Chapter Text
The Devil’s Scripture
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath
- The Merchant of Venice I.III
Chapter One:
Ilchester, Maryland…
…35,000 feet in the air
“ Yosemite Sam? Hm, let’s see. Ah! Here it is .”
Mercy hesitantly pried open one of her eyes. Despite the evidence her ears were providing her with, she still expected St. Mary’s to greet her. But the abandoned convent and its blood-soaked floor was gone, replaced by an economy seat with a fold-up tray and screen playing an old episode of Loony Toons.
“What the hell?”
She was sandwiched between an equally baffled Dean and Sam. Somehow , they were on an airplane. Outside the window, it was night and everything was calm. None of the other passengers indicated they’d seen anything out of the ordinary. Nothing like three disheveled people appearing out of thin air, certainly nothing like the devil ascending from hell and heralding the End of Days.
“I don’t know,” she heard Sam answer Dean’s rhetorical question.
The intercom dinged merrily, and Mercy was so on edge she jumped, accidentally smacking Dean’s chest with her arm when she unconsciously reached for him. His hand flew up to cover hers as she fisted his shirt in her fingers, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze even though his eyes were just as wide with uncertainty as her own.
“Folks, quick words from the flight deck,” the pilot was saying. “We’re just passing over Ilchester then Ellicott City on our initial descent into Baltimore…”
“Ilchester,” Dean repeated under his breath. “Weren’t we just there?”
“…so, if you’d like to stretch your legs, now would be a good time to- HOLY CRAP!”
Every window on the right side of the plane lit up; Mercy threw an arm over her eyes to shield them from the intense flare of light, but it was still blinding. She yelped as the plane suddenly tilted ninety degrees and the seatbelt dug sharply into her stomach, preventing her from being thrown into Sam’s lap like a ragdoll. There was screaming and an alarm blaring in her ears. It took Mercy a long second to realize what was happening.
They were falling out of the sky.
She made the mistake of looking out the window, and she wasn’t sure if the sudden rush of dizziness that overcame her was because the cabin was becoming depressurized, or if it was the lights of the city rushing towards them messing with her.
A hand landed on the back of her head and someone was forcing something over her mouth and nose. Mercy tore her eyes from the window, jolted back into reality. It was Dean. He was securing an oxygen mask on her face with shaking fingers, his own already in place.
His skin was ashen, breaths fogging up the plastic mask as his shoulders rose and fell on uneven, too-quick breaths. He was terrified, pupils having all but consumed the green of his eyes. Mercy was scared too- too scared to breathe, too scared to do anything but grab Dean’s arm and hold on for all she was worth. As the ground got closer at an alarming rate, Mercy closed her eyes again. Without her consent, she felt her lips moving rapidly around silent words.
“ Our father, which art in heaven…”
-M-
The leather of the steering wheel creaked under Dean’s fingers from how hard he was gripping it. The car felt wrong around him and under his feet. It smelled wrong too, and it set his teeth on edge. He wanted his car with its rattling heating vents and rumbling engine. He wanted a lot of things.
“ -and Governor O’Malley urges calm, saying it’s very unlikely an abandoned convent would be a target for terrorists, either foreign or homegrown-”
“Change the station,” he said gruffly, and Sam leaned forward obligingly.
“ - Hurricane Kinley unexpectedly slamming into the Galveston area-”
“-announced a successful test of the North Korean nuclear-”
“-a series of tremors baffled-”
“-swine flu-”
“Turn it off.”
Dean glanced in the rearview mirror to see Mercy was still slumped against the passenger side door, just like she had been for the past hour. Her glazed-over eyes became visible when they passed under a street light, and the only indication that she’d spoken was a circle of steam on the glass by her wobbly lips.
With a sharp click , Sam turned the radio off. “Dean-”
“Don’t,” Dean cut in without taking his eyes off the road. “Don’t say anything.”
He’d been feeling the weight of Sam’s puppy eyes the entire drive. Every tick, every twitch, every nervous tap of his brother’s shoe in the footwell, Dean had been keenly aware of all of it. He could practically taste the words on the tip of Sam’s tongue like they were his own and they were bitter.
“It’s okay,” he choked out, hoping that if he said it with enough conviction he’d believe it himself. “We just got to keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?”
Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed dubiously.
“All right, well. First things first- how did we end up on soul plane?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam’s mouth shrug. “Angels, maybe?” he guessed. “I mean, you know, beaming us out of harm’s way?”
“Well, whatever. It’s the least of our worries,” Dean replied. “We need to find Cas.”
“He’s dead,” Mercy said without any inflection in her tone.
Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. The teenager had been practically comatose since he’d peeled her out of her seat on the plane. “You don’t know that for sure,” he tried, but his attempt at sounding reassuring fell flat, even to his ears.
She didn’t reply. He kept his foot steady on the gas pedal.
They arrived back at Chuck’s house by the morning. The aftermath of the archangel’s wrath was evident from the driveway. Chuck’s windows were blown out, the blinds crooked and broken. The kitchen had clearly taken the brunt of the assault. Glass cracked under their feet when they entered, and Dean breathed in sharply. A metallic tang hung in the air. Blood was splattered on the walls and floor like Jackson Pollock had used Chuck’s kitchen as a canvas.
“Think the angels could be watching this place?” Sam asked quietly, eyes methodically clearing every corner and marking every exit.
“Maybe,” Dean said, pulling out his switchblade. “Probably.”
“What are you doing?”
He ignored his brother as he stalked across the kitchen and pulled open a sliding door, before drawing his blade across the palm of his hand with barely a wince. That sigil Cas had used- he’d known it would come in handy and commit it to memory. Dean had an eye for that kind of detail, and easily recreated it on the door.
“Huh,” Sam said when he’d finished, looking impressed.
There was an abrupt clatter. Dean quickly slid the door shut- it never hurt to have the element of surprise- and looked over sharply, instincts on high alert. It was just Mercy though. She’d kicked an overturned chair, hands sunk deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt. He couldn’t see her face, because she’d drawn her hood up and had her shoulders hunched around her ears, but he imagined she was scowling.
“Merce-” he started to reprimand, but he was cut off by a shout.
“Geez! Ow!” Sam yelped when Chuck dove out of the shadows wielding a toilet plunger and bitch-slapped him with the business end. It made a hollow thonk where it connected, and Sam took a surprised step back, eyes wide with offended confusion.
Chuck’s mouth was agape. “Sam!” he exclaimed, lowering his improvised weapon.
“Yes!” Sam said indignantly, rubbing his cheek.
“Hey, Chuck,” Dean added with a tight smile.
The prophet didn’t acknowledge him, still staring at Sam like he’d never seen him before. “So, you’re okay?”
“Well, my head hurts,” Sam said in an accusing tone.
“No! I mean- I mean, my last vision. You went, like, full on Vader. Your body temperature was one-fifty, your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black!”
“Your eyes were black?” Dean demanded, words clipped.
Sam looked over his shoulder at him self-consciously. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he said quietly, “I didn’t know.”
Dean gritted his teeth, but moved on for the sake of his own sanity. “Where’s Cas?”
“He’s dead,” Chuck replied, looking worriedly between him and Mercy. “Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sure?” he pressed. “I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something.”
“Oh no, he, like, exploded . Like a water balloon of chunky soup. Oh, uh-” his eyes widened and he winced, glancing at the teenager who’d paled at his vivid description. “I mean, I’m sure it didn’t hurt?”
The blood smeared across Chuck’s cheeks and forehead, like he’d tried to hastily wipe it off but didn’t look at his reflection when doing so, suddenly made Dean’s stomach churn.
“You got a…” Sam gestured behind his ear.
Chuck hesitantly reached up, mirroring Sam’s action. “Uh, right here?” He switched sides when Sam indicated. “Oh god. Is that a molar? Did I have a molar in my hair?” he asked, voice cracking when he plucked a bloody tooth out of his curls with trembling fingers. “This has been a really stressful day!”
“Cas, you stupid bastard,” Dean muttered under his breath.
“Stupid?” Sam repeated. “He was trying to help us.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
His brother looked away. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, crap.”
Dean looked over at Chuck’s low utterance. The writer was staring nervously at thin air, which never boded well. “What?”
He visibly swallowed. “I can feel them.”
“Thought we’d find you here!”
Zachariah appeared in Chuck’s kitchen without so much as a rustle. He was flanked by two other angels and looking around at the mess in disdain. “Playtime’s over, Dean,” he said casually as he toed a busted-up toaster with his expensive shoe. He looked up with those flat eyes. “Time to come with us.”
“You just keep your distance, asshat,” Dean growled.
The angel’s head tilted to the side and he peered at Dean with a detached smile. “You’re upset,” he remarked.
“Yeah, a little. You sons of bitches jump-started judgment day!”
“Maybe we let it happen,” Zachariah conceded, like they were having a casual debate about the weather. “But we didn’t start anything. Right, Sammy?” He had the gall to wink. “You had a chance to stop your brother, and you couldn’t. So, let’s not quibble over who started what. Let’s just say it was all our faults and move on. Cause, like it or not, it’s Apocalypse Now, and we’re back on the same team.”
Dean smiled sardonically. “Is that so?”
“You want to kill the devil. We want you to kill the devil. It’s synergy.”
“And I’m just supposed to trust you? Cram it with walnuts, ugly.”
The angel stared through Dean as though he couldn’t comprehend his anger. Then, he shook his head like an exasperated teacher and said in a chastising manner, “This isn’t a game, son. Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike now, hard and fast before he finds his vessel.”
“ His vessel ?” Sam repeated incredulously. “Lucifer needs a meat suit?”
“He is an angel.” Zachariah glanced back at his stone-faced secret service look-alikes and chuckled. “Them’s the rules… and when he touches down we’re talking four horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies- the greatest hits. You can stop him, Dean, but you need our help.”
The saccharine speech had Dean’s lips curling down. He clenched his hand into a tight fist and felt blood well up in his palm from the cut. “You listen to me, you two-faced douche. After what you did, I don’t want jack squat from you!”
“You listen to me, boy !” the angel rebuked, and he took an aggressive step forward, proper anger making his words sharp. “You think you can rebel against us? As Lucifer did?” His eyes slid downwards and narrowed. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh, yeah.” Dean smirked. “A little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up.”
And when he pulled open the door, revealing the banishing sigil, there was genuine panic in Zachariah’s voice as he shouted, “NO!” before he disappeared in a burst of intense light, along with his two lackeys, the second Dean slammed his bloody palm to the door.
“Learned that from my friend, Cas, you son of a bitch,” he said to the empty kitchen, feeling a mote of satisfaction.
It disappeared quickly enough when Chuck said succinctly, “This sucks ass.”
“Understatement,” Mercy muttered under her breath.
-M-
Dean kept a careful watch of Mercy out of the corner of his eye. If he looked at her directly for too long, she’d adopt a defensive posture, curling into herself and turning so he couldn’t see her face. Right now, though, she was hanging off the bed, upside down with her phone pressed to her ear like it had been for the past thirty minutes. There was a troubled pucker to her brow as she listened to her messages.
Every so often, she’d reach up with searching fingers, only to come away bereft of comfort. It was a habit of hers, he knew, to touch her mother’s necklace when she was anxious or thinking. The silver cross was burning a hole in his jacket pocket where he’d put it after covertly picking it up back in the green room. Mercy might be on the outs with God, but he knew the sentimental value of it would eventually outweigh her rightful anger with heaven.
She’d want it back some day.
“Hey,” he probed softly, when she’d finally stashed her phone in her pocket.
Mercy looked over, but didn’t say anything.
“Back in the green room,” he started, glancing at the bathroom. The shower was running and steam curled out from under the door. They probably had about ten more minutes to have this conversation before Sam was done tending to his hair. “What was that about your mom? I thought you said she’d died in a car crash.”
Her mouth opened, and then closed around silent, half-formed letters, and it was like her words had been snatched out of the air before they could reach his ears. After a long second, her breath hitched, and Dean was horrified to see tears gather in her blue eyes. Hastily, she wiped them away with her sweatshirt sleeve and she managed to clear her throat and say, “That’s what I was told.”
Dean tried not to wince as he put the pieces together. She hadn’t been killed in a car crash Mercy had said she was slaughtered . A town like Burkitsville, that could only mean one thing. Mercy had lost three family members to the Vanir, then, not that her aunt and uncle were much of a loss if you asked him.
“When did you find that out?”
She twiddled with the drawstring of the hex bag Sam had given her earlier in absence of her necklace. “When we went back to Burkitsville, after Kentucky, remember?” she replied. “I found her diary. The last entry, she said she’d gone to see a professor about the scarecrow. We both know how that turned out for you.”
He rubbed a thumb across his forehead. “Merce-”
“You don’t have to say you’re sorry or anything,” she cut in.
Silence fell between them. In the bathroom, there was a clatter and a muffled curse. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Sam to knock over shampoo bottles and soap bars with his long limbs. Motel showers weren’t exactly built to accommodate people his brother’s size. They only had a few more minutes before Sam got fed up with the cramped space and finished.
“What about the other thing you said?” he pressed.
“What other thing?” she hedged, looking away.
He rolled his eyes. Most of the time he forgot Mercy was a teenager. She hadn’t fully settled into the rebellious, angst-ridden phase that had Sam in its grips by the time he was her age, but sometimes he caught glimpses of it. Like right then, in her mulish tone and ugly scowl.
“The words ‘cosmic joke’ ringing any bells?”
If she were thirteen-year-old Sam, she would have yelled at Dean for prying into her life. Mercy was soft though, and folded easily. Her shoulders slumped and she admitted, “Mom always said I was a gift from the angels. I just didn’t think she meant so literally. They asked her to raise me and keep me in Burkitsville until I turned ten… I guess we were just destined to meet.”
Dean’s left hand curled into a fist, and he winced when his blunt nails dug into his freshly bandaged palm. When Mercy had showed up in Bobby’s living room and saved his ass from Meg that day nearly a year ago, he’d suspected he’d been the one to ruin her life. To have it confirmed, though, felt like a sucker-punch to the gut.
She could have been normal. Grown up outside Burkitsville, had a family, maybe even proper siblings, friends. Instead, here she was, chained to his life and dragged through hell under the flimsy pretense it was fate because heaven had stuck its ugly nose where it didn’t belong.
Mercy’s eyes narrowed, and she glanced down at his left hand. “Hey, quit that,” she scolded. She flopped out of the bed and grabbed his wrist, forcing his fingers to unfurl so she could inspect the damage he’d done to himself. “You Winchesters are a lot of work.”
The bandages were soaked through with blood, and she heaved an exasperated sigh. The med kit was still open on the table from when he’d hastily wrapped the self-inflicted injury earlier, and she reached for it. With sure, nimble fingers, Mercy redid the bandages.
“Not bad,” he muttered, flexing his hand once she’d finished.
“Uncle Bobby’s right- you are an idjit,” she muttered under her breath as she cleaned up. There was a pause, and he could physically see her gathering courage to say something more. “I didn’t mean it, you know?”
Dean frowned. “Mean what?”
“That my life was a cosmic joke. I-” She broke off, clearly thinking hard about her next words. “I know the way you’re taking it. I know the way it sounded. But I was… angry , I think. I’m not sure. But, I didn’t mean it like that. There’s not much I would change about my life right now. You, Bobby, Sam, Cas. You guys are family.”
He turned away, and Mercy seemed to understand that if she said anything more he’d have to ruin it with an obligatory smart-ass comment. It was just as well she’d finished speaking, because in the next moment, Sam came out of the bathroom in a fresh button-up that was damp at the shoulders where his wet hair brushed against it. Before Sam looked over, Mercy quickly pecked Dean on the cheek, murmuring, “Thanks,” under her breath, before pulling away.
Sam looked over at them questioningly. It was clear they’d been talking right up until he’d walked in. Dean cleared his throat and fumbled for the TV remote, turning it on and settling on one of the beds to face the screen like nothing had happened. His brother’s brow knit together, but he shook his head and went to sit down at the table, cracking open a book. Mercy joined Dean, almost kicking him in the face as she wiggled to get comfortable on her stomach.
“Watch it,” he grumbled, good naturedly grabbing her by the ankle and yanking her sharply backwards.
She yelped out, “Dean!” and scrambled away with a scowl.
Daytime TV was crap like it always was. He flicked through the channels absently until he landed on a news station. “- a hurricane, multiple tornadoes, all at the same time around the globe? Two words: carbon emissions ,” a man was saying.
“Yeah right, wavy gravy,” Dean grumbled.
A knock on the door had him muting the nameless reporter. Sam and he glanced at each other warily. There weren’t many people that could be- only two people knew where they were staying. Chuck and Bobby, and it was unlikely it was either. The writer was staying away to avoid accidentally triggering the archangel perched on his shoulder, and Bobby had agreed that they could drop off Mercy tomorrow when they swung by to pick up the Impala.
Which meant one of two things. Either it was something innocuous, like a housekeeper or a solicitor, or something worse, something that wanted to harm them.
Dean held his hand out, gesturing for Mercy to stay on the bed, and he pulled out his gun. He saw Sam do the same as he stood up from the table. The younger Winchester cautiously approached the door. He looked through the peephole, then cracked open the door, keeping his gun out of sight.
A young woman with straight blonde hair was at their threshold. She gasped tremulously, watery eyes looking at Sam with an intensity bordering on creepy.
“You okay, lady?” Sam asked.
“Sam! Is it really you?” the woman almost cried. She reached out with a shaking hand and placed it against Sam’s chest, breathing in sharply when she made contact. “You’re so firm!”
Taken aback, Sam stuttered out, “Uh, do I know you?”
“No, but I know you! You’re Sam Winchester and you’re-” her eyes landed on Dean and her nose wrinkled. “-not what I pictured,” she finished, looking disappointed, and Dean felt offended for a reason he couldn’t identify.
Still, her reception of him was better than the one she gave Mercy. The blonde scowled at the teenager when she spotted her. Mercy glared right back. “I’m Becky,” she said, stepping into the room. “I read all about you guys. And I’ve even written a few-” she broke off to giggle nervously. “ Anyway , Mr. Edlund told me where you were.”
“Chuck?” Dean stood up.
Becky nodded vigorously. “He’s got a message, but he’s being watched. Angels- nice change up to the mythology, by the way. The demon stuff was getting kind of old.”
“Right,” Sam said slowly. “Just, what’s the message?”
“He had a vision.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before reciting, “ The Michael Sword is on earth. The angels lost it .”
Dean glanced over at Mercy questioningly. “The Michael Sword?”
“Becky, does he know where it is?” Sam asked urgently.
“In a castle! On a hill made of forty-two dogs,” was the earnest reply.
“Forty-two… dogs,” the eldest Winchester repeated.
Mercy had her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you sure you got it right?” she asked condescendingly and Dean raised a brow in her direction. That wasn’t a tone he’d ever heard the mild-mannered girl use. It occurred to him that, aside from shouting at that lady in Burkitsville, Dean had never seen Mercy interact with someone she didn’t like, and she very clearly didn’t like Becky.
“ Yes ,” Becky snapped at the teenager. When she turned back to Sam, her eyes got that sickening dewy sheen again. Her voice was breathy as she told him, “It doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what he said. I memorized every word… for you .”
Slowly, her hand came to rest on Sam’s pec again.
“Um.” Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Becky, c-can you… quit touching me?”
“No.”
“He said quit touching him,” Mercy bit out waspishly, and Dean was genuinely amused to see her fingers twitching towards her back pocket where he knew she kept her knife. “Take your hand off him before I make you.”
Becky’s hand withdrew, perhaps sensing the impending loss of her fingers if she didn’t comply, and she narrowed her eyes at Mercy. “I always thought your character was annoying,” she said icily.
When Mercy took an aggressive step towards Becky, Dean had to set both his hands on her shoulders to keep her from physically attacking the other girl. “Newsflash, you rapacious harpy, we’re not characters in your insipid stories anymore!”
“Okay!” Dean cut in loudly, because he could feel how tensed Mercy’s muscles were under his fingertips.
“Thanks for stopping by, Becky!” Sam added, herding the blonde towards the door.
It was only when the door was firmly shut in Becky’s face that Mercy shook Dean off her. “ Ugh !” She threw her hands in the air and then stomped towards the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind her so hard it rattled. Dean heard the shower start up a second later.
Sam was looking at him with wide eyes. “Think she’s possessed?” he asked, and it sounded like he was only half joking.
Dean shrugged helplessly.
-M-
By the time Bobby arrived at their motel room, Mercy had managed to almost completely calm herself down. Becky’s stupid middle-school insult had gotten under her skin in a way Mercy hadn’t expected. The rest of the tension in her shoulders drained out of her body when her surrogate uncle dropped the bag he was toting and wrapped her up in a bear hug.
“Good to see you kids all in one piece,” he said gruffly, moving on to briefly embrace the Winchester boys and clap their shoulders.
“You weren’t followed, were you?” Dean had to ask.
“You mean by angels, demons, or Sam’s new super fan?”
Sam chuckled. “You heard?”
“I heard, Romeo,” Bobby confirmed. “So, Sword of Michael, huh? Sounds like your wheelhouse, Mercy. Brought what you asked.”
Dean turned to look at her with expectant eyes, just like he had when Becky had mentioned it. She tried not to squirm uncomfortably. “You think we’re talking about the actual sword from the actual archangel?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said, fingers twitching towards her neck before she remembered the cross wasn’t there anymore. She huffed, and dropped her hand lamely to her side. “It’s like that painting we saw, Dean. You remember?”
“You mean that Cate Blanchett looking dude?”
Despite herself, Mercy choked back a laugh. She knelt by the bag Bobby brought. It was her bugout bag, and a few other select books she thought might be useful, including some on religious art. “Yeah, that dude,” she said, pulling out one book and flipping through the pages. When she found what she wanted, she stood and brought the book to the table so they could all gather around.
“Holy Michael the Archangel, Saint Michael- he has a number of duties in scripture, but he’s most famous for commanding the Heavenly Host. In Revelations, he was able to throw Lucifer and his rebelling angels out of heaven. Saint Michel terrassant le Dragon - that’s what this painting is called: Saint Michael Slaying the Dragon.”
“So, if we can find the sword Michael used…” Bobby started.
“We can kick the Devil’s ass all over again,” Sam finished. He glanced at Mercy. “Alright, so, where do we start?”
She shrugged helplessly.
“We divvy up and start reading. Try to make sense of Chuck’s nonsense,” Bobby said, coming to her rescue. “Practically brought the whole library with me. You boys give me a hand carrying them inside.”
Bobby hadn’t been joking. He’d apparently packed up several brown boxes’ worth of books from the library. It took the boys a couple trips to get them all inside. Mercy watched them work from where she was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, her bible open on the comforter in front of her.
It had fallen open to the section she most frequently studied- Revelations. Mercy smoothed down the pages, staring hard at all her hand-written notes in the wide margins with a deep frown. A pang of sadness hit her. She’d spent hours hunched over this book with a pen in her hand and an angel whispering in her ear. Looking at it was just a comfort disguised as a pretext, at this point she practically had the whole book memorized.
Castiel… She had to hastily wipe away a tear that suddenly formed in her eye, but more kept coming. Mercy pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes- she thought she’d gotten all her tears out of her system in the shower. It took a minute for her to get her breathing under control again, but she did it.
Fortunately, none of her boys drew any attention to her silent breakdown. They all read quietly, she wasn’t sure for how long. But at some point, Sam had gotten up and started pacing.
“Kid?” Bobby ventured to ask. “You all right?”
Mercy looked up from her page. The youngest Winchester was staring miserably at the floor. He took a deep breath, and then said, “No, actually…” he swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple jerked. “Bobby, this is all my fault. I’m sorry.”
“Sam-” Dean started to say, but Sam plowed over his older brother’s words.
“Lilith did not break the final seal,” he said quickly. “Lilith was the final seal.”
A vein stood out in Dean’s neck from how he clenched his jaw. “Sam. Stop it.”
“I killed her, and I set Lucifer free.”
“You what?!” Bobby hissed.
Sam’s lip wobbled, but he continued anyway, “You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn’t listen. I brought this on.”
Bobby stood up from the table. Mercy was entranced by the anger brewing on his face- it was like watching a train wreck happen in slow-motion as he approached the youngest Winchester. “You’re damn right you didn’t listen. You were reckless, and selfish, and arrogant.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said again, blinking rapidly.
“Oh yeah? You’re sorry you started Armageddon. This kind of thing don’t get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off, I want you to lose my number. You understand me?” Bobby had all but whispered those last words, but they were loud in Mercy’s ears.
Sam nodded, looking anywhere but at Bobby. “There’s an old church nearby,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll go read some of the lore books there.”
“ Yeah . You do that.”
It was only after the door had closed behind Sam that Mercy managed to shake herself out of her stupor. She scooped up her bag and a couple of books and raced after him, ignoring Dean calling for her to come back. Sam was easy to pick out of the small rush of people outside the motel. He was head and shoulders above everyone, but he’d slumped over, hands sunk into his pockets. “Sammy!” she shouted, nearly bowling over a woman in hooker heels as she ran. Damn Sam’s long legs, he already had a sizable lead. What, was every step he took a mile long?
He paused, eyes wide and already red-rimmed when he looked over his shoulder. “Mercy… what?”
She caught up to him. “You didn’t bring any books.”
“Oh, yeah. R-right.” He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “Um…”
“You said there’s a church nearby?” she pressed, and began walking, giving Sam no choice but to follow.
She heard him huff, and the next second the books were being lifted out of her arms. They walked together in silence for a couple of blocks before Sam plucked up the courage to tell her, “You don’t have to come with me… It’s okay, I’d understand it- well, if you didn’t want-” he broke off, and Mercy took pity on him.
“I want to come. Needed some fresh air, you know?” she said quietly, and it wasn’t a total lie. She was pretty sure the motel Dean had chosen had asbestos in the walls or something. At the very least there were one too many stains on the bed for her to feel comfortable.
“Yeah… I know,” he said quietly.
The air between them was rife with tension. Sam kept glancing at her and then looking away, and each aborted gesture made Mercy’s skin prickle uncomfortably. Whatever else he wanted to say, she wished he’d just say it.
“Does it hurt?” Sam managed eventually in a strained voice.
For a second, Mercy genuinely had no idea what he was talking about, then it hit her like the butt of a shotgun, and her fingers automatically crept towards the bruise she’d completely forgotten was there. Mercy had caught sight of it in the mirror when she’d gotten out of the shower. It was nearly gone, but not quite.
“Not anymore,” she answered truthfully.
Sam took a shuddery breath. “Merce,” he whispered. “I- I’m so sorry.”
She opened her mouth, the words it’s okay on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. Because what he’d done hadn’t been okay in any sense of the word. She paused, and Sam stopped a step ahead of her. “I forgive you,” she said instead.
His eyes widened and a second later, his whole face crumpled. “Mercy-”
“No, I’m serious. You weren’t yourself, I know that,” she forged ahead. “But- but you and Dean, you’re my brothers. And family isn’t easy all the time. About what Uncle Bobby said? He didn’t mean it. It’s been a rough week. He’ll come around.”
He choked on a strangled laugh, quickly looking away from her again. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. How stupid could I be, you know?”
The words were achingly familiar, and Mercy sighed. “I think I understand how you feel a bit,” she told him quietly. And when Sam looked at her dubiously, she admitted, “I trusted heaven. For nearly four years I did everything they asked of me without question. Dean took one look at the angels and knew better. I shouldn’t have been so naïve.”
“Mercy, you’re just-” Sam cut himself off.
Mercy could guess what he was about to say. “I’m just a kid?”
“Sorry,” he said again, wincing. He knew Mercy hated being called a kid, was even sympathetic to that plight as the younger brother.
She was willing to let it slide this one time. “You shouldn’t have trusted Ruby, but she got her hooks in you when no reasonable person could have expected your judgment to be clear. Grief is complicated. That’s not totally your fault… Sam, wanting to see the good in everyone? It’s a double-edged sword.”
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, and his face was twisted up in an awful way that made Mercy’s heart hurt. “Yeah. You’d think I’d have learned that lesson by now.”
“No one gets it right every time,” she said gently. “It’s just that…”
“Not everyone is in the position to end the world if they trust the wrong person?” Sam finished for her with a sort of self-suffering smile.
She punched his arm lightly. “Yeah, that.”
Sam’s smile turned slightly more genuine. There was still a pucker between his brows, but when he tilted his head back to look up at the blue sky, there was a bit of life back in his eyes. “Hey,” he said after a minute. “Maybe we can read these books somewhere else. I saw a diner down the road. Do you want to grab a bite?”
Mercy glanced back over her shoulder. If Dean hadn’t come to hunt her down by now, he probably wouldn’t at all. “Yeah, I would kill for a strawberry milkshake.”
They started walking again, and Sam laughed. “I meant something more substantial. I don’t think you’ve eaten anything since that flight attendant gave you those little cookies. You need a vegetable, at least.”
“I’ll get onion rings, too, then.”
“It doesn’t count as a vegetable if you fry it.”
“Not with that attitude it doesn’t.”
“ Mercy.”
-M-
The strawberry ice-cream tasted rancid coming back up. Mercy pressed her sweaty forehead to the cool toilet seat and sobbed.
“Miss Singer?” a tentative voice called, followed by a persistent knocking at her stall door. It was one of the nurses. The kind one with the wire-rimmed glasses and peppy space buns. She’d been sitting with Mercy while a police woman questioned her. The officer had wanted to know all sorts of things. Who Bobby was to her, who those two men were that were with her when they brought Bobby in, what happened ?
She didn’t know how to answer that last one. She and Sam had heard the commotion on the way back from the diner but by the time they’d gotten the door open, Bobby was already bleeding out on the floor.
Her leftovers- club sandwich, extra tomato, hold the bacon, onion rings instead of fries- were still on the floor of their motel room where she’d dropped them in favor of putting pressure on the stab wound in his side. Her hands were still soaked in his blood, and that was the only reason she sat up and flushed the toilet.
The nurse hovered nearby when she stepped out in a daze, heading straight for the sink. Her reflection in the mirror caught her off guard and Mercy paused to really look at herself in mute horror. Between her wan skin and dull eyes, she looked dead .
“Miss Singer!”
The nurse grabbed her hands and yanked them out from under the tap. Mercy realized a second later the water was scalding.
“Ow,” she murmured belatedly, staring at her bright red skin. It looked like it should hurt.
The nurse adjusted the temperature of the water and guided her hands back under the stream. Mercy watched pliantly as the older woman washed her hands for her. She let herself be guided back outside and to the waiting area. Everything was muted. The nurse speaking soothingly, the police officer continuing to pry, the man sitting two seats over and praying the rosary, none of it reached her ears, not really.
Cas was dead. Bobby could be dying.
“Do you have anyone that can take care of you tonight while your uncle is in surgery?”
The question slipped by her apathy and punched her in the gut. Mercy breathed in sharply. “No.” She sunk her hands deep into her sweatshirt pocket and tried not to wince at how stiff the fabric was from Bobby’s dried blood. Absently, her fingers curled around a piece of paper.
“Okay, we’ll have someone from social services come and-”
“Wait!” Mercy said loudly, and the police officer paused in the middle of standing up. The last thing Bobby needed right now was to wake up and have someone from social services breathing down his neck about her placement. If they looked too closely… “I- I have someone,” she whispered. “I’ll call them.”
The police officer looked suspicious, but nodded before taking her leave.
“Can I have some privacy, please?” Mercy asked quietly.
The nurse nodded and left her too, and Mercy sucked in a shaky breath, pulling the slip of paper from her pocket before retrieving her cellphone. It wasn’t just a random scrap of paper from school like she’d been thinking, it was the business card Sheriff Mills had given her back on Christmas Eve when she’d told Mercy to call her if she ever needed help.
At the time she hadn’t asked what kind of help Sheriff Mills presumed she might need. Maybe she meant if Mercy ever found herself with broken ribs and in need of a ride again. Maybe it was her clear apprehension about Bobby that had driven her to giving Mercy her number in case of emergency. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of favor you called the Sheriff of Sioux Falls for, but she was all Mercy had at the moment.
The phone rang a few times before a groggy voice came through the speaker saying, “This is Sheriff Mills speaking.”
Mercy’s voice got caught in her throat. She drew back her phone just enough that she could catch a glimpse of the time. It was one in the morning.
“Who is this?” Sheriff Mills asked, sounding far more alert.
“I’m so sorry,” Mercy whispered, unsure what she was apologizing for. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a bright idea. “I- I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t realize- I didn’t know it was so late.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then, “Mercy?”
“Hi.”
A rustling came through the speaker and Mercy guessed the Sheriff was sitting up in bed. “Are you okay?” she asked immediately, and now she was definitely awake.
“Um, I don’t- I don’t know what to do,” Mercy found herself saying.
“Mercy, you need to breathe.” Wasn’t she already? “Take a deep breath in and hold it and then let it go, can you do that for me?”
Mercy tried to do what the Sheriff had asked, but her breath stuttered in her chest all uneven and shallow. “I- I can’t,” she cried.
“You can,” Sheriff Mills said calmly. “Try again.”
It took her a few more tries, but the knot in her chest loosened and Mercy was able to get control of her breathing. With her phone clutched desperately to her ear, Mercy pressed her forehead to her knees and focused on getting air in and out of her lungs. Sheriff Mills kept talking the whole time in a low, soothing voice.
“Mercy,” she pressed after a minute. “Can you tell me where you are?”
“Hospital,” she whispered. “Uncle Bobby got- he got- they don’t know if he’s gonna make it. He- he lost so much blood- and I’m all- I’m all alone. My brothers had to go and I’m all alone and he might be d-dying.”
Sheriff Mills cursed softly. “Okay, what hospital are you at?”
“It’s in Chicago,” Mercy murmured. “Saint Martin, I think. I don’t- I don’t-”
“Why are you-” Sheriff Mill’s didn’t finish asking her question, and Mercy was grateful. She was too frazzled to come up with a plausible lie for what she was doing in a Chicago ER in the middle of the school week. “I can be there in five hours.”
Mercy hiccupped. “You- you can?”
“Yes.”
It was too much to ask of a near perfect stranger, but Mercy was too desperate to care. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome, Mercy. Remember to keep breathing.”
And with that, Sheriff Mills hung up. Mercy let her phone drop away from her ear. She ended up staring at her lock screen.
“Is someone coming for you, Miss Singer?”
She looked up. It was the same nurse. Now that she wasn’t so panicked, she was able to read her ID badge and discover the name of the kind woman who’d been helping her since she’d arrived. It was Amanda. “Yeah,” Mercy finally managed. “She lives in another state though. She said she’d be here in a few hours.”
“That’s good,” Amanda said. “You can wait here until we have an update for you.”
She nodded absently, and Amanda went back to the nursing station. The chairs in the waiting room weren’t that comfortable, but Mercy curled up and settled in for the long wait.