22Hey everyone! So, I'm now officially addicted to Supernatural and thought I'd try my hand at a fic. Let me know what you think! Sadly, I don't own those damn adorable Winchester boys, I just get to push them around in my stories. Happy reading!
Arwen
"So," Sam said from the passenger seat, "let me get this straight."
Dean sighed and resisted the urge to bash his head against the steering wheel. He gritted his teeth together. "You're the one who believes in all this hokey, Sam. What about this potentially apocalyptic situation can't you wrap your pretty little head around?"
Sam shot Dean a sideways look. "I'm just trying to make sure I got all the facts right." He looked out the window. They were speeding down the interstate. After the whole Witness fiasco, Bobby had wanted them to check up on the other hunters in the tri-state area. So far, they had found seven of the twenty hunters, all in varying degrees of bloody decomposition.
Dean took a deep breath. "Sixty-six seals. Castiel—"
"The angel," corrected Sam.
"Castiel," continued Dean doggedly, "said that they're like locks on a door."
"And Lilith is opening them." Sam shook his head. "She's a real pain in the ass."
"Yeah…y'know, the whole holding the contract to my soul thing had me thinking she was a pretty big bitch, but springing the devil? Now that's some serious shit."
"Eternal damnation and the apocalypse. Who knew you'd be lucky enough to see both," said Sam.
"Well, obviously not eternal damnation, Sammy," Dean replied, attempting to keep his tone light-hearted, but it didn't mask the twist to his mouth. They sat in silence for a little bit.
"Do you still not remember anything?" Sam finally asked, his concern showing in his eyes. He couldn't imagine the pain that Dean had endured…four months of Hell must have seemed like an eternity…a prickle of guilt stabbed him. All those times Dean had saved him—sold his soul to save him, the last time—and he hadn't been able to save Dean from Hell. It had taken an angel to do what he couldn't.
"What is this, twenty questions?" Dean demanded. "Come on, Sammy, I've been over this so many damn times already. I don't remember anything specific."
"Specific?" Sam pounced on his word choice.
Dean rolled his eyes. "You know what? How about you get out the map and see where we can get some gas. And pie. Find someplace that has pie." He turned his eyes back to the road, grumbling, "That ought to keep you busy for a while."
Sam smiled a little and exactly two minutes later, after unfolding the map and scrutinizing it, he said, "If you take the next exit, there's a rest stop."
"Okay. Point one, 'rest stop' does not necessarily mean pie."
"But we do need gas. Pie isn't the most important thing in the world, Dean."
"You bite your tongue!" Dean took one hand off the steering wheel and jabbed a finger at Sam.
"Shut up."
"You shut up."
"No—you shut up, you—pie-basher!"
"Jerk," Sam muttered under his breath.
"Bitch," Dean returned automatically. The familiar exchange still comforted him in an odd way. It let him know that everything was normal…or as normal as life ever got for a Winchester.
"Turn here." Sam pointed to the exit sign.
Five minutes later, they pulled into a run-down little gas station, with a dilapidated convenience store huddled at the edge of the parking lot. Dean pulled the Impala up to the pump and got out of the car. Sam followed suit. He took the opportunity to spread the state map over the hood of the Impala, poring over the red slashes that marked the location of each butchered hunter they'd found over the past few days. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair absently.
Dean finished pumping the gas. "You comin'?" he asked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he began to walk toward the convenience store.
"Sure," Sam said, folding up the map hurredly. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn't like letting Dean out of his sight these days. And apparently Dean was starting to notice. He stopped and considered Sam, watching his younger brother fold the map crookedly in his rush.
"I'm not Cinderella, Sam," he said. "You don't have to be afraid of me turnin' into a pumpkin or any other of that fairy tale crap." He lifted his chin a little bit. "I don't need lookin' after, Sammy."
"Yeah, well, you tend to do stupid things when I'm not around," said Sam, lengthening his steps to catch up. They were halfway across the parking-lot.
"Is that so? Like what?"
"Well," Sam stalled, glancing over at his brother.
"Well what?"
"Well, like sell your soul to a demon."
"Seriously?" Dean stopped and faced Sam, his green eyes flashing. "You're seriously gonna pull that one?"
"Yes," Sam said emphatically. "Yes, I am. The fact that it saved my life doesn't change the fact that it was monumentally stupid!"
Dean snorted. "Yeah, like you were a perfect Boy Scout when I was away."
"You mean when you were in Hell?" Sam smiled bleakly. "Of course I was. I mean, my older brother, who sold his soul to save my life, was rotting in Hell and there wasn't a thing I could do about it, no matter what I tried. Of course I was a perfect—"
"Okay. Okay. Let's just stop." Dean held up his hands in a sign of truce as they neared the glass doors of the convenience store. "Just…stop, Sammy." He sighed. "If you really want, we can argue more about who's stupider than who later." He glanced into the window of the store and his eyes lit up. "Pie!"
The tense mood broken, Sam had to roll his eyes and smile. They walked into the convenience store. Sam grabbed a cup of coffee, and Dean examined every slice of pie in the revolving dessert case before carefully selecting a plate.
"Joint's busy for a weekday," remarked Dean as they got in line to check out. There were four people in front of them, and at least five more roaming the aisles, perusing the snacks and drinks. Dean glanced out into the parking lot. He nudged Sam's elbow.
"What, dude? You almost made me spill my coffee."
"Look at the parking lot," said Dean quietly.
Sam glanced behind him. Besides the Impala, there was only two other cars in the parking lot, one parked in the spot reserved for employees.
"Maybe they carpool," muttered Sam.
"Yeah, fat chance," replied Dean.
They moved up a step in line. Dean made a sudden movement, his hand twitching toward the shoulder with the imprint of Castiel's hand.
"So what…overly crowded convenience stores is one of the sixty-six seals to set Lucifer free?" Dean whispered sarcastically. Sam glanced over at his brother. Dean had gotten into the habit of addressing the air somewhere above his head, as if angels were listening in, and he seemed determined to give them a piece of his mind just like he did everyone else. The whole "respect" part of his conversation with Castiel obviously hadn't taken hold.
"I hate it when they make me notice things like that," Dean growled loud enough for Sam to hear. "It's like they're in my head. Makes me jumpy."
"Excuse me," a woman behind them said.
Dean turned around.
"Um, I was wondering, I know it's rude, but it's kind of an emergency. I'm late for an interview, could I just slip in front of you?"
The woman was young, maybe mid-twenties, Dean guessed, with hazel eyes and long tawny hair that hovered somewhere between golden and chestnut. Nice figure. She was tall, almost as tall as him, with a strong look that suggested she had been an athlete in her college days. From the look of her long legs, she still ran. Dean jumped as Sam poked him in the side. He automatically turned on the smile and the Winchester charm. "Of course, go right on ahead."
As the young woman slid in front of them in line, he noticed that she was holding a Tide stick in one hand, and there was a large coffee stain on the right side of her light blue blouse. Her tailored trousers and tasteful heels were utterly out of place in the convenience store.
Dean was still absorbed in his evaluation, working his way down from the shoulders, when Sam grabbed his wrist. He tensed immediately and looked up. The cashier was staring at a man holding a gun in her face. The guy was huge, looked like he belonged on the offensive line of a professional football team.
"Give me the cash," the man was snarling, waving the pistol around. Only the tawny-haired woman stood between the brothers and the gunman.
"Dean," Sam gritted when he saw his brother's eyes calculating the distance between them and the gunman. The cashier was pulling all the bills out of the cash register, laying them on the counter. Dean took half a step forward as the gunman counted the money.
"There has to be more than this," the man shouted at the cashier. "Open the safe!"
"We don't—there's no—I don't have the key!" said the very young, very frightened girl behind the counter. Dean's lips tightened as the man grabbed the girl's arm, jerking her toward him. She cried out as her hip hit the counter hard. The tawny-haired woman was standing very still. Too still. Sam watched her and frowned, tilting his head. There was something odd…
In the split second he took his attention off Dean to contemplate the woman, Dean lunged forward and tackled the gunman. Or attempted to tackle the gunman, because the guy saw the movement in one of the mirrors installed above the register, and turned, taking Dean's tackle on his hip. He reached out a huge hand and hauled Dean up by the collar of his shirt, hitting him across the face with the barrel of the pistol before throwing him down on the floor. The girl behind the counter screamed and Sam took one step forward, hands up in a gesture of supplication.
"Look, no-one has to get hurt here," he said in a reasonable but firm voice to the man. "You want more money? Look, here's my wallet. Take it."
The huge man ignored him. "That was stupid," he told Dean, who was still trying to regain his footing. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple where the gun had hit him, and his eyes were dazed. The man aimed very carefully and deliberately. "But then, they told me you'd be stupid enough to try that."
"What?" Dean said.
Sam edged closer. The tawny-haired woman hadn't moved. She reminded him of a cat, her perfect stillness concealing muscles coiled tight and ready to spring. The other people who had been walking the aisles of the store idly slowly gathered in a loose circle around the cash register, arms hanging limply by their sides.
"Who told you?" Dean asked, still blinking and trying to get his bearings.
The gunman's eyes blanked to a dull, empty black. Sam's stomach sank. They should have known. The Colt was in the car, Ruby's knife was in the trunk—they should have expected this!
The demon smiled. "She sent us after you. Didn't tell us that it would be this easy, though."
"Sorry to spoil the fun," Dean snapped, finally back on his feet. He stared defiantly at the pistol. "So, you gonna shoot me, or what?"
"No," the gunman said. "We have to tie up some loose ends first." He swung the pistol to the girl behind the counter and shot her in the head.
"No!" Sam didn't realize he had leapt forward and yelled until the gunman's fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him to the ground with incredible force. He hit a display of newspapers on the way down, all corners and sharp edges. Something in his shoulder cracked and popped, blinding him with a burst of pain. His vision blurred and he faintly heard Dean yelling, and the other demons murmuring around the register. He lifted his head in time to see the big demon hit Dean across the face again and throw him into the nearest rack of snacks. Then there was the click of high heels and the woman who had been in front of them in line was on her knees beside Sam, her cool hand slipping under his chin, turning his head to look at her.
"Are you all right, Sam?" she said quietly, her hazel eyes holding his gaze hypnotically.
"Help Dean," was all he could say. Never mind the fact that she knew his name, never mind the fact that he could suddenly breathe again when her hands touched him.
"Have faith," she replied as she drew away. As soon as she broke physical contact, Sam gasped and fought back a wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. He clutched his shoulder, realized that touching it made the pain worse, and pulled himself up into a sitting position with his good arm, using a magazine rack as leverage.
"That all you got?" Dean was swaying on his feet, taunting the big demon as he looked around for something—anything—that he could use. He edged toward the end of the aisle, ignoring the blood dripping into his eyes, reaching behind him. His hand groped blindly as the big demon laughed, shoving the pistol into his waistband. He closed his fingers around a plastic package.
"You know," the linebacker-sized demon sneered, "maybe this will be fun after all."
Dean had time to smile crookedly before he found himself on the floor. The other demons crowed with laughter. It was like a damn cage-match, he realized. Lilith was sending her bored demons out to play with them. A heavy boot slammed into his side and he instinctively curled around his ribs. He was too dizzy to open his eyes as the big demon grabbed a fistful of his shirt and jerked him upright.
Dean sucked in a huge breath. Come on, Winchester, he admonished himself silently, you gonna run out of smart-ass remarks now? "So how much did you have to suck up to your boss to get this job?" he gritted out. Weak, yeah, but it was effort.
"Oh," said the demon, "you know, just helped to kill a few hunters, seal some deals." He grinned nastily. "I'm looking forward to stringing your guts across this place like streamers," he said very quietly into Dean's ear.
"Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine," grunted Dean.
The demon looked at his cohorts and then glanced back at Dean. He turned his head and his dark eyes settled on Sam, who was struggling to stand. "Or maybe I'll make your brother scream first."
"Don't you dare touch him," growled Dean, suddenly struggling in the demon's grasp. "Run, Sam! Run!"
One of the other demons stepped forward. "Enough with the teasing," he said. "Let's just do the job."
"You have no sense of humor," the big demon said. "You finish the other one, if you're so concerned."
"Sam!" shouted Dean as the other five demons advanced on his brother.
"Shut up," said the demon holding him, shifting his hold to Dean's throat, strangling him. After a moment, he threw Dean down like a rag doll.
Sam watched the five demons advancing on him. He glanced over at Dean. They were in deep, no question about it. Where the hell had that woman gone? She'd promised to help Dean. He shook his head and turned his attention to the first demon. With a little effort, working past the pounding in his head, he found that sixth sense, that mental gear he used to pull out the demons. Ruby had taught him well: he bent his concentration on the first demon, a slouching middle-aged man, and the man choked, the black cloud leaking from his eyes and ears and throat. He collapsed. Two of the other demons looked confused and backed up a little. The other two launched themselves at him. It was all he could do to fend off the first few blows. He felt himself losing his grip on consciousness, but he focused his remaining energy on draining the demon from one of his two assailants. Down to one. Satisfaction burned through him, but he wasn't sure how long he would last against three more.
A flash of movement caught his eye. It was the woman, and she had a canister of salt in her hand, a long, wicked hunting knife in the other. She licked the blade and then lunged forward at the three demons. The blade flashed white and one of the demons screamed, a black column tearing out of his mouth. Sam's head was spinning. Did she have Ruby's knife? How did she know about salt? She threw the knife at one of the remaining demons. Sam heard a cry of pain from Dean. He tried to stand.
"No!" She tossed him the canister of salt and after he nodded to show he understood, she whirled and faced the big demon. Sam poured a circle of salt around himself, the line wavy as his hands shook.
The big demon was facing away from them. He walked over to Dean and picked him up yet again. "Any insults left now, tough guy?"
"Yeah." It took Dean almost all of his energy to get one word out. But it was just too good. He had to get a parting shot in. "Enjoy your stay in Hell." And he shoved a crucifix into the demon's open, laughing mouth, pushing it in as far as he could. Lucky for convenience store conversion packs, he thought grimly as the demon screamed and convulsively threw him.
He hit the glass door of the freezer in the back of the store. The glass crunched behind him and he didn't even have the energy to put his hands out in front of him to break his fall. He tried to remember how to breathe. Then he heard the demon laugh.
"You think a little plastic crucifix is gonna send me back to Hell? Boy, you aren't half of what Lilith thought you were," sneered the demon. Dean lifted his head weakly as the demon pulled the pistol out of his waistband and cocked the weapon with his thumb. Dean closed his eyes, praying Sammy couldn't see, and he heard the hollow echoing boom of the shot.