‘foreigners’ makes her jumpy. Oh, and three, as a bonus, she doesn’t want me to meet her folks.”
“Chick’s probably got the bodies stuffed in barrels in the basement,” laughed Ash.
“Not real funny, Ash,” said Sam.
“Hey, what’s going on up ahead?” asked Victor. The three all leaned out of the truck bed to peer ahead at the camp. There was a lot of activity. Sam was down out of the truck bed before they had even come to a halt.
Rufus was peering up at him. 'You delivered the package?” he asked, taking a puff off his cigarette.
Sam nodded silently, looking over to the other end of the camp. They seemed to be rounding up everybody from Balthazar's cabin.
“I dunno who your gal Ruby works for, but you know how to pick 'em, kid,” said Rufus.
“I don't understand,” said Sam. “I mean, how did they move so quickly?”
“It don't matter,” said Rufus.
“How did you know she was a demon, Rufus?” asked Sam.
“Of course she was a demon,” laughed Victor. Sam looked at Victor, annoyed. That guy never laughed.
“She was totally a demon, dude,” put in Ash.
“Because she shot you down?” Victor asked Ash. Sam listened with interest. He hadn’t known about this part.
“Repeatedly?” added Rufus.
“No mortal woman can long resist my intense awesomeness!” said Ash, which even made Sam laugh.
“You guys set?” Rufus asked Ash and Victor. They nodded. “Let's quit fucking around and move.”
As all of the attention (and the guards) were now focused on the angels, there was little notice when many of the other prisoners casually filed into a bunkhouse across the camp. “Frank's got papers for you,” Rufus told Sam as they entered the cabin. “Be sure to stop by.” There was a flurry of activity inside, with people spreading out salt, gathering weird ingredients, and painting strange sigils everywhere. “And soon. They’re expecting the angels were gonna cast this spell, not us.”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Frank,” he grumbled.
“I know you don't like the son of a bitch,” sighed Rufus. “No one does. But he's good at what he does. And get a move on. Once they find us, we're boned.”
Sam nodded. “I'll go now. Get it over with. I won't be much help with this anyway,” he said, ducking a couple of guys carrying a flaming bowl of something. He turned to leave.
Rufus grabbed his arm. “You'll remember the rendezvous point?” he asked.
“Look, Rufus, I'll be right back. Don't spaz.”
Rufus stared at him. “You're not used to this spell casting business, but things are gonna get very weird, very fast. Now, you remember your rendezvous point?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, Rufus.”
The older man released his arm.
“I'll be right back,” Sam told him. He hastened over to the bunkhouse that Frank had transformed into his forgery headquarters. He noticed with some annoyance that, despite orders to the contrary, Frank had spread his doorway with salt and painted in some sigils. The warding signs were at least partially hidden, but obvious if you knew where to look. And the guards obviously knew where to look.
He considered giving Frank shit, but decided to shut up and just grab his papers from the guy. He steeled himself, and entered.
“Oh, it’s you! How the hell am I supposed to hide a fucking bull moose from big brother?” Frank grumbled.
“Hello, Frank.” Frank was sitting at the rough table in his room. A pair of eyes glared up at Sam through coke-bottle bottom eyeglasses.
“I can give you IDs, but every black-eye in the state is gonna be looking for the escaped Wookiee. Have you considered shaving your head? And stooping?”
“Frank, me going Kojak? I think I'd just be more conspicuous, don't you?” sighed Sam.
“Well, thank your little demon girlfriend if you get your ass caught,” snorted Frank.
“She's not my- Look, can I just get my papers?”
“Here's your train tickets,” said Frank, handing Sam two oblong pieces of paper. “Don't lose them! Otherwise, you're walking home.”
“OK. Fine.”
“And I've got a variety of IDs,” said Frank, spilling some cards onto the table.
Sam picked one up and goggled. “Jimmy Buffet? Oh, crap.”
“You know how long it took to stencil in that state ID, kid? It’s got a hologram!” he bragged, picking it up and flashing it in the light.
“OK, OK, OK. It's fine,” sighed Sam, pocketing the cards. “I just hope to hell my brother never sees this.”
“No one is ever gonna see this,” grumbled Frank, he mien suddenly changing from dark to darker. “We're all dead. You know that. They're gonna cart our asses to Tuscon, and then it's so long, senoritas. Angels get their wings pulled, and who the fuck knows what happens to us.”
“Well, that's keeping a positive mental attitude,” grumbled Sam. He knew he should just shut up, but he couldn't help it.
“Positive mental attitude gets you killed,” Frank retorted.
“I thought you just said we were all dead anyway,” sighed Sam. “Hey, wait. What's that noise?”
It wasn't so much a noise as a hum, just at the low range of his hearing. And the air pressure seemed to change.
Sam jumpsed as Frank suddenly knocked over his table and dragged it towards the wall. “It's going down. Now.” He pushed some crates in front of the table.
“But it's early,” said Sam, checking his watch.
“Come on,” said Frank, yanking on Sam's arm and tugging him towards the makeshift barricade.
“I gotta get back to Rufus and the guys,” said Sam, wresting away and making for the door.
“No! Kid, you don't wanna be outside when shit goes down!”
“You said we're dead anyway,” said Sam, pushing open the door. He didn't know whether he could make it back, but he knew damned well he didn't want to be stuck escaping with Frank.
There was an odd silence over the camp. And the sky had darkened. Sam pulled his coat around him and hunched over, walking into the wind.
He stopped. The humming changed pitch.
All of the sigils in the prison walls had started to glow.
“Guys, what the fuck are you doing?” Sam muttered.
Now there was a cacophony: noises, movement. From somewhere across the camp, he heard shouts. Guns going off.
The ground shook. Sam was thrown from his feet. Sirens. The humming suddenly got louder, screeching up in pitch. Sam covered his ears.
Sam crawled into the shadow of a bunkhouse wall, curling into the fetal position, bracing himself.
Dean was sure he’d made a wrong turn and taken them back to No Man’s Land. Once they had gotten out of town, he’d seen nothing for miles but desert.
He turned down the stereo. “So,” he asked Cas. “You can tell stuff like who’s a vampire? Can other people – people who aren’t human – tell who’s an angel?”
“You mean can demons spot us?” Gabe called from the back seat.
“Don’t let your ice cream melt on the upholstery,” scolded Dean. Somehow, Gabe had managed to pack a bunch of frozen ice cream bars. Whatever magic or angel mojo or whatever he was using to keep them cold wasn’t perfect however,
“Geez, you’d think this was your car,” chuckled Gabe.
“This is my car,” smiled Dean. “She likes me, I can tell.”
“A car is an inanimate object, without emotional inclinations,” said Cas.
“But in answer to your question,” said Gabe, between taking his tongue up the side of the drippy cone, “it depends. Most of your run of the mill demons are lucky they can tie their own shoes. But there's some of the higher ups, the older guys, who are a little more on the ball.”
“So, not all demons are alike?” asked Dean.
“There's as many varieties as there are humans,” slurped Gabe.
“It's a demonic small world, after all,” mused Dean.
“Oh, now I'll have that wretched song in my head for the next day. Thanks a lot, Dean!” snapped Gabe.
“What song?” asked Cas. Cas slumped in his seat and started to raise his feet. One warning look from Dean told him to keep them off the dashboard. He fiddled with his tie uncomfortably. “I could take off my shoes,” he said.
“Keep the shoes on!” nagged Gabe.
“I don’t need them,” Cas insisted.
“Humans need shoes and you’re human, kid!” said Gabe.
“You sound like Bobby,” grumbled Cas.
“You know, Cas,” said Dean, “you’re lucky you have people like Bobby and Jody and your brother.”
“That’s what I keep telling him, ungrateful little shit!” echoed Gabe.
Cas was still scowling, so Dean continued, “Sam and I, we lost our mom when we were really young, so we ended up being shuffled around to people who didn’t much care, to be honest.”
“What about your father, Dean?” Cas said softly.
“Bastard disappeared on us. Guess he wasn’t the family type.” Dean tried to control his anger, although it was never easy when thoughts of John Winchester came to mind. “Sammy and I had only each other.”
“Which is why you need to find him,” said Cas.
“Will you pull off at that diner up ahead?” asked Gabe. “I'm feeling hypoglycemic.”
“You're … what?” asked Dean. “Dude, you put away like ten gallons of ice cream! And dribbled half of it on my back seat!”
But given that Gabe threatened consequences of apocalyptic proportions if he was not fed, Dean pulled over by a diner that stood all by itself on the lonely highway. There were gas pumps outside, so Dean took advantage to fill up the tank while the angels went inside. Gabe told him there was some rationing, so he didn't want to take any chances that his Baby would go hungry.
Dean entered the diner, and immediately got the feeling of being watched. Cop senses again, he thought. Unobtrusively as possible, he scanned the room. A couple of people had looked up from their plates when he entered, but no more than you would expect. He found the booth where Cas and Gabe were sitting and slid in next to Cas, who was watching Gabe down an obscenely humongous ice cream sundae.
“Eat dessert first,” advised Gabe. “Because you never know what's comin'.”
“We have ordered you a burger, Dean. I hope this is satisfactory?” Cas told him.
“No, that's great,” said Dean, who had to admit he was getting hungry. “Hey, you guys,” he said softly, leaning forward. “I get this funny feeling in here. Like we're being watched.”
The angels exchanged a glance that Dean couldn't read. “We're fine,” said Gabe. “Oh, look, here's the rest of the food.” And truly, just then the waitress came by with platters of lunch. Dean got a huge burger heaped with cheese and bacon and tomatoes and onions and mushrooms and just about anything else you could pile on a slab of meat. Gabe got a delicious smelling apple pie, and Cas some kind of sandwich, which he proceeded to nibble dubiously.
“You gonna eat that?” Dean asked Cas.
“He's always been a picky eater,” said Gabe to a glare from Cas.
“Reminds me of my brother. Big guy,” said Dean, holding his hand up. “Lives on rabbit food. I don't understand.”
“Don't worry, we will find your brother, Dean,” said Cas, suddenly serious.
“I know. Did you want that other half of your sandwich?” asked Dean, who was already grabbing for it.
Just then, the door opened, and some men walked in. Dean had that tickling sensation again, so watched them walk in. He looked back to the table, where he noticed Cas and Gabe were also watching.
“What?” asked Dean.
“We'll take care of it,” whispered Cas.
“Remember, no smiting,” muttered Gabe.
“I wasn't gonna smite!” said Cas.
“Yes you were.”
“Wasn't,” insisted Cas.
“Hey,” said Dean. Cas and Gabe looked over at him.
“Yeah?” said Gabe.
“You guys think it would be OK if I ordered a slice of pie?”
Cas and Gabe looked at each other, and then chorused, “Get it to go.”
Am I alive?
Sam painfully pulled himself to a sitting position. He rubbed the side of his face and was alarmed to see blood on his hands. He touched his fingers to his head. He must have been bleeding from his ears. He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to wipe it off as best he could without a mirror. Wouldn't do to wander around looking like he'd just been bashed by some crazy spell.
After a moment, he stood up and dusted himself off. He ran his hands over his body. No major cuts or scrapes, no missing limbs, and nothing seemed to be broken, that was good. He was still feeling a little woozy. He patted his pockets. Good, Frank's fake IDs and the train tickets were still in there.
He looked around and noticed with surprise that he was no longer in the camp. In fact, he couldn't even see the camp. Rufus had warned him, but still. This was fucking weird.
“Why didn't you just fly me back to Kansas?” he asked no one in particular. Hey, it had worked for Dorothy.
He was somewhere in the high desert, in a low canyon along a dry creek bed. He didn't have a GPS, but Balthazar had taught him a spell that supposedly pointed the way. He was new, so they hadn't trusted him with much of the occult stuff, but Rufus made sure he memorized this one. Well, good, looked like walking down the creek bed was more or less the right direction. He had no idea how far though, and he didn’t have a water bottle since he’d been caught unawares. At least the canyon wall offered some shade from the sun.
Sam squared his shoulders, and started to walk.
Dean set the little plastic box containing his slice of Dutch apple pie down on the counter and handed over the money to the girl behind the register. Then, being very careful to grab his pie, he exited the diner.
He wasn't surprised to see some guys hanging around outside. He didn't see Cas or Gabe anywhere, which made him nervous.
He shrugged and fished out the car keys. He was just about to open the door when he felt a presence behind him. Two guys, he thought. He let the key drop back into his pocket and, after very carefully setting down his slice of pie on the hood, turned around.
“You guys got a problem?”
It was two: the guys who had come into the cafe and tripped off the angel alarms.
“Are you human, kid?” asked the one, a snaggle-toothed redhead.
“Not that it's your business, but, yeah, last I checked in the mirror.”
“Then you're consorting with the wrong kind of people,” the guy told him. His buddy, a big, ruddy-faced blond, cracked his knuckles.
“No law says I can't choose my friends,” said Dean.
“We're the law around here,” said the redhead.
“And their sort,” said the blond, “they ain't friends to nobody.”
“You watch yourself,” said the redhead.
“I'll be careful,” said Dean, turning back towards the car.
“You'll be dead,” said the redhead, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him back around.
The redhead got a face full of salt for the effort. He screeched in pain and fell back, temporarily blinded.
The big guy lunged for Dean, but all of a sudden, Cas was between them, giving the guy a good smack to the jaw. It was actually an amazing smack to the jaw: the guy went flying, and Cas was after him.
The redhead scrambled to his feet, but then Gabriel, who had also just appeared from nowhere, grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the Impala.
“Watch my baby!' shouted Dean.
“What?” asked Gabe. The guy squirmed and lunged for Dean, but Dean threw an elbow into his throat. He gurgled, and collapsed to the ground.
“Hey, pretty good, copper,” said Gabe. “You're a natural demon-smiter!”
Gabe and Dean turned to the crashing sound. Cas had smacked the big demon right through the door to an outbuilding. Cas charged inside, Gabe and Dean running after him. They found him kneeling over the now unconscious demon. It was dark inside.
“Uh, I think we need to hit the road,” said Gabe.
“I should check Baby for scratches!” said Dean.
“You gave my car a name?” asked Gabe. But Cas pushed past Gabe and hit the light switch. And then everybody went silent.
“Is that.... Is that what I think it is?” asked Dean.
Now that the lights were on, Dean could see this was some kind of storage shed. It was a crazy mix of stuff: tools and pots and pans and supplies for the restaurant and fishing equipment and spare auto parts.
Up on the far wall of the cluttered outbuilding was mounted a very large pair of light-feathered wings. They were far too big for any bird Dean had ever seen. That must mean….
Cas was there, reaching out a hand. Gabe grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“Cas. Like I said. We gotta go.”
Cas turned. There were tears in his eyes. “Gabe....”
“We. Gotta. Go,” said Gabe. And then he had Cas by the back of the collar and was frog marching his kid brother out of the building and throwing him into the back seat of the car.
“Drive,” Gabe told Dean. Grabbing his pie off the hood, Dean jumped in and started the car.
“Did you guys know those were demons?” Dean asked Gabe as he drove off.
“Of course they were demons. That was a demon diner,” Gabe explained.
“What?” asked Dean. “Wait, you mean everybody....:”
“Yeah, everybody in there,” said Gabe, who cast a glance back at Cas, sitting in the back with his head in his hands. “Demons make the best cooks! Everybody knows that. And their ice cream! Heavenly!!”
Dean shrugged and drove on.
Sam had spotted the train tracks some time back. Though he felt vulnerable in the open, he hadn't come across any roads, or indeed any other people on his trek. He wondered if the spell had worked that way on purpose, or if he was just damned lucky?
The station was near. His rendezvous point.
There was a lone, bare tree out here, so he sat in the shade for a moment, wishing he had had time to grab a water bottle, and all of the other essentials he'd packed and hidden under the floorboards. Well, he was out, he would deal.
He stood and started walking.
The station wasn't crowded, but he was surprised to see how many people were around, given how fucking remote this place seemed to be. He gathered from Rufus that it was mostly a place for the railway to swap out cars. He cast a surreptitious glance around for anyone he knew. He spotted a couple of familiar faces. They weren't supposed to acknowledge each other in any way, not until they had at least made it to a Santa Fe. His heart sunk when he realized Rufus himself wasn’t here. He hoped he had made it, along with Ash and Victor and even that idiot Frank.
There was Balthazar, though, looking cool as a cucumber, reading a newspaper. Sam didn’t spot any other angels though. Sam wondered how Balthazar had managed to escape when his cabin had been under such heavy guard, but he supposed they had their ways.
Everyone on the platform looked up at the train whistle. Sam frowned and checked his watch. It was still twenty minutes early. He walked to the end of the platform and took a look, telling himself this was normal behavior. It was a freight train. Since he had nothing else to do, he watched it as it pulled closer. The track was on the other side of the station, near the opposite platform.
Sam knew as much about trains as he did about magic, but he could tell something was off about it. These cars looked like cattle cars, but that wasn't cattle inside.
It was people. The train was absolutely crammed with people: sitting, standing, like the Tokyo subway at rush hour. But it was strange. And then it hit Sam: all those people, and not a single one spoke a word.
Some of the other people waiting on the platform had begun to talk quietly, and Sam caught a word that made his blood run cold.
“Tucson.”
Dean looked over to where Gabe was loudly snoring, his face smooshed up against the window.
Drooling on his Baby!
He shook his head, and then cast a glance in the rear view mirror. “Hey, Cas,” he said softly. “You OK? Want some pie?” he asked, holding up the untouched slice.
Cas leaned forward, hooking his elbows over the bench seat, chin resting on his hands.
“Did you know about that?” asked Dean. “People who … do that? To angels?” He found he couldn't even speak the words. And what would you call it, stripping a guy's wings off?
“I knew,” whispered Cas. “I guess.... I guess I just did not believe.”
“What's their beef, anyway? I mean, what is it with those people?”
“You are asking why anybody would hate my kind, Dean?” asked Cas, with a small, bitter laugh.
“Yeah?”
“I fail to see why any human could possibly find anything good or noble about my species,” said Cas. “We have devastated heaven, turned it to ashes, and now seem intent on repeating the feat on earth.”
“And you totally don’t remember … up there?”
“Not very much. As I have told you, if you are curious, you'd be better off talking to my brother. Perhaps he will tell you. Though he is ever elusive with me. As if the memories cause some pain.”
“Yeah, dude's kind of in an ice cream sundae coma right now.”
Cas laughed softly, and Dean smiled and glanced at Cas. “Hey, I dunno about other humans but I like my angels OK.”
“Dean, I… I like you too,” Cas blurted.
Dean checked the mirror. Was Cas blushing? “Thanks, Cas. And you guys drive sweet cars!” ha added, pounding his hand on the steering wheel.
But then Cas was back to serious Cas again. “As far as Heaven is concerned, my only memories of my Father's house are of fire, and great chaos, and a weeping, as if the land itself were crying out. I was quite small, and terrified, clutching the hand of my elder brother with all my might, and quite unexpectedly standing in the middle of a great wasteland. And then Bobby Singer stepped up and reached out his hands, and pulled me up, holding me on his hip, and I clung to him as hard as I could, crying into his side. And he told me everything would be well, and I would be cared for. And I believed him.”
“You're close to Bobby, huh?”
“If it is possible for my kind to feel affection, then yes, I feel a great deal of affection for Bobby.”
“Wait. What? Whaddya mean, if it's possible for you to feel affection?”
“They say we do not possess feeling, or at least we do not process emotion in the same way as humans.”
“Well, who the hell are ‘they?’ And have you considered, maybe they don't go eating ice cream and punching demons with angels?”
“Ice cream?” came Gabe's groggy voice. “Where?”
“So where exactly are we headed, Sweet Tooth?” asked Dean.
Gabe yawned and stretched. “Well, in the near future, there's a roadhouse up ahead. They’re friendlies. Old friends, actually.”
“Uh, you mean, probably not people with a fucking cellar full of body parts?” grumbled Dean.
“It wasn't a cellar,” said Gabe. “I would describe it more as an outbuilding.”
“How can you joke about this, Gabriel?” Cas snapped.
“Cas! No angel names! Not even in the goddam car! You should know why, now!”
“What about this is funny?” Cas pressed.
“You haven't seen what I've seen, Cas,” said Gabe. “You joke, or you go insane. Look, it gets much worse than one idiot amateur taxidermist. There's rumors that whole neighborhoods where our people used to live have been cleared out.
“There’s whole neighborhoods of angels?” asked Dean with some wonder. “I’d really like to see that,” he added, casting a glance back at Cas.
“Good luck with that. They’re gone. People taken away, disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Nothing just disappears,” said Dean. “Where did they go?”
Gabe looked uncharacteristically serious. “I've heard rumors of some camps. Angels go in, but they never come back out. But I dunno. Oh, hey, there it is up ahead!” he said, pointing. “Harvelle's! Pull up here.”
Sam, like everyone else, was gaping at the train for Tucson and the strange, silent passengers when he sensed something. He looked to his left, down the platform, past where Balthazar was sitting, pretending to be reading.
Luciferite soldiers. They were coming through, checking papers.
Sam glanced back at Balthazar, who hadn't moved. He cast his eyes on the weird, silent passengers on the train headed for Tucson.
He heard the whistle, and a chugging from the tracks. The train to Santa Fe had just arrived.
He held his breath. Were Frank's fake IDs as good as he claimed? The soldiers seemed to be spending a lot of time with one of the guys. He glanced around. Only four soldiers total, and there didn't seem to be any more around. Maybe they were short on manpower, after what had happened at the prison. He had utterly no idea how extensive the damage had been there.
He noticed Balthazar had stood up and strolled over to the Santa Fe train, probably thinking to get on before the ID check guys made it around to him. The porters were still shuffling around inside the train, and they still hadn't opened the doors.
There was a small commotion back by the guys checking IDs. Now one of the soldiers had a gun on the guy, and they started leading him across the tracks. Not to the Santa Fe train. Far across the tracks. To the silent train. The one heading for Tucson.
Sam glanced back at Balthazar, who waited nervously by the train. He thought of Rufus' words, that Tucson was a death camp for angels.
The soldiers swept onwards, asking for ID.
Sam closed his eyes and made a decision.
And then he jumped off the platform, and took off running.
He heard the yells behind him. “Hey! Where he going! Get him!” Stupid stupid stupid, he thought. He heard the running footsteps. He had a start, enough to keep him ahead, but not enough to let them think he's slipped their grasp.
Because, realistically, there was no fucking way he could get away.
He was almost past the station now, meaning he would have little cover. He heard the cries behind him. The train to Santa Fe beside him was just starting. He jumped between cars, hopping over the coupling, to run on the other side, thinking, “Tell me you got in, Balthy.”
He heard the shouting behind him. He hopped over another coupling, and now was on the other side of the station, reversing course. He knew he was only delaying things: there wasn't any goddam cover out here in the fucking desert. Why hadn't he materialized back in Kansas. Fucking angel spells. Fucking demons! Fuck all of them!
Casting a glance behind him, he hopped up on the opposite platform. Good, it was clear. He broke for the exit, right by the stairs, but then there was suddenly a guy in front of him.
A soldier. With a gun.
Sam screeched to a halt, holding up his hands, breathing hard.
The demon poked the gun at Sam's ribs.
“I give up! I give up!” protested Sam.
But then both of them jerked to the sudden sound of barking. Two of the biggest dogs Sam had ever seen were now snapping at them. Even the demon soldier seemed intimidated, and he was holding an automatic weapon.
“Grim! Barghest!” came a voice. The dogs reared back, and a well-dressed man walked up. “Well, trying to step out on me again, eh, Moose?” the man asked Sam.
Sam shook his head in confusion. He had never seen this man before.
“Thank you for locating my AWOL personnel!” the man told the equally confused soldier.
“Crowley!” barked another soldier, an officer of some kind, who had just arrived on the platform. “What the devil are you up to?”
“The devil? Little me? Aw, you make me blush!” Crowley told him. He turned to Sam and slapped him, hard. “Think you can pull that on me again, eh, Twinkletoes? Let's get you back to work,” he added, grabbing Sam by the arm.
“This is one of yours, Crowley?” asked the officer.
“Reluctant as I am to admit that I employ the obviously mentally challenged, yes, this is one of mine. Right boys?” he asked the dogs, who now nuzzled Sam and looked up at Crowley, drooling and smiling big friendly dog smiles.
“You heard about the prison break?” said the officer.
“Yes, and you chaps really ought be more careful. OK, here we go,” said Crowley, now dragging Sam out the exit. “Back to the salt mines! Well, so to speak.”
And then they were out the door, and out of the station.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Rufus, Balthazar, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Uriel, Jody Mills, Ruby.
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Descriptions of violence, especially in later chapters. Some light hints of Sam/Ruby.
Word Count: 45,000 total
Summary: The apocalypse has come. Lucifer and Michael burned down heaven in their madness, and our own world has been rent in two. Much of the United States now roils in a state of constant warfare. When Sam, a fighter pilot working for the Michaelistas, is shot down over enemy lines, Dean, an ex-cop, risks everything to search for him. Both brothers find some help along the way from creatures they never knew existed.
Notes: This is set in a post-apocalyptic AU, but it is NOT the Endverse. Hope this will give you a few minutes distraction while we all wait for Wednesday!
Sam was wiping up salt. He had overturned the shaker on the table between them, and a small stream of white crystals had spilled out over the tablecloth.
“Sorry, Ruby,” he said. “Did I get any on your dress?”
“I don’t wear dresses,” she muttered, edging farther from any grains that had ended up on the wooden bench beside her. Sam courteously got up and swept a hand along the bench, causing the girl to cringe, and then relax. “Try to be less clumsy, OK?” she asked.
He hadn’t meant to do it. Really. His arm had bumped it over. “You know what you do when you spill salt!” Sam smiled.
“No. What do you do, genius?” grumbled Ruby. The pouty-faced girl hadn’t been in the best of moods to start out with, and now she seemed even grumpier.
“You throw it over your left shoulder,” said Sam, suddenly unscrewing the saltshaker. He noticed that Ruby once again turned pale. Sam casually tossed a handful of salt over his back, and then refastened the shaker, to her obvious relief.
“Sorry. Superstitious,” said Sam.
“I didn’t think Easterners were superstitious,” said Ruby, who was momentarily distracted by the arrival of the waitress with their lunches. Sam took the opportunity to cast a glance over his shoulder down the road from the cafe where they sat. His drivers still weren’t back. Good.
He turned back and started picking at his salad. “We can be superstitious,” he said. “I mean, we’ve all heard about stuff like angels. And demons. We just don’t meet them every day.”
“Not gonna run into any angels around here,” Ruby said definitively, cutting into her steak.
“Really. Why is that?” asked Sam.
“I dunno. I guess they just all, you know, took a hike,” she told him.
“That’s too bad,” said Sam.
“Why?”
“Well, I would have like to have met one,” he said, poking at some wilted lettuce.
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”
“Really? So, what are they like?”
“Like you and me,” Ruby told him, dabbing a bit of blood on her chin with a worn cloth napkin. The steak was rare. Very rare. “Only with a stick jammed up their ass,” she said. “Why are you so jumpy?”
Sam turned back around. Ash had just gotten back to the truck, and given him the high sign. “Me? Oh, nothing. Funny, there’s rumors going around the camp that the foreigners are planning something.”
Ruby looked shrewd. “Foreigners? You’re a foreigner.”
“I mean the guys from overseas? They have ‘em all bunched together in one bunkhouse. They seem really secretive,” he told her, poking again at his wilted lettuce.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know. My family doesn’t like me to mix with … foreigners.”
“I’d like to meet them.”
“Meet who?” asked Ruby, looking baffled.
“Your family, of course,” said Sam.
“Oh. Uh, I don't think we're ready for that. Do you?”
Sam smiled. “Probably not,” he admitted. He turned and glanced at the truck. “Sorry to cut lunch short,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back. Gonna get in trouble.”
“No problem,” said Ruby, who also hopped to her feet, wiping a bit of blood on her chin. “I gotta go.”
Sam nodded. Ruby tossed some money down on the table and was already hastening off. Sam walked back to the truck. Ash and Victor were already there. He jumped up on the truck bed, gave the side a thump, and they were off.
“All rightie!” said Gabe, who had been running around all morning packing this, that and the other into the capacious trunk of the black Impala while, with increasing impatience, Dean and Cas watched.
“What are you packing, Gabe?” Cas complained. “What do we need besides a couple guns and knives and some salt?”
Dean smiled and decided Cas was his kind of guy. Wait. “Salt?” he asked.
“Demons!” both Cas and Gabe answered.
“Oh, that’s right, you told me that,” said Dean.
“Look, guys, I know it’s hard to forget, since the fighting has moved on, but we’re in a war zone,” said Gabe. “A war zone where I hear some guys keep rooms full of clipped angel wings.”
“That’s just a stupid rumor,” scoffed Cas.
Gabe held out a long coat to Cas. “Here, try this one. It’s gonna be cold.”
“I don’t get cold,” said Cas.
“Humans get cold. You’re gonna pass for one,” said Gabe.
Cas grumbled almost as badly as when Bobby had made him don the suit, but slipped on an old tan overcoat, which also looked at least a size too big for him. “I am wearing too many layers of clothes! I’ll never be able to get out my wings this way!”
“No, no wings! Never!” Gabe scolded Cas. “Remember, we are not angels. That means no angel names. You are Cas and I am Gabe and that’s it. No talking Enochian, no smiting, no wings, no flying….”
“Aw, Gabe, that’s being overly cautious,” Cas complained. “No one is going to clip my wings.”
“Not on my watch they’re not,” said Gabe.
“Well, I have some rules of the road too,” said Dean, impatiently jingling the car keys.
“What would that be, Dean?” asked Cas.
“Driver picks the music. Everybody else, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”
“Your rules sound hauntingly familiar,” said Cas, who was nonetheless grinning again.
“And here’s the last rule!” said Dean. “Get in the damn car, or we drive off without you!” He hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The motor ground to life with a rumble. Cas grinned at Gabe and hopped in the passenger seat.
“Hey, you didn’t call shotgun!” yelled Gabe. The car lurched forward, sending Gabe running after it, his hands still full of things to pack. He flung open the back seat and jumped in.
Dean was on the road before Gabe had gotten the door shut.
Shit, Rufus was right, thought Sam. I meet a cute girl for the first time in six fucking months, and she’s a demon. He shook his head.
“Whatsamatter, Gigantor?” asked Ash. He and Victor were now sitting in the nearly empty truck bed with Sam as they rumbled down the road, feeling every bump and pothole. And, as they hadn't been doing highway maintenance around here, there were many bumps and potholes. “You haven’t said word one since we pulled outta town!”
“Sam. My name is Sam,” said Sam, who smiled nevertheless. “Not Gigantor, or Moose, or Hulk, or Chewie....”
“Were you successful, Sam?” asked Victor, eyeing Sam up and down.
“Well, I learned two things about my girl today,” sighed Sam. “One, she doesn’t like me spilling the table salt….”
“Ouch,” said Ash.
“And two, hearing about news of the ‘foreigners’ makes her jumpy. Oh, and three, as a bonus, she doesn’t want me to meet her folks.”
“Chick’s probably got the bodies stuffed in barrels in the basement,” laughed Ash.
“Not real funny, Ash,” said Sam.
“Hey, what’s going on up ahead?” asked Victor. The three all leaned out of the truck bed to peer ahead at the camp. There was a lot of activity. Sam was down out of the truck bed before they had even come to a halt.
Rufus was peering up at him. 'You delivered the package?” he asked, taking a puff off his cigarette.
Sam nodded silently, looking over to the other end of the camp. They seemed to be rounding up everybody from Balthazar's cabin.
“I dunno who your gal Ruby works for, but you know how to pick 'em, kid,” said Rufus.
“I don't understand,” said Sam. “I mean, how did they move so quickly?”
“It don't matter,” said Rufus.
“How did you know she was a demon, Rufus?” asked Sam.
“Of course she was a demon,” laughed Victor. Sam looked at Victor, annoyed. That guy never laughed.
“She was totally a demon, dude,” put in Ash.
“Because she shot you down?” Victor asked Ash. Sam listened with interest. He hadn’t known about this part.
“Repeatedly?” added Rufus.
“No mortal woman can long resist my intense awesomeness!” said Ash, which even made Sam laugh.
“You guys set?” Rufus asked Ash and Victor. They nodded. “Let's quit fucking around and move.”
As all of the attention (and the guards) were now focused on the angels, there was little notice when many of the other prisoners casually filed into a bunkhouse across the camp. “Frank's got papers for you,” Rufus told Sam as they entered the cabin. “Be sure to stop by.” There was a flurry of activity inside, with people spreading out salt, gathering weird ingredients, and painting strange sigils everywhere. “And soon. They’re expecting the angels were gonna cast this spell, not us.”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Frank,” he grumbled.
“I know you don't like the son of a bitch,” sighed Rufus. “No one does. But he's good at what he does. And get a move on. Once they find us, we're boned.”
Sam nodded. “I'll go now. Get it over with. I won't be much help with this anyway,” he said, ducking a couple of guys carrying a flaming bowl of something. He turned to leave.
Rufus grabbed his arm. “You'll remember the rendezvous point?” he asked.
“Look, Rufus, I'll be right back. Don't spaz.”
Rufus stared at him. “You're not used to this spell casting business, but things are gonna get very weird, very fast. Now, you remember your rendezvous point?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, Rufus.”
The older man released his arm.
“I'll be right back,” Sam told him. He hastened over to the bunkhouse that Frank had transformed into his forgery headquarters. He noticed with some annoyance that, despite orders to the contrary, Frank had spread his doorway with salt and painted in some sigils. The warding signs were at least partially hidden, but obvious if you knew where to look. And the guards obviously knew where to look.
He considered giving Frank shit, but decided to shut up and just grab his papers from the guy. He steeled himself, and entered.
“Oh, it’s you! How the hell am I supposed to hide a fucking bull moose from big brother?” Frank grumbled.
“Hello, Frank.” Frank was sitting at the rough table in his room. A pair of eyes glared up at Sam through coke-bottle bottom eyeglasses.
“I can give you IDs, but every black-eye in the state is gonna be looking for the escaped Wookiee. Have you considered shaving your head? And stooping?”
“Frank, me going Kojak? I think I'd just be more conspicuous, don't you?” sighed Sam.
“Well, thank your little demon girlfriend if you get your ass caught,” snorted Frank.
“She's not my- Look, can I just get my papers?”
“Here's your train tickets,” said Frank, handing Sam two oblong pieces of paper. “Don't lose them! Otherwise, you're walking home.”
“OK. Fine.”
“And I've got a variety of IDs,” said Frank, spilling some cards onto the table.
Sam picked one up and goggled. “Jimmy Buffet? Oh, crap.”
“You know how long it took to stencil in that state ID, kid? It’s got a hologram!” he bragged, picking it up and flashing it in the light.
“OK, OK, OK. It's fine,” sighed Sam, pocketing the cards. “I just hope to hell my brother never sees this.”
“No one is ever gonna see this,” grumbled Frank, he mien suddenly changing from dark to darker. “We're all dead. You know that. They're gonna cart our asses to Tuscon, and then it's so long, senoritas. Angels get their wings pulled, and who the fuck knows what happens to us.”
“Well, that's keeping a positive mental attitude,” grumbled Sam. He knew he should just shut up, but he couldn't help it.
“Positive mental attitude gets you killed,” Frank retorted.
“I thought you just said we were all dead anyway,” sighed Sam. “Hey, wait. What's that noise?”
It wasn't so much a noise as a hum, just at the low range of his hearing. And the air pressure seemed to change.
Sam jumpsed as Frank suddenly knocked over his table and dragged it towards the wall. “It's going down. Now.” He pushed some crates in front of the table.
“But it's early,” said Sam, checking his watch.
“Come on,” said Frank, yanking on Sam's arm and tugging him towards the makeshift barricade.
“I gotta get back to Rufus and the guys,” said Sam, wresting away and making for the door.
“No! Kid, you don't wanna be outside when shit goes down!”
“You said we're dead anyway,” said Sam, pushing open the door. He didn't know whether he could make it back, but he knew damned well he didn't want to be stuck escaping with Frank.
There was an odd silence over the camp. And the sky had darkened. Sam pulled his coat around him and hunched over, walking into the wind.
He stopped. The humming changed pitch.
All of the sigils in the prison walls had started to glow.
“Guys, what the fuck are you doing?” Sam muttered.
Now there was a cacophony: noises, movement. From somewhere across the camp, he heard shouts. Guns going off.
The ground shook. Sam was thrown from his feet. Sirens. The humming suddenly got louder, screeching up in pitch. Sam covered his ears.
Sam crawled into the shadow of a bunkhouse wall, curling into the fetal position, bracing himself.
Dean was sure he’d made a wrong turn and taken them back to No Man’s Land. Once they had gotten out of town, he’d seen nothing for miles but desert.
He turned down the stereo. “So,” he asked Cas. “You can tell stuff like who’s a vampire? Can other people – people who aren’t human – tell who’s an angel?”
“You mean can demons spot us?” Gabe called from the back seat.
“Don’t let your ice cream melt on the upholstery,” scolded Dean. Somehow, Gabe had managed to pack a bunch of frozen ice cream bars. Whatever magic or angel mojo or whatever he was using to keep them cold wasn’t perfect however,
“Geez, you’d think this was your car,” chuckled Gabe.
“This is my car,” smiled Dean. “She likes me, I can tell.”
“A car is an inanimate object, without emotional inclinations,” said Cas.
“But in answer to your question,” said Gabe, between taking his tongue up the side of the drippy cone, “it depends. Most of your run of the mill demons are lucky they can tie their own shoes. But there's some of the higher ups, the older guys, who are a little more on the ball.”
“So, not all demons are alike?” asked Dean.
“There's as many varieties as there are humans,” slurped Gabe.
“It's a demonic small world, after all,” mused Dean.
“Oh, now I'll have that wretched song in my head for the next day. Thanks a lot, Dean!” snapped Gabe.
“What song?” asked Cas. Cas slumped in his seat and started to raise his feet. One warning look from Dean told him to keep them off the dashboard. He fiddled with his tie uncomfortably. “I could take off my shoes,” he said.
“Keep the shoes on!” nagged Gabe.
“I don’t need them,” Cas insisted.
“Humans need shoes and you’re human, kid!” said Gabe.
“You sound like Bobby,” grumbled Cas.
“You know, Cas,” said Dean, “you’re lucky you have people like Bobby and Jody and your brother.”
“That’s what I keep telling him, ungrateful little shit!” echoed Gabe.
Cas was still scowling, so Dean continued, “Sam and I, we lost our mom when we were really young, so we ended up being shuffled around to people who didn’t much care, to be honest.”
“What about your father, Dean?” Cas said softly.
“Bastard disappeared on us. Guess he wasn’t the family type.” Dean tried to control his anger, although it was never easy when thoughts of John Winchester came to mind. “Sammy and I had only each other.”
“Which is why you need to find him,” said Cas.
“Will you pull off at that diner up ahead?” asked Gabe. “I'm feeling hypoglycemic.”
“You're … what?” asked Dean. “Dude, you put away like ten gallons of ice cream! And dribbled half of it on my back seat!”
But given that Gabe threatened consequences of apocalyptic proportions if he was not fed, Dean pulled over by a diner that stood all by itself on the lonely highway. There were gas pumps outside, so Dean took advantage to fill up the tank while the angels went inside. Gabe told him there was some rationing, so he didn't want to take any chances that his Baby would go hungry.
Dean entered the diner, and immediately got the feeling of being watched. Cop senses again, he thought. Unobtrusively as possible, he scanned the room. A couple of people had looked up from their plates when he entered, but no more than you would expect. He found the booth where Cas and Gabe were sitting and slid in next to Cas, who was watching Gabe down an obscenely humongous ice cream sundae.
“Eat dessert first,” advised Gabe. “Because you never know what's comin'.”
“We have ordered you a burger, Dean. I hope this is satisfactory?” Cas told him.
“No, that's great,” said Dean, who had to admit he was getting hungry. “Hey, you guys,” he said softly, leaning forward. “I get this funny feeling in here. Like we're being watched.”
The angels exchanged a glance that Dean couldn't read. “We're fine,” said Gabe. “Oh, look, here's the rest of the food.” And truly, just then the waitress came by with platters of lunch. Dean got a huge burger heaped with cheese and bacon and tomatoes and onions and mushrooms and just about anything else you could pile on a slab of meat. Gabe got a delicious smelling apple pie, and Cas some kind of sandwich, which he proceeded to nibble dubiously.
“You gonna eat that?” Dean asked Cas.
“He's always been a picky eater,” said Gabe to a glare from Cas.
“Reminds me of my brother. Big guy,” said Dean, holding his hand up. “Lives on rabbit food. I don't understand.”
“Don't worry, we will find your brother, Dean,” said Cas, suddenly serious.
“I know. Did you want that other half of your sandwich?” asked Dean, who was already grabbing for it.
Just then, the door opened, and some men walked in. Dean had that tickling sensation again, so watched them walk in. He looked back to the table, where he noticed Cas and Gabe were also watching.
“What?” asked Dean.
“We'll take care of it,” whispered Cas.
“Remember, no smiting,” muttered Gabe.
“I wasn't gonna smite!” said Cas.
“Yes you were.”
“Wasn't,” insisted Cas.
“Hey,” said Dean. Cas and Gabe looked over at him.
“Yeah?” said Gabe.
“You guys think it would be OK if I ordered a slice of pie?”
Cas and Gabe looked at each other, and then chorused, “Get it to go.”
Am I alive?
Sam painfully pulled himself to a sitting position. He rubbed the side of his face and was alarmed to see blood on his hands. He touched his fingers to his head. He must have been bleeding from his ears. He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to wipe it off as best he could without a mirror. Wouldn't do to wander around looking like he'd just been bashed by some crazy spell.
After a moment, he stood up and dusted himself off. He ran his hands over his body. No major cuts or scrapes, no missing limbs, and nothing seemed to be broken, that was good. He was still feeling a little woozy. He patted his pockets. Good, Frank's fake IDs and the train tickets were still in there.
He looked around and noticed with surprise that he was no longer in the camp. In fact, he couldn't even see the camp. Rufus had warned him, but still. This was fucking weird.
“Why didn't you just fly me back to Kansas?” he asked no one in particular. Hey, it had worked for Dorothy.
He was somewhere in the high desert, in a low canyon along a dry creek bed. He didn't have a GPS, but Balthazar had taught him a spell that supposedly pointed the way. He was new, so they hadn't trusted him with much of the occult stuff, but Rufus made sure he memorized this one. Well, good, looked like walking down the creek bed was more or less the right direction. He had no idea how far though, and he didn’t have a water bottle since he’d been caught unawares. At least the canyon wall offered some shade from the sun.
Sam squared his shoulders, and started to walk.
Dean set the little plastic box containing his slice of Dutch apple pie down on the counter and handed over the money to the girl behind the register. Then, being very careful to grab his pie, he exited the diner.
He wasn't surprised to see some guys hanging around outside. He didn't see Cas or Gabe anywhere, which made him nervous.
He shrugged and fished out the car keys. He was just about to open the door when he felt a presence behind him. Two guys, he thought. He let the key drop back into his pocket and, after very carefully setting down his slice of pie on the hood, turned around.
“You guys got a problem?”
It was two: the guys who had come into the cafe and tripped off the angel alarms.
“Are you human, kid?” asked the one, a snaggle-toothed redhead.
“Not that it's your business, but, yeah, last I checked in the mirror.”
“Then you're consorting with the wrong kind of people,” the guy told him. His buddy, a big, ruddy-faced blond, cracked his knuckles.
“No law says I can't choose my friends,” said Dean.
“We're the law around here,” said the redhead.
“And their sort,” said the blond, “they ain't friends to nobody.”
“You watch yourself,” said the redhead.
“I'll be careful,” said Dean, turning back towards the car.
“You'll be dead,” said the redhead, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him back around.
The redhead got a face full of salt for the effort. He screeched in pain and fell back, temporarily blinded.
The big guy lunged for Dean, but all of a sudden, Cas was between them, giving the guy a good smack to the jaw. It was actually an amazing smack to the jaw: the guy went flying, and Cas was after him.
The redhead scrambled to his feet, but then Gabriel, who had also just appeared from nowhere, grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the Impala.
“Watch my baby!' shouted Dean.
“What?” asked Gabe. The guy squirmed and lunged for Dean, but Dean threw an elbow into his throat. He gurgled, and collapsed to the ground.
“Hey, pretty good, copper,” said Gabe. “You're a natural demon-smiter!”
Gabe and Dean turned to the crashing sound. Cas had smacked the big demon right through the door to an outbuilding. Cas charged inside, Gabe and Dean running after him. They found him kneeling over the now unconscious demon. It was dark inside.
“Uh, I think we need to hit the road,” said Gabe.
“I should check Baby for scratches!” said Dean.
“You gave my car a name?” asked Gabe. But Cas pushed past Gabe and hit the light switch. And then everybody went silent.
“Is that.... Is that what I think it is?” asked Dean.
Now that the lights were on, Dean could see this was some kind of storage shed. It was a crazy mix of stuff: tools and pots and pans and supplies for the restaurant and fishing equipment and spare auto parts.
Up on the far wall of the cluttered outbuilding was mounted a very large pair of light-feathered wings. They were far too big for any bird Dean had ever seen. That must mean….
Cas was there, reaching out a hand. Gabe grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“Cas. Like I said. We gotta go.”
Cas turned. There were tears in his eyes. “Gabe....”
“We. Gotta. Go,” said Gabe. And then he had Cas by the back of the collar and was frog marching his kid brother out of the building and throwing him into the back seat of the car.
“Drive,” Gabe told Dean. Grabbing his pie off the hood, Dean jumped in and started the car.
“Did you guys know those were demons?” Dean asked Gabe as he drove off.
“Of course they were demons. That was a demon diner,” Gabe explained.
“What?” asked Dean. “Wait, you mean everybody....:”
“Yeah, everybody in there,” said Gabe, who cast a glance back at Cas, sitting in the back with his head in his hands. “Demons make the best cooks! Everybody knows that. And their ice cream! Heavenly!!”
Dean shrugged and drove on.
Sam had spotted the train tracks some time back. Though he felt vulnerable in the open, he hadn't come across any roads, or indeed any other people on his trek. He wondered if the spell had worked that way on purpose, or if he was just damned lucky?
The station was near. His rendezvous point.
There was a lone, bare tree out here, so he sat in the shade for a moment, wishing he had had time to grab a water bottle, and all of the other essentials he'd packed and hidden under the floorboards. Well, he was out, he would deal.
He stood and started walking.
The station wasn't crowded, but he was surprised to see how many people were around, given how fucking remote this place seemed to be. He gathered from Rufus that it was mostly a place for the railway to swap out cars. He cast a surreptitious glance around for anyone he knew. He spotted a couple of familiar faces. They weren't supposed to acknowledge each other in any way, not until they had at least made it to a Santa Fe. His heart sunk when he realized Rufus himself wasn’t here. He hoped he had made it, along with Ash and Victor and even that idiot Frank.
There was Balthazar, though, looking cool as a cucumber, reading a newspaper. Sam didn’t spot any other angels though. Sam wondered how Balthazar had managed to escape when his cabin had been under such heavy guard, but he supposed they had their ways.
Everyone on the platform looked up at the train whistle. Sam frowned and checked his watch. It was still twenty minutes early. He walked to the end of the platform and took a look, telling himself this was normal behavior. It was a freight train. Since he had nothing else to do, he watched it as it pulled closer. The track was on the other side of the station, near the opposite platform.
Sam knew as much about trains as he did about magic, but he could tell something was off about it. These cars looked like cattle cars, but that wasn't cattle inside.
It was people. The train was absolutely crammed with people: sitting, standing, like the Tokyo subway at rush hour. But it was strange. And then it hit Sam: all those people, and not a single one spoke a word.
Some of the other people waiting on the platform had begun to talk quietly, and Sam caught a word that made his blood run cold.
“Tucson.”
Dean looked over to where Gabe was loudly snoring, his face smooshed up against the window.
Drooling on his Baby!
He shook his head, and then cast a glance in the rear view mirror. “Hey, Cas,” he said softly. “You OK? Want some pie?” he asked, holding up the untouched slice.
Cas leaned forward, hooking his elbows over the bench seat, chin resting on his hands.
“Did you know about that?” asked Dean. “People who … do that? To angels?” He found he couldn't even speak the words. And what would you call it, stripping a guy's wings off?
“I knew,” whispered Cas. “I guess.... I guess I just did not believe.”
“What's their beef, anyway? I mean, what is it with those people?”
“You are asking why anybody would hate my kind, Dean?” asked Cas, with a small, bitter laugh.
“Yeah?”
“I fail to see why any human could possibly find anything good or noble about my species,” said Cas. “We have devastated heaven, turned it to ashes, and now seem intent on repeating the feat on earth.”
“And you totally don’t remember … up there?”
“Not very much. As I have told you, if you are curious, you'd be better off talking to my brother. Perhaps he will tell you. Though he is ever elusive with me. As if the memories cause some pain.”
“Yeah, dude's kind of in an ice cream sundae coma right now.”
Cas laughed softly, and Dean smiled and glanced at Cas. “Hey, I dunno about other humans but I like my angels OK.”
“Dean, I… I like you too,” Cas blurted.
Dean checked the mirror. Was Cas blushing? “Thanks, Cas. And you guys drive sweet cars!” ha added, pounding his hand on the steering wheel.
But then Cas was back to serious Cas again. “As far as Heaven is concerned, my only memories of my Father's house are of fire, and great chaos, and a weeping, as if the land itself were crying out. I was quite small, and terrified, clutching the hand of my elder brother with all my might, and quite unexpectedly standing in the middle of a great wasteland. And then Bobby Singer stepped up and reached out his hands, and pulled me up, holding me on his hip, and I clung to him as hard as I could, crying into his side. And he told me everything would be well, and I would be cared for. And I believed him.”
“You're close to Bobby, huh?”
“If it is possible for my kind to feel affection, then yes, I feel a great deal of affection for Bobby.”
“Wait. What? Whaddya mean, if it's possible for you to feel affection?”
“They say we do not possess feeling, or at least we do not process emotion in the same way as humans.”
“Well, who the hell are ‘they?’ And have you considered, maybe they don't go eating ice cream and punching demons with angels?”
“Ice cream?” came Gabe's groggy voice. “Where?”
“So where exactly are we headed, Sweet Tooth?” asked Dean.
Gabe yawned and stretched. “Well, in the near future, there's a roadhouse up ahead. They’re friendlies. Old friends, actually.”
“Uh, you mean, probably not people with a fucking cellar full of body parts?” grumbled Dean.
“It wasn't a cellar,” said Gabe. “I would describe it more as an outbuilding.”
“How can you joke about this, Gabriel?” Cas snapped.
“Cas! No angel names! Not even in the goddam car! You should know why, now!”
“What about this is funny?” Cas pressed.
“You haven't seen what I've seen, Cas,” said Gabe. “You joke, or you go insane. Look, it gets much worse than one idiot amateur taxidermist. There's rumors that whole neighborhoods where our people used to live have been cleared out.
“There’s whole neighborhoods of angels?” asked Dean with some wonder. “I’d really like to see that,” he added, casting a glance back at Cas.
“Good luck with that. They’re gone. People taken away, disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Nothing just disappears,” said Dean. “Where did they go?”
Gabe looked uncharacteristically serious. “I've heard rumors of some camps. Angels go in, but they never come back out. But I dunno. Oh, hey, there it is up ahead!” he said, pointing. “Harvelle's! Pull up here.”
Sam, like everyone else, was gaping at the train for Tucson and the strange, silent passengers when he sensed something. He looked to his left, down the platform, past where Balthazar was sitting, pretending to be reading.
Luciferite soldiers. They were coming through, checking papers.
Sam glanced back at Balthazar, who hadn't moved. He cast his eyes on the weird, silent passengers on the train headed for Tucson.
He heard the whistle, and a chugging from the tracks. The train to Santa Fe had just arrived.
He held his breath. Were Frank's fake IDs as good as he claimed? The soldiers seemed to be spending a lot of time with one of the guys. He glanced around. Only four soldiers total, and there didn't seem to be any more around. Maybe they were short on manpower, after what had happened at the prison. He had utterly no idea how extensive the damage had been there.
He noticed Balthazar had stood up and strolled over to the Santa Fe train, probably thinking to get on before the ID check guys made it around to him. The porters were still shuffling around inside the train, and they still hadn't opened the doors.
There was a small commotion back by the guys checking IDs. Now one of the soldiers had a gun on the guy, and they started leading him across the tracks. Not to the Santa Fe train. Far across the tracks. To the silent train. The one heading for Tucson.
Sam glanced back at Balthazar, who waited nervously by the train. He thought of Rufus' words, that Tucson was a death camp for angels.
The soldiers swept onwards, asking for ID.
Sam closed his eyes and made a decision.
And then he jumped off the platform, and took off running.
He heard the yells behind him. “Hey! Where he going! Get him!” Stupid stupid stupid, he thought. He heard the running footsteps. He had a start, enough to keep him ahead, but not enough to let them think he's slipped their grasp.
Because, realistically, there was no fucking way he could get away.
He was almost past the station now, meaning he would have little cover. He heard the cries behind him. The train to Santa Fe beside him was just starting. He jumped between cars, hopping over the coupling, to run on the other side, thinking, “Tell me you got in, Balthy.”
He heard the shouting behind him. He hopped over another coupling, and now was on the other side of the station, reversing course. He knew he was only delaying things: there wasn't any goddam cover out here in the fucking desert. Why hadn't he materialized back in Kansas. Fucking angel spells. Fucking demons! Fuck all of them!
Casting a glance behind him, he hopped up on the opposite platform. Good, it was clear. He broke for the exit, right by the stairs, but then there was suddenly a guy in front of him.
A soldier. With a gun.
Sam screeched to a halt, holding up his hands, breathing hard.
The demon poked the gun at Sam's ribs.
“I give up! I give up!” protested Sam.
But then both of them jerked to the sudden sound of barking. Two of the biggest dogs Sam had ever seen were now snapping at them. Even the demon soldier seemed intimidated, and he was holding an automatic weapon.
“Grim! Barghest!” came a voice. The dogs reared back, and a well-dressed man walked up. “Well, trying to step out on me again, eh, Moose?” the man asked Sam.
Sam shook his head in confusion. He had never seen this man before.
“Thank you for locating my AWOL personnel!” the man told the equally confused soldier.
“Crowley!” barked another soldier, an officer of some kind, who had just arrived on the platform. “What the devil are you up to?”
“The devil? Little me? Aw, you make me blush!” Crowley told him. He turned to Sam and slapped him, hard. “Think you can pull that on me again, eh, Twinkletoes? Let's get you back to work,” he added, grabbing Sam by the arm.
“This is one of yours, Crowley?” asked the officer.
“Reluctant as I am to admit that I employ the obviously mentally challenged, yes, this is one of mine. Right boys?” he asked the dogs, who now nuzzled Sam and looked up at Crowley, drooling and smiling big friendly dog smiles.
“You heard about the prison break?” said the officer.
“Yes, and you chaps really ought be more careful. OK, here we go,” said Crowley, now dragging Sam out the exit. “Back to the salt mines! Well, so to speak.”
And then they were out the door, and out of the station.
