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Chapter Text

Gabriel, blasting trashy pop music and getting his groove on, rounds a corner, dressed as a sexy angel in a low v-neck, trashy glittery wings, and off-center halo, and calls for his Sammoose. “You coming, yay or nay? ‘Cuz we were supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago.”

Sam, decisively not in a costume of any kind, shakes his head. “You know how I feel about Halloween,” he says.

“Well, if you’d rather get up to something else…” Gabriel walks up to Sam and rests his hands on his waist. “We could stay in, and maybe you could tempt this sexy angel to some sinning of the demonic variety. A little bit of lust never hurt no one, right?”

“What, you would rather stay in instead of going out drinking on Halloween? Are you even Gabriel, or have you contracted some kind of angelic virus?”

“So you’re saying you’ll go out tonight, or are you just teasing me?”

Sam sighs. “Fine,” he says.

“Great! Now put on your costume.”

Once Gabriel dragged Sam into the bar, Sam in tacky demon horns and nothing else even mildly festive and Gabriel wearing his equally-tacky angel costume.

“Everyone else is in a costume,” Gabriel comments, teasingly.

“I’m in a costume,” Sam argues, smacking his hand.

“Oh, here comes trouble,” Gabriel says, grinning at Jess the sexy nurse and Luis the ghoul as they approached the table. “The terrible-twos.”

“Don’t call them that,” Sam chastises, no bite behind it. He smacks Gabriel’s hand again.

Jess sits down across from Sam. Luis sits next to her. “So, someone came out to celebrate.”

“What are you celebrating?” Sam asks Gabriel innocently.

Gabriel rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Dunno, Samantha,” he says. “What would we be celebrating?”

“Sam,” Jess says, “and his awesome LSAT victory.”

Sam looks away bashfully. “All right, all right, it’s not that big a deal.”

Gabriel nudges his shoulder. “C’mon, big guy.” He picks up his glass and thrusts it to the middle of the table. Jess and Luis clink theirs against his, looking at Sam expectantly. Sam shakes his head and adds his to the mix.

“Yeah, he acts all humble,” she says. “But he scored a one seventy-four.” She grins at Sam and Gabriel.

Gabriel leans his head on Sam’s shoulder. ‘Yeah, that's my Moose.”

Luis and Sam drink their shots.

“Is that good?” Luis asks, as the shot burns down his throat. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and watches Sam and Gabriel expectantly.

“Is finding a twenty on the sidewalk good? Is winning the lottery good? Is free cake good?” Gabriel asks.

Jess smacks Gabriel’s arm. “It’s scary good.” She drinks her shot.

“So there you go,” Luis says, beaming. “You are a first-round draft pick. You can go to any law school you want!”

Sam looks down at his hands. “Actually, I got an interview here. Monday.” He looks to Gabriel. “If it goes okay I think I got a shot at a full ride next year.”

“Hey,” Jess says, reassuring as ever. “It’s gonna go great.”

“You know, if you weren’t bonking the angel over there, I’d swear you and Jess’d make a great couple,” Luis says.

“Hopeful thinking,” Jess says.

Gabriel slings his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Are you jealous you don’t have a smoking hot moose to mack on anytime you wanna? ‘Cuz, I mean, I understand your pain there, ghoul friend. But this moose is spoken for.”

Sam shakes his head, embarrassed.

“So, more shots?” Luis asks, as ready to party as ever.

While Luis goes on his quest to acquire more shots, Gabriel leans over to whisper into Sam’s ear. “You’re gonna kill ‘em on Monday,” he says. “They’ve never seen someone like you, and they’ll be lucky to ever again. You're gonna get that full ride."

"That sounds like a threat," Sam says back, a smile on his face. "What would I do without you?"

"Oh, you'd crash and burn," Jess says, smirking at them. "Do you lovebirds want some shots or not?"

After Luis and Gabriel have had enough shots for their liking, the group starts walking home. Luis always makes jokes about him and Jess walking these two defenseless young men home. Gabriel loves encouraging his antics.

“At least I wore a costume,” Luis says, more than a little drunk off his ass. “Man, if your sorry ass was trick-or-treating at my house, there would be no popcorn balls for you.”

“You gave out popcorn balls?”

“You could have at least gone as a slutty version of something. Slutty Dorothy, slutty Alice, slutty nurse--”

Jess elbows Luis. “Hey.”

“I-- I didn’t mean you.” Luis stumbles a little. Jess has to grab onto his arm to support him.

“You’d die without me,” Jess informs him, far more sober than Luis.

“Man, what can I say? I just never been a big fav of the whole thing.” Sam looks over to Gabriel.

“Never been a fan-- what, what, are you a Communist? Who doesn’t like Halloween?” Luis asks, sounding truly confounded.

“I have enough Halloween spirit for both of us,” Gabriel declares, glancing at Sam. There’s a skeleton in a hooded black cloak hanging from a fence that they pass. Luis and Jess drop them off at their apartment-- “Nice and safe!” Luis yells to them, leaning more on Jess than on his own feet-- and proceed on their way back to Jess’ apartment for Luis to drop her off to feel good about himself.

Gabriel loves going out drinking with Sam and their friends, but he also enjoys private celebrations with Sam in their apartment. “Time to make this angel fall,” Gabriel says, straight faced, before bursting into laughter. It wasn’t the worst way Gabriel has seduced Sam, but it makes the top 20 list.

In their bed, Gabriel pressed up against him like a tiny space heater, Sam sleeps soundly with his hand resting on Gabriel's hip. Gabriel had once told him that the way they slept was called "jetpacking". Sam's still sure there's an innuendo tucked away in there.

Sam’s eyes snap open at the sound of something somewhere in the apartment-- a window opening, maybe?-- and he, being the one less likely to snap an intruder out of oblivion, leaves the bedroom. There’s some dude walking around their apartment. Damn, Gabriel must’ve not done as good of a job proofing this place as he thought he did. Or maybe it’s one of his just desserts tests that he does.

He lunges at the man, grabbing his shoulder. The man knocks Sam’s arm away . Now they’re fighting, ducking from blows, swinging each other around, and kicking. Sam gets elbowed in the face, Sam kicks him in the head, Sam gets pinned to the ground, a hand at his throat and the other pinning his wrist down.

“Whoa, easy tiger,” the grinning, gloating face of his brother says.

“Dean?” Sam asks.

Dean laughs.

“You scared the crap outta me!”

“That’s ‘cuz you’re outta practice,” Dean teases.

Sam shuffles them around until Dean’s on the floor.

“Or not,” Dean grunts. Sam taps him a couple times, just to show off. “Get off of me.”

Sam rolls onto his feet, pulling his brother up with him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.

“Well, I was lookin’ for a beer,” Dean says. He puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders to shake them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam repeats, more serious this time.

Dean removes his hands from his brother’s shoulders. “Okay. Alright. We gotta talk,” he says, equally as serious.

“Uh, the phone?” Sam asks, sassy as ever. It’s late at night, and he’s just seen his brother for the first time since he left home. He’s allowed to be a little pissed off.

“If I’d’a called, would you have picked up?” Dean asks. Sam looks away, feeling guilty. He knows the answer is no, no matter what the circumstances. As much as he’d missed Dean and their dad, he knew that going no-contact was for the best.

The lights flick on. "What the hell's happening?" Gabriel stands in the doorway in Sam's shirt from earlier night, watching Sam wrestle with Dean with a mixture of mild amusement and annoyance.

"Gabe, hey." Sam rights himself and looks down at Dean briefly before giving Gabriel that sappy look Jess and Luis love to tease him about. “Um, Gabe, this’s Dean.”

“Oh, your brother Dean?” Gabriel asks, looking at Dean and sizing him up.

Dean clears his throat. "Listen, we gotta talk about some things, so if you don't mind, you can tell your roommate-"

"Roommate?" Gabriel looks at Sam, definitely amused now, grinning smugly. Gabriel's always loved showing Sam off, no matter where they went and what they did.

Dean looks at Sam, then Gabriel, piecing everything together. "Oh. Oh. I didn't know you swung that way, Sammy."

Sam crosses his arms and glares at Dean, standing a little closer to Gabriel. This wasn't how he planned on coming out to Dean. Then again, he never really did plan on coming out to Dean ever, so that's worth mentioning. "There's a lot of things you don't know."

"Hey man." Dean holds up his hands in surrender. "It's cool. It's good. If that's how you swing, then I'm fine with it." He looks directly at Gabriel. "I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk ‘bout some private family business. But, uh… nice meeting you.” He still looks at Gabriel with curiosity.

“No.” Sam wraps his arm around Gabriel's shoulders. Gabriel nestles himself against Sam's side, watching Dean closely. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of him."

“Okay,” Dean says. He turns to look at them straight on, obviously not having expected this. “Um,” he begins. “Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“So he’s working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He’ll stumble back sooner or later,” Sam says, though he knows that no one in the room believes that.

Dean ducks his head, thinking of how to best phrase this so he doesn’t clue Gabriel in on anything he shouldn’t know. He looks back up, directly into Sam’s eyes. “Dad’s on a hunting trip. And… he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Sam breathes out his nose, face deadpan. Gabriel looks at Sam, not as confused as he is solemn and understanding.

“So if you’ll just come outside with me, we can--”

“He knows,” Sam says.

Dean blinks at Sam. “He what?”

“I know what your dad does for a living,” Gabriel says. “Though smiting witches and bitches doesn’t pay too hot, does it?”

“Why the hell did you tell him?!” Dean hisses to Sam. “The one thing we’re never supposed to do, and you--”

“Oh, I figured it out, soon enough. You think I’m stupid or something? I got all this, and brains, too.” Gabriel smirks at Dean. “So, your daddy’s gone off to hunt some sorta ghostie or ghoulie, got in over his head, and now you’re crawling back to Samwich over here ‘cuz you want help finding him. Did I get it all right?” Gabriel turns to Sam.

“I gotta say, I don’t think I really, uh, approve of this guy, Sammy,” Dean says.

“It’s Sam,” Sam informs him. “And-- I mean, come on. You can’t just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you.”

“You’re not hearing me, Sammy,” Dean says. “Dad’s missing. I need you to help me find him.”

Sam sighs, exasperated. “You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil’s Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He’s always missing, and he’s always fine.”

“Not for this long,” Dean says, just as exasperated. “Now, are you gonna come with me or not?” He crosses his arms.

Gabriel’s eyes shine with understanding.

“I’m not,” Sam says, firmly.

“Why not?” Dean asks.

“I swore I was done hunting. For good.”

Gabriel takes in a breath, though Sam knows he doesn’t need to. “Actually, Sammoose, I think you should go looking for your daddy.”

Sam looks at Gabriel, brow furrowed. “What? Gabe, you know how I grew up. I mean, when I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45.”

“Well, what was he supposed to do?” Dean asks.

Sam gives Dean the disapproving look this time. “Uh, say ‘don’t be afraid of the dark’, maybe?” he says.

“Listen, I know you’re not the biggest fan of your daddy-- trust me, I understand the feeling-- but my daddy’s been missing since… forever, basically. Made me an’ my brothers and everything, and vanished. Poof.” Gabriel rocks back on his heels, wanting nothing more than to conjure up a sucker or something else sweet, but knowing he’s under the watchful eye of Dean. He’s not in the mood to be stabbed or shot right now. Hurts like a bitch. “And if any of my brothers cared as much about finding daddy as they did about fighting each other, I’d go with ‘em. ‘Cuz… well, it gets lonely out there on your own. And I miss ‘em. My family.” Gabriel clears his throat and tries for one of his signature Trickster smiles. “But hey, that’s just me. Daddy also didn’t drag me ‘cross the country killing things, either. Just abandoned us.”

Dean looks at Gabriel like he’s not sure if he should like him or not. That’s Gabriel.

Sam shakes his head. “I can’t go back to that life.”

“You don’t gotta,” Gabriel says. “Just find your daddy, and come back by Monday, and we can go on with our lives. The weekend we all forget ‘bout. Fall break!”

“Dad’s in real trouble right now,” Dean says. “If he’s not dead already. I can feel it.” He looks at Sam, who’s gone silent. “I can’t do this alone.”

“Yes, you can,” Sam says.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to,” Dean corrects, looking at his brother expectantly.

Sam looks down to Gabriel, who’s got his pleading face on. “We’ll talk about that later,” he tells Gabriel. Then he looks up at Dean. “What was he hunting?”

“Uh…” Dean looks up to the ceiling, remembering. “Some two-lane blacktop outside… Jericho? Somewhere in California. Found this guy’s car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

Sam crosses his arms. “So maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Yeah. Well, here’s another one in April. And December ‘oh-four, ‘oh-three, ‘ninety-eight… uh, ‘ninety-two-- ten of ‘em, over the past twenty years. All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road. Makes sense, right? Dad went to go dig around about three weeks ago. I hadn’t heard him since, which is bad enough.” Dean looks into Sam’s eyes. “And he left me a voicemail yesterday.” He takes out his phone and plays the voicemail, staticky and breaking up.

“Dean… something big is starting to happen,” John says, in the first time Sam’s heard his voice in four years. “I need to try and figure out what’s going on. It may…” it cut out. “Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”

Sam wouldn’t admit to the goosebumps peppering his arms. “There’s EVP on that.”

“Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn’t it?” Dean smiles at Sam, who shakes his head. “All right, so I slowed the message down on the recorder-- you know the one--, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this chick said ‘I can never go home’.” Dean holds out his hands in a how about that sort of way.

“Never go home,” Sam repeats. He looks at Gabriel. Gabriel stares straight forward, his face doing that thing it does when he thinks of home. “All right. I’ll go. I’ll help you find him.” Dean nods. “But I have to get back first thing Monday.”

“What’s first thing Monday?”

“I have this… I have an interview,” Sam explains.

“What, a job interview? Skip it.”

“It’s a law school interview, and it’s my whole future on a plate,” Sam explains, almost bitchy.

“Law school?” Dean asks, smirking. Sam can almost detect a hint of pride, if he weren’t sure it was just him projecting onto his brother.

“Just wait here,” Sam says, backtracking into the bedroom with Gabriel in his wake. He starts packing a duffel bag, packing only the essentials-- clothes, phone, wallet, charger, hook-shaped knives, you know the drill.

“If I had the chance to find my daddy…” Gabriel says.

“This’s different,” Sam says. “He probably just-- got lost, or something. Did something dumb and banged himself up. Nothing serious.”

“You never know,” Gabriel says. “Are you okay?”

Sam laughs a little. “I’m fine,” he says.

“If one of my brothers came knocking on my door in the middle of the night, I’d say yes. Well, depends on the brother, ‘cuz Uriel can kinda be an asshole, but…” Gabriel’s eyes go hazy as he thinks of his past. He shakes his head. “Anyway, you gotta be careful, okay?”

“When am I not?” Sam asks, still packing.

“Oh, I have a list, if you’d really like to hear it,” Gabriel says.

Sam shakes his head, smiling. “Asshole.”

“And you love me regardless. Lucky angel, huh?” Gabriel grins at Sam, coming in for a hug. “I would say ‘don’t do anything Jesus wouldn’t do’, but-- you know, actually, he’s one of my brothers who makes the best decisions. So, yeah, don’t do anything J.C. and the boys wouldn’t do. So, flipping tables is okay, but adultery’s a big no-no.”

Sam pulls away from Gabriel’s bone-crushing hug. “I would never cheat on you.”

“It was mostly a joke, but you’re too damn sweet for your own good,” Gabriel says. He leans up for a quick kiss. “Stay safe. Don’t make an ass of me. I don’t want the entire supernatural community to think I’m an idiot just ‘cuz my boyfriend hurt himself trying to be macho against Casper.”

Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

-
Dean stopped to fill up at one of those charming small town gas stations Sam remembers fondly from his childhood. The Allman Brothers played on the radio while Sam shuffles through Dean’s box of tapes, door open. Dean comes up to the car, arms full of the gross convenience mart junk food he loves.

“Hey!” Dean calls. “You want breakfast?”

Sam looks at Dean’s arms, full of junk food, and grimaces. “No, thanks.” Then, still shuffling through the tapes, he asks: “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?”

“Yeah, well, hunting ain’t exactly a pro ball career.” Dean puts the nozzle back on the pump. “Besides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.”

“Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?” Sam swings his legs back inside the car and closes the door. He wants to take advantage of the nice weather while it still lasts, despite his jeans and hoodie.

“Uh, Burt Aframian.” Dean slips into the driver’s seat and sets his chips and soda down next to him. “And his son Hector. Scored two cards outta the deal.” He closes the door behind him.

“That sounds about right.” Sam looks down at the dozen cassettes in the box in his lap, some with nice, fancy album art and others labeled in Dean or John’s handwriting, listing out songs and tape names. The boxes on the tapes (some of them didn’t even have boxes, just a tape with a name written on it) have cracks in them, missing corners, or are completely broken and exist only to hold the ink-covered index card that holds the information. “I swear, man, you’ve gotta update your cassette tape collection.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

“Well, for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two-- Black Sabbath?” He holds up a tape. “Motorhead?” He holds up another. “Metallica?” He holds up the last tape that Dean snaps from him. “It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock.” Which Sam thought he’d never be forced to listen to again after he left.

“Well, house rules, Sammy.” Dean takes the tape out of the scratched-up tape box and pops the tape into the player. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” He drops the tape case back into the box of tapes, explaining why the boxes were so beat up in the first place.

“You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old,” Sam says, as “Back in Black” starts playing. “It’s Sam, okay?”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud.” Dean smirks to himself, driving off.

They’ve driven for what feels like forever down Centennial Highway before they drive past a sign reading JERICHO 7.

“Thank you,” Sam says into his flip phone, before closing it. “All right,” he says. “So, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that’s something, I guess.”

Dean glances at Sam, then back at the road. In front of them, at a bridge ahead of them, two police cars, lights flashing, and several officers stand in front of a car. “Check it out,” Dean says.

Sam leans forward, trying to get a better look.

Dean pulls over, both of them taking a long look at the scene before he turns off the engine, opening the glove compartment and pulling out a box of ID cards with his and John’s faces, FBI and DEA and other important government acronyms emblazoned across them. He picks one out and grins at a judgemental Sam. “Let’s go,” he says, getting out of the car.

-

Collecting information isn’t hard when you and your brother are trained in lying and getting information. Federal Marshalls. Sam falls into the rhythm too quickly for his own liking, despite being out of it for four months. Even lying to Amy is easy. Uncle Dean and Sammy. Sam’s disgusted with himself.

But they got the information they needed. Other disappearances. No police theories. Murdered woman on Centennial. Library research of a murdered woman is fruitless.

Then--

“So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?”

-- Constance Welch, 24, of 4636 Breckenridge Road, leapt off Sylvania Bridge, at mile 33 of Centennial Highway and drowned. Found her two young children dead in the bathtub. 1981. Sylvania Bridge, the bridge with the cops, with the car.

Investigating, getting attacked by Constance with the Impala, jumping off the bridge to escape.

Then--

“You guys having a reunion or something?”

-- they investigate John’s room, which is a huge fire hazard. Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong, and somebody Parks.

A note reading “Woman in White” next to a printout of the Jericho Herald article about Constance’s suicide. John had figured it out.

Then--

“Dude, five-oh, take off.”

-- Dean gets arrested, Sam interviews Joseph Welch (who cheated), Dean escapes.

-

Sam’s driving the Impala when his phone rings. He answers it, the number unrecognized.

“Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don’t know, that’s pretty illegal,” Dean’s voice says, a little warped from the phone booth.

“You’re welcome,” Sam says with a grin.

“Listen, we gotta talk,” Dean says.

“Tell me about it,” Sam says. “So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she’s buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad’s next stop.”

“Sammy, would you shut up for a second?” Dean asks, irritably.

“I just can’t figure out why Dad hasn’t destroyed the corpse yet.”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s gone. Dad left Jericho,” Dean says.

“What?” Sam asks. “How do you know?”

“I’ve got his journal,” Dean says.

Sam shakes his head. “He doesn’t go anywhere without that thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did this time,” Dean says.

“What’s it say?” Sam asks, desperate to know.

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap,” Dean says, dismissively. “When he wants to let us know where he’s going.”

“Coordinates,’ Sam says. “Where to?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Dean says.

“I don’t understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?” Sam asks. He looks up from the wheel and slams the break, car squealing on the road and phone falling from his hand. His car goes right through Constance, though he was desperately trying not to.

“Sam? Sam!” Dean calls from the phone, resting on the floorboard.

Sam breathes hard, shakily looking into the rearview mirror. Constance sits in the backseat. “Take me home,” she says.

Sam takes a minute to breathe, scared that, if he doesn’t, Constance will kill him, too.

“Take me home,” Constance insists, angry now.

“No,” Sam, full of calmness responds. He grips the steering wheel, trying to avoid looking at the ghost woman in the backseat.

Constance glares at him. The doors lock. Sam, twinges of fear running down his spine, tries to reopen them, not noticing that the gas pedal is moving until the car starts driving itself, guided by Constance. Sam grabs the wheel, unable to control the car while the woman in white is driving them to her house, flickering with anger and concentration.

She doesn’t relent until they stop outside of the rotting house on Breckenridge road, the Impala stopping. Sam, briefly and childishly, is glad that nothing happened to his brother’s car. Constance kills the engine, turns off the lights.

“Don’t do this,” Sam pleads.

Flickering in the back seat, Constance looks longingly at her old house. “I can never go home.”

It hits Sam, then and there. “You’re scared to go home,” he says, with a twinge of sympathy. He looks over his shoulder, only to see she’s not there. She sits shotgun instead, like Dean would if Sam were driving, bitching the whole time about not hurting my damn car, Sammy. Instead of bitching-- which Sam would prefer--, Constance climbs into his lap, pushing his back against his seat hard.

“Hold me,” Constance begs, sultry and seductive. “I’m so cold.”

Sam struggles against her. “You can’t kill me. I’m not-- not unfaithful. I’ve never been!”

He thinks of Gabriel, how he’d kissed him goodbye and told him don’t make an ass of me, how he’d pour marshmallow vodka into his hot chocolate, how he’d snap up Sam’s favorite things whenever he was sad. Sam would never cheat on Gabriel.

“You will be,” Constance promises, darkly. “Just hold me.” She leans in to kiss Sam, even as he struggles, but--

A bright, golden light shines from in front of them. “Stay away from my boyfriend, bitch,” Gabriel says. “I’m taking you home.” With a snap of his fingers, the Impala drives itself into the side of the rotting house. Gunshots ring from behind them.

Dean rushes through the now-gaping hole in the side of the house. “What the hell was that?!”

Sam holds his head, staring at Gabriel, who’s still standing in front of the Impala, not radiating blinding light anymore. “That’s my boyfriend,” Sam breathes.

“Your what?” Dean asks. “He’s not-- Are you okay?”

Sam sits up. “I think,” he answers. "Help me?” He reaches out for Dean’s hand. Dean opens up the car door and drags him out. Sam still stares at Gabriel, awestruck.

Constance picks up a photograph and stares at her and her two children. The children she drowned.

“That bitch didn’t hurt you, did she?” Gabriel asks, running to him. He holds Sam’s face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know what the hell you are, but you need to get away from my brother,” Dean snarls to Gabriel, snatching Sam away.

Constance throws the picture to the ground, a drawer skidding towards them. Gabriel snaps it out of existence. The lights start flickering.

“Is that you?” Sam asks Gabriel.

“I’m not a fan of the whole flickering lights thing. I'm more of a spotlight guy, myself. Love the theatrics.” Gabriel reaches out for Sam’s hand.

“Hey man, don’t touch my brother,” Dean commands.

“Guys,” Sam says, quiet. “There’s something happening-- over there.” Sam points at the staircase.

Water slides down it like a depressing, dribbling waterfall. Constance looks up it. There, at the very top, are the boy and the girl from the photograph, holding hands and speaking together, like something straight out of The Shining.

“You’ve come home to us, Mommy,” they say, before disappearing and reappearing behind her. Sam clutches Gabriel’s hand. The children embrace their mother. Like a lightning striking a lightning rod, Constance lights up, flickering and screaming like nothing before, glitching in and out of existence before dissolving into a puddle of water.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, stepping away from Sam and Gabriel. “So this is where she drowned her kids.”

Sam nods. “That’s why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.” He looks to Gabriel. “So that’s why you took her home. You found her weak spot.” He smiles at Gabriel, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Anything to protect the best ass I’ve had in years,” Gabriel says. “And all you thought, Mr. Hotshot, was to shoot Casper the Bitchy Ghost in the face! What’s that gonna do, genius?” Gabriel asks Dean.

Dean turns the gun on Gabriel. “I don’t know what you are, you freak of nature, but I know damn well I don’t trust you!”

“Dean!” Sam yells. “He saved my life!”

“He drove my damn car into a building, man!” Dean yells back.

“He killed Constance! What do you think he was doing?!”

“Uh, tryin’ to kill you? I didn’t know you liked screwin’ the things we hunt, Sammy, otherwise I would’ve done somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Gabriel grins at Dean. “Whoa now, you think me saving your brother constitutes killing me? I understand why every supernatural creature from coast to coast wants your blood. I mean, damn, if that’s how you thank people, then I’d hate to see what a ‘fuck you’ is.”

“Get away from him, Sammy,” Dean commands.

“Gabriel is my boyfriend, Dean.”

“You know, I’m feeling awful threatened. I think I’m gonna go back home and wait for you guys there. ‘Kay?” Gabriel turns to give Sam a quick kiss. “Love you, Sammoose. Don’t have too much fun with Deannie before you get home.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Dean asks.

Gabriel just shakes his head and disappears with the flapping of wings.

Dean looks at Sam, incredulous. “Okay, Sammy--”

“It’s Sam,” Sam corrects.

“-- you gotta tell me what the hell’s happenin’, ‘cuz if you don’t, I’ll think you were screwin’ some sorta… I dunno. Demon, or something.”

Sam sighs. “Okay. Just-- get in the car, and we’ll talk about it on the way back. Okay?”

-|-

“I’m all ears, Sammy,” Dean says, testily, behind the wheel. Sam, sitting shotgun in his usual place, with John’s journal open in his lap and flashlight tucked under his chin, shining on the coordinates, tenses up. Highway to Hell, the old classic, plays over the old speakers.

Sam sighs. “So, you wanna know about Gabriel,” he says.

“Uh, yeah, Sammy. I wanna know ‘bout the shady guy you’re screwin’, who showed up for no damn reason and almost killed you!” Dean slams a hand against the wheel. “What’s up with that? Last I checked, you didn’t like to screw what we kill for a living.”

“We don’t kill things like Gabriel,” Sam says.

“Gimme one good reason not to.”

“Because I love him, first of all.”

“Dude, now is so totally not the time to declare your undying love for the man that just made my ‘to-kill’ list.” Dean shakes his head and turns down the music. “Seriously. You ‘love’ this guy, but-- did you know he could do that?”

“Yeah,” Sam admits. He looks down into the journal, at DEAN 35-111, avoiding looking at his brother.

“You knew what he was, and you still decided to date the guy?” Dean spends more time glaring at Sam than he does looking at the road. “Sam, man, you can’t be that desperate. Just find a fuckbuddy or somethin’ that’s, like, fully human.”

Sam switches off the flashlight and looks out the window into the deep, dark night passing them by. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d react like this.”

“What, be concerned ‘bout you? Me?”

“You sure weren’t when you didn’t call or visit me for four years.” Sam watches the trees pass. “And now you’re all concerned about who I’m sleeping with? Just because he’s--”

“What? What is he?” Dean asks, irritable. “‘Cuz I’d sure like to know what he is before I torch his ass.”

“He’s an angel, okay?” Sam says, more exhausted than anything. What he wouldn’t give to sleep until his interview tomorrow.

“An angel? What, you expect me to believe that crap?”

“Believe it or not, that’s what he is.” Sam tosses the flashlight between his hands in the darkness of the car. “I didn’t believe it when he first told me, neither, but that’s what he is.”

“We’ve never dealt with an angel before. I don’t even know if dad had ever dealt with one, either. And you’re tellin’ me that you started screwin’ someone who just so happened to be an angel? Just randomly, one day?”

“Gabriel was my roommate, my first year, and we-- one day, I confronted him about it, and he admitted it to me. He’s hiding from his family. And… he loves me.”

Dean shakes his head. “I thought dad taught you better. I thought I taught you better.”

“Dean, if Gabriel hadn’t stepped in and driven the car into her house, I would’ve died. And maybe you. He saved our skins back there, and you can’t just kill him because you don’t trust him. That’s ridiculous.” Sam sets the flashlight down in the crease of the journal. “I trust him. Isn’t that enough?”

“You also trust everyone’s tellin’ the truth all the time, Sammy. I mean, how can we know that he’s really trustworthy?”

“You can’t have a little faith in my boyfriend? The one person who was there for me when you and dad weren’t?” Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Sam interrupts him. “No, Dean. I trust him. I love him. And you know what? I trust him a hell of a lot more than I trust most people. Including you, sometimes. So before you try killing him, why can’t you just give Gabriel a chance?”

Sam is more surprised that Dean's problem is Gabriel himself instead of the fact that Gabriel is a man. Then again, he's always had his suspicions about what exactly his brother gets up to with people, but Sam didn't want to push it when he was younger, and now… it isn't the best time to ask your brother about his sexuality.

Dean breathes in, evenly. “Okay, fine. But if he steps outta line, I’ll be the first one that gets to kill him before he kills us. Capiche?”

Sam sighs, knowing that striking this deal is the only thing that’ll get Dean off his back about Gabriel. “Okay. But if you do have to kill him… I’ll never forgive you.”

“Fine,” Dean says. “D’you wanna, like, shake on it? Spit on it? Make a blood pact?”

“I’ll take your word on it,” Sam says, uneasily.

“Cool.” Dean drums his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat, mouthing along to Highway to Hell. “So… what’s goin’ on with 35-111?”

“It’s called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”

Dean nods. “Sounds charmin’. How far?”

“About six hundred miles.” Sam closes the journal.

“Hey, if we shag ass, we could make it by morning,” Dean suggests.

Sam looks at Dean out of the corner of his eyes. “Dean, I, um…”

Dean glances at the road, then at Sam, then the road again. “You’re not going,” he says. “You know, your boy toy could just make his ass appear in here and we wouldn’t have to go and get him.”

“The interview’s in, like, ten hours. I gotta be there.” Sam shakes his head.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever,” Dean mumbles, disappointed, staring straight ahead at the road. “I’ll take you home. To him.”

-|-

Dean pulls up to Sam’s apartment, still frowning. Sam slides out, leaning in to look through the window at his brother. “Call me if you find him?” he asks.

Dean nods, refusing to look at Sam.

“And… maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” Sam asks, though he knows the real answer.

“Yeah, all right,” Dean responds, which means no in Winchester.

Sam pats the door and turns away, ready to walk into his apartment and see Gabriel again. Dean leans over, an arm over the seat. Sam?”

He turns around.

“You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” It’s a plea, Sam knows: a plea for him to stay, for him not to go to his normal, apple-pie life.

“Yeah,” Sam says, dismissively. He wants to cuddle up next to Gabriel in their bed and ignore everything that happened today, to do the interview tomorrow and ace it, to have the life he’s never had before with Gabriel. That life doesn’t necessarily exclude Dean, but it does exclude hunting.

Sam closes the door behind him, sighing in relief. It’s nice to be home again. The apartment even smells like cookies, fresh-baked and delicious. “Gabe?” he asks, snatching up one of the cookies and nibbling on it. “You home?”

Gabriel bursts out of the bedroom. Sam drops his cookie. “We gotta get outta here. Right now.”

“What?” Sam furrows his brow. “But what about my interview?”

“Listen, Sam-scraper, you’ve seen a lot of crazy shit, but you’re not gonna believe me if I tell you.”

“Whoa,” Sam says, voice even and calm. He bends down to Gabriel’s level and places his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Gabe, I promise that I’ll believe you, no matter what you say. You know what I used to do for a living. You saw what happened in that house. So you can tell me--”

“Some yellow-eyed bastard just tried to smite me,” Gabriel says.

Sam freezes, eyes going wide. “You? But why--”

“‘Cuz it knows I’m close to you. It knows that you love me, and it wants to--” Gabriel cuts himself off and shakes his head. “It was a demon.”

“A demon?” Sam grips Gabriel’s shoulders tighter. “Well, you’re an angel, right? So you can just--”

Gabriel lays his hands on the sides of Sam’s face. “Sam, this son of a bitch killed your mother.”

Sam stops breathing. “It-- It what?”

“This is what killed your mom, and then he tried to kill me. So whatever he is, he has something against you. And he’s following you. So you need to find your daddy, because he might be next.”

“But-- our life, Gabriel,” Sam says, almost pleadingly. “We were supposed to go to law school, Gabe. We were supposed to-- to buy a house, and get a golden retriever, and live a normal life.”

Gabriel rubs his thumb along Sam’s cheekbone. “I know. It isn’t fair. But we can do that after we hunt down yellow eyes, okay? Right now, though-- I don’t think this house is safe. I already fought the bastard once and cast him away, but now that he knows your boyfriend’s an angel… well, Sam, Stanford ain’t safe anymore.”

“You’re an angel,” Sam says, softly. “Can’t you do something to-- to stop it? To kill it?”

“It’s… been a while,” Gabriel says, a twinge of embarrassment in his voice. “I haven’t exactly had to fight demons in… a long time. I haven’t even seen a demon since a little after I left. They’re not exactly keen to attack archangels.”

“But this one was? I don’t--”

“Get it? Yeah, me neither.” Gabriel leans up to press their foreheads together, a surprisingly tender display of affection for him. “It has something towards you. And I’m 100% not okay with that, ‘cuz I’m the only inhuman being that gets to claim your sweet ass.”

“How are we even going to get around? That weird teleporting thing you do?”

Gabriel lets go of Sam’s face. “Your brother’s waiting outside.”

Sam sighs. “Of course he is.”

“I don’t think he trusts me.” Gabriel slides back into the bedroom. “Pack up, babe. We’re leaving.”

“You showed up in the middle of our hunt and killed a ghost. He doesn’t exactly think very highly of you, right now.” Sam follows Gabriel into their bedroom, decisively storm-tossed due to Gabriel’s uprooting of everything. He snaps, and everything disappears. “Where did everything--?”

“Pocket dimension. That’s what I like to call it.” Gabriel shrugs, so casual about his powers and the specific type of crazy it takes to believe in them. “So what does he say I am? Ghost? Demon? Some kind of-- monster?”

Sam shakes his head and starts gathering up a duffle bag, speed-packing like all the times he had as a child. “I told him you were an angel.”

“Wish I’d been there to see that. Lemme guess, he didn’t--”

“Didn’t believe me,” Sam finishes.

“Mm. Yeah, I got that vibe from him. It’s probably gonna make a little more than just ‘surprise, guess who’s angelbait’ to make him believe I’m not some sort of monster bent on drinking your blood.” Gabriel sits on the bed. “Guess I’ll just have to convince him of my Heavenly glory.”

Sam snorts. “He isn’t exactly someone who believes in Heaven, let alone be convinced by its ‘glory’.” He looks down at large hands, holding a stack of cotton t-shirts. “This thing that tried to kill you-- it really was the thing that killed my mom? You’re sure of it?”

Gabriel looks up at him. “Sam…”

“I need to know,” Sam says, looking away from the stack of shirts he’s just put in his bag. “Gabe, this thing killed my mom when I was a baby, and now it tried to get you. Why would it come back now?”

“Maybe I’m just special,” Gabriel teases. Then, looking at the serious expression on Sam’s face, he lets out a sigh. “I don’t know why. I wish I had all the answers, but I don’t.”

Sam shakes his head and continues packing his bag, jeans and shirts and hoodies and socks, everything he needed perfectly folded and arranged to take up the least amount of space possible. Then it’s his wallet, his chunky laptop, chargers, phone-- everything he can while still “packing light”. The essentials.

“You’re a professional.”

“It’s a skill. Picked it up from my childhood.” Sam zips up the duffle and slings it over his shoulder. “You ready?”

Gabriel snaps again, the room emptying itself in a second. “We’re erased from the lease, too, so don’t worry about getting in legal trouble over this.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Oh, Sammoose, you’d be surprised.” Gabriel gives him a quick grin, then takes Sam’s hand and leads him through the apartment that had once been their home, now stripped of any evidence of their existence. It looked ready to sell.

Dean’s parked right outside of the apartment, lights off and Metallica playing on the tape deck. He turns the lights on and rolls down the window when they come through the door.

“What the hell are you doing with my brother?!” Dean yells through the open window.

“Dean,” Sam says, quietly. “Dean, we--”

“No, I’m talkin’ to your piece’a shit boyfriend. You didn’t expect me to believe he’s an actual angel, right?” Dean’s eyes flash with fear. “You’re not in cahoots with him, are you? Makin’ some sorta deal with the devil?”

“He’s not like that, Dean,” Sam says. He opens the back door and throws his bag in. “He was attacked, okay? And he’s an angel.”

“What, and that’s why he’s got some sorta unnatural ghostly-powers shit? Forgive me, but I’m not buyin’ that crap, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” Sam jumps in the passenger’s seat and looks over his shoulder, watching Gabriel slide into the backseat next to their bags. “And I promise I’ll tell you everything after we leave.”

“Well, tough luck, ‘cuz I’m not leavin’ here til I get some goddamn answers.” Dean crosses his arms and glares at his brother and his brother’s ridiculous boyfriend. “Spill, Sam. What the hell’ve you been gettin’ up to?”

Sam looks into Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel sighs and conjures up a sucker. “Okay. You got me. I’m an archangel.”

“You think I’m gonna believe this bullshit? First Sam, and now you? Now, I’ll let Sam get away with stupid shit, ‘cuz he’s my brother, but not you.” Dean asks. “C’mon, man. There’s no way in hell you believe this guy, right?” Dean asks Sam.

“Dean, I’ve lived with him for four years,” Sam says. “I know him. And I know that this isn’t a joke.”

“You want me to believe you’re datin’ the archangel Gabriel? Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

“Well, hello, Your Majesty, because you’ll never guess what I am.” Gabriel snaps his fingers and shuts off the Impala. “Boom. Angel.”

“What the hell?!”

“Listen, Dean, Gabriel-- he’s here to help us. And I trust him.”

Dean squints at Sam, restarting the car. “I can’t believe you, man. You’re datin’ some dude who claims he’s an archangel? I mean, that’s pretty damn crazy. I thought runnin’ off to college was your rebellious phase, but you-- you’re tryin’ to win the crazy Olympics.”

“Crazy doesn’t even begin to cut it, Dean-O. And your taste in music’s shit.” Gabriel snaps again, the classic rock switching to some pop tune Gabriel likes and Dean abhors. “Nothin’ like a little Fergie to lighten the mood, huh?”

“If he’s gonna travel with us, then he’s gotta respect the damn rules,” Dean says, reaching over to sort through his tape collection. He pulls out one and slides it into the tape deck, the sounds of classic rock at home once more in the speakers.

“I don’t control him.” Sam leans back with a smirk. “Gabriel’s his own person.”

Gabriel scoots to the end of the booth seat, leaning forward to kiss Sam. Sam allows him.

Dean groans. “Really, man? Sucking face in my car?”

“Maybe, Dean, you can suck face with your boyfriend in the car, if you ever get one,” Sam says, almost gloating. Why wouldn’t he want to show off the Archangel Gabriel, his boyfriend, to the world?

“Man, can’t he just stay at home or somethin’? We don’t gotta take him with us.”

Sam sighs. “That’s the thing. Dad’s still missing, and…”

“And?” Dean asks.

“And something tried killing Gabriel.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know I was gonna be on a list when I thought ‘bout killin’ him.”

Sam takes in a breath, looking out the window. “No, Dean. It’s not like that.”

“Then damn, what’s it like? You’re killin’ me with the anticipation.”

“It was a demon,” Gabriel pipes up from the back, voice serious.

“Of course it was.” Dean lets his hands settle on the steering wheel. “So, anythin’ else I gotta know? Anythin’ else from crazytown, or is the visit over? ‘Cuz I don’t think I’ve had enough crazy tonight.” He turns up the volume on the radio. “Do you two have a secret love child or somethin’? Or maybe there’s, like, a couple ghosts livin’ in your apartment, or a black dog that, uh, likes to prowl the neighborhood at night.”

“The thing that tried killing Gabriel? It was the thing that killed mom,” Sam says.

Dean stops breathing. “You’re tellin’ me this bastard’s back and killin’ people? After, what, twenty-somethin’ years? Why?”

Sam looks to Gabriel in the backseat. Gabriel lays his hand on the back of Sam’s seat, Sam resting his over it. “We think…”

“We think it has a thing for ol’ Samscraper here.” Gabriel crunches down on the pink sphere of his sucker, breaking it in half. “Yellow-eyes has something against your family. And I think he won’t stop til he gets whatever he wants from him. No matter who he has to kill.”

Dean looks at Gabriel through the rearview and shakes his head. “He might be a pain in my ass, but damn, Sammy, you know how to find the smart ones.”

“If I wasn’t rawing your brother, I’d take you on the date of your life, Dean-O. But since Sammy here’s the real 2-for-1, and the best person I’ve dated maybe-ever, I think I picked the right brother.”

Dean fakes a gag. “I take back what I said,” he says to Sam. “An’ I really don’t wanna hear ‘bout what you and my brother get up to. It’s bad enough I gotta be in this car with the two’a you bein’ all lovey-dovey touchy-feely and whatnot, but I’m not listenin’ to you talk ‘bout deflowerin’ my brother.” Dean glares at Gabriel through the rearview.

Gabriel winks at him. “Well, I like it loud, do you better start getting used to it.”

Dean puts the car into drive and turns up the music. “So, we gotta start huntin’ down whatever killed mom?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “But first… first we need to find dad.”

“35-111,” Dean says. He drives away from the apartment.

“We got work to do, don’t we?” Gabriel asks with a shit-eating grin.

Chapter Text

Sam knocks on the door to Jess’ apartment, Gabriel holding his hand, Dean huffing behind them.

Jess answers the door in a cropped Smurfs shirt and sweatpants, hair pulled back. She’d probably been studying, since she’s way too awake to have just been woken up. Sam has half a mind to tease her about how she should be asleep at this hour, but... “Sam? Gabe? Who’s this? What’s… going on?”

Sam rubs the back of his neck. “This is my brother, Dean. Um, something happened. Can we come in?” He gives her an apologetic look.

Jess looks from Sam and Gabriel to Dean, considering the situation for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, come in.” She moves aside to allow them in.

Her apartment is delightfully homey, in that way that college apartments can sometimes be. Delightfully lived-in, covered in pictures of her friends printed in Walgreens from cheap disposable cameras and finds from secondhand stores to make it feel more like a home than just a student's apartment.

“Hi,” Dean says, with a smile. He’s far too happy for someone who never wanted to go over and talk to Sam’s friends in the first place. “You know, I love the Smurfs.”

“So this is your brother?” Jess asks, looking at Dean almost judgmentally.

“Yeah. Dean, this is, uh, Jess.” Sam looks at Dean, giving him a don’t even try it look. Dean rolls his eyes, but has the decency not to say anything more. “Um, I asked Luis to come over. Sorry. I just-- something really big just happened.” Sam rubs the back of his neck again. Gabriel squeezes his hand.

“Oh God, did something--?” Jess looks at the two of them, trying to understand what must have happened that was important enough to warrant Sam Winchester coming to her door with an apologetic look. The last time this had happened, he’d apologized for disturbing her, then told her that he and Gabriel got into the biggest fight of their relationship. The time before that, it was because he thought he wasn’t good enough for Stanford; the time before that was on his brother’s birthday, when he’d explained to her that his family was dysfunctional, and then some.

“It was…” Sam looks at Gabriel. Gabriel just shakes his head. Jess’ heart drops.

Luis bursts through the door, in a Stanford hoodie and sweats as well. He was probably studying, too. Advancing his life. Sam cringes at that. “Damn, this better be good, if you called me in the middle of the night,” he says, almost boisterous, then stops when he sees Dean, forehead creasing with curiosity. “Who’s he?”

“I’d ask the same for you, man,” Dean says, irritable. He gives Luis a once-over, not unlike the one he gave Jess earlier. “You guys hang with my geek brother?”

“Luis. Hi,” Sam says. “This’s my brother Dean.” He looks at Luis and Jess, then rubs the back of his neck some more. “So, something happened, and, um, it’s pretty serious.”

“I’ve heard.” Jess crosses her arms, sitting on her couch. Luis takes a place next to her. “So tell us,” she says. She doesn’t sound annoyed, just concerned. All the possibilities play in her mind.

Sam breathes in. “My dad’s gone missing,” he begins.

“The dad that hasn’t talked to you in four years?” Jess asks.

Sam glances at Dean. “Yeah,” he says. He chooses his words carefully, trying not to reveal too much about himself. “He was on a hunting trip, and he’s been gone for a few weeks.”

“You don’t think he, like--?” Luis asks, conspiratorially. Luis has always had a penchant for drama.

“No. He wouldn’t-- no.” Sam tucks his hand in his hoodie pockets, the other still holding Gabriel’s tightly. “But… I went away for the weekend, to try finding him, and…” he sighs, looking at Gabriel.

“Something attacked me,” Gabriel says, taking that as a yes, and moment.

Jess’ forehead crinkles with thought. “Something?” she asks, bright as ever.

“It is Halloween,” Luis jokes, eyes comedically wide. “Maybe it was a ghost or demon or something.”

Sam takes in a breath. That’s an opening. “Yeah. Yeah, it was a demon.”

“Horns and all?” Luis asks, leaning back against the couch and stifling a smile like he’s convinced it’s a late-night Halloween joke, a couple days late. From Gabriel, it makes sense, but not from Sam. Maybe Gabriel’s rubbed off on him more than they thought.

“Listen,” Dean says, clipped and annoyed. He’d complained about having to drive over to see Sam’s friends, wanting to get on the road as soon as possible. You can say many, many things about Dean Winchester (and many people have), but you can’t really call him anything close to patient. “The world’s--”

“Let me tell them,” Sam interrupts. He keeps his voice soft and gentle, the way he does when he talks to kids. “You know all those things you were scared of when you were younger? Monsters in the closet? Werewolves? Vampires?” he asks. Sam takes in a breath, mostly to steady himself, because he doesn’t want to admit his past to his friends, scared they would abandon him because of it. “They’re real.”

Jess raises her eyebrows, then furrows them, forehead crinkling with concern. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes, I’m fine, it’s--”

“I told you they weren’t gonna get it,” Dean says. “Why bother? They’re--”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, conjuring up a wooden chair. “Sit and shut up,” he hisses.

Luis stares at Dean, then at Gabriel, then at Jess, eyes wide and horrified. “Tell me you just saw that, too,” he asks, voice full of panic.

Jess stares at Gabriel, blinking a couple times.

Gabriel spreads his shadowy wings out behind him, spreading on the plain-colored walls of Jess’ apartment. “You have no clue how much it sucks to hide everything for so long. Damn, even when I was Loki, I still got to conjure up things. Living as a mortal sucks.” He turns to Sam. “How do you do it?”

“Gabe, not the time,” he says.

“Sam,” Jess says, plain and flat, “what the hell is this?”

“Gabriel’s an angel,” Sam says, cringing at the absurdity. “Um--”

“Archangel, actually,” Gabriel corrects, flippant.

Luis shakes his head at them. “There’s no way this is real,” he says. “I must’ve fallen asleep watching Buffy again.”

“Quality show, but no,” Gabriel comments. “Hi. Welcome to the real world, kiddo.”

“What is happening here?” Jess asks, far too calm for everything she’s just witnessed. But that’s Jess.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Sam says, looking to Gabriel. “It’s just that… we didn’t think you’d believe us.”

“If angels are real-- which I’m not 100% agreeing to, by the way--, then does that mean that, like… everything’s real?” Luis asks. He looks at Dean, too, confused. “Like, the whole shebang? Demons and ghosts and all that?”

“More than you’ve ever imagined,” Sam says, voice having the same thinness as an old t-shirt.

Jess watches Sam carefully, reading him. “You’re serious,” she says, almost surprised.

“I wouldn’t lie about this,” Sam says.

“Wait, how do you know?” Luis asks Sam.

Sam sighs, looking at his brother. “Because Dean and I-- we grew up hunting these creatures.”

“Grew up hunting-- your dad,” Jess says, sitting up straighter. Everything’s just begun to make sense. Beyond dysfunctional, Sam had said. I was raised like a warrior. “Oh.”

"We’re worried about him," Sam says. "And-- the same thing that killed my mom tried killing Gabriel. That's what he's been hunting my entire life."

Jess and Luis look at each other.

"You're not just leaving are you?" Jess asks. “Your interview--”

"It'll just be for the semester. Just until we find my dad,” Sam promises.

Luis looks around the room, from Sam and Gabriel to Dean. "Is there, like, anything we can do?" It’s about the most serious Sam’s seen Luis ever look. This, and the first round of finals he’d known Luis, where Luis had gone 36 hours without sleeping and immediately collapsed after the last one finished.

"Not really," Sam says. "I just… thought you deserved to know. Because you're my friends."

"Sam, I'm flattered, but…" Jess gives him a specific, pointed look, one that speaks more than words could ever do.

"Sorry, Jess. We just gotta look for 'em, y'know? I mean, my family's been tryin' to find my daddy since… well, too far back for me to wanna count. I'm sure finding good ol' Johnny Winchester'll be a breeze compared to that shitshow." Gabriel folds the shadows of his wings behind his back once more.

“Are you sure about this?” Jess asks.

Sam looks at her. In another life, maybe, one where he’d never met Gabriel, he could imagine that they could have dated. Jess has always been a wonderful person, putting up with no shit, concerned about everyone’s well-being, always willing to celebrate the little victories with a kind word and small smile. “Yes,” he says.

“So… where are you going? Like, where next?” Luis asks.

Sam looks at Gabriel, then at Dean. “That’s… sort of--”

“Dad left us some coordinates,” Dean says, in his impatient let’s get a move-on tone. Sam sighs.

“I’ll email,” he promises Jess and Luis.

“And you’re sure you’ll be safe?” Jess asks, surprisingly maternal.

“Don’t worry so much about him. He’s got an angel.” Gabriel beams at Sam. Sam has the presence of mind to look a little bashful at that.

“Where do I get one of those?” Luis asks.

“Try the library, kiddo,” Gabriel says. He leans against Sam’s side.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You done with your Tupperware party yet? ‘Cuz we gotta get goin’ sometime in the next year.”

Sam glares at his brother.

Jess stands from the couch and gives Sam a hug. “I meant it,” she says. “Stay safe.” Then she hugs Gabriel, too. “Don’t let him die.”

“Trust me, that’s the priority,” Gabriel says.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, man,” Luis tells Sam with a grin.

Sam shakes his head and pulls Luis in for a hug, too. “Yeah, miss you too, man.” He claps Luis on the back.

Dean stands from the chair and makes his way over to the rest of the group.

Jess looks at him, gaze intense. There’s a sort of warning in her eyes. Luis cocks his head to the side a little at Dean.

“Jeez, you know how to make a guy feel real welcome,” Dean mutters. “Sammy, you ready?”

“It’s Sam,” Sam corrects.

“I’m takin’ that as a ‘yes’. C’mon.” Dean walks to the door, turning around when he’s at the door. “Thanks for lookin’ after my nerd brother.”

“You were too busy to,” Jess says, cutting.

Luis crosses his arms.

Sam smiles and shakes his head. “Take care.”

“We’ll stop by sometime. Show you the decapitated heads of our kills, Medusa-style.” Gabriel looks off into the distance. “Athena. What a lady.”

Luis opens his mouth, likely to ask all sorts of questions, but Sam gently leads Gabriel to the door and through it, shutting it behind him.

“So, we good, or do you have thirty more of your friends you’d like to spill our dirty family secret to?” Dean asks, irritated. He stalks over to the Impala.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad about this,” Sam argues back, sitting shotgun, though he considers getting in the back with Gabriel, just so he doesn’t have to deal with Dean. “Would you rather I drop off the face of the Earth and they file a missing person’s report?”

“You can’t just go around tellin’ people what we do for a living!”

“They’re my friends, Dean. They deserve to know.” Sam crosses his arm. “They’ve cared more about me in the last four years than you have.”

Dean glares at Sam, but says nothing, driving away from outside of Jess’ apartment. The drive from Stanford is stiflingly quiet, even with the radio playing loudly.

Chapter Text

Sam collapses into his bed, eyes closed, wondering where Gabriel is. Something hot drips onto his forehead. He touches it and opens his eyes, brow wrinkling in confusion.

There’s Gabriel, pinned against the ceiling, staring down at Sam, eyes wide and glossy like the dead.

“No!” Sam yells.

Gabriel bursts into flames, the heat nearly scorching Sam’s body from the intensity. Sam has to shield his face from the molten warmth pouring from Gabriel, acting more like water than fire.

“No! No!” Sam yells to the ceiling, horror coursing through his body, burning him like the flames that burn through Gabriel, that roast his angelic vessel the same way they roasted his mother.

Gabriel opens his mouth and shrieks in horror as he’s burnt alive. Howls of pain, ripping from his chest primally--

Sam snaps awake, arm hitting the window. He shakes his head, blinks, rubs his eyes. Then he whips around to look at Gabriel, check that he’s alive. There he is, obnoxiously pink DS in hand and the stick of a sucker sticking from his mouth, eyebrows raised. Dean looks over at Sam, concerned.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam glances at him, then back at Gabriel. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mutters, looking out the window at last. His eyes flick back to Gabriel’s reflection in the glass.

“No, you okay?” Dean continues.

“Nightmare?” Gabriel asks.

“Just-- it’s nothing.” Sam shrugs.

Gabriel reaches out to rest his hand on the back of Sam’s seat. “It didn’t happen,” he reassures Sam.

“Just what the hell do you know that I don’t?” Dean asks, irate at being left out of the loop.

“It’s nothing,” Sam repeats, bitchily. He looks at Gabriel over his shoulder.

Dean sighs, turning Foreigner down. “If I’m gonna be workin’ with the two’a you, I gotta know things, okay? You can’t just keep your secrets.”

“You sure ‘bout that, Dean-O? ‘Cuz I specifically remember you telling us that you don’t wanna hear about us--”

“Sam, if you don’t shut him up, I’m leavin’ his feathery ass on the side of the road, and he’s gonna have to walk to-- where’re we goin’?”

Sam shakes his head. “Blackwater Ridge.”

“I don’t walk. I fly, pretty boy,” Gabriel says, sliding the sucker from his mouth and holding the sphere of candy between his lips. He casts a glance at Sam, more concerned than sultry.

“He’s gonna have to fly his ass to Blackwater Ridge if he keeps this shit up,” Dean says. He glares at Gabriel in the rearview. “Now, spill. I gotta know ‘bout this shit.”

Sam grabs a map from the glovebox, unfurling it. Blackwater Ridge is marked clearly in red Sharpie, an X 35-111 bold against the greens and blues of the map. “It’s weird, man,” he says. “The coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge. There’s nothing there. It’s just woods.”

Dean sighs from his nose, annoyed at Sam dodging his questions.

“So the question is: why’s daddy sending us to the middle of nowhere?,” Gabriel says, pointing at nothing in particular with the end of his sucker.

“Bingo,” Sam says. He glances over his shoulder at Gabriel again, eyes flickering all over his face to take him in. The part of his brain still clouded by his nightmare doesn’t want to believe that Gabriel’s still alive; the logical part says he’s right here, idiot.

Dean drives past a sign on the side of the road. Welcome to LOST CREEK, it reads, in the block letters that road signs do. In smaller text, it says: COLORADO National Forest.

They end up at the Ranger Station at Lost Creek Trail.

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote,” Sam says, looking at a 3D map of the national forest, paying particular attention to the ridge labeled BLACKWATER RIDGE. Gabriel stands at his side, not paying as much attention to the map as he is to Sam. Dean, in typical Dean fashion, is dicking around, looking at the decorations.

“It’s cut off by these canyons here. Rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.” Sam points at the ridge, jabbing up from the rest of the map.

“Sharp eye,” Gabriel remarks fondly. “So, about your dream--”

“Can we… not? Not now?”

“Oh, sure,” Gabriel says. “We can just put it off ‘til later, when your brother forces it out of you. How long d’you think that’s gonna take?”

Sam sighs, avoiding Gabriel’s eyes by keeping his attention firmly on BLACKWATER RIDGE on the map. “That’s not important.”

“I think it’s pretty damn important.” Gabriel shrugs. “But what do I know? It’s not like I’m some sort of divine creature or something.” He elbows Sam’s side, not quite able to get his ribs without stretching at a weird angle.

“It doesn’t--”

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear,” Dean says.

Sam looks over at Dean, who’s pointing at a framed photo of a man standing behind a frankly ginormous bear. Sam comes to stand next to Dean, leaving Gabriel to stray behind him.

“A dozen or more grizzlies in the area,” Sam continues, as if nothing had just happened between him and Gabriel. “It’s no nature hike, that’s for sure.”

A Forest Ranger walks quietly behind them, making no noise. “You boys aren’t planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” he asks. Sam and Dean whip around to face him, startled. Gabriel smirks at them.

“Oh, no, sir, we’re environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.” He laughs a little, the sound tinged with half-fake, half-real nerves. Gabriel crosses his arms and watches him.

“Recycle, man.” Dean raises his fist with a little smile.

The Ranger squints at them. “Bull,” he says, boldly.

Sam’s eyes flick to Dean. Dean doesn’t move. Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“You’re friends with that Haley girl, right?” the ranger continues, accusatory.

After a quick moment of consideration, Dean nods. “Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger--” he checks the ranger’s name tag-- “Wilkinson.”

Ranger Wilkinson appraises them. “Well, I will tell you exactly what we told her,” he says, irate. “Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn’t be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it’s not exactly a missing persons, now is it?” He pays particular attention to Dean as he speaks.

Dean shakes his head.

“You tell that girl to quit worrying. I’m sure her brother’s just fine,” Ranger Wilkinson dismisses.

“Well will,” Dean promises. “Well, that Haley girl’s quite a pistol, huh?” he asks.

Gabriel reaches out to twine his fingers with Sam’s, eyes still locked on Sam.

“That is putting it mildly,” Wilksinson agrees.

Dean considers for a moment. “Actually,” he begins, “you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit.” He does a little shrug. “You know, so she could see her brother’s return date.” Dean tries looking sincere. He raises his eyebrows under Wilkinson’s judgemental gaze.

They leave the ranger station, Dean holding a piece of paper and laughing. Gabriel swings his and Sam’s hands where they’re connected as they walk.

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks, a little more irate than usual from exhaustion.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for?” Sam asks. “Let’s just go find Dad. Go find yellow eyes. I mean, why even talk to this girl?”

They stop at the sides of the Impala. Dean gives Sam a particularly bitchy look. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe we should know what we’re walking into before we actually walk into it?”

There’s a pause, the tension hanging between Sam and Dean. Gabriel looks between the two of them. He squeezes Sam’s hand.

“What?” Sam asks, to both of them.

“Since when are you all shoot first, ask questions later, anyway?” Dean asks.

“Don’t be a dick,” Gabriel says.

Sam turns away, letting go of Gabriel’s hand and ducking into the car. He leaves Gabriel and Dean to look at each other blankly.

“Really?” Dean asks.

Gabriel shrugs.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?”

“That ain’t mine to tell, Dean, and you know it,” Gabriel says. “He’ll tell you when he’s ready.” With the sound of wings fluttering, he’s in the backseat of the Impala, talking quietly to Sam.

Dean shakes his head at them and goes around the car.

-

They stand at the door to the house that belongs to Haley Collins, the sister of Tommy, the kid that’s gone missing. Gabriel stands too close to Sam, not holding his hand for the sake of professionalism. The door opens to reveal a tired-looking woman, Haley, through the screen door. She looks a little annoyed at the interruption.

“You must be Haley Collins,” Dean says. “I’m Dean, this’s Sam, and that’s Gabriel. We’re, ah, rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley hesitates, refusing to open the screen door separating them. “Lemme see some ID,” she says, skeptical.

Dean pulls out a fake ID for Samuel Cole and holds it against the screen, Dean’s picture stamped onto the side. Haley inspects the ID, then looks at Dean, who smiles. She opens the door, still a little cautiously.

“Come on in,” she says. As the door opens, she glances at the Impala, raising her eyebrows. “That yours?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, proudly.

“Nice car.” Haley turns to lead them into the kitchen. Dean looks at Haley, eyebrows raised, then looks to Sam, mouthing out babe. Sam rolls his eyes.

In the kitchen, there’s a teenage boy at the table working on a laptop. Haley goes over to mess with something on the stove.

“So if Tommy’s not due back for a while, how do you know something’s wrong?” Sam asks.

Haley takes a pot off the stove, walking over to the table with it before placing it down. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos-- we haven’t heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get cell reception,” Sam suggests.

“He’s got a satellite phone, too,” Haley says.

“Could it be he’s just havin’ fun and forgot to check in?” Dean suggests, paying more attention to Haley than the conversation.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Ben says, defiant. He looks away when Dean eyes him.

Haley puts more food on the table, a couple of pots of nice-smelling, homemade food. “Our parents are gone,” she says. “It’s just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

Gabriel swallows and nods. Sam lightly nudges his side. Gabriel shrugs at him.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.” Haley picks up her laptop and pulls up some pictures of a young man in a puka shell choker, the poor lighting making his face fuzzy. “That’s Tommy,” she explains, clicking twice to show them more pictures of Tommy camping in Blackwater Ridge. Then she pulls up the still frame opening the latest video.

Tommy, sitting inside a canvas tent, grins at the camera. “Hey Haley. Day six, we’re still out near Blackwater Ridge. We’re fine, keeping safe, so don’t worry, okay?” He smiles reassuringly. “Talk to you tomorrow,” he promises. Behind him, a humanlike shadow flicks back for one frame, maybe two.

Dean clears his throat. “Well, we’ll find your brother,” he promises. “We’re headin’ out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you there,” Haley says. “Look, I can’t sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I’m heading out in the morning, and I’m gonna find Tommy myself.” Her voice holds determination.

“I think I know how you feel,” Dean says.

“We’ll find your brother,” Gabriel promises, not a trace of humor in his voice.

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks.

“Sure,” Haley replies. It’s not clear who she’s agreeing to.

-

In the same fashion as always, they all find themselves in a bar. There’s always an empty table, always a bartender willing to fill beers, always a game of pool to hustle.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn’t get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” He opens John’s journal, flipping through it with one hand, and rubs Gabriel’s knuckles with his thumb on the other hand.

“Any before that?” Dean asks.

Gabriel snaps up some newspaper articles to show Dean. Sam’s eyes hold admiration when he looks at Gabriel.

“Earth to Sammy,” Dean says.

Sam shakes his head. “Uh. In 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.”

The Lost Creek Gazette’s headline boldly reads GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS!. Beneath that, the subheading continues: UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA. HIKERS DISAPPEARANCE BAFFLES AUTHORITIES. The text reads: Families continue search and rescue efforts in spite of disappointing--.

Sam pulls out his laptop, as sleek as he could get on a college student’s budget. “And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” He opens the laptop, a window already open to Tommy’s video. “Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here’s a clincher,” Sam says. “I downloaded that guy Tommy’s video to the laptop. Check this out.” He swivels the laptop to show the video to Dean, going through three frames at a time, the weird shadow crossing the screen.

“Do it again,” Dean says.

Sam repeats the frames. “That’s three frames. That’s a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

“Not a human,” Gabriel says. “Daddy didn’t wanna make you guys that fast. I thought it woulda been hilarious. Guess that’s why He let me make the platypus.”

“You made the platypus?” Sam asks, intrigued.

Dean hits Sam’s arm. “Told you somethin’ weird was goin’ on.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, remembering that someone’s gone missing. He can ask about platypi later. He closes the laptop. “I got one more thing,” he says, sliding out another newspaper article from beneath the first one. “In ‘fifty-nine, one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

Dean looks at The Lost Creek Gazette. “Is there a name?” he asks.

-

That’s how they end up at Mr. Shaw’s house. The old man’s smoking a cigarette as he leads the men through his small house. “Look, ranger, I don’t know why you’re asking me about this. It’s public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a--”

“Grizzly? Is that what attacked them?” Sam asks, polite but direct.

Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it from his mouth, and nods.

“The other people that went missing that year-- those bear attacks, too?” At the pause hanging between them like Shaw’s cigarette smoke, Dean continues. “What about all the people that went missing this year?” Another pause, pungent with nicotine. “We knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it,” Dean says.

“I seriously doubt that.” Shaw sits at his table. “Anyways, I don’t see what difference it would make.” He takes another drag from his cigarette. “You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody ever did.”

Sam sits across from Shaw, his face open and inquizitive. Gabriel rests his hand on the back of Sam’s chair. “Mr. Shaw, what did you see?”

Shaw pauses at that, taking Sam in. “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well.” His voice held a sort of hushed terror, the scars from his childhood healed over but still present. “I heard, it, though,” he said, still quiet. “A roar. Like… no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?” Sam asks.

Shaw nods.

“Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin,” Shaw corrects. “I was sleepin’ in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn’t smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.” Shaw’s eyes are wide, still scared after all these years. And who wouldn’t be? “Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn’t even wake til I heard my parents screaming.” His eyes cloud over with the memories.

“It killed them?” Sam asks, rapt.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Shaw shakes his head. “Why it left me alive… I’ve been askin’ myself that ever since.” He pauses, the past overtaking him for a moment. His hands go to his collar. “Did leave me this, though,” he says, opening up his collar to reveal three long scars clawing down his torso, the only physical evidence of the encounter all those years ago. “There’s somethin’ evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon,” he says, convinced.

They don’t talk about it until they’re walking down the hallway of their motel.

“Spirits and demons don’t have to unlock doors,” Dean says. “If they want inside, they just go through the walls.”

“So it’s probably something else. Something corporeal.” Sam looks over to Gabriel, checking that his theory is correct.

“Hittin’ it right on the head, Sammich.”

“Corporeal?” Dean asks. “Excuse me, professor. Some’a us use normal words.”

“Shut up,” Sam says. “So what do you think?”

“The claws, the speed that it moves… could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we’re talkin’ ‘bout, we’re talkin’ ‘bout a creature, and it’s corporeal. Which means we can kill it,” Dean says.

-

In the parking lot, Dean fills up a duffel bag with the contents of the Impala’s gnarly weapons box, propped open with a shotgun in typical Dean Winchester fashion.

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there,” Sam says.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks. “What are we gonna tell her. That she can’t go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” His voice holds sarcasm as he slides guns into his duffel.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

Dean looks at Sam, squinting at him in disbelief. “Her brother’s missing, Sam. She’s not gonna sit this out,” he says, bitchily. “Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” He picks up the duffel bag, sufficiently happy with the amount of weapons within.

“Fuzzy,” Gabriel snorts.

“Finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam asks, slamming the weapons box shut, then the trunk. “Now we gotta babysit, too?”

Dean stares at Sam, almost disbelievingly, then looks to Gabriel as if Gabriel holds all the answers to his brother’s behavior. When Gabriel says nothing, he sighs.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Nothin’,” Dean replies, throwing the duffel bag at Sam and storming off. Sam stares after him, looking at Gabriel for answers.

-

The forest doesn’t look particularly foreboding in the daylight. It looks like a typical Colorado forest, full of pines and other evergreens. Maybe inviting, even, everything a welcoming green color. Bring out your family or romantic partner for a nice hike, maybe a picnic. That’s what Sam and Gabriel would be doing at Lost Creek Forest, if not for John and the supposed grizzly attacks.

The Impala pulls up to Haley, Ben, and some other guy, all in shorts and hiking boots, outfitted with full packs. Dean climbs out of the car and heads towards them. Gabriel and Sam retrieve the duffel bag from the backseat.

“You guys got room for two more?” Dean asks, almost friendly.

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley asks, disbelieving.

“Who are these guys?” the new guy asks, looking Dean up and down.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue,” Haley says, slightly venomous.

Sam and Gabriel head past everyone, Sam irritable and tired.

“You’re rangers?” the guy asks. He’s skeptical. Seems the type.

“That’s right,” Dean says, nearly proudly.

“And you’re hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley scoffs.

Dean looks down at himself, his typical clothing choice practical for hunting but not exactly fit for hiking. “Well, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts,” he says to her, heading past her.

“What, you think this is funny? It’s dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt,” the guy calls after Dean.

Sam turns back to watch them.

“Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.” Dean heads past Sam and Gabriel, a little petulant.

-

The group hikes through the forest, The guy, Roy, leading, Dean to his side, Haley and Ben behind them, and Sam and Gabriel bringing up the rear, quietly talking to each other.

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting,” Dean says, trying to keep it casual.

“Yeah, more than a little.” Roy has an air of haughtiness to him.

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, more than pissed off about Roy’s attitude. “What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear,” Roy responds.

Dean passes him. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?” Dean asks, like an asshole.

Roy grabs Dean.

“Whatcha doin’, Roy?” Dean’s irate at this.

Roy grabs a stick from the brush and pokes at the spot Dean nearly stepped on seconds before. A bear trap snaps closed around the stick. Haley looks annoyed.

“You should watch where you’re stepping. Ranger,” Roy warns, suspicious. He takes the head once more.

“It’s a bear trap,” Dean says, continuing to hike after Roy. Haley catches up to him.

“You didn’t pack any provisions,” she says, sharply and annoyed. “You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You’re not rangers,” she accuses. She grabs Dean’s arm and stops him. “So who the hell are you?”

Ben walks past them. Sam looks at Dean, who jerks his head forward in a go ahead that Sam obeys, continuing forth with Gabriel. Dean watches them go until he’s sure that they’re out of earshot.

“Sam and I are brothers, and we’re looking for our father. He might be here. We don’t know. I just figured that you and me-- we’re in the same boat,” Dean says.

“And Gabriel? Or is he the actual ranger?” Haley narrows her eyes at Dean, still disbelieving.

“He’s… Sam’s boyfriend.” Dean shoves his hands into his pockets. “And his dad’s kinda… gone AWOL, too. In a way. Not the greatest family situation, if you’re, uh, catchin’ my drift. We’re just lookin’ for ‘em, and… we understand what you’re goin’ through.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?” Haley sounds exasperated.

“I’m tellin’ you now,” Dean says. “‘Sides, it’s probably the most honest I’ve been with a woman.” He pauses, thinking it over. “Ever. So we okay?”

There’s a pause between them, the sound of the forest around them filling the space.

“Yeah, okay,” Haley says, a bit of skepticism still tinting her voice.

“And what do you mean I didn’t pack provisions?” Dean asks, pulling out a big, crumpled yellow bag of peanut M&Ms and taking out a handful as he hikes on. Haley waits a moment before she follows him, fighting off a nearly-fond smile at Dean’s antics.

After several hours of hiking, Roy announces that they’ve reached Blackwater Ridge.

“What coordinates are we at?” Sam asks.

Roy pulls out a GPS. “Thirty-five and minutes one-eleven.”

Dean comes up to Sam. The two of them listen to the forest around them, quietly.

“You hear that?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Not even crickets.”

“For a while,” Gabriel adds. “There’s something really wrong ‘bout this place, boys.”

“I’m gonna go take a look around,” Roy announces to the group.

“You shouldn’t go off by yourself,” Sam says, carefully.

“That’s sweet. Don’t worry about me.” Roy waves his gun at them, showing it off, and pushes between the three to retake the lead. Dean turns back to the others as Ben and Haley catch up to the group.

“Alright, everybody stays together,” Dean says. “Let’s go.”

They continue through the eerily-silent Blackwater Ridge, looking around near a large rock.

“Haley!” Roy yells from out of view. “Over here!”

Haley runs towards Roy’s voice, followed by the others, then stops. “Oh my God,” she breathes, horrified.

In front of them, the tents are torn open and covered in blood, the supplies scattered about the scene. It looks like a murder scene, like a tornado of knives has torn through the clearing, or like a grizzly walked through.

“Looks like a grizzly,” Roy observes.

Dean and Haley look around the bloody campsite.

“Tommy?” Haley asks, against hopes. She takes off her backpack and goes through the ruined campsite. “Tommy!” she yells, searching through the tatters.

Sam moves to catch up with her, Gabriel following him. “Shh,” he says.

“Tommy!”

Sam shushes her more harshly.

“Why?” Haley asks, horror filling her voice as she looks at the ruins.

“Something might still be out there,” Sam warns, quietly.

“Sam!” Dean calls from somewhere in the forest. Sam goes over to Dean, sticks snapping in his wake. Gabriel moves quietly, not making a single noise as he walks behind Sam. They crouch next to Dean. “The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here, the tracks just vanish. That’s weird.” He points at the ground, the line where the bodies were dragged in the dirt abruptly ending, as if they vanished.

They stand. “I’ll tell you what, that’s no skinwalker or black dog,” Dean says. He goes back to the campsite.

“What do you think it is?” Sam whispers to Gabriel.

“Something bad,” Gabriel says. “Something really bad. Look-- no tracks, right? Just the bodies. Which means…” Gabriel shakes his head. “Nothing good.”

“And her brother--?”

Gabriel breathes in. “I have a theory. Buck-ass wild.”

“I’m sure it’s not. You’re smart.” Sam kisses the top of Gabriel’s head, the soft hair brushing against his face.

“You flatter me,” Gabriel says. He leads Sam back to the campsite.

Haley’s crying as she picks up Tommy’s cellphone, bloody but still potentially operational. She turns it over to see the back is opened, a deliberate action. Dean crouches next to her.

“Hey, he could still be alive,” Dean suggests.

Haley gives him an intense, tearful glare. Dean inhales sharply.

A man screams for help from the forest, crying out for somebody as they run to his aid, trampling the underbrush and avoiding trees. But when they arrive at the source-- nothing.

Haley looks around, nearly in shock. “It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn’t it?” she asks, unsure that she heard what she had.

They go silent to listen to the nothingness around them. The silence is off-putting the same way that a barren highway is.

“Everyone back to camp,” Sam commands quietly. He reaches out for Gabriel’s hand.

The walk back to camp isn’t as rushed as the walk there, but far more foreboding without any screaming, the silence smothering like a woolen blanket. Back at the campsite, all their supplies were missing, as if they’d never been there in the first place.

“Our packs!” Haley exclaims.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone,” Roy mutters.

“What the hell is going on?” Haley asks Sam and Gabriel.

“It’s smart. It wants to cut us off so we can’t call for help.” Sam speaks quietly, nearly reverent of the creature hunting them down.

“You mean someone,” Roy corrects dismissively, more than fed up with Sam and Dean’s bullshit. “Some nut job out there just stole all our gear.”

Gabriel nudges Sam’s side. “We need to talk,” he says.

Sam walks up to Dean. “We need to speak with you. In private,” he whispers to Dean. They all walk off into the forest a little further from the rest of the group. “Good. Let me see Dad’s journal,” Sam says. Once Dean gives it to him, he hands it to Gabriel.

“You didn’t tell me he was gonna use it,” Dean mutters.

“Don’t worry. I know everything in this journal, and then some.” Gabriel flips through the journal until he finds the page he’s looking for, then shows it to Sam and Dean, a drawing of a figure prominently featured on the page.

“Oh, come on,” Dean protests. “Wendigos are in the Minnesota woods, or-- or northern Michigan. I’ve never even heard of one this far west.” He still doesn’t look away from the page.

“No, wait. Think about it, Dean,” Sam says. He looks at the page, reading some of the text. “The claws, the way it can mimic a human voice.” Sam wraps an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. Gabriel settles against the touch, against his side.

“Sometimes things don’t migrate when the world changes. Some things don’t want to move when it all heats up.” Gabriel rubs his thumb over Sam’s knuckles. “Some things aren’t as adaptable as me.”

“Great,” Dean mutters, taking out his pistol. “Well then, this is useless.”

Gabriel hands John’s journal to Sam, who then gives it back to Dean. They head past Dean, then stop for a moment. “We gotta get these people back to safety,” Sam says.

Once they return back to the campsite, Sam addresses the group, raising his voice for the first time that day. “Alright, listen up. It’s time to go. Things have gotten… more complicated.”

Haley looks at him like she doesn’t understand him. “What?”

“Kid, don’t worry,” Roy says, with the same amount of cocky bravado he’s possessed for their entire endeavor. “Whatever’s out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Sam says, irritation creeping into his quiet voice. “If you shoot this thing, you’re just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now.”

“One, you’re talking nonsense. Two, you’re in no position to give anybody orders,” Roy says.

“Don’t be an ass, Roy,” Gabriel says loudly, as he steps in front of Sam.

“Relax,” Dean says, in the same way you tell a dog heel.

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, alright? I’m trying to protect you.” Sam steps out from behind Gabriel and stands next to him instead.

Roy steps into Sam’s space, making himself a little taller than necessary in an attempt to intimidate him. “You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you goodnight,” he spits.

“Yeah?” Sam asks, allowing himself to get in Roy’s face right back. He always slouches, wanting to be less intimidating than being 6’4 forces him to be, but now, he pulls himself to a decent height and announciates his words. “It’s a damn near perfect hunter. It’s smarter than you, and it’s gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid, sorry ass out of here.” A bit of smugness creeps into Sam’s voice, alongside his irritation with the situation and Roy himself.

Roy laughs. “You know you’re crazy, right?”

“I’m gonna have to ask you not to talk to him like that,” Gabriel says, trying to wedge himself between Roy and Sam. Sam, standing at his full height, is far taller than Gabriel has any hopes to be, something we won’t admit to loving. “Don’t be an asshole, okay?”

“Your boyfriend isn’t gonna protect you,” Roy says. “And you sure as hell aren’t gonna protect me.”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen--”

Dean shoves Sam and glares at Gabriel. “Chill out.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna let some human asshole mess with my--”

“Roy!” Haley yells, pissed off at everyone. “Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I’m not leaving here without him.”

There’s a long pause, tension still in the air.

“It’s getting late,” Dean says. He fixes his jacket collar. “This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We’ll never beat it. Not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley asked, not a note of hopelessness in her voice. Instead, there’s determination.

Dean painstakingly draws symbols in the dirt around the campsite as the sky grows darker. Gabriel snaps his into existence. Sam starts a campfire as the darkness falls around them and walks off to the edge of camp.

Haley pokes at the fire. “One more time, that’s--?”

“Anasazi symbols,” Dean explains, finishing one up. “It’s for protection. The wendigo can’t cross over them.”

Roy laughs, a gun slung over his shoulder.

“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy,” Dean calls. He heads over to sit next to Sam and Gabriel at the edge of the campsite. They’re sitting on the ground, Gabriel leaning against Sam’s side, one hand laced with Sam’s, the other clasped around the other side. “You wanna tell me what’s going on in that freaky head of yours?” he asks Sam.

Sam avoids Dean’s eyes. “Dean--”

“No, you’re not fine. You’re like a powder keg, man. It’s not like you. I’m supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?” Dean tries to keep his voice lighthearted and a little jokey, but the topic drags it down.

“Dad’s not here,” Sam mumbles. “I mean, we know that much for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign... right?” He looks at Dean, desperate.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Tell you the truth, I don’t think Dad’s ever been to Lost Creek,” Dean admits.

“Then let’s get these people back to town and let’s hit the road. Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?” Sam asks.

“This is why.” Dean holds up John’s journal. “This book. This is Dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he’s passed it onto us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.” Dean’s using the rousing voice he does when he tries to convince Sam to do something he doesn’t want to, like go to the dentist as a child or accept that they have to move again. In another life, Dean could’ve been a public speaker. In another life, Sam could’ve lived with Gabriel happily, without having to fight monsters.

Sam shakes his head. “That makes no sense. Why doesn’t he just-- call us? Why doesn’t he-- tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?”

“I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad’s givin’ us a job to do, and I intend to do it.” Dean taps the front of John’s journal before putting it back into his pocket.

Sam looks down at the hand Gabriel’s holding. “Dean… no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find the son of a bitch that tried killing Gabe. It’s the only thing I can think about.”

Dean sighs. “Okay, alright, Sam. We’ll find them. I promise.” He touches Sam’s shoulder. “Listen to me. You’ve gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger-- you can’t keep it burning over the long haul. It’s gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man.”

Sam looks down, then back up at Dean. “How do you do it? How does Dad do it?”

Dean looks over at Haley and Ben, talking quietly amongst themselves. “Well, for one, them.” He watches them for a second. “I mean, I figure our family’s so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.”

“You know,” Gabriel says, speaking up for the first time since Dean has sat on the ground with them. “I don’t wanna tell you guys a sob story ‘bout my family and all, but… my daddy’s been deadbeat since a little after he put the whole divine plan into action. Some of my siblings have been chasing after him ever since he left.”

“God, Sammy, you found a real gem, didn’t you?”

“Daddy issues attract daddy issues,” Gabriel says, wisely.

Dean shakes his head. “I’ll tell you what else helps,” he continues. “Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can.”

That makes Sam’s mouth quirk into a smile.

In the distance, a twig snaps. “Help me! Please!” a man yells from the forest. “Help!”

Dean stands and readies his gun, just in case he needs to use it. Sam mirrors him, shining his flashlight. Gabriel stands behind them.

“You know you’re not gonna find anything,” he mutters.

“He’s trying to draw us out. Just stay cool. Stay put,” Dean commands. He steadies his gun.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy mocks.

“Help! Help me!” the man screams, followed by a horrible, inhuman growl.

Roy points his gun at the sound. “Okay, that’s no grizzly.”

“It’s okay,” Haley says to Ben, who’s gone pale and horrified, breathing ragged. “You’ll be alright, I promise.”

Something rushes past, the wind making more sound than the sticks on the ground or the underbrush. Haley shrieks.

“It’s here,” Sam announces, grimly.

Roy shoots at the rustling, what might be the loudest sound in the world, then again, splitting the quiet into a million pieces. “I hit it!” he announces, stepping over the symbols to see what he hit.

“Roy, no! Roy!” Dean calls after him. He turns to Haley and Ben. Haley’s already holding a burning stick, torch-style, as a weapon. “Don’t move,” Dean instructs. Dean and Sam run after Roy.

“Dad dammit, Sam!” Gabriel yells, disappearing with the rustle of wings.

“It’s over here!” Roy calls out. “It’s in the tree!”

Before anyone can save him, the Wendigo reaches from the tree and snaps Roy’s neck with a single, swift motion.

“Roy!” Dean yells.

-

In the relative safety of the daytime, Sam sits with his back against a hollow tree stump, Gabriel by his side. They pour over John’s journal, Sam playing with a lanyard used as a bookmark. Dean’s with Haley and Ben among the tents.

“I don’t… I mean, these types of things-- they aren’t supposed to be real,” Haley says, disbelieving.

“I wish I could tell you different,” Dean says with the resignation of someone who genuinely wishes that they could tell her differently.

“How do we know it’s not out there watching us?” Haley looks around the forest, cautious and scared.

“We don’t,” Dean says. “But we’re safe. For now.”

“How do you know about this stuff?”

Dean considers telling her a lie for a moment, looking off into the forest. “Kinda runs in the family,” he says, which is the truth.

Sam comes over, Gabriel by his side. Sam looks exhausted and a little frazzled. “Hey,” he says. Haley stands. “So, we’ve got half a chance in the daylight. And I, for one, want to kill this evil son of a bitch.”

“Well, hell, you know I’m in,” Dean says.

Sam shows the wendigo page of the journal to Haley and Ben, speaking in quiet, tired tones. “‘Wendigo’ is a Cree word. It means evil that devours.”

“They’re hundreds of years old. Each one was one a man. Sometimes a native, other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.”

“How’s a man turn into one of those things?” Haley asks.

Dean digs through his duffel bag, picking up a can of lighter fluid, a bottle of beer, and a piece of white cloth, tucking what he can in his jacket pockets. “Well, it’s always the same. During some harsh winter, a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.”

Gabriel flinches sympathetically.

“Like the Donner Party,” Ben comments, in his quiet voice.

“Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality…” Sam looks at the page.

“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this-- less than human thing. You’re always hungry.”

Haley processes all this and swallows. “So if that’s true, how can Tommy still be alive?”

Dean glances at Sam, then back at Haley.

“Tell me,” Haley commands, voice shaky.

“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it’s awake, it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother’s alive, it’s keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.”

“Okay,” Haley says, still almost a little disbelieving. “Just-- what is he?” Haley gestures to Gabriel.

Gabriel gives her a casual wave. “Hi. The archangel Gabriel,” he says.

Haley blinks at him, then shakes her head. “This-- wendigo, I mean, I can believe that, but you’re the archangel Gabriel?”

“Trust ‘im on that,” Dean says.

Gabriel snaps his fingers, summoning a sucker, and shrugs. “Dunno. You tell me.”

“This is--” Haley shakes her head again. “The wendigo-- how do we stop it?”

“Well, guns are useless,” Dean says. “So are knives. Basically--” he holds up the objects he’d taken from his duffel bag, the can of lighter fluid, beer bottle, and white cloth-- “we gotta torch the sucker.” He grins.

-

As the group treks through the woods, they travel past trees with claw marks and blood marked on them, almost cartoonishly clearly. Sam calls Dean up to where he and Gabriel lead the group. They look at the trees, at the bloody claw marks, broken branches, and other signs of the wendigo in the woods.

“You know, I was thinking. Those claw prints, so clear and distinct.” He touches one of the trees. “They were almost too easy to follow.”

The wendigo growls its uncanny growl, rumbling and rustling the trees around them with its intensity. Haley stands under a tree, looking around for a sign of the wendigo. Blood drips down onto her shirt. When she notices and looks up, she leaps out of the way just in time. Roy’s corpse lands in the space she’d just vacated, bloodied and mangled.

Dean moves over to examine Roy while Sam goes over to Haley.

“You okay? You got it?” Sam asks her. She nods, a little hysterical and still on the ground.

“His neck’s broke,” Dean announces.

Sam helps Haley off the ground. The growling continues, intensifies.

“Okay. Run, run, run, run! Go, go, go!” Dean yells. Everyone takes off, running from the wendigo and its terrible growls. Ben falls. Sam and Gabriel hurry back to help him up, cleaving the group into two parts.

“Come on. I gotcha, I gotcha,” he says, allowing the boy to lean against his side while he adjusts to standing up.

Dean and Haley stop, the wendigo standing in front of them. Haley’s screams pierce the air.

“Haley?!” Ben asks, pulling away from Sam’s side.

Sam runs over to where Dean and Haley once were, picking up Dean’s Molotov cocktail, bottle shattered. “Dean!”

-

“If it keeps its victims alive, why would it kill Roy?” Ben asks, shaking just a bit.

“Honestly? I think because Roy shot at it, pissed it off,” Sam responds.

“If someone shot at me, I would probably smite that bastard, too.” Gabriel snaps up another sucker.

“Not now,” Sam says.

Ben walks around, kicking through the underbrush, when he finds something brightly-colored that doesn’t belong. He bends down, picking one up. It’s a peanut M&M.

“They went this way,” Ben announces.

Sam catches up to Ben, who presses the M&M into his palm. Sam laughs. “It’s better than bread crumbs,” he says, tossing it behind him.

The trail of M&Ms is surprisingly easy to follow, almost unnaturally clear. Gabriel makes a couple comments about wasting candy that Sam gives him a particular brand of bitch face for saying. They come to a mine entrance marked with a beat-up sign that says WARNING! DANGER! DO NOT ENTIRE EXTREMELY TOXIC MATERIAL. Sam looks at Ben and Gabriel, shrugs, and goes inside. Gabriel and Ben follow. Above the entrance is a larger, more distressed, and more ominous sign that reads KEEP OUT NO ADMITTANCE.

In the darkness of the mine, Sam shines his flashlight ahead of them. Growling rumbles through the mineshaft. Sam shuts off the flashlight and pulls Ben against the wall with one arm and Gabriel with the other. The wendigo comes towards them. Ben’s breathing gets harsher, then he inhales sharply. Sam lets go of Gabriel to cover Ben’s mouth before he can scream. The wendigo takes a different tunnel. After breathing a sigh of relief, they continue on. The floorboards creak, and Sam and Ben fall through the floor, landing in a pile of bones. Ben sees a pile of skulls and leaps backward.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Sam’s voice is soft and gentle. He grabs Ben and holds him close.

With the soft sound of feathers and wings, Gabriel appears next to them. Sam gives him a little glare.

“Hate to interrupt your Halloween-inspired porno, but I think there’s something important here,” Gabriel says.

Sam and Ben look up to see Dean and Haley hanging by their wrists from the ceiling, in ropes. Their faces are battered and bloodied, grimy from the time spent in the mine waiting to be devoured.

Sam runs to his brother. “Dean!” he calls.

Ben goes to his sister. “Haley!”

“Jeez, thanks Gabe, we can always count on your awesome observational skills,” Gabriel mutters to himself in a voice as he meanders over to Sam. “Wow, you’re so welcome. I really am a great angel, aren’t I?”

Sam grabs Dean and shakes him hard. “Dean!” When Dean opens his eyes, Sam tries to check him for a concussion in the dim light. “Hey, you okay?”

Dean winces. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Haley. Haley, wake up! Wake up!” Ben begs.

Sam starts cutting Dean down. When he’s done, he hands the knife to Ben, letting him do the same. Sam helps them both down onto the ground. Dean winces and makes pained noises.

“You sure you’re alright?” Sam asks.

Dean grimances. “Yeah. Yep. Where is he?”

“He’s gone, for now,” Sam says.

Haley stands up and spots Tommy still hanging by his wrists, looking dead. She begins crying, reaching out to touch her brother’s bloodied, grimy cheek, jumping back with a shriek when Tommy’s head jerks up. “Cut him down!” she yells at Sam.

Gabriel snaps, and the ropes supporting Tommy disappear. Haley struggles to hold up her brother, a grown man, and Ben has to help her support their brother. “We’re gonna get you home,” Haley reassures Tommy.

In the corner, the stolen supplies are arranged in a pile. Dean limps his way over to them and picks up flare guns. “Check it out,” he says.

“Flare guns. Those’ll work.” Sam grins.

Dean laughs and twirls the guns.

“Ooh, how Clint Eastwood of you,” Gabriel comments.

They head down a tunnel, the three of them in the lead with their flare guns and Haley and Ben supporting a limping Tommy.

The growling echoes through the confines of the mine shaft.

“Looks like someone’s home for supper,” Dean says.

“We’ll never outrun it,” Haley says, still wincing in pain with her steps.

Dean looks back at the others. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam replies.

“Alright, listen to me,” Dean instructs the rest of the group. “Stay with Sam. He’s gonna get you out of here. Gabe-- do whatever the hell it is that angels do.”

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asks, exhausted and concerned.

Dean winks and starts walking, yelling all the time. “Chow time, you freaking bastard! Yeah, that’s right! Bring it on, baby! I taste good!” His taunts echo off the mine walls, getting more indistinct as he charges through the mine. “Hey, you want some white meat, bitch! I’m right here!”

Sam waits until Dean is a safe distance away. “Alright, come on! Hurry!” he urges the Collinses, leading them to safety.

The growling follows them. Sam points the gun at it, then lowers it to turn to the Collinses.

“Get him outta here,” he tells Haley.

“Sam, no,” Haley begs, though she’s exhausted.

“Go! Go! Go!” Sam yells.

“Come on, Haley!” Ben urges, helping Haley drag Tommy along the mine tunnel, hobbling as a unit.

Sam holds the flare gun ready to shoot, looking down the tunnel with his back against the wall. Gabriel stands next to him, eyes closed, focusing.

“Come on,” Sam mutters. “Come on.”

More growling; louder growling. Sam turns to see the wendigo, pale and bone-thin, its atrociously-bent bones nearly jabbing out of its stretched skin, teeth jutting from its mouth. He shoots the flare gun. It misses. Then Gabriel wraps his arms around Sam and flies them over to the Collinses.

“Sam!” Haley yells. “Gabe!”

“Always Gabe second,” Gabriel mutters, running after Haley and her brothers.

“Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry,” Sam urges.

They run to the tunnel’s end, the Wendigo right behind them, growling and grotesque.

“Get behind me,” Sam tells the Collinses. He’s big enough to hide all three of them. Then short Gabriel stands in front of him, wings unfurled in dark shadows against the darkness.

The wendigo approaches, taking its time to close in. Gabriel’s eyes glow in a way that something that fears fire would find menacing.

“Hey!” Dean says, coming up behind the bent-over, disfigured shape of the wendigo. It turns to face Dean, who shoots a flare into its stomach. It goes off.

The wendigo catches fire like a dry forest, melting quickly like plastic and gooey like the inside of a marshmallow, bits of its flaming body splattering onto the mine tunnel’s grimy ground. It screams long, drawn-out shrieks of pain as it melts away.

Dean steps around the puddle of melted wendigo flesh. “Not bad, huh?”

Sam grins.

-

Gabriel flies them to the Ranger Station. Sam calls for an ambulance. Dean and the Collinses rest in the Impala until the ambulance gets there.

While the EMTs load up Tommy in the ambulance, two police officers interview Ben, with Sam and Gabriel standing behind him.

“And the bear came back again after you yelled at it?” the officer asks, writing down details on his notepad.

“That’s when it circled the campsite,” Ben says, a good storyteller. “I mean, this grizzly must have weighed eight hundred, nine hundred pounds.” He gestures with his hands, though on a much smaller scale than in reality, the sheer size of this alleged bear.

Sam nods along. Gabriel hums in agreement.

“Alright, we’ll go after it first thing,” the officer says.

Haley and Dean, both of whom have been decently patched up, bandages and ointments and EMTs going some bear, huh?, talk off to the side, illuminated by the red-and-blue flashing lights.

“So I don’t know how to thank you,” Haley says.

Dean smirks lasciviously. Haley smiles despite herself.

“Must you cheapen the moment?” Haley asks.

Dean pauses to consider it. “Yeah,” he says.

A paramedic comes up to Haley. “You riding with your brother?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Haley agrees.

The paramedic heads back to the ambulance. Haley turns to Ben. “Let’s go,” she says.

Sam and Ben nod at each other, the bond that only people who have been through a lot in a couple nights can possess. Haley kisses Dean on the cheek.

“I hope you find your father,” Haley says, before she and Ben head for the ambulance holding Tommy. “Thanks, Gabe, Sam,” she says, to the taller brother and his boyfriend. She and Ben climb into the ambulance with Tommy, shirtless and bandaged up in the gurney.

Sam and Gabriel join Dean on the Impala’s hood.

“Close her up,” another paramedic says. A third closes the ambulance doors.

“Man, I hate camping,” Dean mutters.

“Me, too,” Sam says.

“What, you can’t appreciate the wonderful world my dad made?” Gabriel asks, leaning against Sam’s side.

“God.” Sam pushes Gabriel a little. Gabriel chuckles and gets even closer to him.

The shrill yell of sirens sound as the ambulance drives away.

“Sam, you know we’re gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says. “But in the meantime? I’m driving.”

Dean tosses Sam the keys. “Hope you’re not gonna make me sit in the back,” he says.

Sam looks to Gabriel.

“I need the space to stretch out, Deanie. Untwist your poor panties.”

They get in the car, slamming the doors almost in sync. Sam turns the key in the ignition, Rush playing as he starts the car and drives off.

Chapter Text

They’re sitting in some Lynnwood Inn, a mostly-empty plate of diner food and a folded-out newspaper in front of Dean. Gabriel’s halfway through his second plate of pancakes and whipped cream, Sam watching him with admiration.

Dean circles an obituary for Carlton, Sophie. The Carlton family is sad to announce the death of their beloved daughter in a tragic swimming accident. Sophie Carlton, 18--.

Wendy, their attractive, in her strappy shirt that shows ample amounts of her cleavage, stops by the table. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks, leaning over the table. Dean looks up and grins around the pen he’s chewing on.

“Just the check, please,” Sam says, flatly.

“Okay,” Wendy says, sounding a little annoyed. She walks away.

Dean drops his head to look at the obituaries, then glares at Sam. “You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while.” He points to Wendy and checks her out as she’s walking away, appreciating her short-shorts almost as much as he appreciated her low-cut shirt. “That’s fun. Not all of us have a travel-sized boyfriend we can just carry ‘round wherever we go.”

Gabriel looks up from where he’s inhaling his pancakes. “Why, you jealous?”

“Bite me, Snickers.” Dean hands the newspaper to Sam. “Here, take a look at this. I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn’t walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago.”

“A funeral?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, it’s weird. They buried an empty coffin,” Dean says. “For, uh, closure or whatever.” He shrugs.

“Closure? What closure?” Sam asks. “People don’t just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for ‘em.”

Gabriel wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, watching Sam with his wide, honeyed eyes.

Dean taps his pen against the table, clicking it. “Somethin’ you want to say to me, Sammy?”

“The trail for Dad. It’s getting colder every day.” Sam crosses his arms.

“Exactly,” Dean says, equally as pissed. “So what are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admits. “Something. Anything.”

Dean glares at his brother. “You know what? I’m sick of this attitude. You don’t think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?”

“Yeah, I know you do, it’s just--”

“I’m the one that’s been with him every single day for the past two years, while you’ve been off to college goin’ to pep rallies and screwin’ angels. We’ll find Dad, but until then, we’re gonna kill everythin’ bad between here and there. Okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes. Wendy walks by, pretty and blonde, and distracts Dean, lost in her figure.

“Sam, finding your daddy can take… a while. You know that, right?” Gabriel asks.

Sam taps his fingers on the table. “It’s taking too long,” he mutters.

“It’s been millennia, and my siblings still haven’t found mine.”

“Alright, Lake Manitoc. Hey!” Sam says to Dean, catching his attention.

Dean turns his attention to Sam, looking away from Wendy as she disappears behind a wall. “Huh?”

“How far?” Sam asks.

-

With Ratt playing over the speakers, Dean drives the Impala into Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, and pulls up to a nice, well-kept house that whispers of casual affluence. Dean cuts the engine and walks up to knock on the bright red door before Sam and Gabriel snap out of the Impala. Will Carlton, a young man in a brown shirt, opens up the door.

“Will Carlton?” Dean asks, his professional facade on.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Will says, sounding almost unsure of his own answer, as if he wasn’t quite sure if his name is still the same.

“I’m Agent Ford. These are Agents Hamill and Fisher.” Dean gestures to Sam and Gabriel behind him. “We’re with the US Wildlife Service.” He holds up an ID.

Will brings the group to the lake, picturesque and far too serene, for what had happened so recently in its waters. His father, an older man, sits on a bench on the dock, staring out into the water blankly. They stand by the shore, not close enough to touch the water.

“She was about a hundred yards out,” Will says, staring out at the lake with a glazed-over look. “That’s where she got dragged down,” he explains, pain on his face.

“And you’re sure she didn’t just drown?”

“Yeah,” Will says. “She was a varsity swimmer.” He still stares out at the lake, as though he can’t believe it. “She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub.”

“So no splashing? No signs of distress?” Sam keeps his voice soft and gentle, just so he doesn’t push Will too hard.

“No, that’s what I’m telling you,” Will says, sounding like he’s the distressed one.

“Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?” Sam continues.

“Anything you’ve never seen before?” Gabriel adds, helpfully.

“No. Again, she was really far out there.” Will crosses his arms

“You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?” Dean asks.

“No, never.” Will finally tears his eyes from the lake to look at Dean, concerned. “Why, what do you think’s out there?” he asks, curiously.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we do,” Dean says, already beginning his walk back to the Impala.

“What about your father?” Sam asks, softly. “Can we talk to him?”

Dean stops walking back to the car and turns back.

Will looks at his father, hesitantly, then looks back at Sam and Gabriel. “Look, if you don’t mind, I mean… he didn’t see anything, and he’s kind of been through a lot.”

“We understand,” Sam says, politely. He looks to Gabriel, then walks off to the car with Dean.

-

“Now, I’m sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?” Sheriff Jake Devin asks, leading the group through the sleepy police station. The Sheriff himself looks equally as sleepy, the small-town life fitting him well.

“You sure it’s accidental? Will Carlton saw something grab his sister,” Sam argues, polite as ever.

“Like what?” Jake leads them into his office, motioning to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Here, sit, please. Though one of you is going to have to stand. Sorry.” He shakes his head a little. “There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake.” Gabriel nearly launches himself to sit in one of the chairs before Dean does, Sam sitting in the other. Dean glares at them. “There’s nothing-- There’s nothing even big enough to pull down a person, unless it was the Loch Ness Monster.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Yeah.” He laughs, for show. “Right.”

Gabriel smiles. “Imagine that, hm? Loch Ness Monster? Here?”

“Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks,” Jake says, earnestly. “Still--” Jake sits down in his own chair. “We dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there,” he says, convincingly.

“That’s weird, though,” Dean argues, leaning forward. “I mean, that’s-- that’s the third missing body this year.”

“I know,” Jake says, sympathetically. “These are people from my town. These are people I care about.”

“I know,” Dean says, placatingly.

“Anyway,” Jake says with a sigh, leaning back in his seat. He looks tired. “All this… it won’t be a problem much longer.”

“What do you mean?” Dean questions.

Jake cocks his head to the side, just a little. “Well, the dam, of course.”

Sam, finger resting against his mouth, watches with interest. Gabriel, who’s just along for the ride, looks around the room.

“Of course, the dam,” Dean says, nodding along as if he understands. He spares a look to Sam and Gabriel in front of him. “It’s, uh, sprung a leak.”

“It’s falling apart,” Jake corrects, “and the feds won’t give us the grant to repair it, so they’ve opened the spillway.” He leans forward In another six months, there won’t be much of a lake.” Jake rests his arms on the desk in front of him. “There won’t be much of a town, either. But as Federal Wildlife, you already knew that.” He eyes the supposed agents in front of him.

“Exactly.” Dean acts as though he did.

A young woman, Andrea Barr, taps on the door as she walks in. She’s pretty, in an understated way: brown hair, soft face, faded pink skirt and white shirt. “Sorry, am I interrupting?” she asks.

Sam and Gabriel stand.

“I can come back later,” Andrea says.

“Gentleman, this is my daughter,” Jake introduces, standing as well.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dean.” He shakes her hand, subtly checking her out.

“Andrea Barr. Hi,” she says, shaking his hand.

“Hi.” Dean smiles at her, flirtatiously.

“They’re from the Wildlife Service. About the lake,” Jake explains, seriously.

“Oh,” Andrea responds.

A small boy walks around Andrea’s legs. He looks morose, a whisper of a boy, his brown hair long, as if he’s trying to cover his face.

“Oh, hey there,” Dean greets. “What’s your name?”

Lucas shrugs and walks away without speaking. Andrea looks at the men in her father’s office and follows Lucas out.

“His name is Lucas,” Jake says, soft and understated.

Lucas and Andrea settle into the main room of the station. Andrea gives Lucas some crayons from a Crayola box, a blank piece of paper laying out in front of him.

“Is he okay?” Sam, the compassionate man he is, asks.

“My grandson’s been through a lot.” He shakes his head, deeper meaning lying beneath his words. “We all have.” Jake stands and goes to the office door. “Well, if there’s anything else I can do for you, please let me know.”

They leave the office. Jake claps Sam on the back.

“Thanks,” Dean says. “You know, now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably-priced motel?” He asks Andrea, more as an excuse to speak to her than anything.

“Lakefront Motel,” Andrea says with a smile. “Go around the corner. It’s about two blocks south.”

Dean points in the general direction he thinks it might be, faking confusion. “Two-- would you mind showing us?” Dean asks with a chuckle.

Sam, annoyed with his brother’s antics, rolls his eyes and looks at Gabriel. Gabriel simply nudges his side.

Andrea laughs. “You want me to walk you two blocks?” she asks.

“Not if it’s any trouble,” Dean says.

If Sam rolls his eyes any harder, he might pull something.

“I’m headed that way, anyway.” She turns to Jake. “I’ll be back to pick up Lucas at three.” Then she turns to Lucas, bending down to his level as he draws his pictures. “And we’ll go to the park, okay, sweetie?” She kisses Lucas on the head.

Dean waves as they leave. Gabriel gives him a smile. Lucas continues to draw, unaffected.

“Thanks again,” Sam says.

Jake nods at them. They leave the station, onto the sidewalk running alongside the street. The tired town of Lake Manitoc is a typical small town, one that Sam and Dean are more than used to, from their years of hunting. The sun shines down upon them as they walk, Andrea leading, Dean traiting her, and Sam and Gabriel next to each other.

“So, cute kid,” Dean says.

“Thanks,” Andrea says. They cross a street.

“Kids are the best, huh?” Dean asks, catching up to Andrea’s side as they cross.

Andrea glances at him, then ignores him. Sam grins at Dean’s back, then looks to Gabriel, who gives him a grin in return.

They continue to walk, stopping in front of a building that says Lakefront Motel.

“There it is. Like I said, two blocks.” Andrea turns to face Dean, Sam and Gabriel behind her back.

“Thanks,” Sam says, resting his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line,” Andrea snarks drily to Dean. She walks off smirking, calling back over her shoulder. “Enjoy your stay!”

Gabriel laughs. “She’s right, you know.”

“‘Kids are the best’?” Sam asks, semi-mockingly. “You don’t even like kids.”

Dean turns from watching Andrea leave to his brother. “I love kids,” Dean argues.

“Name three children that you even know,” Sam deadpans. Gabriel grins at Dean.

Dean thinks for a moment, drawing up his hand as if to count them up on his fingers, then comes up empty.

Gabriel snorts with laughter at Dean’s shortcomings. Sam waves a hand and walks into the motel with Gabriel. Dean scratches his head. “I’m thinking!” he says, walking in after them.

-

In the motel room with beige wallpaper with a looping red pattern, Sam works on his laptop, Gabriel leaning against his side and watching the screen, Dean going through his clothing behind them, occasionally looking into the mirror on the wall, as if it’ll tell him how he lost his charm.

“That’s three drowning victims this year,” Gabriel announces. “Kinda sketchy.”

“Any before that?” Dean asks idly, “folding” his clothes in a way that looks more like he’s balling them up.

“Uh, yeah.” On Sam’s laptop, there are several tabs opened to The Lake Manitoc Tribune. He clicks through them. DROWNING TAINTS ICE FISHING FESTIVAL, one reads. In another tab, the headline reads: 12-YEAR OLD GIRL DROWNS IN LAKE, with a tasteful subheading labelling it the second drowning in months at Lake Manitoc.

“Six more spread out over the past thirty-five years,” Sam continues. “Those bodies were never recovered either. If there is something out there, it’s picking up its pace.”

Dean tosses some clothing onto a bed, looking over his shoulder at Sam. “So, what, we got a lake monster on a binge?”

“This whole lake monster theory, it-- it just bugs me,” Sam says.

Dean comes over to read over Sam’s shoulder, too. “Why?” he asks.

“Loch ness, uh, Lake Champlain-- there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, almost nothing.”

“Wouldn’t call ‘em monsters,” Gabriel mutters. “I thought they were cute when I made ‘em. Then daddy decided he wanted to hide ‘em, ‘cuz I guess they scared the humans.”

“You can’t possibly think I’d believe that you made the Loch Ness monster.”

“Daddy would give me the clay and tell me to leave ‘im alone when I got annoying,” Gabriel says. “But Sam’s right. I know these lil fellas, and this? No dice. They don’t really like eating people as much as playing with ‘em. Real cute, when you get to know ‘em. Like mer-puppies.”

Dean gives Sam a look. “Really? Outta all the guys you coulda gotten, you picked this guy?”

Sam looks at the Tribune homepage, open in another tab, and tries hiding his smile. “Whatever it is out there, no one’s living to talk about it,” he continues. He scrolls down into the comments section, a sketchy resource at best.

Dean points at something in the comments, almost urgently. “Wait, Barr. Christopher Barr. Where have I heard that name before?”

Gabriel crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows, waiting for Dean to get it.

“Christopher Barr, the victim in May,” Sam says. He clicks a link, opening a new page. LOCAL MAN IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT, the article reads, a picture of Lucas wrapped in a towel and a police officer beneath it. “Oh,” Sam says, voice falling. “Christopher Barr was Andrea’s husband, Lucas’ father.” Sam reads through the page quickly, like skimming through a textbook and summarizing the chapter fifteen minutes before class begins. “Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating platform when Chris drowned.” His voice gets quieter. “Two hours before the kid got rescued.” He clicks the picture for a better look, scratches his head. “Maybe we have an eyewitness after all.”

“No wonder that kid was so freaked out,” Dean says, voice quiet. It’s not as much sympathy as it is true understanding of Lucas’ situation. “Watching one of your parents isn’t something you just get over.”

-

In the park, there are children laughing and playing, running around with each other and on top of brightly-colored playground equipment. Andrea sits alone on a bench, watching Lucas coloring and playing with toy soldiers, quiet and also alone, on another bench.

“Can we join you?” Sam asks politely.

Andrea looks up to see Sam, Gabriel, and Dean.

“I’m here with my son,” she says.

Dean looks over at Lucas, the silent, solitary child. “Oh. Mind if I say hi?” He goes over to Lucas.

Andrea turns to Sam and Gabriel. “Tell your friend this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me.”

Sam sits next to Andrea on the bench, Gabriel next to him. “I don’t think that’s what this is about,” he says quietly.

Dean approaches Lucas. “How’s it going?” he asks, kneeling down next to the bench where Lucas is drawing. Lucas doesn’t look up. Dean picks up one of the toy soldiers, the little green army men he knows from his childhood. Some might still be in the Impala, lost and unmissed. “Oh, I used to love these things,” he says. Then, in his true childlike fashion, he imitates guns and explosions, as if the toys were doing what they were created for.

Lucas doesn’t look up from his coloring.

“So crayons is more your thing?” Dean asks. “That’s cool. Chicks dig artists.” He takes a look at the drawings Lucas has piled on the bench. The top one is a big black swirl, and the one under it is a red bicycle. “Hey, these are pretty good. You mind if I sit and draw with you for a while? I’m not so bad myself.”

Dean picks up a blue crayon and a pad of paper, sits on the bench, and begins drawing. “You know, I’m thinking you can hear me, you just don’t want to talk. I don’t know exactly what happened to your dad, but I know it was something real bad.” He looks at Lucas. “I think I know how you feel. When I was your age, I saw something.” He pauses as he thinks about it, about Mary, tries to put it into words.

“Anyway…” Dean blinks a couple times. “Well, maybe you don’t think anyone will listen to you, or, uh… or believe you. I want you to know that I will. You don’t even have to say anything. You could draw me a picture ‘bout what you saw that day, with your dad, on the lake.” He watches Lucas draw, idly. “Okay, no problem. This is for you.” Dean holds the picture he drew out to Lucas, made of simplistic stick figures.

“This is my family,” Dean explains. He points to the first figure. “That’s my dad.” Then the next. “That’s my mom,” he says, with a little difficulty. Then he points to the next two, a bit of a grin showing up. “That’s my geek brother and his boyfriend, and--” he points to the last one-- “that’s me.” He smiles at Lucas. Sill nothing. Dean stands and sets his drawing down on the bench. “Alright, so I’m a sucky artist,” he agrees. “I’ll see you around, Lucas.” He heads back to where the others are. Behind him, Lucas picks up the drawing.

“Lucas hasn’t said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad’s accident,” Andrea says. She’s standing, now, with Sam and Gabriel, arms crossed as though trying to protect herself from what’s happened.

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Dean says.

Andrea nods. She hears this all the time.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asks.

“Oh, that it’s a kind of post-traumatic stress.”

Sam shakes his head, glancing at his brother before looking back at Andrea. “That can’t be easy. For either of you.”

“We moved in with my dad,” Andrea says. “He helps out a lot.” She looks over her shoulder at Lucas. “It’s just… when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw…”

Gabriel nods. Sam and Dean look at each other, just for a moment.

“Kids are strong,” Dean says, after the pause. “You’d be surprised what they can deal with.”

Lucas leaves the bench, heading for the group.

“You know, he used to have such life,” Andrea says with a sad laugh. “He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth.” She looks at her son. “Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish--”

Lucas walks up to her, carrying a picture.

“Hey, sweetie,” Andrea says.

Lucas hands the picture to Dean wordlessly.

“Thanks,” Dean says. “Thanks, Lucas.” He looks at the house pictured, cream-colored with a red roof and door. Like all of Lucas’ other works, it’s clear, if a little scribbly.

Lucas heads back to the bench. They watch him, in silence. Andrea, in partial amazement: Lucas hasn’t given anyone his drawings before.

-

Dean sits on a bed in the motel room. Sam opens the door and comes in with Gabriel.

“So, I think it’s safe to say we can rule out Nessie,” Sam says, a little annoyed.

“What do you mean?”

Sam sits next to Dean. Gabriel stands. “We just drove past the Carlton house. There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead.” His voice is grim and pointed.

“He drowned?” Dean asks, disbelieving.

“If you count dying in the sink as drowning, then yes,” Gabriel says.

“What the hell?” Dean asks. “So you’re right, this isn’t a creature. We’re dealing with something else.”

“Yeah, but what?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know. Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water…” he looks around the room, as though it holds the answers, even looks to Gabriel, who raises his eyebrows. “Water that comes from the same source,” he says, in a true eureka! moment.

“The lake,” Sam says.

Gabriel shoots finger guns at them. “Bingo! I was waitin’ for when you bozos would figure it out.” He gives Sam a sympathetic glance. “Sorry.”

Sam gives him a bitchy look that fades when Gabriel sits by him and leans against his side. He doesn't admit that he melts around Gabriel, but they all know he does. “Which would explain why it’s upping the body count.” Now that the ball’s rolling, Sam continues on, putting together more pieces of this mystery. “The lake is draining. It’ll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants-- it’s running out of time.”

“And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere,” Dean says, horrified. He stands and walks across the room. “This is gonna happen again soon.” Dean sits down in a different chair, putting on his boots.

“And we do know one other thing for sure. We know this has got something to do with Bill Carlton,” Sam says.

“Taking both’a his kids,” Gabriel says. He slides one of his hands over one of Sam’s. “That’s gotta suck.”

“And we’ve been asking around,” Sam continues. “Lucas’ dad, Chris? Bill Carlton’s godson.”

“Let’s go pay Mr. Carlton a visit,” Dean says with determination, standing from the chair.

-

Bill Carlton is still sitting on the bench on his dock, staring out at the lake.

“Mr. Carlton?” Sam asks, walking towards him on the dock.

Bill looks up at the group approaching him, teary-eyed and silent.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Sam says.

Dean begins his spiel. “We’re from the-- the Department--”

“I don’t care who you’re with,” Bill says, with the exhausted, tearful voice of someone who has lost everything. “I’ve answered enough questions today.”

“Your son said he saw something in that lake,” Sam says, still pushing on. “What about you? You ever see anything out there? Mr. Carlton, Sophie’s drowning and Will’s dead-- we think there might be a connection to you or your family.”

“My children are gone.” Mr. Carlton sounds like he wants to cry, but has no tears left to do so. “It’s… It’s worse than dying.” He looks at Sam, pleadingly. “Go away. Please.”

They head back to the car.

“What do you think?” Sam asks.

“Ah, I think the poor guy’s been through hell,” Dean says. “I also think he’s not tellin’ us somethin’.”

Sam leans on the Impala. Gabriel wraps his arm around Sam’s waist. “So now what?”

Dean goes still, looking around.

“Uh-oh. What’s up?” Gabriel asks.

“Huh.” Dean’s gaze is fixed on the Carlton house. “Maybe Bill’s not the only one who know somethin’.” He pulls out the picture Lucas brought him, which is of the Carlton house. Dean looks at Sam and Gabriel.

-

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Andrea says.

“I just need to talk to him,” Dean says.

They’re in the living room of Jake’s house, a tastefully homey place with gingham-printed curtains and large windows.

“Just for a few minutes,” Dean continues.

“He won’t say anything. What good’s it gonna do?” Andrea’s hands rest on her hips, her pink shirt just barely missing the top of her denim skirt.

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt,” Sam explains, in that gentle and soft way he does when he’s talking about human lives. He looks at Dean, then Gabriel. “We think something’s happening out there.”

“My husband, the others-- they just drowned. That’s all.”

“If that’s what you really believe, then we’ll go,” Dean says, issuing up one o fhis famous ultimatums. “But if you think there’s even a possibility that something else could be goin’ on here, please let me talk to your son.”

-

Lucas is coloring on the floor of his neatly-kept bedroom, his toy soldiers standing around him. The group approaches the doorway. Dean enters and crouches down by Lucas.

“Hey, Lucas,” Dean greets, bent down to his level. “You remember me?”

Lucas has drawn the red bicycle two more times, the papers in another neat stack. Dean looks at them.

“You know, I, uh, wanted to thank you for that last drawing,” Dean says, kindly. “But the thing is, I need your help again,” Dean says.

Lucas’ current drawing is of a person in water. Dean carefully unfolds the house picture and puts it down in front of Lucas.

“How did you know to draw this?” Dean asks. “Did you know something bad was gonna happen? Maybe you could nod yes or no for me.”

Lucas continues coloring without speaking.

“You’re scared,” Dean observes. “It’s okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw somethin’ real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn’t feel like talkin’, just like you. But see, my mom-- I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.”

Dean’s speech has many lulling pauses in it, when he remembers things from his childhood, fond memories of his mother that he’s kept for all this time.

Lucas drops his crayon and looks up at Dean for a moment before handing him a picture. It’s of a white church next to a yellow house, a boy with a blue baseball cap and the same red bicycle he’d been drawing in front of a wooden fence.

“Thanks, Lucas,” Dean says.

In the Impala, Sam holds the drawing of the church. Gabriel looks at it over his shoulder. Billy Squire plays over the speakers.

“Andrea said the kid never drew like that til his dad died,” Dean says.

“There are cases-- going through a traumatic experience could make certain people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies,” Sam says.

Gabriel presses a kiss to Sam’s temple. Sam looks out the window, a little embarrassed.

“Gross,” Dean comments.

Gabriel flips him off. “If you had such a catch, you’d wanna show him off, too.”

Dean shakes his head, returning to the pressing matter of people dying, a little more irate now. “Whatever’s out there-- what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow? I mean, it’s only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please…”

Sam sighs in submission. “Alright, we got another house to find.”

“The only problem is there’s about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean says.

Sam inspects the picture. “See this church? I bet there’s less than a thousand of those around here.”

“Oh, College Boy thinks he’s so smart,” Dean mutters. Sam chuckles at that.

“You know, um…” Sam clears his throat. “What you said about Mom…” he looks at his brother. “You never told me that before.”

“It’s no big deal,” Dean brushes off. Then, after a moment of silence interrupted only by Billy Squire, he looks over at Sam and speaks up. “Oh God, we’re not gonna have to hug or anythin’, are we?”

-

They approach a white church shaped like the one Lucas drew. Dean holds up the picture and looks at it, comparing it to the scene in front of him; the yellow house next to the church and a wooden fence near the house. The only things missing are the kid and his red bike. All three of them look up at the church and cross the street.

“We’re sorry to bother you ma’am,” Dean says, once they’re in the house. “But does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle.”

The old woman they’re talking to, best described as worn-looking, goes a little sad. “No, sir. Not for a very long time,” she says, looking to the ground. “Peter’s been gone for thirty-five years now.” She looks at a picture of long-haired Peter on the side table and sighs. “The police never-- I never had any idea what happened. He just disappeared.”

Gabriel nudges Sam and points to some toy soldiers sitting on a table. Sam points them out to Dean.

“Losing him-- you know, it’s… it’s worse than dying.” Mrs. Sweeney looks like she’s about to cry, tears stepping into her voice.

Dean glances at Sam. “Did he disappear from here? I mean, from his house?” he asks.

“He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he-- he never showed up,” Mrs. Sweeny says, voice watery with unhealed grief.

Dean picks up a picture off the mirror, of two boys: one is Peter, standing with a red bicycle and who might be his friend. Dean reads from the back. “Peter Sweeny and Billy Carlton, nineteen-seventy.”

-

Dean drives the Impala back to the Carlton house.

“Okay, this little boy Peter Sweeney vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow,” Sam says.

“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding somethin’, huh?” Dean asks.

“Billy and the people he loves’re gettin’ canned. Almost like whatever this thing is is gettin’ their just desserts,” Gabriel comments.

“So what if Bill did something to Peter?” Dean suggests.

“What if Bill killed him?” Sam suggests back. When they’re in the middle of a case like this, they speak like they already know what the other is about to say, smoothly adding on sentences and statements that build upon each other.

Dean considers it. “Peter’s spirit’d be furious. It’d want revenge. It’s possible.”

“Just desserts,” Gabriel repeats, then shrugs.

-

Once more, they end up at the Carlton house, approaching the house itself.

“Mr. Carlton?” Sam calls out.

In the distance, an engine roars.

“Hey, check it out,” Dean says.

They run to the end of the dock, yelling for Bill.

“Mr. Carlton! You need to come back! Come out of the water! Turn the boat around!”

“Mr. Carlton!” Sam calls.

“Billy!” Gabriel adds.

Bill ignores their protests and continues going on the lake. The water rises up and flips the boat over like a punch, flimmering in the air, going back to its eerie calm the second Bill goes underwater.

-

In the main room of the police station, Lucas sits in a chair, rocking back and forth. Andrea sits next to him, holding a paper bag in a plastic bucket.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Andrea asks, gently running her hand over Lucas’ back.

Sherief Jake Devins walks in, Dean, Sam, and Gabriel in tow. Andrea looks over.

“Sam, Gabe, Dean.” She stands, putting the bag and container on her chair. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“So now you’re on a first-name basis,” Jake observes, irate. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you dinner,” Andrea says.

Jake looks at the container on the chair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t really have the time.”

Andrea looks at the Winchesters and Gabriel. “I heard about Bill Carlton. Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?”

Jake glances at them over his shoulder before addressing his daughter. “Right now we don’t know what the truth is,” he says, in serious, hushed tones. “But I think it might be better if you and Lucas went on home.”

Lucas looks up and whines, looking upset and stricken. When he sees Dean, he jumps up and grabs Dean’s arm.

“Lucas, hey. What is it?” Dean asks.

“Lucas,” Andrea says. She grabs Lucas’s tiny body and holds him close.

“Lucas, it’s okay. It’s okay. Hey, Lucas, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Dean says.

Andrea pulls Lucas away from Dean and leads him outside the Station, whispering to him as she leads him out. Lucas doesn’t tear his eyes from Dean. Dean stares back, heartbroken.

Jake throws down his jacket and goes into his office in annoyance. The group follows.

“Okay, just so I’m clear, you see… something attack Bill’s boat, sending Bill-- who is a very good swimmer, by the way-- into the drink, and you never see him again?” Jake asks, skeptical.

Dean looks at Sam and Gabriel. “Yeah, that about sums it up,” he says.

“And I’m supposed to believe this, even though I’ve already sonar-swept that entire lake? And what you’re describing is impossible? And you’re not really Wildlife Service?”

Dean raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

“That’s right, I checked. Department’s never heard of you guys.”

“See, now, we can explain that,” Dean says, pointing from himself to Sam to Gabriel to Jake.

“Enough. Please,” Jake says, authoritative. “The only reason you’re breathing free air is one of Bill’s neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton’s disappearance. Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don’t ever darken my doorstep again.” He gets more intense as he continues, angrier at the group of people who keep investigating his town.

“Door number two sounds good,” Sam says. He links his fingers with Gabriel’s. Dean does a half-nod of agreement.

“That’s the one I’d pick,” Jake says, the most intense they’d seen him.

-

The Impala waits at a traffic light, a sign reading I-43 Milwaukee pointing to the left. The light, one of the only things illuminating the darkness other than the Impala’s lights and the light of Gabriel’s eternally-charged DS, turns green, but Dean doesn’t move, distracted by something.

“Green,” Sam says, annoyed.

“What?” Dean asks, still heavily distracted.

“Light’s green,” Sam repeats.

Dean turns right.

“Uh, the interstate’s the other way,” Sam says.

“I know,” Dean says, continuing his slow turn.

“But Dean, this job-- I think it’s over,” Sam says.

“I’m not so sure,” Dean says.

“If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter’s spirit got its revenge, case closed! The spirit should be at rest,” Sam reasons.

“Alright, so what if we take off and this thing isn’t done? You know, what if we’ve missed somethin’? What if more people get hurt?”

“Hate to say it,” Gabriel pipes up from the back seat, looking up from his Nintendogs, “but I gotta agree with your brother.”

“But why would you think that?” Sam asks.

Dean considers it for a moment, his answer. “Because Lucas was really scared.”

“That’s what this is about?” Sam asks.

“I just don’t want to leave this town til I know the kid’s okay.” Dean’s serious, from the tone of his voice to the deadpan look on his face as he continues down the road.

“Who are you?” Sam asks. “And what have you done with my brother?” Sam asks, half-jokingly.

Dean glances at Sam. “Shut up,” he dismisses.

-

Outside of Andrea’s house, the group stands by the door.

“Are you sure about this? It’s pretty late, man,” Sam says.

Dean rings the doorbell. Lucas throws open the door, terror written across his pale face.

“Lucas? Lucas!”

Lucas takes off down the hallway, leaving the guys to follow him.

He takes them to the bathroom, pounding on the bathroom door.

Dean pushes Lucas to Sam and Gabriel and kicks in the door. Once the door’s down, Dean grabs Lucas, holding him back from the tub of dirty lake water, leaving Sam to run into the bathroom and stick his arms into the tub, struggling to pull Andrea from the water against whatever is pulling her under. He pulls, fights the water until Andrea’s all the way out, coughing up the dirty water on the floor.

-

Dawn breaks as Sam and Gabriel sit with Andrea in the living room.

“Can you tell me?” Sam asks, gently.

“No,” Andrea says. She’s nestled up in comfortable clothes, a zip-up hoodie and sweatpants.

Dean looks through notebooks on bookshelves in the living room.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Andrea says. Then she starts tearing up. “I’m going crazy.” She puts her face in her hands.

“No, you’re not. Tell me what happened. Everything.”

“I heard… I thought I heard… there was this voice,” Andrea says, scared.

“What did it say?” Sam asks quietly.

“It said… it said, ‘come play with me’.” Andrea sobs at her own perceived insanity, looking out the window before covering her face again. “What’s happening?”

Dean pulls out an old scrapbook that says Jake--12 years old, and opens it, flipping through the pages. He closes it again and goes to Sam, Gabriel, and Andrea, putting the book down in front of Andrea, open to a picture of Explorer Troop 37.

“Do you recognize the kids in these pictures?” Dean asks.

“What? Um, um, no. I mean, except, that’s my dad right there.” She points to her father. “He must have been about twelve in these pictures.” She moves her finger to another picture of Jake as a child, in his uniform, standing next to Peter. Dean looks at Sam and Gabriel.

“Chris Barr’s drowning. The connection wasn’t to Bill Carlton. It must have been the sheriff,” Dean says.

“Bill and the sheriff-- they were both involved with Peter,” Sam says.

“What about Chris? My dad-- what are you talking about?” Andrea asks, confused.

Dean looks sideways, catching Lucas staring out the window like something’s calling to him. “Lucas? Lucas, what is it?”

Lucas opens the door and walks outside almost robotically. Everyone follows him.

“Lucas, honey?” Andrea asks.

Lucas stands at a patch of ground, looking down at the green moss thoughtfully.

“You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay?” Dean says.

Andrea pulls Lucas back into the house, back to safety.

Gabriel snaps up a couple shovels so they can start digging. After a moment of digging, Sam’s shovel clanks against something metallic. He and Dean dig with their hands and, with some effort, pull out a red bicycle.

“Peter’s bike,” Sam pants, arms covered in wet earth and flannel sleeves rolled up, exhausted by the effort.

A gun cocks. “Who are you?” Jake asks.

Sam and Dean turn around. Jake stands there, pointing a gun at them. Sam puts up his hands and drops the bike.

“Put the gun down, Jake,” Sam says, calmly. He and Dean drop the shovels. Gabriel steps in front of Sam, protective as always.

“How did you know that was there?” Jake asks.

“What happened?” Dean asks. “You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake and then buried the bike? You can’t bury the truth, Jake. Nothin’ stays buried.”

Andrea watches Jake with the gun aimed at the group from her window. She bends down to talk to Lucas. “Go to your room, sweetie. Now. Lock the door and wait for me. Don’t come out.”

Lucas runs off and Andrea goes outside.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Jake says.

“You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago. That’s what the hell I’m talking about,” Dean says.

Andrea runs up to her father. “Dad!”

“And now you got one seriously pissed-off spirit,” Dean says.

“You got a seriously pissed-off archangel. Put the gun down,” Gabriel commands.

“It’s gonna take Andrea, Lucas-- everyone you love. It’s gonna drown them. And it’s gonna drag their bodies God knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter’s mom felt. And then, after that, it’s gonna take you, and it’s not gonna stop until it does,” Sam says, sounding more like a threat. His eyes are wide and full of kindness, even with a gun pointed at his head.

“Yeah, and how do you know that?” Jake asks.

“Because that’s exactly what it did to Bill Carlton,” Sam explains.

Jake looks at them in disbelief. “Listen to yourselves, all of you. You’re insane.”

“I don’t really give a rat’s ass what you think of us,” Dean says, flippant. But if we’re gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them into dust. Now tell me you buried Peter somewhere. Tell me you didn’t just let him go in the lake.”He gestures to the lake.

Lucas didn’t go into his room: he’s outside, watching the confrontation mutely. He walks off to the lake.

“Dad, is any of this true?” Andrea asks.

“No,” Jake says, dismissively. “Don’t listen to them. They’re liars and they’re dangerous.”

“Something tried to drown me,” Andrea says. “Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me.” When she has Jake’s full yet hesitant attention, she continues. “Tell me you-- you didn’t kill anyone.”

Jake looks away from her, eyes straying and breathing swallowing.

“Oh my God,” Andrea breathes.

“Billy and I were at the lake,” Jake begins, uneven and scared. “Peter was the smallest one. We always bullied him, but this time, it got rough.” He pauses.
We were holding his head under the water. We didn’t mean to--, but we held him under too long and he drowned. We let the body go, and it sank.” Jake pauses again, full of regret. “Oh, Andrea, we were kids. We were so scared. It was a mistake. But, Andrea, to say that I have anything to do with these drownings, with Chris, because of some ghost? It’s not rational,” Jake begs.

“Alright, listen to me, all of you. We need to get you away from this lake, as far as we can, right now,” Dean says, seriously.

Andrea turns her head, spotting Lucas heading down to the lake, and gasps loudly.

“Lucas!” Jake yells, full of fear.

They rush to the dock. Lucas is leaning over the side, reaching for a toy soldier in the water, small fingers nearly brushing the soldier, but not exactly.

“Lucas!” Dean yells, running through the trees.

“Kiddo! Stay away from the water!” Gabriel calls after him.

“Lucas! Baby, stay where you are!” Andrea yells.

A grayed hand comes up from the murky lake water and grabs Lucas’ tiny arm, pulling him into the water. The adults have reached the very edge of the lake. Jake stops, recognizing Peter’s colorless head sticking out from the water. The Winchesters run to the end of the dock and dive in after him.

“Oh my God!” Andrea shrieks, beginning to take off her jacket to jump in.

“Andrea, stay there,” Sam yells from where he’s treading water, diving back down.

“No! Lucas!”

“They’ll get them,” Gabriel promises. “Stay here, okay? Just stay here.”

“Sam?” Dean shouts.

Sam shakes his head. They dive back down.

“Lucas, where are you?” Andrea asks.

Jake removes his jacket as the Winchesters dive back down, wading into the water. “Peter, if you can hear me… please, Peter. I’m sorry. I’m so-- I’m so sorry,” Jake pleads, pitifully..

“Daddy, no!” Andrea yells, fighting against Gabriel’s inhuman grip.

“Peter. Lucas-- he’s, he’s just a little boy. Please,” Jake continues to beg. He’s looking around as though he can see Peter’s ghostly, horrific face as he makes his pleas. “It’s not his fault, it’s mine. Please take me.”

Dean comes up for air, Sam emerging seconds after him.

“Jake, no!” Dean yells.

Peter rises through the water, emerging next to Jake in his ghostly fury.

“Just let it be over!” Jake yells, before Peter grabs his leg and drags him down.

“Daddy! Daddy! No!” Andrea yells.

Gabriel continues to hold her back. “You can’t go in there,” he says. “He’s gone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The Winchesters dive down again, not having found Lucas yet. Andrea has lost both her father and her son, only months after losing her husband, to the damn lake.

“No!” Andrea yells, still struggling.

Sam comes up, shaking his head. Andrea keeps mouthing no!. Then Dean comes up, struggling to hold a limp, unmoving Lucas and continue treading the lake water.

-

Dean opens the car door to the Impala and Sam tosses a duffel in.

“Look, we’re not gonna save everybody,” Sam says, messing with the zipper of his hoodie.

“Even angels can’t save everyone,” Gabriel adds.

“I know,” Dean says, pensive.

“Sam, Gabe, Dean,” Andrea says, walking up with Lucas.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“We’re glad we caught you. We just, um-- we made you lunch for the road.” She gestures to Lucas, who’s holding a tray of sandwiches, wrapped in plastic. “Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches himself.”

“Can I give it to them now?” Lucas asks, voice scratchy and quiet from disuse. Dean beams at that.

“Of course.” Andrea smiles and kisses Lucas’ head.

“Come on, Lucas, let’s load this into the car,” Dean says, bending down to take the tray from him. While he and Dean are putting the sandwiches in the car, Sam and Gabriel talk to Andrea.

Sam watches them, arms crossed. “How you holding up?” Sam asks.

“It’s just gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?” Andrea says.

Sam sighs, watching his brother. “Andrea, I’m sorry.” He can only look into her eyes for a second before looking away, full of guilt.

She shakes her head. “You saved my son. I can’t ask for more than that,” she says. “Dad loved me. He loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold on to that.”

Gabriel nods. “No matter what happened, your daddy loved you enough to sacrifice himself for you. That’s something a lotta people don’t have.”

Dean puts the sandwiches in the car and sits on the seat next to them, looking up at Lucas. “Alright, if you’re gonna be talkin’ now, this is a very important phrase, so I want you to repeat it one more time.”

“Zeppelin rules!” Lucas says.

“That’s right,” Dean says. “Up high.” He holds his hand up for a high five, which Lucas gives him, grinning his crooked, gap-filled child-smile. “You take care of your mom, okay?”

“Alright,” Lucas says.

Andrea comes up and kisses Dean. Dean looks at her with shock. “Thank you,” she says.

Gabriel and Sam suppress laughter.

Dean thinks a minute, then scratches his head and goes around the car, accepting this. “Sam, move your ass. We’re gonna run outta daylight before we hit the road.”

Dean gets in the car, then Sam. Gabriel sits in the back, with the sandwiches.

“And don’t eat all the goddamn food,” Dean tells Gabriel.

Dean starts the car, Bad Company playing from the radio. He and Sam smile at Andrea and Lucas as they wave goodbye, Gabriel giving them a thumbs-up. They drive away.

Chapter Text

Dean sleeps on his stomach as peacefully as possible in a shitty motel bed, the door creaking open behind him. He cracks open an eye and slips a hand beneath his pillow, reaching for a weapon. When he turns to look, there are Sam and Gabriel, carrying coffee and pastries.

“Morning, sunshine,” Sam says brightly. He’s fully dressed and neat, obviously having been awake for a while.

“What time is it?” Dean asks, untensing at the sight of his brother.

“Uh, it’s about five forty-five,” Sam says. He looks out the window, then at Gabriel.

“In the morning?” Dean asks.

“It’s a wonderful day out,” Gabriel adds. “Birds are chirping, the sun’s shining, people are out jogging…”

“Where does the day go?” Dean mutters. He rolls over and props himself up to glare at Gabriel, something along the lines of stupid angel who doesn’t have to sleep. Then he looks at Sam. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours,” Sam says, looking idly at the ground..

“Liar.” Dean slides to the end of the bed, lazily, and sits on the edge, smirking up at Sam accusingly. “‘Cuz I was up at three, and you and your angel were watchin’ a George Foreman infomercial.”

“Hey, what can I say? It’s riveting TV.” Sam shrugs, still holding his coffee.

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

“I don’t know, a little while, I guess. It’s not a big deal.” He glances at Gabriel, who’s standing by the table, arms crossed and staring at him.

“Yeah, it is.”

Sam chuckles. “Look, I appreciate your concern--”

“Oh, I’m not concerned ‘bout you,” Dean says. “It’s your--” Dean points at Sam-- “job to keep my--” Dean jabs his finger at his own chest-- “ass alive, so I need you sharp.”

“And it’s my job to keep you alive, and there only certain things that should be hard,” Gabriel says.

Sam shrugs.

“Seriously, are you still havin’ nightmares ‘bout--?” Dean looks at Gabriel, then the ceiling. Subtle as ever.

Sam crosses the room, sits on the other bed with a heavy sigh, and hands a coffee to Dean. “Yeah. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. I just forgot, you know? This job.” Sam looks at the nightstand. “Man, it gets to you.”

“You can’t let it. You can’t bring it home like that.” Dean drinks from his coffee. “And can’t your archangel do somethin’ to knock you out or somethin’? With his heavenly powers or somethin’?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you how I knock out your brother,” Gabriel says, the sound of wings filling the empty space he occupied seconds ago and announcing his appearance to Sam’s side. Dean jumps, just a little.

“If you talk about that, I won’t talk to you for a week,” Sam threatens.

“Can’t you just Vulcan nerve pinch him or somethin’?”

Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Oh, Sammoose, I must prove your brother wrong! It’s the only purpose in my heavenly life!” He leans against Sam’s side. “And I don’t feel comfy about, ah, Vulcan nerve pinching someone who doesn’t wanna be nerve pinched. I have some morals.”

“Surprising,” Dean mutters.

“Don’t bite the hand that bought you pastries,” Gabriel says, shaking the box.

“All this, it… never keeps you up at night?” Sam asks, skeptical.

Dean shakes his head.

“Never?” Sam continues, eyebrows raised. “You’re never afraid?”

“No, not really,” Dean says, casually.

Gabriel reaches over to Dean’s pillow and chucks it across the room, pulling out a large hunting knife that he holds up as evidence. Sam gives Dean a look about as pointed as the knife.

Dean snatches the knife back from him. “That’s not fear,” Dean reasons. “That is precaution.”

“Alright, whatever. I’m too tired to argue,” Sam mutters, looking down at his hands. Gabriel snaps up a pastry and hands it to him. Sam leans against his side and tears pieces off the pastry, eating it slowly.

Dean’s phone rings. He picks it up and looks at Sam and Gabriel, confused, before answering. “Hello?”

“Dean, it’s, uh, Jerry Panowski. You and your dad helped me out a couple years back.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Dean says. “Up it Kittanning, Pennsylvania. The poltergeist thing.” He smiles at the memory, then gets serious. “It’s not back, is it?”

“No. No.” Jerry barks out a short laugh. “Thank god, no. But it’s something else, and… uh, I think it could be a lot worse,” Jerry says.

“What is it?”

“Can we talk in person?”

Dean eyes Sam.

-

Inside an aircraft hangar, surrounded by parts and sliding separators, Jerry walks with the Winchesters and Gabriel. With his checked shirt and tie, he looks like the type of professional Sam had alway wanted to be. “Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.” He looks at Gabriel. “He never mentioned--?”

“Ah, no, I’m not family,” Gabriel says, casually. “I’m--” he looks at Sam, questioning.

“He’s my… my boyfriend,” Sam says. He rubs the back of his neck. “Gabriel.”

Dean gives Jerry a slightly threatening look, daring him to say something rude.

“It was a poltergeist?” Sam asks, carrying on as usual.

“Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie,” a man says as they walk by.

“Hey, nobody’s talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry calls after him. “Damn right it was a poltergeist. Practically tore our house apart.” He turns to Dean, still walking. “Tell you something, if it wasn’t for you and your dad, I probably wouldn’t be alive.” Jerry takes a left around an engine, then addresses Sam. “Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?”

“Yeah, I was. I’m-- we’re-- taking some time off.”

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

Dean glances at Sam.

“He did?” Sam asks. Gabriel smiles at him and mouths duh.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry says. “Oh, hey, you know, I tried to get ahold of him, but I couldn’t,” Jerry says to Dean. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

“He’s, um... wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean says, not as smoothly as he thinks.

Jerry turns around to face the group, walking backwards. “Well, we’re missing the old man, but we get Sam and, uh, Gabriel. Even trade, huh?” He turns back around with a smile.

Dean laughs.

“No, not by a long shot,” Sam says.

“Dunno. Sounds pretty even to me,” Gabriel smirks.

“I got something I want you guys to hear.” Jerry leads them into his office. As he begins to set things up, Sam and Dean sit. Gabriel stands behind Sam. “I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley.” He puts a CD into a drive. “Normally, I wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

The recording plays over the speakers, scratchy with what sounds like static. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat!” a man yells in distress through the static. “This is United Britania 2485-- immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message-- May be experiencing some mechanical failure--” there’s a loud whooshing sound that couldn’t possibly be from any living thing, and likely isn’t from the airplane either, then blank silence.

Sam gives Dean an inquisitive look. Dean shrugs. They both look to Jerry. Gabriel rests his hands on the back of Sam’s chair and leans forward.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they’re saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He’s a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he’s pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault,” Jerry says.

“You don’t think it was.” Sam says.

“No, I don’t,” Jerry says.

“Jerry, we’re gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam says, counting on his fingers.

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean asks.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse,” Jerry says, seriously. “No way I’ve got that kind of clearance.”

Dean frowns, looking at Sam and Gabriel. “No problem.”

-

Sam and Gabriel wait in the car outside a Copy Jack. Sam’s migrated his way to the back seat, sitting so close to Gabriel that Gabriel might as well sit on Sam’s lap. While they’re not actively making out, their rustled hair and Gabriel’s smug smirk says that they were not too long ago.

Dean exits the Copy Jack and ogles an attractive woman as she enters.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi,” Dean says.

Sam cranks down the window. “You’ve been in there forever.”

Dean holds up three IDs. “You can’t rush perfection,” he says.

“Homeland Security?” Sam asks, taking one of the IDs from Dean. “That’s pretty illegal, even for us.” He checks out the ID, admiring his brother’s handiwork. He can say a lot of things about Dean (a lot), but the man can forge an impressive amount of documents.

“Yeah, well, it’s somethin’ new. You know? People haven’t seen in a thousand times.” Dean throws the other ID at Gabriel, who catches it easily, then makes his way around the front of the car. “Also, if you guys screwed in my car…” he threatens.

“We could’ve, with how long you took,” Gabriel mutters. Sam shakes his head.

“He’s joking. We wouldn’t have.”

“Damn straight you wouldn’t,” Dean says, settling into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. “Alright, Sammy. What you got?”

“Well, there’s definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam informs him. He takes out his laptop.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“Listen.” Sam turns his laptop to face Dean, then plays the recording, edited to pull a scratchy voice from the crackling background.

“No survivors!” it screeches.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “‘No survivors’?” he asks. “What’s that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

“Got me,” Sam admits. He looks to Gabriel.

“So, what are you thinkin’? A haunted flight?” Dean asks.

“There’s a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean says.

“Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in some other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights,” Dean says. He looks at Gabriel in the rearview, almost suspicious. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we got a similar deal,” Sam suggests.

“Oh, you lookin’ at me ‘cuz I can fly? ‘Look at this angel, he can fly, so he’s gotta be an expert’.” Gabriel crosses his arms petulantly and glares at Dean in the rearview.

Dean shakes his head at Gabriel. “Seriously. It’s not even ‘bout you datin’ a man. It’s just-- why this guy?” He turns to face Sam.

“Dean,” Sam says, pointedly. “We’re on a hunt.”

“Alright,” Dean says, turning around. “So, survivors. Which one do you wanna talk to first?”

“Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” Sam says.

“Why him?” Dean asks, still eyeing Gabriel in the rearview.

“Well, for one, he’s from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did,” Sam says. He lays his hand on Gabriel’s knee.

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks, looking over his shoulder once more, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Well, I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him.”

-

At the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital, there’s a beautiful, green garden. This is where the Winchesters and Gabriel are, walking as Max uses a cane to talk alongside them.

“I don’t understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max says.

“Right,” Dean says. “Some new information has come up. So if you could just answer a couple questions…”

Sam picks up where Dean’s left off. “Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?”

“Like what?” Max asks. He has dark hair and a t-shirt on, not exactly looking like he saw some sort of terrible, deeply-scarring event.

“Strange lights, uh, weird noises, maybe.”

“Voices,” Gabriel suggests.

Max gives Dean a bit of a weird look. “No, nothing,” he says.

They sit at a table.

“Mr. Joffey--”

“Jaffey,” Max corrects, a little incredulous.

“Jaffey,” Dean says. “You checked yourself in here, right?”

Max nods in response, looking a little uncomfortable with the situation.

“Can I ask why?” Dean asks.

“I was a little stressed,” Max says, irate. I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says. “And that’s what terrified you? That’s what you were afraid of?”

“I… I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what,” Dean says, eyes flicking to Sam and Gabriel.

“No. No. I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean says to Sam and Gabriel. Sam gives him a particularly annoyed bitchface, cocking his head to the side for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, gentle and placating as always. “Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please.”

Max thinks about it for a moment, dredging up the memories. “There was… this-- man,” Max says, sounding unsure of himself, of what he saw. “And, uh, he had these… eyes-- these, uh… black eyes. And I saw him-- or thought I saw him--” Max cuts himself off, staring blankly at the table, face pained.

Gabriel’s eyes flash with understanding.

“What?” Dean asks.

Max sighs. “He opened the emergency exit,” he says, voice wavering. He looks at Dean, almost as if for reassurance. “But that’s… that’s impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There’s something like two tons of pressure on that door,” Max says, subtly begging for some sort of answer.

“Yeah,” Dean says, quietly.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?”

“Like a dream, but in real life.” Gabriel doesn’t have Sam’s patience, or his kind tone. He sounds more like he's trying to prod Max into admitting something than anything else. “Or-- was he more solid?”

“What are you guys, nuts?” Max asks, incredulous. He looks at Sam and Gabriel like they’re the ones who should be at the psychiatric hospital instead of him.

Sam tilts his head questioningly.

“He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

Sam looks at Gabriel, then at Dean.

-

Dean pulls the Impala up in front of a house, idling in front of it.

“So here we are. George Phelps, seat 20C,” Sam announces. He looks at the house out the window.

Dean puts it in park and cuts the engine. “Hmm,” he says. “Man, I don’t care how strong you are.” He exits the car, waiting for Sam and Gabriel. “Even yoked up on PCP or somethin’, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight.” He rests his arms on top of the Impala, leaning against it.

“Not if you’re human,” Sam says, glancing at Gabriel, then the house again. A car drives behind him. He turns to face Dean. “But maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form.”

Dean looks at Gabriel.

Gabriel rests his hands on his hips and shrugs. “Dunno. You tell me.”

“Must you be so incorrigible?” Sam asks, nudging Gabriel’s side a little.

“‘Cuz watching you use that big brain of yours really gets me going, cupcake,” Gabriel teases. “The second I learned you were Pre-Law-- damn, you really won my heart. All that, and brains? Oh, Sammy, you know how to make angels fall.” He grins at Sam, tone joking and light.

“Dude, I am right here,” Dean says, disgusted. He pushes past them. “Let’s go into the creature’s lair,” he mutters.

“You can go into my lair anytime,” Gabriel says to Sam, far louder than he needs to just to upset Dean.

-

Sam and Dean sit across from Mrs. Phelps in her comfortable, clean living room. She has the couch, they have the chairs, and Gabriel stands behind Sam once more. Sam looks at a framed photograph of a man, George.

Sam picks up the photograph and looks at him. “This is your late husband?” he asks, quietly.

Mrs. Phelps nods. “Yes, that was my George,” Mrs. Phelps says. Her voice is quiet and strained with grief.

Sam returns the photograph to the table.

“And you said he was a… dentist?” Dean asks.

“Mm-hm. He was headed to ao convention in Denver.”

Dean looks at Sam.

“Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…” Mrs. Phelps looks at the table, swallowing down tears.

Gabriel nods sympathetically, still waiting for the boys to reach the conclusion he already has. Ah, humans.

“How long were you married?” Sam asks.

“Thirteen years,” Mrs. Phelps responds with a bittersweet smile. That’s the thing about survivors: they live with the memories. Memories are painful.

“In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?”

Mrs. Phelps considers it. “Well…” she says, thoughtfully, while Dean perks up in his chair, “uh, he had acid reflux, if that’s what you mean.”

Dean and Sam look at each other.

-

When the group exits the house later, walking down the stairs to the street, Dean shakes his head. The house is in a beautiful picture of suburbia.

“I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says.

“A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage,” Dean says. He stops in front of the Impala.

“Okay,” Sam says. “But if we’re gonna go on that route, we’d better look the part.”

-

Mort’s for Style allows Sam and Dean to buy crisp black suits and white shirts for much more money than Dean’s willing to spend on them. In them, the Winchester brothers look slightly more professional than normal. Sam looks more at ease than Dean does.

Sam adjusts his collar. Gabriel stares at him, smirking.

“Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers,” Dean complains.

“No, you don’t,” Sam says, placating at first before his mouth turns up into a smile. “You look more like a… seventh-grader at his first dance.”

Gabriel laughs at that. “He’s right, though. Did you ask her out, or did she ask you?”

“Hey, screw you, feathers.” Dean looks down at himself. “I hate this thing.”

“Hey. You want into that warehouse or not?” Sam asks.

-

By the time they enter the warehouse, Gabriel’s snapped himself into a plain suit, reigning in his ogling just enough to not make it obvious. He flashes his badge at the Security Guard like the Winchesters do, and is let in alongside them. They walk amongst the plane wreckage. Dean pulls a device from his pocket and puts earbuds in. Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“What is that?” Sam asks.

“It’s an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies,” Dean explains.

“Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?” Sam stops walking.

“D’you need, like, tapes to work it, or do the ghosts just play your old-man tunes?” Gabriel snarks.

“I listen to real music, not that EMD nightclub… screamin’-cat crap you think’s music,” Dean snaps. “And that’s what I made it out of. It’s homemade,” Dean says. He grins at his own handiwork.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Sam dismisses.

Dean’s grin slides away. He runs the EMF meter over a piece of the wreckage, yellow dust sprinkled over the metal, and the meter spikes with a whine.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” he says, turning off the EMF meter and sliding it into his pocket. He scratches at the yellow dust, some of it sticking to his hand like powdered sugar. Unlike powdered sugar, Dean doesn’t immediately go to lick it from his hands. “What is this stuff?”

“One way to find out.” Sam scrapes some of the dust off the metal with a pocket knife and into a bag.

“It’s EDM,” Gabriel says, abruptly.

Dean looks at the powder on his hands, then Gabriel. “What?”

“The music. EDM, Dean-O. It’s good, if you--” he looks at the door.

“What, he’s a dog now? Are you smellin’ somethin’, or--?”

“Yeah, so…” Gabriel turns back to them. “The real Homeland Security’s just arrived, and your asses are gonna be grass if you don’t get movin’, like, now.”

The doors bust open as several men, some in suits and some not, enter the room, guns drawn. Gabriel grabs Sam’s hand and Dean’s forearm and, with the gentle sound of wings flapping, he and the Winchesters disappear from the room. Outside the warehouse, Sam and Dean blink in the sudden sunlight. Sirens sound.

“Get going, boys,” Gabriel says, disappearing and appearing outside a gate.

Dean takes off his suit jacket and throws it over the barbed wire up top, climbing over without ripping up his hands. Sam follows him. “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy,” Dean mutters, plucking the jacket off the top of the fence. “Unlike you. You couldn’t just beam us up over the fence, too, or does it not do wood?”

“I’ll beam you up back into the dad-damned warehouse again if you keep that up.” Gabriel takes Sam’s hand and runs off with him, Dean following after them, muttering curses.

-

Back in Jerry’s office, Sam sits in a chair while Dean and Gabriel stand. Sam’s a little disheveled, tie loosened and collar spread out over his suit jacket, while Dean’s still relatively composed. Gabriel still hasn’t snapped out of his suit, either, though he has changed the tie to a rather obnoxious pink color.

Jerry looks at the yellow powder under a microscope, what he’s seeing replicated on a screen for the rest of the group. “Huh,” he says. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You’re sure?” Sam asks.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry says. He steps aside, then looks at the door when he hears loud banging and hollering from outside his office. “If you fellows will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire.”

“You effin’ piece of crap!” a man says.

Jerry leaves the office. Dean slides over to look into the microscope in his absence. “Hey, Einstein,” Jerry yells from outside the office. “Yeah, you. What the heck you doing? Put the wrench down--”

“Hm,” Dean says. “You know, there’s not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue.” He looks from the microscope to Sam.

“Demonic possession?” Sam looks over to Gabriel to confirm his theory. Gabriel grins at him.

“It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch,” Dean says.

“If the guy was possessed, it’s possible.” Sam looks at Gabriel.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it’s one thing to possess a person, but to take down an entire airplane?” Dean asks. He straightens himself from where he was hunched over the microscope.

“Oh, Dean, you of all people should know that the movies don’t capture the reality,” Gabriel says, spreading his arms out.

“Why the hell don’t you tell us this crap when you figure it out?” Dean asks.

Gabriel shrugs. “So, you knuckleheads ever heard of somethin’ like this before, or is this some brand-new type of unnatural for you?”

“Never,” Sam says.

“Well, life’s all ‘bout doin’ new things, right?”

Dean gives Sam an incredulous look, once more asking the why him? question. Sam shakes his head in response.

-

The motel has essentially become a lair of research, pictures and articles taped onto the walls, strewn across the beds. Sam’s looking at something on his laptop, sitting in a chair at the small kitchen table. Gabriel’s sitting in the chair next to him, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other shoveling gummy worms into his mouth. Dean’s reading something on one of the too-small beds while sitting on the other

“So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean, Christian, Native American, Hindu-- you name it,” Sam says.

Gabriel hums. “Demons are some wily sons-of-bitches,” he comments.

“Yeah, but none of ‘em describe anything like this,” Dean says.

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Sam says. “You see, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease.”

“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean asks.

“The times, they are a’changin’. You either gotta change with ‘em, or you end up-- well, you end up like my siblings.” Gabriel twists a gummy worm around his finger.

Dean gets up from the bed with a sigh and walks over to Sam and Gabriel. “Alright, so, what? We have a demon that’s evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?”

“Well, you don’t just get the same result with boats anymore,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it’s brought down before this one?” Sam asks.

Dean snorts and turns away from them.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know, man,” Dean says, scratching at the back of his head. “This isn’t our normal gig. I mean, demons-- they don’t want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”

Sam looks at Gabriel. “Gabe,” he says, softly, “you said that the thing that tried killing you-- you said it was a demon. Yellow-Eyes.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel replies, a little stiff.

“Do you think that this demon-- would know? What Yellow-Eyes tried. Or… where he is?”

Gabriel sighs, dramatic as always. “You know, not every inhuman being knows what every other inhuman being is doing all the time.”

“Listen, we gotta know--”

Dean’s phone rings, cutting him off. He picks it up. “Hello?” he asks.

“Dean, it’s Jerry.”

“Oh, hey, Jerry,” Dean says.

“My pilot friend… Chuck Lambert is dead.”

Dean pauses, disbelief crossing his face. “Wha-- Jerry, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“He and his buddy went up in a small twin about an hour ago,” Jerry says. “The plane went down.”

“Where’d this happen?” Dean asks.

“About sixty miles west of here, near Nazareth.”

“I’ll try to ignore the irony in that,” Dean mutters.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Dean says. “Jerry, hang in there, alright? We’ll catch up with you soon.” He hangs up.

“Another crash?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Sam asks.

“Nazareth.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches up in a smile.

Gabriel snorts. “I went there, once. It was a shithole.”

-

A twisted mess of metal cloaked in black smoke. Two mangled corpses.

-

Jerry’s looking through the microscope again.

“Sulfur?” Dean asks.

Jerry nods and straightens himself. He leans against the desk, facing Sam and Gabriel.

“Well, that’s great,” Dean mutters. “Alright, that’s two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

“With all due respect to Chuck, if that’s the case, that would be the good news,” Sam says, quietly. He’s in one of his hoodies, sitting at the desk, looking at the computer sitting on it.

“What’s the bad news?” Dean asks.

“Chuck’s plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485.”

“Forty minutes? What does that mean?” Jerry asks.

“It’s a biblical thing,” Gabriel says. “Noah’s arc? It rained for forty days. It means death. Which is always comforting.”

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam says, consulting the computer.

“Any survivors?” Dean asks.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

“‘No survivors’,” Dean says. He thinks for a moment. “It’s going after all the survivors. It’s tryin’ to finish the job.”

-

Dean drives along in the road in the darkness of the night, Rush quietly playing on the radio.

“Really?” Sam asks, on his cell phone. “Well, thank you for taking our survey. And if you do plan to fly, please don’t forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hangs up and closes his phone. “Alright, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They’re not flying anytime soon.” He crosses names off a list.

“So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker,” Dean says.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It’s her first night back on the job.”

“Unlucky as ever, huh?” Gabriel asks.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel.”

“Don’t drive faster than your guardian angel can fly,” Gabriel comments. He spreads out across the backseat, taking up as much space as he can.

“Call Amanda’s cell phone again, see if he can’t head her off at the pass,” Dean says.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cell phone off.” Sam covers his face. “God, we’re never gonna make it,” he says.

“If your stubborn-ass brother would let me fly you guys there, maybe you wouldn’t be no nervous.”

“There is no way in hell I’m lettin’ you touch my damn car,” Dean says. “We’ll make it,” he says, full of determination as he speeds down the rural roads in the darkness.

They do, amazingly. Dean parks in a parking garage and gets out of the car, ready to head off.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam says.

Dean looks back, giving Sam a we gotta go look.

“Dean. We’re about to walk into an airport?” Sam says, meaningfully.

Dean looks at his brother and shakes his head. Sam shakes his head back. Dean goes over to the Impala’s trunk, unlocking and opening it, then begins divesting himself of all the weapons hidden on his person, multiple knives and several small guns, throwing them into the weapons trunk.

“I feel naked,” Dean announces.

“Better than the real thing,” Gabriel mutters.

Sam and Dean rush into the airport and Gabriel appears next to them, the flight still on the Departure board. They did make it, and weapon-free, at that. Thank God.

“Right there,” Sam says, pointing at it. “They’re boarding in thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” Dean says, breathless. “We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone.” He rushes over to a courtesy phone and picks it up.

“Airport Services,” a pleasant woman says over the line.

“Hi,” Dean says. “Gate thirteen.”

“Who are you calling, sir?”

“I’m tryin’ to contact an Amanda Walker. She’s a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”

In the moments between when he says the number and when Amanda picks up, Dean looks like he’s about to start praying that she answers. Gabriel snorts at that.

“This is Amanda Walker,” Amanda says, politely.

“Miss Walker,” Dean says, putting on his professional voice, smooth and commanding. “Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital.” He ignores Sam’s what the hell? expression. “We have a Karen Walker here.”

“Karen?”

“Nothin’ serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so--”

“Wa-- wait, that’s impossible. I just got off the phone with her,” Amanda says.

Dean pauses. Sam shifts nervously behind him. “You what?”

“Five minutes ago,” Amanda says. “She’s at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?”

“Uh, well… there must be some mistake,” Dean says, haltingly.

“And how would you even know I was here?”

Sam goes around Dean to try listening to the conversation. Gabriel, who loves using his archangel tricks, is already listening to Dean crash and burn, shaking his head.

“Is this one of Vince’s friends?”

“Guilty as charged,” Dean says, dropping the pretenses with a deprecating chuckle.

“Wow,” Amanda says, unimpressed. “This is unbelievable.”

“He’s… really sorry,” Dean tries, pulling a face at the situation he’s put himself in.

“Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?”

“Yes, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so--”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s too late.”

“Don’t be like that!” Dean pleads. “Come on. The guy’s a mess. Really. It’s pathetic.”

“Really?” Amanda asks, a note of hope in her voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says.

“Look, I’ve got to go. Um… tell him to call me when I land.” She hangs up.

“No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slams the phone back onto the receiver.

“Oh, you really floundered that one,” Gabriel says.

A voice over the intercom thanks them for flying United Britannia Airlines.

“Alright, it’s time for plan B. We’re getting on that plane,” Sam says. His hands are firmly stuffed in the pockets of his Carhart.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second,” Dean says. He’s wide-eyed.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we’re right--” Sam looks around them, aware that this is an airport full of nervous travelers, and quiets his voice-- “that plane is gonna crash.”

“It’s gonna be horrific,” Gabriel adds.

“So we’re getting on that plane. We need to find that demon and exorcise it. I’ll get the tickets. You just go, get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security. Meet us back here in five minutes.” Sam’s words are quick, the fear of all those people dying making him take control of the situation.

Dean just gives him an anxious look.

“Are you okay?”

Dean hesitates. “No,” he says, “not really.”

“What?” Sam asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I kinda have this problem with, uh…” Dean makes a couple meaningless hand gestures and sighs.

“Afraid of flying?” Gabriel teases. Sam holds up a halting hand.

“It’s never really been an issue until now,” Dean says.

“You’re joking, right?” Sam asks.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean asks. “Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?”

“Alright. Uh, Gabe and I will go,” he says, trying to figure out a solution.

“What?” Dean asks.

“I’ll be fine with Gabriel. He’s an angel. So… yeah,” Sam says.

“What are you, nuts?” Dean asks. “You said it yourself, the plane’s gonna crash.”

“Dean, we can do it as a group, or I can do this one with Gabriel,” Sam says, almost pleading. “I’m not seeing a third option, here.”

“Come on! Really? Man…” Dean looks like he’s going through all the stages of grief right there in the airport.

-

The intercom informs the flight attendants to cross-check the doors before departure. Dean, in the aisle seat of a three-seated row, reads the safety card. Front-back. For the third time.

Sam, seated in the middle, tries to calm his brother. “Just try to relax,” he suggests.

Gabriel looks out the window, hand laced with Sam’s on Sam’s thigh.

“Just try to shut up,” Dean snaps back.

As the plane takes off, Dean jumps at all the rumbles and sounds, looking horrified that he was about to die horrifically with each passing second. He grips at the armrests. Sam smirks at Gabriel.

-

Dean’s reclined in his seat, eyes squeezed shut painfully hard, humming to himself. Sam looks over.

“You’re humming Metallica?”

“Calms me down,” Dean says.

“Look, man, I get you’re nervous, alright? But you got to stay focused,” Sam says, in the same comforting tones he sues when talking to people who have just gone through horrific supernatural encounters.

Gabriel’s leaning against Sam’s side, splitting his time between gazing out the window at the darkness around them and smirking at Dean. Since Sam turned down his suggestion of wanna join the mile-high club?, he’s been a little miffed.

“I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down-- or whoever it’s possessing, anyway-- and perform a full-on exorcism,” Sam says.

“Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy,” Dean mutters.

“Well, we do have an angel.” Sam turns to smile at Gabriel. Gabriel smiles back at him. “Just take it one step at a time, alright? Now, who is it possessing?” Sam looks around at the other passengers on the plane.

“It’s usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress.” Dean’s stiff as he speaks, still terrified.

“Well, this is Amanda’s first flight after the crash,” Sam reasons. “If I were her, I’d be pretty messed up.”

Dean turns to a blonde flight attendant walking down the aisle way. “Excuse me,” he says. “Are you Amanda?”

“No, I’m not,” she responds.

“Oh, my mistake,” Dean says.

“Mm-hm,” the flight attendant says politely, walking away.

Dean looks to the back of the plane, spotting who he assumes to be Amanda. “Alright, well, that’s got to be Amanda back there, so I’ll go talk to her, and, uh, I’ll get a read on her mental state,” he says.

“What if she’s already possessed?” Sam asks.

“There’s ways to test that.” Dean reaches into his back, taking out a crushed bottle of water. “I brought holy water,” he announces.

“No,” Sam says, snatching the bottle from his brother and tucking it inside his jacket. “I think we can go more subtle. If she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of God.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Nice.” He turns to leave.

“Hey,” Sam says.

“What?”

“Say it in Latin.”

“I know,” Dean says. He turns around and takes a step.

“Okay. Hey!” Sam says.

“What?!” Dean turns back to Sam.

“Uh, in Latin, it’s ‘Christo’,” Sam says.

“That’s ‘Christ’,” Gabriel corrects.

“Dude, I know! I’m not an idiot!” Dean responds. He makes his way to the back of the plane, slowly and carefully, thumping a seat once after the plane shakes.

Gabriel takes that opportunity to scoot closer to Sam, cuddling up against him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking…” a man over the intercom begins. He mentions turbulence. Dean tunes him out.

Dean reaches the back of the plane. Amanda’s fussing with the drink cart, adding and arranging napkins. Her blonde hair is pulled back into that perfect flight attendant bun, appearance impeccable. If they were on the ground, Dean would immediately enter flirting territory, but since they’re in what Dean believes to be a flying metal death machine, he’s a little out of his element.

“Hi,” Dean says, a little uneasy.

“Hi,” Amanda responds, politely. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no. I’m just a bit of an uneasy flier. It makes me feel better to walk around a bit,” Dean says.

“Oh, it happens to the best of us.”

“Of course, you being a stewardess, I guess flyin’ comes easy to you.”

Amanda laughs, stacking cups into her hand. “You’d be surprised.”

“Really? You’re a nervous flier?”

“Yeah, maybe, little bit.” Despite her words, Amanda has an easy smile on.

“How is that, being a stewardess, you’re scared to fly?” Dean asks.

“Kind of a long story,” Amanda says, straightening and counting napkins..

“Right,” Dean says. “I’m sorry for askin’.”

“It’s okay,” Amanda says.

“You ever consider other employment?”

“No,” Amanda says, looking down at the napkins before looking up at Dean. “Look, everybody’s scared of something. I just, uh… I’m not gonna let it hold me back.”

“Huh,” Dean says, almost in admiration.

“So…”

“Christo,” Dean mumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Dean hesitates. “Christo?” he asks, with a semi-charming smile.

“I-- I didn’t, I didn’t…”

“Yeah, nothing. Never mind.” Dean walks back to his seat, side-eyeing Sam and Gabriel to make sure that they’re decent before he takes his seat once more. “Alright, well, she’s got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet.”

“You said ‘Christo’?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“And?”

“There’s no demon in her. There’s no demon getting in her,” Dean says. He buckles himself in with a click.

“So, if it’s on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam says, a little paranoid.

The plane shakes. Dean looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Come on! That can’t be normal!”

Gabriel snorts with laughter.

“Hey, hey, it’s just a little turbulence,” Sam soothes.

“Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treatin’ me like I’m friggin’ four.”

“You need to calm down,” Sam says.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Sam continues, his voice getting that soothing quality to it once more.

“Dude, stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap. It’s not helping!” Dean hisses.

“Listen, if you’re panicked, you’re wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down. Right now.” Sam’s voice has picked up the authoritative tone it can get sometimes as he commands Dean to get his shit together.

Gabriel leans against Sam’s shoulder. “Oh, whenever you talk like that, I get all--”

“I can’t relax if he’s gonna be like that,” Dean says, sending Gabriel a glare.

“Gabe,” Sam says.

Gabriel shrugs.

Dean takes a long, slow breath.

“Good,” Sam says. “Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.”

“What do we have to do?” Dean asks.

“It’s two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim’s body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“How?”

“Well, it doesn’t need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “And why is that a good thing?”

“Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.”

“First things first, we gotta find it.” Dean takes his busted-up walkman from his bag, walking slowly up the aisle with it, waving it around, getting odd looks but no readings. Sam suddenly claps him on the shoulder. Dean jumps. “Ah! Don’t do that.”

“Anything?” Sam asks.

“No, nothin’. How much time we got?” Dean asks.

“Fifteen minutes. Maybe we missed somebody,” Sam suggests.

Gabriel stares at the door to the bathroom in the back of the plane.

“Maybe the thing’s just not on the plane,” Dean says.

“No, he’s here,” Gabriel says, eyes still fixed on the bathroom door.

Dean looks down as the EMF meter spikes, making that whining sound. The copilot exits the bathroom and heads towards the cockpit.

“Christo,” Dean says.

The copilot flinches and turns slowly to face them, eyes black. He pays the most attention to Gabriel, then looks at Sam. Then he goes into the cockpit, closing the door behind him.

“Jesus,” Dean says.

“How did you know?” Sam asks Gabriel.

“It’s the soul,” Gabriel says. “Garbled and warped. Gross.” He looks at Sam, as if washing the bad taste from his mouth and reaches out for his hand. “There. All better. Now, let’s smite this son of a bitch.”

They walk down the aisle, heading to the back of the plane towards Amanda.

“She’s not gonna believe this,” Sam says.

“Twelve minutes, dude,” Dean reminds him.

“Oh, hi,” Amanda says. “Flight’s not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she says, pleasant as ever.

“Actually, that’s kinda what we need to talk to you about,” Dean says.

Sam closes the curtain.

“Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“Alright, this’s gonna sound nuts, but we just don’t have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now--”

“It’s not that good of a speech,” Gabriel adds.

“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam says.

Amanda’s smile disappears and she looks at the men suspiciously. “Who are you guys?”

“Now, we’ve spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn’t a mechanical failure,” Sam says.

“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now.”

“I’m sorry, I-- I’m very busy. I have to go back--” Amanda tries to brush past Dean, but he stops her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean says. “Wait a second. I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? But listen to me, uh… The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He’s dead.”

Amanda goes pale and shakes her head in disbelief. “Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?”

“He died in a plane crash,” Dean says, matter-of-factly. “Now that’s two plane crashes in two months. That doesn’t strike you as strange?”

“I--”

“Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn’t. But there’s something wrong with this flight, too,” Sam says.

“Amanda, you have to believe us,” Dean says.

Amanda looks at them, wide-eyed, then looks away. “On…” she rubs her temple, “on 2485, there was this man,” she begins, speaking slowly. “He… had these eyes.”

“Completely black? Like the night sky?” Gabriel asks.

Amanda looks at him, strangely. “Exactly. Who-- Who are you?”

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam says.

“I don’t understand. What are you asking me to do?” Amanda asks.

“The copilot, we need you to bring him back here,” Dean says.

“Why?” Amanda asks. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“We don’t have a whole lotta time,” Gabriel says. “We just gotta talk to ‘im. Yeah?”

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot--”

“Do whatever it takes,” Sam begs, words rushed. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there’s something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you--”

“Amanda, you’re gonna lose it all if you don’t help us out here,” Gabriel says.

Amanda hesitates. “Okay,” she says, at last, quietly. She leaves and goes to the cockpit, knocking on the door and saying something to the copilot to get him to follow her back. Dean takes John’s journal from his pocket and hands it to Sam, who opens it.

Amands leads the copilot down the aisle way, to the back of the plane.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?” the copilot asks, walking through the curtain..

Dean punches him in the face, knocking him down, then pins him and puts duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait. What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him,” Amanda protests.

“Oh, we are gonna talk to ‘im, trust us,” Gabriel says.

Dean splashes holy water on his skin, sizzling and burning the flesh when it makes contact. Smoke rises from his torso.

“Oh, my god!” Amanda says. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Look,” Sam says. “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”

“Well, I don’t underst-- I don’t know--”

“Don’t let anyone in, capiche?” Gabriel asks.

“Can you do that? Amanda?” Sam asks, softer and gentler than Gabriel.

“Okay,” Amanda says. “Okay.” She rushes out the curtain.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean says, wrestling with the flailing copilot. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold him.”

Sam reads off the page of John’s journal, his Latin so good it sounds like he was created to speak it. “Regna tarre, cantate Deo, psallite Domino--”

The demon breaks free of Dean’s hold, smacking the bottle of holy water from Dean’s hand and thrashing at the three of them until Dean subdues him once more and Sam picks up where he left off. The demon thrashes again, knocking Dean off him and pulling the tape of his own mouth, grabbing Sam by the collar.

“I know what would’ve happened to your boyfriend!” he says in a terrible, warped voice full of glee. He looks over at Gabriel, grinning in a way best described as demonic. “You’re going to die screaming! You’re going to burn!” The demon looks back at Sam. “Just like your mother!”

Sam stares at the demon, stunned, mouth open.

Dean scrambles up. “Sam!”

Sam looks at Gabriel, then shakes his head and begins reading again, putting the book down to help Dean handle the demon.

“I got him!” Sam yells.

The demon kicks the book up the aisle. It exits the copilot’s body in a thick column of black smoke and disappears into a vent.

“Where’d it go?” Sam asks.

“It’s in the plane. Hurry up. We got to finish it,” Dean says.

The plane dips, heaves violently against the sky, as though it was in a heavy storm. Sam struggles to find the book, crawling on the ground, while Dean presses himself against the exit door, screaming in fear.

Gabriel snaps his fingers, the journal appearing in his hands, and tosses it over to Sam. Sam opens it up to the page containing the exorcism, reading the rest of it in a frantic yell while he fights against the bucking plane.

A flash of lightning runs through the plane, which stops fighting the sky, leveling out.

As people ask each other if they’re okay, Amanda sighs in relief. Dean looks around before coming out from behind the curtain, looking shaken. Sam stands on unsteady legs, holding the journal, and wraps his arms around Gabriel when he flings himself into Sam’s arms.

-

The shaken passengers from the flight disembark into an area milling with agents in different uniforms, from paramedics to the FBI to the FAA and everything in between. The copilot is in a wheelchair, blanket wrapped around him, as he’s questioned by an FAA agent.

“Sir,” the agent says, “can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know,” the copilot replies. “I was walking through the airport, then it all goes blank. I don’t even remember getting on the plane.”

Amanda is being questioned by an FBI agent.

“Anything else?” the FBI agent asks.

“No, that’s all,” Amanda replies.

Amanda sees Gabriel and the Winchesters standing across the way and mouths thank you to them. They nod.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean says, leading them to the exit. “You okay?”

Sam stops and turns, looking at the terminal they just exited from. “Dean, it knew about Yellow-Eyes. It knew about mom. It knew about Gabriel.”

“Sam, these things… they-- they read minds. They lie. Alright? That’s all it was.”

“No,” Gabriel says, shaking his head. “He looked at me, and I felt it in my soul. They know about you two, down there.”

Dean scratches his head. “We’re gonna have to look into it.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, blankly. Gabriel takes his hand and presses a kiss against the back of it.

“Come on,” Gabriel suggests.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel stand outside Jerry’s warehouse with Jerry, right next to the Impala. In the light of day and safely on the ground, Dean doesn’t look nearly as terrified.

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed.” Jerry shakes their hands. “Your dad’s gonna be real proud,” he says.

“We’ll see you around, Jerry,” Sam says.

Dean begins to walk around the front of the Impala, then stops. “You know, Jerry,” he says, casually.

“Yeah?”

“I meant to ask you: how did you get my cell phone number, anyway? I’ve only had it for, like, six months.”

“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry says.

“What?” Sam asks.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean asks.

“I mean, I didn’t exactly talk to him, but I called his number,” Jerry says. “His voice message said to give you a call. Thanks again, guys.” Jerry leaves for the warehouse once more.

A plane flies overhead, the bright red maple leaf emblazoned on the tail shining in the light. Dean sits on the far edge of the Impala’s trunk, Sam right next to him, and Gabriel next to him.

“This doesn’t make any sense, man. I’ve called Dad’s number like fifty times. It’s been out of service,” Sam says.

“Unless it’s not anymore,” Gabriel suggests.

Dean dials a number on his cell phone. He turns up the sound so Sam and Gabriel can hear the voice message, too, and leans over to them.

“This is John Winchester,” John’s voice says. “I can’t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

Sam’s hand tightens where it’s holding Gabriel’s, fuming silently. He and Gabriel get into the backseat of the Impala. Dean follows, getting behind the wheel and driving off.

Chapter Text

Sam lies back on his bed, eyes closed, then hot blood drips on his forehead. He opens his eyes and sees Gabriel on the ceiling.

“Why, Sam? Why, Sam?” he asks.

“No!” Sam yells, reaching out to the ceiling.

“Why, Sam?” Gabriel’s body bursts into hungry flames that devour him. “Why, Sam?”

Dean shakes his brother’s shoulder. “Sam, wake up,” he says.

Sam opens his eyes, looking around as if he’s expecting to be somewhere entirely different. He’s sitting shotgun in the Impala, parked in front of a large building. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Gabriel, face knit with concern.

“I take it I was having a nightmare,” Sam says. He reaches out to touch Gabriel’s hand, scared that it would go through Gabriel’s flesh.

“Yeah, another one,” Dean says.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep,” Sam says.

“You know, sooner or later we’re gonna have to talk about this,” Dean says, testily.

“Are we here?” Sam asks.

“Yup,” Dean says. “Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

Sam picks up a newspaper with Steven Shoemaker’s obituary circled in the same sketchy circle Dean circles every obituary with. Shoemaker, Steven, the heading reads. The Shoemaker family is sad to announce the sudden death of their beloved husband and father Steven Shoemaker. Steven was 46, the body reads.

“So, what d’you think happened to this guy, huh?” Gabriel asks.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out,” Dean says. “Let’s go.”

Dean and Sam exit the car and head up to the building. Gabriel flies there, lazy as ever.

-

Room 144 is marked Morgue. Inside, there are two desks, the empty one having a nameplate reading Dr. D. Feiklowicz, and the other with the morgue technician.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “We’re the, uh… med students.”

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asks.

“Oh, Doctor-- Figlavitch didn’t tell you?” Dean asks. “We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we’re from Ohio State.”

“We’re supposed to see the Shoemaker corpse. Gotta write a paper and all,” Gabriel adds smoothly. Having spent most of his immortal lifetime lying has its perks.

“Well, I’m sorry, he’s at lunch,” the morgue tech says.

“Oh well he said, uh--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gabriel dismisses. “How ‘bout you show us the body, huh?”

“Sorry, I can’t,” the morgue tech says. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh.” Gabriel winces. “We gotta be back to the big C by then.” He looks at Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Uh, look, man, this paper’s like half our grade, so if you don’t mind helpin’ us out--”

“Uh, look, man… no,” the morgue tech says.

Dean laughs a little, then turns around to mumble to Sam and Gabriel. “I’m gonna hit him in his face, I swear.”

Sam hits Dean in the arm, then steps in front of both Dean and Gabriel, opens his wallet, and pulls out some twenties, laying out about five of them on the morgue tech’s desk.

The morgue tech picks up the money. “Follow me,” he says, more accepting of their presence. He gets up and leads them to the morgue.

Dean grabs Sam. “Dude, I earned that money,” he hisses.

“You won it in a poker game,” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Gabriel pushes past Dean and wraps his hand around Sam’s arm, following after the morgue tech.

“Now, the newspaper said his daughter found him,” Sam says, once they’re in the morgue. “She said his eyes were bleeding.”

The morgue tech pulls back the sheet over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” He sounds grossly fascinated.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggests.

“Nope,” the morgue tech says. “Besides the daughter, he was all alone.”

“What’s the official cause of death?” Sam asks.

“Ah, Doc’s not sure. He’s thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I’ve ever seen,” the morgue tech says.

“What d’you think would cause somethin’ like that? Some sorta… dunno, Carrie-type thing, but all in his head?” Gabriel asks.

“Capillaries can burst,” the morgue tech says. “See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims.”

“Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?” Dean asks.

“That’s a first for me, but hey, I’m not the doctor,” the morgue tech says.

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know, for, uh… our paper?”

“I’m not really supposed to show you that,” the morgue tech says.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers. The report shows up in his hands, and the morgue tech glazes over.

“What the hell did you do?” Dean asks Gabriel.

“Get your panties outta that twist. He isn’t dead. He’ll just think he fell asleep at his desk and--” he shrugs-- “had a dream about some super hot tall guy, his handsome boyfriend, and weird brother.” Gabriel snaps up a table and lays the police report on top of it. “So, let’s read about our friend Stevie’s death.”

-

Dean walks in front of Sam and Gabriel, down the stairs in front of the hospital.

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggests.

“How many times in Dad’s long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean asks.

“Uh, almost never,” Sam says.

“Exactly.”

“Wow, I’m convinced!” Gabriel says. “So let’s go talk to the brother.”

-

The Shoemaker house is full of funeral goers, dressed in black, except for the Winchesters and Gabriel, of course. On the desk, there is a picture of Steven Shoemaker.

“Feel like we’re underdressed,” Dean remarks, as they walk through the house and into the backyard.

A man points them towards Donna and Lily Shoemaker, who are with their friends, Jill and Charlie.

“You must be Donna, right?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Donna says. She’s in her late teens or early twenties, too young to be dealing with the death of her father.

“I’m Sam, and this is Gabriel and Dean. We worked with your dad,” Sam says, kind and soft.

Donna looks at Charlie, then back at Sam and Dean.

“You did?” Donna asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “This whole thing. I mean, a stroke.”

“I don’t think she really wants to talk about this right now,” Charlie says.

“It’s okay,” Donna says. “I’m okay.”

“Were there any symptoms?” Dean asks. “Dizziness? Migraines?”

“No,” Donna says.

Lily, a young teen, turns around to face her sister. “That’s because it wasn’t a stroke,” she says, confidently.

“Lily, don’t say that,” Donna chastises.

“What?” Gabriel asks.

“I’m sorry,” Donna apologizes. “She’s just upset.”

“No, it happened because of me,” Lily insists.

“Sweetie, it didn’t,” Donna assures her.

“Lily.” Sam gets down on eye level with her, his face kind and concerned. “Why would you say something like that?” he asks.

“Right before he died, I said it,” Lily says.

“What did you say?” Gabriel asks.

“Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror,” Lily confesses. There’s a pause. “She took his eyes. That’s what she does.”

“That’s not why Dad died. This isn’t your fault.”

“I think your sister’s right, Lily,” Dean says. “There’s no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn’t say it, did she?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Lily says.

-

They make their way to the upstairs bathroom, the scene of the death. Sam pushes the door open, some dried blood still on the tiles.

“The Bloody Mary legend… Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?” Sam asks.

“Not that I know of,” Dean replies.

Dean walks into the bathroom. Sam stoops to the floor and touches the dried blood.

“I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it,” Sam says.

“Yeah, well, maybe everywhere else it’s just a story, but here it’s actually happening.”

“Tall tales,” Gabriel says. Sam gives him a meaningful look. Gabriel raises his hands in surrender. “Whoa, now. This isn’t a Trickster’s handiwork, if you’re wonderin’,” Gabriel says.

Dean squints at them. “I don’t know if I wanna know,” he says.

“We all got pasts we’re not proud of,” Gabriel says.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B--” he looks at the mirror for the medicine cabinet, which now faces him, and closes it so he can no longer see his and Gabriel’s faces. “The person who says you know what gets it. But here--”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean says. “Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter’s right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out.”

They leave the bathroom, only to be confronted by Charlie.

“What are you doing up here?” she questions.

“We-- We had to go to the bathroom,” Dean says, flimsy.

“Who are you?” Charlie asks.

“Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna’s dad,” Dean says.

“He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself,” Charlie says.

“No, I know, I meant--”

“And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what’s going on, or I start screaming,” Charlie threatens.

Dean looks at Gabriel expectantly, like he’s expecting Gabriel to pull the same trick on Charlie that he pulled on the morgue tech, but Gabriel just gives him a look in response.

“Alright, alright,” Sam says. “We think something happened to Donna’s dad.”

“Yeah, a stroke,” Charlie says.

“Nah. That’s not a sign of your typical, garden-variety stroke. It’s gotta be somethin’ else,” Gabriel says.

“Like what?” Charlie asks.

“Honestly? We don’t know yet. But we don’t want it to happen to anyone else. That’s the truth,” Sam says.

“So, if you’re gonna scream, go right ahead<” Dean continues.

“Who are you, cops?” Charlie asks.

Sam looks over his shoulder at Dean.

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean says.

“I’ll tell you what. Here.” Sam pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and looks to Gabriel. Gabriel tries to be subtle about his finger snap. Sam hands Charlie the piece of paper, now with his cell number written on it in Gabriel’s large, curving script. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary… just give us a call.”

Sam leads Dean and Gabriel down the hallway.

-

The library is somewhat dark for the time of day from the outside. Ohio skies are not necessarily known for being particularly bright or cloudy, in that same sort of swinging existence that the rest of the state is.

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean says, skeptical as always. “There’s gonna be some sorta proof-- Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but a legend this widespread… it’s hard. I mean, there’s like, fifty versions of who she actually is. One story says she’s a witch, another says she’s a mutilated bride-- there’s a lot more,” Sam explains.

They walk into the library itself.

“Alright, so what are we supposed to be lookin’ for?” Dean asks.

“Every version’s got a few things in common,” Sam continues. “It’s always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we’ve gotta search local newspapers-- public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

Well, that sounds annoying,” Dean mutters.

“No, it won't’ be so bad, as long as we…” he looks at the computers, all with the dreaded Out of Order sign on them and chuckles in an of course it’s us way. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

Gabriel looks to Sam and Dean, sighs, and snaps again, three computers miraculously missing the signs.

“Oh, look, they’re fixed!” he observes, sarcastic and dry. “Some higher power must really love you, Sam, ‘cuz that’s somethin’ that doesn’t happen every day.” Gabriel strolls over to sit at one, looking over his shoulder at Sam.

Dean blinks a couple times at Gabriel, then looks to his brother. “Dude,” he says. “Where did you get him? And does he have, like, a hot sister or somethin’?”

“Maybe you should ask him sometime,” Sam says, his geeky heart touched by Gabriel’s kind gesture.

“Wait a minute, this isn’t some weird sort of geeky foreplay, is it? ‘Cuz if I go out for food and find you two anythin’ but decent, I’m gonna flip.”

Sam shrugs and walks over to join Gabriel, sitting far too close to him.

Dean mutters to himself under his breath, something about brother-corrupting feathery bastards, before joining them at the computers.

-

“Why Sam?” the burning heap that is Gabriel asks, words so clear despite the fire consuming him.

Sam jerks awake, breathing harsh and terrified. Gabriel reaches out for Sam’s hand, holding it tightly.

“Why’d you let me fall asleep?” Sam asks them both.

“You’re pretty damn exhausted, cupcake,” Gabriel says.

“‘Cuz I’m an awesome brother,” Dean says. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” Sam mutters, sarcastic and annoyed.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbles, getting more and more impatient about Sam avoiding the question.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asks.

“Oh, ‘sides a whole new level of frustration?”

Sam sits up, leaning against Gabriel just for the comfort that he is there, alive.

“No. I’ve looked at everythin’, no thanks to him,” Dean says. “A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine, committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but, uh, no Mary.”

Sam falls back on the bed, eyeing Gabriel. “Maybe we just haven’t found it yet,” he says.

“I’ve also been searchin’ for strange deaths in the area, y’know… eyeball bleeding, that sorta thing. There’s nothin’. Whatever’s happenin’ here, maybe it just ain’t Mary,” Dean continues.

Sam’s cell phone rings. He picks it up, flipping it open. “Hello?” His face changes into concern.

-

Dean sits with a crying Charlie on a park bench, Sam and Gabriel standing behind them.

“And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her-- her eyes. They were gone.” Charlie’s voice breaks, full of horror at what had happened to her friend.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says.

“And she said it,” Charlie says.

Dean looks up at Sam, eyebrows raised.

“I heard her say it. But it couldn’t be because of that. I’m insane, right?” Charlie’s voice takes on the pleading tone that they’re used to hearing, that please tell me I’m making things up and that the world isn’t as crazy as I must be voice.

“No, you’re not insane,” Dean says.

“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse,” Charlie says.

“Look,” Sam says, “we think something’s happening here. Something that can’t be explained.”

“And we’re gonna stop it, but we could use your help,” Dean says.

-

Jill’s room is that of a typical teenage girl’s. It doesn’t look like it would be the scene of a gruesome murder at all, but that’s something that you get used to, as a hunter.

Charlie comes in from the hallway and locks the door behind her. She opens the window, allowing Dean in, while Sam and Gabriel appear next to her, a duffel bag in hand.

“What the hell?” Charlie asks.

“Oh, yeah, about that.” Gabriel does his typical party trick of snapping up a candy bar (this time a Nerds rope) and spreading the shadows of his wings behind him. “Gabriel, archangel of the Lord, all that jazz. Candy?”

Charlie blinks at Gabriel, then looks at Sam and Dean. “An angel?”

“Yeah, it takes some gettin’ used to,” Dean says.

Charlie shakes her head.

“What did you tell Jill’s mom?” Sam asks.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill’s pictures and things.”

Sam takes something from the duffel while Dean shuts the curtains.

“I hate lying to her,” Charlie says.

“Trust us, this is for the greater good,” Dean assures her. “Hit the lights.”

Gabriel snaps, the room filling with darkness.

“This is so weird.” Charlie looks around. “What are you guys looking for?”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we find it,” Dean says.

Sam hands a digital camera to Dean. “Hey, night vision.” Dean turns on the night vision for his brother and hands it back to him. “Perfect.” Sam looks through the camera, aiming it at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” Dean asks.

“Try Chris Farley,” Gabriel retorts.

Sam walks away with the camera, opening Jill’s closet door and filming around the mirror. “So I don’t get it. I mean… the first victim didn’t summon Mary, and the second victim did. How’s she choosing them?” He closes the closet door.

“Beats me,” Dean says. “I wanna know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It’s just a joke,” Charlie says.

“You gotta be careful with the jokes, ‘cuz bad shit like this happens when people aren’t careful,” Gabriel warns.

“Somebody’s gonna say it again, it’s just a matter of time,” Dean says.

Sam moves to the bathroom, attached to the bedroom, filming around the mirror. In the night vision of the camera, dried trickles of something down the wall, from the mirror. “Hey,” he says, getting the others to look at him. “There’s a black light in the trunk, right?”

He carries the mirror to Jill’s bed and lays it upside down so the back is facing the ceiling. Gabriel snaps up a black light and throws it to Sam. Sam peels off the brown paper covering the back, shining the black light over the newly-revealed back. Glowing beneath the light is a handprint and the words Gary Bryman.

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asks.

“You know who that is?” Sam asks her.

“No,” she says.

-

They’re once more on a bench outside, Dean and Charlie sitting together, Sam and Gabriel walking up to them from behind.

“So, Gary Bryman was an eight-year-old boy. Two years ago, he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry,” Sam says.

“No one got the plates and no one saw the driver,” Gabriel adds.

“Oh my God,” Charlie said.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Jill drove that car.”

“We need to get back to your friend Donna’s house,” Dean says.

-

In the bathroom of Donna’s house, Sam and Dean are hunched over the back of the mirror, black light in hand. There’s another handprint with the words Linda Shoemaker on it.

“Linda Shoemaker,” Sam says.

Downstairs, Donna is irate. “Why are you asking me this?” she asks.

“Look, we’re sorry, but it’s important,” Sam says.

“Yeah. Linda’s my mom, okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident, and that’s it,” Donna says. She glares at them. “I think you should leave.”

“Now, Donna, just listen,” Dean says, taking that authoritative tone he gets when he tries telling Sam what to do.

“Get out of my house!” Donna yells, then runs upstairs.

“Oh my God,” Charlie says. “Do you really think her dad could’ve killed her mom?”

“Maybe,” Sam suggests.

“I think I should stick around,” Charlie says.

“Alright,” Dean says.

Gabriel glances at Sam. “Just don’t say--”

“Believe me, I won’t say it,” Charlie says.

-

Dean’s on one of the library computers while Sam looks at things on the bulletin board next to them.

“Nationwide search, huh? You’re not screwin’ around here,” Gabriel comments.

“Yep,” Dean says. “The NCIC, the FBI database-- at this point, any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.”

“But if she’s haunting the town, she should have died in the town,” Sam points out.

Gabriel sits on the desk with the computer, legs dangling. “Dunno, honey bunch. I think I gotta agree with your brother here, ‘cuz stuff like this can happen. With tricksters and whatnot.”

Honey bunch, Dean mouths to Sam. Sam rolls his eyes at Dean.

“The way Mary’s choosing her victims-- it seems like there’s a pattern,” Sam says.

“I know. I was thinkin’ the same thing,” Dean says.

“Shoemaker and Jill-- they both had some pretty damn big secrets. And I thought I had a past.” Gabriel leans back, stretching out.

“I mean, there’s a lot of folklore about mirrors-- that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they’re a true reflection of your soul, which is why it’s bad luck to break them,” Sam says.

“Right, right,” Dean says. “So maybe if you’ve got a secret-- I mean like a really bad one where someone died--, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it.”

Gabriel kicks his legs. “Whether you speed dialed her or not.”

“Exactly,” Sam says.

“Take a look at this.” Dean pulls up a black and white picture of a woman lying in a blood puddle by a mirror, then scrolls down to show Sam a picture of a handprint and the letters Tre.

“Looks like the same handprint,” Sam remarks.

“It is,” Gabriel says.

“Her name was Mary Worthington-- an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana,” Dean explains.

-

They end up in a cramped private detective’s office in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

“I was on the job for thirty-five years-- detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder-- that one still gets me,” the detective explains.

“What exactly happened?” Dean asks.

“You boys said you were reporters?” the detective asks.

“We know Mary was nineteen, lived by herself,” Sam begins. “We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March twenty-ninth, someone broke into her apartment and murdered her. Cut out her eyes with a knife.”

“That’s right,” the detective confirms.

“So when we were askin’ about what happened, we wanted to know about what you think happened. ‘Cuz outta all the people we coulda asked, we know that your theories are the best,” Gabriel says.

The detective pulls several files from one of the filing cabinets. “Technically I’m not supposed to have a copy of this,” he says. He opens a file to show them the picture Dean had found on the computer. “Now see that there? T-R-E?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer,” the detective says.

“You know who, uh, punched her ticket?” Gabriel asks.

“Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon. Trevor Sampson.” He pulls out a picture of a man and shows it to them. “And I think he cut her up good.”

“Why’d he do somethin’ like that?” Gabriel asks.

“Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, T. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell T’s wife about their affair.”

“Yeah, but how d’you know it was Sampson who killed her?” Dean asks.

“It’s hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out… it was almost professional,” the detective says.

“But you could never prove it?” Dean asks.

“No. No prints. No witnesses. He was meticulous.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Nope,” the detective says, sitting down and sighing deeply. “If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy’s secret. But she never could.”

“Where’s the buried?” Sam asks.

“We wasn’t,” the detective replies. “She was cremated.”

“What about that mirror?” Dean nods at the picture. “It’s not in some evidence lockup somewhere, is it?”

“Ah, no. It was returned to Mary’s family a long time ago.”

“You got the names of her family anywhere?” Gabriel asks.

-

Sam’s on his cell phone as Dean drives. Gabriel’s in the back, eating a Carmello and messing with his DS.

“Oh, really? Ah, that’s too bad, Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror.” He glances at Gabriel over his shoulder. Gabriel smiles at him. He smiles back. “Okay, well maybe next time. Alright, thanks.” He hangs up and slides his phone into his pocket.

“So?” Dean asks.

“So, that was Mary’s brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

“So wherever the mirror goes, that’s where Mary goes?” Dean asks.

“Her spirit’s definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam agrees.

“Isn’t there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?”

“Yup,” Gabriel says. “When someone’d drop in a house, they’d cover up all the mirrors, just so the ghost didn’t get sucked in and stay on this mortal plane for all eternity. Now, I don’t know ‘bout you two, but that sounds pretty damn horrific. Oh wait.”

Dean gives Sam that look again.

“How could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” Sam asks.

“Maybe you should ask your boyfriend, ‘cuz he knows everythin’, apparently.” Dean shakes his head. “If the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe.” Sam’s phone rings. He answers. “Hello.” He breathes in, sharply. “Charlie?”

-

Charlie’s sitting on Dean’s bed in the motel, head on her knees, the curtains closed. Sam and Dean are throwing sheets over the mirrors, facing them to the wall or floor, or, in Gabriel’s case, snapping them out of existence.

Sam sits next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Hey, you can open up your eyes, Charlie. It’s okay, alright?”

Charlie looks up slowly, crying.

“Now listen. You’re gonna stay right here on this bed, and you’re not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can’t keep that up forever,” Charlie says. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No way, kiddo,” Gabriel says, taking up his typical place next to Sam. “No. You’re not gonna die anytime soon, alright?”

Dean sits on the bed on Charlie’s other side. “Alright Charlie. We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom,” Charlie sobs. “Donna said it.”

“That’s not what we’re talkin’ about,” Dean says. “Somethin’ happened, didn’t it? In your life… a secret… where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

Charlie swallows hard. “I had this boyfriend,” she begins. “I loved him. But he kinda scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got into this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said, ‘Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I’m gonna kill myself’. And you know what I said?” Charlie looks sick at her past actions. “I said ‘go ahead’. And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just… I didn’t believe him, you know? I should have.” She puts her face back on her knees and starts crying again, sobbing into her knees.

-

Dean drives the Impala through the rain, the water making the black of the car shine in the lights lining the street.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that’s not really Charlie’s fault,” Dean says.

“You know as well as I do spirits don’t exactly see shades of gray, Dean,” Sam says, matter-of-factly. “Charlie had a secret, someone died, that’s good enough for Mary.”

“I guess,” Dean mutters.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Sam says. “It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.”

“Why, what d’you mean?”

“Well, Mary’s hard to pin down, right? I mean, she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who’s to say that she’s not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it,” Sam suggests.

“Well, how do you know that’s gonna work?” Dean asks.

“I don’t. Not for sure.”

“Well, who’s gonna summon her?” Dean asks.

“I will,” Sam says. “She’ll come after me.”

“You know what, that’s it.” Dean pulls the car over to the side of the road. Before Sam can protest, Dean starts speaking. “This is about whatever almost happened to Gabe, isn’t it? You think that’s your dirty little secret? That you almost killed him? Sam, this has got to stop, man.” Dean shakes his head. “I mean, the nightmares and callin’ his name out in the middle of the night-- it’s gonna kill you. Now listen to me-- it wasn’t your fault. If you wanna blame somethin’, blame that bastard, Yellow-Eyes. Or hell, why don’t you take a swing at me? I mean, I’m the one that dragged you away from him in the first place.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sam says, looking at Gabriel in the backseat. “I warned him, but we thought…”

“About what? You didn’t know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn’t a secret. I mean, I know all about it. It’s not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean says.

“No, you don’t,” Sam says.

“I don’t what?” Dean asks.

Sam avoids Gabriel’s eyes. “You don’t know all about it. I haven’t told you everything.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Dean asks.

“It’s--” Sam shakes his head.

“You know what?” Gabriel pipes up from the back, authoritative in a way he isn’t normally. “I’ll do it.”

“What, you?” Dean asks. “Takin’ one for the team?”

“Don’t act like I’ve never done it before,” Gabriel says. “And don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”

Dean looks at Gabriel over his shoulder. “You’ve--?”

“Dean. Archangel of the Lord. You think I haven’t done anything I regret before?”Gabriel leans back.

Sam watches him. “But what if you--”

“Sam, sugar lumps, I love you and appreciate the concern, I really do, but I don’t think some little ghostie’s gonna hurt me. Again. Archangel. I’ve been through wars. I’ll be fine.” Gabriel leans up to kiss Sam.

“Jesus! Not in the damn car!” Dean protests.

“So, let’s gank a ghost.”

-

Gabriel snaps open the door to the shop. Inside, there are many mirrors.

“Well… that’s just great,” Dean mutters.

“Dude’s gotta have some sort of fetish for mirrors.” Gabriel leads them inside.

Dean takes out the picture. “Alright, let’s start looking.” He walks off one way, Sam and Gabriel in the other. A light at their feet flashes.

“Maybe they’ve already sold it,” Dean suggests, loudly.

Sam’s flashlight stops at the mirror. “I don’t think so,” he says.

Dean comes over and pulls out the picture, comparing the two of them. “That’s it,” he says. Then he sighs. “You sure about this?” He looks at Gabriel, almost concerned.

“Aww. That’s awful sweet of you, Dean. Finally warming up?” Gabriel teases. His smile fades as he moves to sit in front of the mirror. “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring into his own eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks up, more in a dare for Mary to mess with him than anything humorous. “Bloody Mary.”

A light shines into the mirror. Dean looks over his shoulder. “I’ll go check that out,” he says. “Stay here, be careful.”

Sam readies the crowbar, watching Gabriel’s reflection.

“Smash anything that moves.” Dean crawls away to the front door, stealthy as always. He stops when he sees a bright light shining in. “Crap,” he mutters, puts down his crowbar, and stands to walk to the door.

Gabriel glances at Dean. Mary appears in the mirror in front of him. Sam inhales sharply.

-

“Hold it,” the police officer says, once Dean exits the shop.

“Whoa, guys. False alarm. I tripped the system.”

“Who are you?” the officer asks.

“I’m the boss’s kid,” Dean says, confidently.

“You’re mister Yamashiro’s kid?”

Dean asks himself why everything has to be so hard.

-

Mary flits to another mirror, watching them. Sam smashes the glass. She moves to another, which he smashes, as well. Mirror shards fall like rain from the now-empty frames.

Gabriel stares into her mirror. “C’mon,” he says. “I’m the one you want, aren’t I?” He observes his reflection. Mirror-Gabriel looks at Gabriel, his head shifting angles like a cat’s. The real Gabriel’s breathing stutters (though he doesn’t need to breathe), and a trickle of blood comes from his eye.

“Gabe?” Sam asks.

“It’s your fault,” Mirror-Gabriel says, in Gabriel’s voice, but more echoing, more evil. “You killed them.” Mirror-Gabriel looks down upon Gabriel. “You killed them all.”

-

“Like I said, I was adopted.” Dean shifts where he’s standing, smiling a charming, but unconvincing.

“Yeah,” one of the officers says, not believing him.

Dean, covered on both his front and back by police officers, sighs. “You know, I just-- I really don’t have time for this right now.” He punches the officer in front of him, backhands the other behind him, and punches the one in front, just for measure. They drop to the ground.

-

“You abused your power,” Mirror-Gabriel says. “You killed them because you think you’re allowed to judge them. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You want to find your dad.”

Gabriel coughs, a little, but he wipes the blood from his cheek. “What, that’s everything you got? I got a lot more sins than that.”

“You wanted him to stop you, didn’t you?” Mirror-Gabriel asks. “You thought if you became him, you’d see him again. And then you met the hunter. And you wanted to mess with him. But you fell in love, didn’t you? And he was disgusted by you.”

Gabriel stares at his reflection, unblinking. “I don’t feel anything,” he taunts, even though another rivulet of blood slides from his eye like a tear. Another joins it on the other side.

“How could you? How could you kill people? Your father’s creations? And you called yourself a god.” Mirror-Gabriel shakes his head, looking disgusted with his real counterpart. “But you’re not a god. You’re just an angel with daddy issues. And you’re going to ruin Sam’s life. You’re going to destroy him, and he’s going to regret ever meeting you. He’ll hate you, when he dies.”

More blood drips from Gabriel’s eyes. He looks at his reflection.

“He’ll die screaming, because of you!”

Sam’s crowbar smashes through the mirror, the glass smashing into pieces around them. He drops the crowbar and takes Gabriel’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes. “Gabe. Gabe? Are you okay?”

Gabriel blinks a couple times, refocusing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Dean rushes into the room. “You smashed it?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, not looking away from Gabriel’s eyes. He rubs his thumb up GAbriel’s cheek, rubbing the blood away. “Hey. Are you sure--?”

“It’s okay,” Gabriel says. “It’s good. Nothin’ I’ve never dealt with before, y’know?”

“We gotta go, ‘cuz I just, uh, punched out some cops, and…” Dean stares at the mirror shards for a moment.

Mary drags herself out of the empty frame of the mirror, crawling over the broken glass in front of her and breathing hard, labored breaths. She stands, flickering in and out of existence like a glitch, and hobbles towards them as though her legs are broken. Sam and Dean fall to the ground, blood running down their faces, grunting in pain. Gabriel looks like he’s ready to fight her when Dean pulls over a mirror, grunting with excertion, angling it so Mary has to look into her own reflection.

“You killed them!” her reflection hisses, echoing and raspy. “All those people! You killed them!”

Mary starts choking to death, the sounds of her struggle ending when she melts into a puddle of blood, surrounded by mirror shards. Dean throws the mirror he held at her, which shatters.

“Hey Sam?” Dean asks, raspily.

“Yeah?” Sam responds, equally as exhausted.

“This has got to be like… what? 600 years of bad luck?”

Sam chuckles weakly. Gabriel helps him up, then Dean.

“C’mon, dumb mortals. We got cops to evade.”

-

Dean drives the Impala, Sam in shotgun, Gabriel and Charlie sitting in the back. He pulls up in front of her house and looks at her over his shoulder.

“So this is really over?” Charlie asks.

Dean nods. “Yeah, it’s over.”

“Thank you,” she says, quietly.

Dean reaches into the back to shake her hand. She gets out of the car.

“Charlie?” Sam asks. She turns around. “Your boyfriend’s death… you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn’t have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

Charlie smiles, faint, then turns to go into her house.

Dean lightly smacks Sam. “That’s good advice,” he says. He looks back at Gabriel. “Guess some little ghostie did wreck your shit.”

“Not as bad as she wrecked yours,” Gabriel fires back.

“What did she even say to you?”

Gabriel gives him a look, glancing at Sam for a second. “Just some stuff I did before I got my moral compass, okay? Nothin’ big.”

“Hey man, I get tryin’ to be mysterious and whatnot, but--”

“Dean,” Sam says.

Dean sighs. “Okay. Alright. Keep your damn secrets.” He drives from Charlie’s house.

Sam and Gabriel look at each other.

Chapter Text

Dean pulls into Sure Gas. “Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” He looks at Sam, expectantly, then when he wasn’t respond, cracks a grin. “Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“Yeah, and it’s really hot,” Gabriel pipes up from the back. Dean glares at him. “What? You said it.”

“I’ve been listenin’. I’m just busy.” He’s checking his emails on his PalmPilot, almost idly, in his Carhart jacket and a collared shirt to fight off the slight chill. “And don’t bring that up, Gabe. You’re going to scar him for life.”

Gabriel crosses his arms in the backseat. “He’s the one that brought it up in the first place,” he mutters, childish as always.

“Busy doin’ what?” Dean asks.

“Reading emails.”

Dean gets out of the car and walks around the back. “Emails from who?” he asks.

“My friends at Stanford.”

“You’re kidding,” Dean says, retrieving the gas pump and beginning to fill the Impala. “You still keep in touch with your college buddies?”

“Why not?”

Dean leans against the side of the Impala. “Just thought they’d think you’re kinda crazy. Y’know, ‘cuz you hunt monsters for a livin’. What’s up with that Jess chick, anyway?”

“No,” Sam says, firmly.

“I was just askin’ what she’s gettin’ up to!” Dean says.

“She’s way outta your league,” Gabriel says, popping his gum. Dean glares at him. “No, seriously. She’s outta my league. Girl like that…” he whistles.

Sam continues reading through his emails.

“What ‘bout Luis? You seemed to like him an awful lot.” Gabriel grins, fiendish.

“Hey man, just ‘cuz my brother swings that way doesn’t mean I gotta, too,” Dean says. He gives Gabriel a harsh glare.

“God,” Sam mutters, reading through a particular email.

“Hm?” Gabriel asks, leaning over to read over Sam’s shoulder.

“What?” Dean leans in through the open window to read it as well.

“This email from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine,” Sam explains to Dean.

“Is she hot?” Dean asks.

“I went to school with her and her brother, Zach," Sam continues, ignoring his brother's question. "She says Zach’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend.” Sam furrows his brow. “Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but... it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

“Dude, what kinda people are you hangin’ out with?” Dean asks.

“No, man. I know Zach. He’s no killer.”

“Yeah. He’s not really about that kind of life,” Gabriel says.

“Well, maybe you know Zach as well as he knows you,” Dean suggests.

Gabriel looks at him.

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’,” Sam says.

Dean chuckles. “Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

“It is our problem,” Sam says, pointing between Gabriel and himself. “They’re our friends.”

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam,” Dean argues. He and Sam exchange a look, long and annoyed. Dean sighs and pulls out of the gas station, fast enough to make the tires squeal, undoubtedly pissed.

-

Rebecca opens the door to her house to see the Winchesters and Gabriel. She lights up. “Oh my God, Sam! Gabe!”

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky,” Sam says with a smile.

“You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.” She hugs Sam regardless, her long blond hair trailing behind her. “You and Gabe still-?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. He smiles at Gabriel. “Yeah, we- yeah.”

“We got your email,” Gabriel says.

“I didn’t think you would come here,” Rebecca says.

Dean steps forward, holding out his hand. “Dean. Older brother.”

“Hi,” Rebecca says, warmly but confused, shaking his hand.

“Hi,” Dean says.

“We’re here to help,” Sam says. “Whatever we can do.”

“Come in.” Rebecca leads them inside the house. Dean shuts the door behind them.

“Nice place,” Dean remarks.

“It’s my parents’,” Rebecca explains, leading them through the dining room. “I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zach’s free.”

“Where are your folks?” Sam asks.

“They live in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.” She leads them into the kitchen, stopping at the counter, resting her palms against it. “Do you guys want a beer or something?”

Dean smiles. “Hey-”

“No, thanks,” Sam says, firmly.

“So… tell us what happened,” Gabriel says.

Rebecca stiffens. “Well, um, Zach came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing, and so...” Rebecca shudders and begins crying. “So, he-- he called 911, and the police- they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zach could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time,” Rebecca insists, tearfully. Sam shifts closer to her. “The police- they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zach coming home at ten thirty. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zach’s house,” Sam suggests.

“We could,” Dean agrees with a nod.

“Why?” Rebecca asks. “I mean, what could you do?”

“Well, me and Gabe-- not much. But Dean’s a cop.”

Dean laughs. “Detective, actually,” he corrects.

“Really?” Rebecca asks.

Dean nods, smiling charismatically.

“Where?”

“Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.”

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just- I don’t know,” Rebecca says, shaking her head.

“Bec, we all know Zach didn’t do this,” Gabriel says. “So we gotta figure out a way to prove he isn’t getting his just desserts.”

“Okay,” Rebecca says. “I’m gonna go get the keys.” She walks away, down the hall.

Dean walks around Sam and Gabriel until he’s taking the place Rebecca recently-vaccinated. “Oh, yeah, man. You guys are real straight shooters with your friends,” Dean remarks. “I thought they knew.”

“I… haven’t gotten around to telling them yet. Planned on doing it later.” Sam shakes his head. “Look, Zach and Becky need our help,” he argues.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem,” Dean argues back.

“C’mon, Dean. Two places at once? That’s pretty damn suspicious,” Gabriel says. “And I know you’ve looked into less,” he adds.

Dean says nothing.

-

Dean parks the Impala outside of Zach’s house. The entire group- both Winchester boys, Gabriel, and Rebecca- exit the car.

“You’re sure this is okay?” Rebecca asks Dean, arms crossed like she’s hugging herself.

“Yeah,” Dean says, completely bullshitting. “I am an officer of the law.” He leads Sam and Gabriel into the house, Rebecca standing on the porch steps, hesitating.

Like most murder scenes, the house is both a mess and surprisngly domestic. Fruit, opened magazines, and playing cards rest on a table. On another, there’s crumpled notebook paper and a picture of Zach and Emily. The walls and furniture are smeared with dried brown blood. Pictures on the walls are crooked.

“Becky, you wanna wait outside?” Sam asks quietly.

“No,” Rebecca says. “I wanna help.” She ducks beneath the yellow police tape and enters the house.

“Tell us what else the police said,” Sam says, gently.

“Well, there’s no side of a break-in,” Rebecca says, tears in her voice. “They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers- they’re already talking about plea bargain.” She looks around the bloodstained room, beginning to cry. “Oh, God…”

“Look, Bec, if Zach wasn’t the one who did this, then someone else sure did, pretendin’ to be him. Any idea who might have a revenge boner for your brother?” Gabriel asks.

Rebecca shakes her head, then stops, remembering something. She has to swallow down emotion before she speaks, tapping her own shoulder. “Um, there was something,” she says, wiping away her tears. “Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes- Zach’s clothes. The police- they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.”

Sam and Gabriel walk away. Dean opens the front door and sees the neighbor’s black dog, barking loudly at them. Rebecca comes up to stand behind him.

“You know, that used to be the sweetest dog,” Rebeca remarks.

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“He just changed.”

“Do you remember when he changed?”

“I guess around the time of the murder,” Rebecca says.

Dean looks at her, then walks away, joining Sam and Gabriel in the hallway. Sam’s looking at a picture of Rebecca, Zach, Gabriel, and himself.

“So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zach’s girlfriend was killed,” Dean says, walking up to them.

“Animals really know what’s up, paranormal-wise,” Gabriel says. “Daddy really wanted to make humans blind.”

Dean gives Gabriel a scathing look. “Yeah. Maybe Fido saw somethin’.”

“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?” Sam asks, in that way younger siblings do when they think they’re right.

“Yes,” Gabriel answers.

“No,” Dean replies, still glaring at Gabriel. Sam rolls his eyes. “Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Yeah.”

Rebecca walks over to them, still hugging herself, looking like she doesn’t believe any of this is real.

“So, the tape,” Dean says, in his serious, authoritative voice. “The security footage- you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it? ‘Cuz I don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

“I’ve already got it,” Rebecca says. Sam raises his eyebrows at her. “I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop,” she says, glancing at Dean. Dean laughs. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk.” She shrugs. “I just had to see it for myself.”

“Alright,” Dean says, approvingly.

Sam looks at the picture of them all- him, Gabriel, Rebecca, and Zach-- standing together. Gabriel takes his hand and leads him out of the house.

-

He watches and waits, observing his prey closely. He writes in a notebook. His hands are not monstrous; they are deceptively human.

But his eyes. If you look closely enough, just for a second. They almost seem to flash silver.

-

They’re back in Rebecca’s house, watching the grayscale security footage, numbers counting up in the bottoms of each camera view. Sam stands up straight, the bottom of the remote resting beneath his chin. Gabriel’s leaning against Sam’s side, brow furrowed. Dean sits on the arm of Rebecca’s couch, right next to her

“Here he comes,” Rebecca announces.

On the tape, Zach enters his house.

Dean points at the timestamp. “Twenty-two oh-four. That’s just after ten,” he says. “You said time of death was about ten thirty.”

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert,” Rebecca says. “He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.”

Sam’s eyes widen at the tape. He glances at Gabriel, who nods. “Hey, Becky, can we take those beers now?”

“Oh, sure.” Rebecca stands to go into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Gabriel says. “Maybe some sandwiches, too?”

Rebecca laughs. “What do you think this is, Hooters?” She leaves the room for the kitchen regardless.

“I wish,” Dean mutters. He walks over to Sam and Gabriel, standing in front of the screen. “What is it?”

“Check this,” Gabriel says, pointing at the screen. It rewinds, then replays.

Zach looks directly into the camera, eyes a coin-like shade of bright, shiny silver. Gabriel snaps, pausing the tape.

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare,” Dean argues.

“Whoa-hoah, no way it’s a camera flare. You ever seen this before?” Gabriel asks.

“You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul,” Sam says.

“Right,” Dean says.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows and looks at Sam, giving him a go-ahead motion.

“Remember that dog that was freakin’ out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zach’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him,” Sam continues.

“Like a Doppelganger,” Dean says.

Gabriel grins.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “It’d sure explain how he was two places at once.”

-

What looks like you, walks like you, talks like you, acts like you, tortures your family like you, but isn’t you?

Who cares? It’s in your house already.

-

Dean parks the Impala behind the house and slides out of it. Sam does the same. Gabriel appears by Sam’s side, taking his hand. They stare up at the house.

“Alright, so what are we doin’ here at five thirty in the morning?” Dean asks irritably, holding his morning coffee.

“I realized something,” Sam says, bright-eyed, looking around the area. “The videotape shows the killer goin’ in, but not comin’ out.”

“So, he came out the back door?” Dean drinks his coffee, watching Sam and Gabriel cross the street without him, in no rush to do much of anything.

“Right,” Sam says. “So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.” He squeezes Gabriel’s hand, then looks into the red dumpster, around the area, almost inspecting it.

“Smart boy,” Gabriel says.

“‘Cuz they think the killer never left. And they caught your friend Zach inside,” Dean says, leaning against the Impala’s hood and drinking his coffee. “I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at five thirty in the morning,” he mutters.

Sam snoops around the building’s exterior, noticing dried blood smeared on a telephone pole nearby.

“Well, somebody’s been here,” Gabriel says, brushing his hand over it.

Sam turns to Dean, bitchily. “Blood,” he says, inclining his head to the pole.

“Yeah, but the trail ends,” Dean says, lazily looking around where he’s standing. “I don’t see anything over here.”

A siren screams as an ambulance screeches past the house. Sam and Dean exchange a look. Dean doesn’t look pleased at the thought of having to follow a lead at this hour.

“Alright, bets on whether or not that’s our guy are going… now,” Gabriel says.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel walk over to the scene. The Ambulance has pulled in front of someone’s house. The neighbors, in pajamas and jogging clothes, stand outside and watch. An asian man steps into a police car in cuffs.

“What happened?” Dean asks a nearby woman in jogging clothes, with her phone strapped to her bicep.

“He tried to kill his wife,” the woman answers, sadly. “Tied her up and beat her.”

“Really?” Sam asks.

“I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say hello.” She looks at the scene in confusion and shakes her head in disbelief. “He seemed like such a nice guy.”

Sam gives Dean a meaningful look.

-

Sam and Gabriel, standing to the side of the house, look around. Sam idly looks inside a couple of garbage cans, finding nothing. They move to the front of the house, just looking at it, hand-in-hand.

Dean comes up behind them. “Hey,” he says. “Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?”

“Yeah,” Sam replies.

“Definitely our kind of problem.”

“Oh? What’d you find, Deanie-boy?” Gabriel asks.

Dean jabs a thumb behind himself, at the neighbors gathered around the scene. “Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s, story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked.”

“So, he was two places at once,” Sam says.

“Exactly,” Dean confirms. He uses wild hand motions to speak, more awake now than before. “Then he sees himself in the house, police think he’s a nutjob.”

Gabriel whistles.

“Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way,” Sam states. He walks around Dean, closer to the people at the house.

“Could be the same thing doin’ it, too,” Dean suggests.

Sam thinks for a second. Gabriel watches him work through it. “Something that can make itself look like anyone?” Sam looks at Gabriel. “But I’ve seen your eyes in pictures, Gabe, and you don’t--”

“Not a trickster. Or an archangel,” Gabriel says.

“Oh, so he’s helping this time,” Dean grumbles.

“Shapeshifter?” Sam asks.

“Every culture in the world has a shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men,” Dean says. “Or, you know, archangel boyfriends who can do crazy shit with a snap of his fingers.”

“I’ll snap you into another dimension, Dean-O,” Gabriel threatens casually.

“Gabe, come on,” Sam pleads. Then he returns to focusing on the case. “Right. Uh. Skinwalkers, werewolves…”

“We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood,” Dean reasons. He still eyes Gabriel suspiciously.

“Let me ask you this- in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?” Sam asks. He looks up above the house, as though the shapeshifter will be above them, flying on large, fleshy wings.

“Not that I know of,” Dean says.

“There’s a trail here,” Gabriel says. “Something’s run out the ass of this building and went on this way.”

“Just like your friend’s house,” Dean says to Sam.

“Yeah. And, just like at Zach’s house, the trail suddenly ends,” Gabriel says. “Whatever it is just- poof!”

Dean looks at Sam. “Well, there’s another way to go,” Dean says, scuffing his boot against a manhole in the street. “Down.”

They look at the manhole.

Sam and Dean climb down the manhole, looking around. Gabriel appears next to Sam’s side without much effort.

The sewer is dark and grimy.

“I bet this runs right by Zach’s house, too,” Sam says. “The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.”

“I think you’re right,” Dean says. “Look at this.” He bends down. Sam follows him.

There’s a pile of blood and skin, looking more like meat scraps than anything else, like a butcher had screwed up and shredded part of a carcass to bits. It reeks of metallic blood.

“Is this from his victims?” Sam asks.

Dean takes out a pocket knife and holds up some of the skin on the blade, careful not to touch it with his own skin. It gleams in the meager light, the liquid making it shiny. “You know, I just had a sick thought,” he says. “When the shapeshifter changes shape- maybe it sheds.”

“That is sick,” Sam says.

Dean puts the bloody pile back on the ground, making a face at it.

-

Dean opens the trunk of the Impala and leans in. “Well, one thing I learn from Dad is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it,” he says. He loads a bullet into a gun.

“Silver bullet to the heart,” Sam says.

“My brilliant Mr. Winchester,” Gabriel coos.

“That’s right,” Dean says, completely ignoring Gabriel’s comment.

Sam’s phone rings. He flips it open. “This is Sam,” he says.

“Where are you?” Rebecca asks, suspicion lacing her voice.

“We’re near Zach’s. We’re just checkin’ some things out,” Sam replies.

“Well, look, Sam, just stop, ‘cuz I really don’t need your help anymore.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I told the lawyers that we went to the crime scene,” Rebecca says.

Sam scoffs. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, I told them that we were with a police officer,” Rebecca says. “And they checked it out, and they told me that there is no Detective Dean Winchester.”

“Bec-”

“No,” Rebecca says. “I don’t understand why you would lie to me about something like that.”

“We’re tryin’ to help,” Sam insists.

“Oh, trying to help?” Rebecca asks, laughing humorlessly. “Do you realize that that was a sealed crime scene? This could have just ruined Zach’s case.”

“Becky, I’m sorry, but-”

“No. Goodbye, Sam.” Rebecca hands up the phone.

Sam looks disappointed, resting against the side of the Impala. Gabriel takes the phone from Sam’s hand and laces their fingers together reassuringly.

Dean walks over to Sam. “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” he says. “You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just- it’d be easier if-”

“If I was like you,” Sam says, glumly. “But- I wanted to tell Becky, too, I just didn’t wanna… spring it on her, right after Zach…” he sighs.

“Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people,” Dean says.

“No, you’re not,” Gabriel says. “But you are my boyfriend, and the best part of my life, so… there’s that.”

Sam smiles the smallest smile at Gabriel. “Thanks, Gabe.”

“This whole gig- it ain’t without perks,” Dean continues, eyes on the two of them. He holds up a gun and hands it to Sam, handle-first, like a professional. Sam slides it into the back of his jeans, concealing it with his Carhart.
-

They walk through the sewers with flashlights and guns bared, each step making a muted squishing noise, mice occasionally squeaking around them, water dripping.

“I think we’re close to its lair,” Dean announces.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asks.

“Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face.”

Sam turns, sees another pile of blood and skin on a nearby pipe, and gags. “Oh, God!”

Gabriel stifles laughter. “Don’t worry lollipop. I’ll keep you safe from the scary, scary skin,” he promises.

Dean points out a pile of flesh-covered clothes in a corner. “Looks like it’s lived here for a while.”

“Who knows how many murders it's gotten away with,” Sam says.

Gabriel grabs his arm and turns him around. There’s a man standing behind Dean and watching them with an inhuman expression and silver eyes.

“Dean!” Sam says.

Dean turns. The shapeshifter punches him in the face. Dean falls to the ground while the shapeshifter runs off.

Sam shoots at it a couple of times, missing, and moves over to Dean.

“Get the son of a bitch!” Dean yells.

They run after the shapeshifter. Gabriel snaps away, flying after them.

-

Sam pops out of an open manhole, looking around for any traces of the shifter in the dark night. Gabriel appears at Sam’s side.

Dean struggles up from the manhole, holding his left arm tightly to his side.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Sam suggests.

“Alright,” Dean agrees.

“What is this? Scooby-Doo?” Gabriel asks. “‘Split up and search for clues’? Really?”

Dean rolls his eyes and walks off.

-

Dean looks around an alley with his gun drawn, frightening away the other people in the alleyway.

-

Sam and Gabriel search the street, Sam holding his gun inside the jacket so he doesn’t frighten anyone, more considerate than his brother.

-

Dean still looks frantically in the alley.

-

Sam and Gabriel wait on a street corner, quietly talking to each other. Dean comes up behind them.

“Hey,” Dean says, arms spread, making Sam turn around, but not Gabriel. “Anything?”

“No,” Sam says. “He’s gone.”

“Alright, let’s get back to the car,” Dean says.

Gabriel snaps into the Impala. Sam crosses the street. Dean waits for a passing car to drive by, but as it does, his eyes light up coin-silver.

-

Sam and the shapeshifter stop at the Impala, Gabriel lazily messing around on his pink DS and listening intently to what seems like no one. It’s not unusual for him to tune into what he calls angel radio and listen to what’s happening.

“You think he found another way underground?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, probably,” the shapeshifter says. “You got the keys?”

Sam pauses for a moment, hand in the pocket of his Carhart, before turning around to face the shapeshifter, removing his hand to gesture with it. “Hey, didn’t Dad once face a shapeshift in San Antonio?” he asks.

“Oh, that was Austin. It turned out not to be a shapeshifter; it was a thought form.” The shapeshifter cracks a small smile. “A psychic projection, remember?”

“Oh, right. Here ya go.” Sam throws the keys at the shapeshifter, who catches it with his left hand without hand problems.

The shapeshifter opens up the trunk, looking at the assortment of weapons like a candy store. He laughs.

“Don’t move!” Sam commands. He points the gun at the shapeshifter. “What have you done with him?”

“Dude, chill,” the shapeshifter says, taking on Dean’s easy calm. “It’s me, alright?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Sam says. “Where is my brother?”

“You’re about to shoot him. Sam, calm down,” the shapeshifter commands.

“You caught those keys with your left,” Sam points out. “Your shoulder was hurt.”

“Yeah, it’s better,” the shapeshifter says, irate. “What do you want me to do? Cry?”

“You’re not my brother,” Sam accuses.

“Why don’t you pull the trigger, then? ‘Cuz you’re not sure.” The shapeshifter sounds smug. “Dude, you know me.” The shapeshifter subtly reaches into the weapons trunk, taking out a crowbar.

“Don’t-”

The shapeshifter hits Sam twice with the crowbar. Sam falls to the ground.

-

In a dingy and dark room, Sam wakes, bound to a wooden post by his neck and hands. The shapeshifter walks over to him and backhands him hard enough that it makes a sharp fleshy noise. Sam groans in pain, inhaling sharply.

“Where is he?” Sam asks. “Where’s Dean?”

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” the shapeshifter says, coolly, picking up a duffel bag. “I’d worry about you.”

“Where is he?” Sam repeats.

“You don’t really wanna know.” The shapeshifter chuckles. He crosses the room. “I swear, the more I learn about you and your family- I thought I came from a bad background.”

“What do you mean, learn?”

The shapeshifter stops admiring a blade. He grabs at his head and grimaces in pain as he remembers Dean’s memories, recalling them like skipping through episodes of a tv show. Sam watches him, confusion clear on his face. Then the shapeshifter relaxes, body unclenching, a hand in front of his mouth, and looks at Sam. “He’s sure got issues with you,” the shapeshifter says, strolling back over to Sam. “You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home.” He throws the bag to the ground. “With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?”

“Where is my brother?” Sam demands.

The shapeshifter leans in close to Sam’s face. “I am your brother,” he says. “See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You got a boyfriend. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.” He backs away, as big of a fan of dramatics as the real Dean is.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Sam asks.

“You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof.” The shapeshifter gestures. “Left me with your sorry ass.” He picks up a dirty sheet. “But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks.” The shapeshifter laughs coldly. “I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance,” the shapeshifter says. “Let’s see what happens.” He smiles, then covers Sam with the sheet.

-

The shapeshifter, as Dean, is let into Rebecca’s house.

-

Sam struggles against the ropes binding him, then fails. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath.

There’s movement in another part of the room, then a cough. “That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature,” Dean threatens.

Sam laughs. “You better not be talkin’ about Gabriel,” he says.

Dean uncovers himself from beneath the sheet, his gray t-shirt grimy, and begins to work at undoing his ropes.

“He went to Rebecca’s, lookin’ like you,” Sam continues.

“Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one.”

Sam gives Dean a bit of an annoyed look, then continues working on his ropes.

-

The shapeshifter, as Dean, sits in front of Rebecca’s fireplace with her.

-

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Sam says. “He didn’t just look like you; he was you. Or he was becoming you.”

Dean finally cuts through the rope and unties himself.

Gabriel appears in the dingy room with the soft sound of feathers. “Okay, now I’m starting to get pissed,” he announces.

“Look who decided to finally come,” Dean comments.

“Sorry, I was checkin’ in with home. Important angel stuff, blah blah blah.” Gabriel looks at Sam and snaps, the ropes binding him untying themselves. “You okay, cupcake?” He snaps over to Sam, inspecting his rope-bruised skin. “I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“That bastard looks like my brother, right now. And is downloading his thoughts and memories.” He looks up at Gabriel, into his golden eyes. “Help me up?”

Gabriel takes Sam’s hand and helps him up with surprising ease for someone so small.

“Like, a Vulcan mind meld?” Dean asks. He stands and makes his way over to Sam.

“Something like that,” Sam says.

“I hate shapeshifters,” Gabriel says. He inspects Sam’s wrists, snapping to erase the injuries. “Bec’s?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirms.

-

Gabriel snaps himself and the Winchesters onto the street.

“Come on,” Sam says. “We gotta find a phone, call the police.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean says, rushed and nervous. “You’re gonna put an APB on me.”

Sam shrugs. “Sorry,” he says.

“This way,” Dean instructs. He starts running before Sam and Gabriel can tell him that flying is faster. Sam runs after him. Gabriel flies.

-

The shapeshifter, wearing Dean’s skin, makes a move on Rebecca.

The shapeshifter, wearing Dean’s skin, ties Rebecca to a chair.

The shapeshifter, wearing Dean’s skin, beats Rebecca.

A S.W.A.T. team searches the house.

-

Sam and Dean stand in front of a store window displaying a mess of televisions, a news report playing on all of them. Gabriel appears next to them, not nearly as winded as they are. He stands to Sam’s side.

“Any anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T. team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.”

A passable sketch of Dean appears on the screen.

“Man!” Dean complains. “That’s not even a good picture.”

“You’re right,” Gabriel agrees. “He looks way too attractive.”

“Hey!” Dean says. “I’d say I’m-”

Sam looks around cautiously. “It’s good enough,” he says quickly. He walks away.

“Man!” Dean follows Sam. Gabriel walks after them.

-

The group walks through an alley. Dean steps in a puddle. “Come on,” he grumbles.

“They said attempted murder. At least we know-”

“I don’t kill her,” Dean finishes.

“We’ll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s alright,” Sam says.

“Alright, but first I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him,” Dean says.

They stop walking.

“I’d say hadsome’s taking it a little far,” Gabriel says.

“We have no weapons,” Sam says, more focused on their situation instead of his boyfriend’s view of his brother’s attractiveness. “No silver bullets.”

“Sam, the guy’s walkin’ around with my face, okay? It’s a little personal; I wanna find him.”

“Poor thing,” Gabriel says. “If I had to walk around with your face, I’d smite myself.”

Sam smacks Gabriel’s arm. “Gabe, come on,” he says.

“Okay, okay. Don’t joke while there’s a manhunt for Dean. Got it. Got it.”

“Where do we look?” Sam asks.

“Well, we could start with the sewers,” Dean suggests.

“We have no weapons,” Sam repeats. “He stole our guns, we need more.”

They pause to think. Gabriel watches the brothers.

“The car?” Sam suggests.

“I’m bettin’ he drove over to Rebecca’s,” Dean says, thinking about the shit that shapeshifter could do to his car.

“The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there,” Sam says.

Dean clenches his fist. “The thought of him drivin’ my car,” he says, angry.

“We get it, you’re horny for your car, Queen, etcetera, etcetera,” Gabriel says.

“Alright, come on,” Sam says, beginning to walk once more.

“It’s killin’ me,” Dean continues.

“Let it go,” Gabriel says.

-

The group approaches from the side of a hedge to find the Impala parked at the edge.

Dean relaxes a little at the sight of his car, his face filling with joy. “Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight.”

A police car parks next to the Impala, siren sounding.

“Oh, crap,” Dean says, face falling.

They turn around, but there’s another police car parked a few yards away.

“This way, this way,” Dean directs, moving towards a wooden fence.

“You go,” Sam suggests. “we’ll hold ‘em off.”

Gabriel nods.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks. “They’ll catch you.”

“Listen, they can’t hold us,” Gabriel says.

“Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s,” Sam instructs.

Dean begins climbing over the fence with the ease of someone who’s climbed fences for a great part of his life.

“Dean,” Sam says. Dean stops climbing and turns around. “Stay out of the sewers alone.”

Dean doesn’t reply, just hops over the fence.

“I mean it!” Sam says.

“Yeah, yeah!” Dean replies from behind the fence.

“He’s not gonna listen,” Gabriel mutters.

“Don’t move!” a police officer commands. “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sam and Gabriel raise their hands in the air.

-

Dean retrieves a gun from the back of the Impala, talking quietly to himself. “I’m sorry, Sam. But you know me- I just can’t wait.” He closes the trunk, then walks off.

-

Dean’s looking around the sewer, exactly as Sam had instructed him not to. Not that he's listened to anything Sam’s told him before. He’s the older brother, dammit. He gets to boss Sam around, not the other way around.

He stumbles across a chamber full of candles and chains, like some sort of perverted sex dungeon. There are rotting piles of skin and blood scattered around the floor.

A noise sounds from another part of the sewer. Dean follows it, ripping a sheet off a filthy, terrified Rebecca, hands and feet bound with rope.

“Rebecca?” Dean asks, horrified.

-

Gabriel’s dealing with the police with his silver trickster tongue while Sam’s inside Rebecca’s house with the shapeshifter, in the form of Rebecca, shares beers with him.

“So, say this shapeshifter is real,” the shapeshifter says, walking over to Sam, on the couch. “By the way, you know you’re crazy? But, um, say it is real. How do you stop it?” She replaces Sam’s now-empty bottle with a new one.

“Thanks,” Sam says. He sighs. “Silver bullet to the heart.”

The shapeshifter chuckles. “You are crazy,” she says, then smashes the empty bottle over Sam’s head.

Sam falls over, unconscious. The shapeshifter’s eyes reflect silver for a moment.

-

Dean unties Rebecca’s ropes while she cries, horrified. “What happened?”

“I was walking home, and everything just went white,” Rebecca sobs. “Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me.” She shudders. “I don’t know. How is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, soothing. “It’s okay.” He finishes untying her, allowing the ropes to fall to the filthy sewer ground. “Come on. Can you walk?”

Rebecca nods.

“Okay, we’ve gotta hurry. Sam went to see you.”

-

The shapeshifter, wearing Dean’s skin once more, finishes tying Sam’s hands and feet, idly walking around the kitchen.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Sam asks.

“Oh, I’m not gonna do anything,” the shapeshifter corrects. “Dean will, though.”

“They’ll never catch him,” Sam says. He’s mentally screaming Gabriel’s name so loudly that he swears the shapeshifter can hear it.

“Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life.” The shapeshifter picks up a sharp knife from the knife block on the counter and carefully examines it. “I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother’s got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate him more than you do.” He begins pouring himself a drink. “Cheers.”

“Guess who else’s getting hunted,” Gabriel says, appearing beside Sam. He snaps, Sam’s ropes untying themselves like snakes. “Your ass.”

The shapeshifter blinks at Gabriel.

“What, you think I’d let you remember Sam’s archangel boyfriend?” Gabriel puts his hands on his hips and glares at the shapeshifter. “I’m better-insured than that.”

Sam springs at the shapeshifter, ripping the knife from his hands and swinging at him. The shapeshifter grabs Sam’s arm while he’s swinging, twisting it painfully.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” the shapeshifter grumbles.

Sam swings around his weight, trying to pin the shapeshifter down, using his height as an advantage. Dean’s more adapted to a fight than Sam is

“Not bad, little brother,” the shapeshifter says.

“You’re not him,” Sam grunts.

“Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass,” the shapeshifter quips. He grabs a pool cue and swings at him with it, hitting the light fixture hanging over the pool table instead, which shatters.

Gabriel snaps, the pool cue appearing in Sam’s hand instead. He swings at the shapeshifter, missing.

“Hey!” Dean yells.

The shapeshifter looks at Dean, springing off of Sam for a moment, readying himself for another fight

Dean aims his recovered gun at the shapeshifter and pulls the trigger twice, shooting him in the heart.

The shapeshifter falls to the ground.

Rebecca enters, seeing the dead shapeshifter, wearing Dean’s skin, Sam holding the pool cue, looking rumpled, her house, destroyed, and Gabriel, his shadowy wings stretched out behind him.

“Sam! Gabe!” Rebecca runs over to them.

Dean walks over to the corpse of himself, staring down at it with amazement, and notices him wearing Dean’s signature necklace. He yanks it from its neck and nods at the rest of the group.

-

With the warm light of day shining down, the shapeshifter seems far away. Dean’s by the Impala, reading a glossy map off the hood.

Sam and Gabriel come out of Rebecca’s house with her. Rebecca’s hair is tied back, showing the fading bruises on her neck, and the shapeshifter had split her lip, but she’s healing.

“So, this is what you do? You and your brother- you hunt down these kinds of things?” Rebecca asks.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sam says.

“And Gabriel’s a- what?”

“Archangel of the Lord,” Gabriel says, eyebrows raised. He leans against Sam’s side.

“I can’t believe it,” Rebecca says. “I mean, I saw it with my own eyes. And, I mean, does everybody at school- nobody knows you do this?”

“Jess and Luis do,” Sam confesses. “They, um, were the only ones I could see before we left. We sort of… left in a hurry.”

“Fire and all. Charming, demons, right?” Gabriel snaps up a KitKat.

“Must be lonely,” Rebecca says.

“Oh, no. No, it’s not so bad,” Sam says. “Anyway, what can I do? It’s my family.” Sam looks down at Gabriel, then over at Dean.

Rebecca laughs. “Well, you know, Zach and me, and everybody at school- we really miss you.” She hugs Sam, then Gabriel.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam says, full of fond memories of his friends, regretting having to leave them all.

Rebecca pulls away from both of them. “Well, will you guys call sometime? Maybe when we get a happy announcement?”

“We will. Trust us,” Gabriel says.

“It might not be for a little while,” Sam says.

Rebecca nods and waves to Dean, still a little scared by him, regardless of the fact that he’d never laid a finger on her. Dean waves back. Rebecca goes back inside as Sam and Gabriel walk over to the Impala, Sam sighing deeply.

“So, what about your friend, Zach?” Dean asks.

“Well, it turns out, cops are blamin’ this creepy Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder,” Gabriel says, leaning against the Impala. “Found the murder weapon and Zach’s clothes covered in her blood, right in this guy’s freaky lewer sex dungeon!” Gabriel beams at Dean. “They’re thinking the surveillance tape was fixed. Could you imagine?”

“Yeah, Becky says Zach will be released soon,” Sam says. He offers Dean a small smile.

Dean rolls his eyes and gets in the Impala.

-

“Sorry, man,” Dean says, gruffly. He drives the Impala smoothly down the rural road.

“About what?” Sam asks. The skin around one of his eyes is mottled with a healing bruise.

“I really wish things could be different, you know?” Dean says, wistful. “I wish you could just be… Joe College and his boyfriend.”

“No, that’s okay,” Sam says. He glances at Gabriel over his shoulder. “You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.”

“Neither did I,” Gabriel offers.

“Well, that’s ‘cuz you’re freaks. Both of ya,” Dean says.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam says.

“Well, I’m a freak, too,” Dean says. “I’m right there with you guys, all the way.” He stares at the road.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I know you are.”

“You know, I gotta say- I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it,” Dean says.

“What exactly are you missing?” Gabriel asks.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?”

Dean and Sam smile at each other in the front. Gabriel snorts in the back.

Chapter Text

A man and a woman drive out to the woods to talk. It’s a great place to hang out, isn’t it?

-

Sam’s on a payphone at an outdoor cafe, talking quietly into the receiver. “Alright, thank you for your time,” he says into the phone, politely. He hands up and walks to one of the circular tables where Dean’s working on a laptop covered in the type of stickers that any teenage-aged boy would put on his skateboard and Gabriel’s drinking some sort of mocha monstrosity.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean says, not looking up from the laptop.

“Bite me,” Sam replies. He sits down. Gabriel lays his hand on his thigh.

“I’d love to,” Gabriel says, suggestively moving his eyebrows. Sam rolls his eyes at Gabriel’s antics and suppresses a smile at them. He’s dating Gabriel for good reasons, though Dean may not grasp them.

Dean fake-gags. “Enough of that gross kinky shit in front of me.”

“Oh, Dean, you haven’t even seen gross kinky shit,” Gabriel says. “We’ve been-”

“So, anything?” Dean asks Sam, far louder than necessary.

Sam shakes his head and tucks the paper with addresses in his coat. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.” As he speaks, his voice grows more and more annoyed at the fruitless attempts to find John.

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looks completely dejected.

Gabriel leans against Sam’s side. “You’ll find your daddy sometime,” he reassures Sam, though his promises sound a little empty to both of them.

“Check this out,” Dean says, swiveling the laptop around to show Sam an online article from a newspaper. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier, Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road’,” Sam reads, almost in a deadpan.

“Keep reading,” Dean says, picking up his glass of black coffee.

“‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible’,” Sam continues. He looks away from the laptop screen to meet Gabriel’s eyes, almost suspiciously.

“Wasn’t me,” Gabriel says, innocent.

“Could be something interesting,” Dean suggests, not knowing what Sam and Gabriel are referencing and not particularly caring, at this moment.

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam says, gesturing towards the laptop.” One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“Unless,” Gabriel says.

“But what if it is?” Dean asks. “Dad would check it out.”

-

Dean stops the Impala at a fraternity where the dead frat brother lived. The other frat brothers seem confused by the unfamiliar, well-kept classic car pulling up to the curb. Sam and Dean exit the car; Gabriel snaps out.

“One more time, why are we here?” Sam asks.

“Reliving our glory days?” Gabriel suggests.

“Victim lived here,” Dean explains. He walks over to a couple of guys working on a car. “Nice wheels,” he says. He continues, at their strange looks. “We’re your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay.” He grins his easygoing grin.

-

One of the frat brothers leads them through the building. Dean knocks on an opened door with a sign reading Purple Man on it, watching a shirtless frat boy in bright yellow shorts paint himself a vivid shade of purple in front of an antique mirror. This is Murph.

“Who are you?” he asks, pausing in his painting.

“We’re your new roommates.” Dean smiles and walks over to the purple man.

Murph holds out a brush and paint can. “Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today.”

Dean points to Sam with his thumb. “He’s the artist. The things he can do with a brush.”

Sam takes the brush and can, looking horrified. Gabriel suppresses a smile at Dean’s antics.

Dean sits on a chair and picks up a magazine. “So,” he says, looking at the name on the magazine, “Murph. Is it true?” he asks, conspiratorial.

“What?” Murph asks.

“Well, heard through the grapevine that one’a your boys ‘round here got killed last week,” Gabriel says.

Murph’s face falls. He eyes Dean. “Yeah,” he says, looking back at himself in the mirror.

“What happened?” Sam asks, holding the paint can and brush a decent distance from himself as he awkwardly paints Murph purple.

“They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through,” Murph says. “Rich was a good guy,” he adds, solemnly.

“Rich-- he was with somebody?” Sam asks thoughtfully, dragging the paintbrush down Murph’s side.

“Not just somebody,” Murph says, looking at Sam over his shoulder. “Lori Sorensen.”

“Who’s Lori Sorensen?” Dean asks Murph. He looks at Sam. “You missed a spot,” he says to him. “Just down there, on the back.”

Sam glares at his brother. Dean grins. Gabriel quietly smirks at them both.

“Lori’s a freshman,” Murph says, giving Dean a gossipy look. “She’s a local. Super hot. And get this: she’s a reverend’s daughter.” Murph cracks a grin at that thought, the scandal of it all.

Dean closes the magazine and leans towards Murph, interested. “You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?” Dean asks.

-

The church has the same feeling that most do: that sort of silent holiness that comes with the smell of polished wood, the bright colors of stained glass, and people in their pressed Sunday clothes. As always, the Winchesters and Gabriel enter at the worst possible time, right when Rev. Sorensen is speaking to the congregation, the slamming of the door interrupting him. The congregation, silent at the interruption, stares at the three of them. Dean looks scandalized at the door’s audacity to be so loud.

“-- as a community, and as a family,” Rev. Sorensen continues. “The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.”

They sit down in the back. Lori stares at Sam, who smiles weakly at her.

“So please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.”

With that, the congregation bows their heads, save for Dean. Gabriel reaches over the barrier of Sam and jabs Dean between his ribs.

“This is my daddy’s house,” Gabriel hisses, though he isn’t bowing his head himself. Dean mutters about friggin’ angels beneath his breath and looks to the floor.

-

Lori’s talking to one of her friends, a girl with tightly-coiled hair and dark skin, about plans tonight.

“Okay,” her friend says. She tugs Lori before she leaves.

The Winchesters and Gabriel walk up to Lori.

“Are you Lori?” Sam asks, softly.

“Yeah,” Lori says. She clasps her arms in front of her, delicate and gentle. She’s dressed the way you expect a reverend’s daughter to dress: modestly, a little like Martha Stuart. There’s kindness radiating from her.

“My name is Sam. This is my boyfriend, Gabriel, and my brother, Dean.”

Dean waves. “Hi.”

Gabriel grins. “Just transferred here and everything.”

“I saw you inside,” Lori comments.

“We don’t wanna bother you,” Sam says. “We just heard about what happened and--”

“We wanted to say how sorry we were,” Dean continues.

“I know what you’re goin’ through,” Gabriel says. “I--I lost one of my brothers, once. It’s something you’re never gonna forget. Ever.” He swallows.

Lori nods. Her father, Rev. Sorensen, in his long and flowing green robes, walks up to them. “Dad um, this is Sam and Dean and Gabriel. They’re new students.”

Dean shakes Sorensen’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” Rev. Sorensen says, all polite charm. He, too, fits into his niche: kindly-looking and a little plain, even in his green robes. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” He looks at the three, then at his daughter.

Dean chuckles. “Listen, uh, we’re new in town, actually.” He leads Rev. Sorensen away from Sam and Gabriel. “And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.”

Sam and Gabriel begin walking off with Lori in another direction. “Tell me, Lori,” Sam says. “What are the police saying?”

“Well, they don’t have a lot to go on,” Lori says slowly. “I think they blame me for that.”

“What d’you mean by that?” Gabriel says.

“My story,” Lori says, glancing at them. “I was so scared. I guess I was seeing things.” She speaks with the slow, doubtful tones of someone who is repeating something they were told instead of something they truly believe.

They stop walking.

“Just ‘cuz you saw something impossible doesn’t mean what you saw wasn’t real,” Gabriel says.

Lori looks at him, almost amazed.

-

After a while, all the libraries they visit seem to blend together, the smell of books and muffled chatter ever-present. The three men walk through an aisleway, passing rows and rows filled with books.

“Do you guys believe her?” Dean asks.

“I do,” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too,” Dean says.

“No, man, there’s something in her eyes,” Sam says, convinced.

Dean pivots, leading them down one of the aisles of books.

“Oh, this is the cherry,” Gabriel says. “She heard scratching on the roof. The body was upside-down over the car, just danglin’.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.

Dean stops in the middle of the aisle. “Wait, suspended?” Dean asks, hands extended in front of him. “That sounds like the--”

“Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend,” Sam says.

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean says. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

Gabriel shrugs. “See, every legend’s got a source-- you know, a place where it began--”

“I know what source means,” Dean argues.

“-- and who’s to say it didn’t start here?” Gabriel cocks his head to the side. “I know all about legends and myths, Dean.”

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the, oh, I don’t know, invisible killer?” Dean’s more aggressive with Gabriel suggesting it than he would be if Sam had been the one doing it.

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all,” Sam suggests, calmly and quietly, a voice made for a library. “What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

They take a table in the library, the librarian placing a few dusty old boxes in front of the three of them. “Here you go,” she announces. “Arrest records going back to 1851.”

Dean blows dust off a box, coughing. “Thanks,” he says.

“Okay,” the librarian says, unaffected but polite, as she walks away.

“So this is how the two of you spent four good years of your life, huh?” Dean asks, flipping open the top of one of the cardboard boxes.

“Four years is nothing,” Gabriel dismisses.

“Welcome to higher education,” Sam says, pulling one of the boxes in front of himself.

They begin reading. The research might be one of the most gruelling parts of the job.

-

Hours later, they’re still sifting through the papers. Sam’s standing at a bookshelf of Dictionaries and Encyclopedias, short enough for him to be able to comfortably rest the records on the top and stand while reading. He’s removed his Carhart and rolled up his sleeves. Gabriel stands by his side, a sucker stick poking from his mouth, reading alongside him.

“Hey, check this out,” Sam says. Dean rises from the table and joins them. “1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry about the red light district in town that one night he killed thirteen prostitutes. Uh, right here: ‘some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’” Sam raises his eyebrows at the article.

Gabriel pulls a loose leaf paper, paper yellowed and ink grayed with time, from behind the article Sam’s reading. “How about this, boys? Looks like the preacher might’ve known Peter Pan and his Lost Boys. See Captain Hook right here?” He points at the hook itself, pictured on the old paper.

“Look where this all happened,” Sam says, pointing to another page.

“9 Mile Road,” Dean says, grinning up at Sam.

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam confirms. He casts his own smile towards Gabriel and reaches out for his hand on the tabletop.

“Nice job, Doctors Spengler and Stantz,” Dean says, impressed at both of them. “Let’s check it out.”

Sam gathers up the research materials before they leave.

-

A woman enters her sorority house and walks into her room to find her roommate asleep in the dark. It’s a nice room. Wouldn’t it be nice to rest in there for a while?

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel drive to 9 Mile Road in the Impala. Dean stops the car and goes to the trunk, retrieving a rifle he hands to Sam.

“Here you go,” Dean says.

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam informs him dryly, inspecting the rifle.

“Yeah, rock salt.”

“Salt bein’ a spirit deterrent,” Gabriel says, impressed. “Not too bad, Dean.”

Dean takes a coil of rope from the trunk and shuts it, ignoring Gabriel’s compliment. “Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em, but it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean slings a bag over his shoulder.

They walk to the treeline.

“Smart,” Gabriel says. “So, did you and your daddy think of this, or--?”

“I’ve been tellin’ you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.” Dean stops walking when he hears noises in the trees.

Sam raises his gun, looking around.

“Over there,” Dean whispers. “Over there.”

Sam aims the gun and cocks it with the skill of someone who’s done this before. A dark figure emerges from behind the cover of the trees.

“Shit,” Gabriel mutters.

“Put the gun down now! Now!” the Sheriff commands. The Winchesters brothers react dutifully, a little shocked. “Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait wait wait wait, okay, okay!” Dean replies.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it!”

They all kneel.

“Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!”

“He had the gun!” Dean protests quietly, but lays down regardless.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel leave the Calumet County Sheriff’s Department, Dean beaming “Saved your ass!” Dean announces, self-assured. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock.”

“Can you reference anything made before the 1990s, or is it physically impossible?” Gabriel asks.

“Shut up, feathers,” Dean snaps. “I just saved your boyfriend’s ass, no thanks to you.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Best not to meddle in human’s affairs, right?”

“Right,” Dean mutters, disbelieving.

“But how?” Sam asks.

“I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you,” Dean continues.

“What about the shotgun?” Sam asks. He reaches out to take Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel allows him to, swinging their connected hands.

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” Sam asks.

“Well, you look like a dumbass pledge,” Dean reasons. Sam looks offended. They stop at the Impala in time to see several sheriffs run from the building and fly into their cars, speeding from the station urgently.

-

Outside of a sorority building, Lori is sitting in the back of a parked ambulance, wrapped up in a dull-colored blanket. The Impala drives past, the Winchesters and Gabriel looking at her through the police tape.

Dean parks the Impala on a nearby street. They sneak around the back of Lori’s sorority building.

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asks, quietly. “This is a long way from 9 Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggests.

A couple sorority girls exited the side entrance of the building, not noticing the men, who lean against the house’s side and some bushes to hide.

“Dude, sorority girls!” Dean says, giddy as a child with candy. “Think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?” He turns around to Sam, only to find him attempting to climb the house’s balcony. Dean helps his brother up, then climbs up himself. Once they’ve made it up to the balcony, the two of them sneak into Lori’s easily-opened bedroom window. Dean climbs through the window and falls on top of Sam. “Oh, sorry!”

“Be quiet,” Sam hushes.

“You be quiet!” Dean argues.

“You be quiet!” Sam argues back.

“You boys both need to be quiet,” Gabriel hisses.

They’re hidden in Lori’s walk-in closet. A sheriff enters the bedroom and walks around. They wait until Sam cracks open the door and watches him exit the bedroom, waiting until his footsteps get down the stairs, then opens the closet door completely.

“You guys used to that?” Dean asks, jokingly.

“I’ve never really been in the closet, Dean-O,” Gabriel says.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam hisses.

They exit the closet. Once they’re in Lori’s bedroom, they stop, reading a message written in blood on the wall. The room is covered in yellow police tape and there’s blood on the floor, but otherwise, it’s a typical sorority room.

“‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’,” Sam reads. “That’s right out of the legend.”

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right,” Dean confirms. He taps his nose “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before. Except--” Sam glances over at Gabriel.

“Don’t get me involved in your weird sex life.” Dean moves to the window, looking out the blinds just in case.

“How would you know it’s even a sex thing?” Gabriel quips. “I can fly, Dean. Guess what the sky smells like.”

Dean flips Gabriel off.

“Hey, come here,” Sam says. He points to a cross symbol beneath the writing. Dean and Gabriel walk over to him to look at it. “Does that look familiar to you?”

-

Sam lays the paper they found during their research on top of the drunk of the Impala, pointing out the cross symbol on the hook. He, Dean, and Gabriel pour over the pictures.

“Looks like Captain Hook’s our spirit,” Gabriel says.

“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean says.

“‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave’,” Sam reads off. He and Dean share an annoyed look, having dealt with enough unmarked graves that they know the amount of work involved.

“Super,” Dean mutters, sliding off to the driver’s side.

“Okay,” Sam says, following suit to the passenger’s side. “So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why.”

Dean delicately removes a slip of paper from beneath one of the Impala’s windshield wipers and looks at it, almost idly, while Sam talks. Another parking ticket that’ll never get paid. “I’ll take a wild guess about why,” Dean says. “I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this.” He opens the door.

They get into the car.

-

Dean’s managed to talk them into going to a college party, the lights turned down, the house crammed full of people, the music far too loud.

Dean walks towards Sam and Gabriel, grinning. While he’s been off drinking and fraternizing with women, Sam and Gabriel have been making out a little, quietly enjoying themselves, with Sam being too aware of the situation to do much of anything to properly enjoy the situation.

“Hey,” Sam says to Dean, trying not to make it obvious that he and Gabriel have been doing coupley things.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean says. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiles and winks at a passing girl.

“This wasn’t really my experience,” Sam says.

“Lemme guess,” Dean says. “Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nods.

“What a geek,” Dean comments. “Alright, you do your homework?”

“It’s been bugging him all day,” Gabriel says. They begin walking from the party.

“So, how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” He unravels a seemingly never-ending piece of paper, out of place in the environment of the party, and hands it to Dean.

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage.”

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam says, pointing at the paper as they navigate through the house.

“Both times, the suspect? A man of religion. And he openly preached against immorality, of course. And then was wanted for killings he crossed his heart and swore to die that were executed by some invisible force,” Gabriel says, stopping at the door.

“Killings carried out-- get this-- with a sharp instrument,” Sam finishes.

“Okay, you guys are really startin’ to scare me when you finish each other’s sentences,” Dean says.

“Four years of dating does that to you,” Gabriel says, casually.

Four years, Dean mouths to Sam, amazed. Dean’s longest relationship-- let’s just say, it didn’t last four years. Not even close.

Sam shakes his head at Dean. “Anyway, a man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?” he continues, on-topic again.

Dean’s eyes widen and he nods in understanding.

“Except, maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his only daughter.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean says. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe,” Sam says, eyes flicking off to the side.

“Poltergeists can haunt people instead of places, you know,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay,” Dean says, looking off to the side.

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam adds.

“Either way, you two should probably keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean says.

Sam nods. “What about you?” he asks.

Dean looks at an attractive blonde woman in a short red dress smiling at him by the pool table, leaning over in a way that shows off her cleavage, and sighs. “I’m gonna go see if I can find that unmarked grave,” he says, reluctantly. He looks at the blonde woman again, then shakes his head in disappointment, and walks off.

-

Alone in the darkness of the night with only the chirping of crickets to keep him company and the nighttime chill around him, Dean concludes that Old North Cemetery is a place that could definitely be haunted. Briefly, he wonders if he’ll get attacked by a ghost, before he reminds himself that it’s a stupid thing to think about. He looks around with a flashlight, lighting up headstone after headstones until he finds one with the same cross symbol engraved on it.

“Here we go,” he says.

-

Sam and Gabriel stand in the garden of Rev. Sorensen’s house, watching Lori and Rev. Sorensen arguing through the window.

“Reminds me of home,” Gabriel says, semi-wistfully, semi-annoyed.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, quietly.

-

Dean’s been digging at the unmarked grave for long enough that he can finally see the wood of a casket, gray t-shirt stained with sweat and dirt.. “That’s it,” he mutters to himself. “Next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house.” He breaks through the wood of the casket with the shovel, spilling dirt on Jacob Karns’ remains. “Hello, preacher,” he says, throwing the shovel aside.

-

Rev. Sorensen turns out the light and leaves the room. Lori comes outside, standing next to Sam and Gabriel on the bench. They have to crowd close together, even with Gabriel subtly creating more bench to sit on.

“I saw you guys from upstairs. What are you doing here?” Lori asks.

“We’re keepin’ an eye on the place,” Gabriel says.

Lori looks at both of them.

“We were worried,” Sam says, quietly.

“About me?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. I already called the cops.” Lori smiles. She sits on the bench.

Gabriel laughs, and so does Sam.

“No, seriously. I think you guys are sweet. Which is probably why you should run away from me as fast as you can.”

“Why would you say that?” Sam asks.

Lori stares at the ground. “It’s like I’m cursed or something,” she says. She looks at the men. “People around me keep dying.”

“I think I know that feeling,” Gabriel says.

-

Dean removes a few items from his bag. Holding the flashlight beneath his arm, he pours a liberal amount of salt onto the bones and covers it in lighter fluid, then strikes a match. “Goodbye, preacher,” Dean says. He throws the match into the grave, watching the flames engulf the bones with a sort of reverent silence.

-

“No one will talk to me anymore,” Lori says tearfully. “Except you two. The sheriff thinks I’m a suspect. And you know what my dad will say?” she asks, growing more and more bitter the longer she speaks. This is pain that comes from guilt and self-blame, the type of pain Sam and Gabriel know too well. “Pray. Have faith,” she says, almost mockingly. “What does he know about faith?”

“We heard you guys fighting before,” Sam says, apologetic about eavesdropping.

“He’s seeing a woman,” Lori says. “A married woman. I just found out.” Lori glances at the ground with contempt before looking back at Sam and Gabriel. “She comes to our church with her husband. I know her kids. And he talks to me about religion? About morality?” Lori is angry, now, about her father’s hypocrisy, her words pointed. “It’s like, on one hand, you know, just do what you want and be happy.” The longer Lori speaks, the more tired her voice gets, and the anger starts getting watery with tears. “But he taught me-- raised me-- to believe that if you do something wrong you will get punished. I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

Lori rubs at her eyes, then hugs Sam. Sam hugs her back, hesitantly. Then Lori leans in, as if to kiss him, but Sam pulls away.

“No,” he says, quietly, refusing to look into her eyes.

Lori rubs at her eyes again. “I’m-- I’m sorry.” She looks over at Gabriel, who’s watching her expressionlessly, and crumples. “I’m just as bad as my dad is,” she whispers.

“Lori, no,” Sam says, pleadingly. “You’re not. You’re not a bad person.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head.

Rev. Sorensen comes outside, standing a little outside of the doorway. “Lori?” he says, voice stern. “Come inside, please.”

“I’ll come in when I’m ready,” Lori says, angrily.

The Hook Man appears like a nightmare behind Rev. Sorensen, jabbing his hook into his shoulder. The reverend screams as he is pierced. The Hook Man slams the door shut as he drags the reverend in further.

Sam charges into the house, gun drawn, Gabriel by his side.

Rev. Sorensen screams from upstairs. “No! No, please! No!” he yells.

Sam and Gabriel charge up the wooden stairs, running into the bedroom and bursting open the door. The Hook Man rests on top of Rev. Sorensen, preparing to put his hook into the reverend once more.

“No! No! No!” the reverend screams.

Sam shoots the Hook Man in his side. He, looking more like a shadow than a being, turns to Sam, who shoots him a second time. The Hook Man explodes into dust, the gunshot shattering through the bedroom window.

“Dad! Dad!” Lori bursts in through the door and kneels beside her father, crying. “Okay. It’s okay, Dad, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

-

In the hospital, Rev. Sorensen is mummified by medical equipment in a hospital bed with Lori standing by his side, devastated. Sam and Gabriel talk to the sheriff.

“We were just talking,” Sam says, staring into the room through the glass. “Then Lori’s dad came out. And then he appeared.”

“A big man?” the sheriff asks. “Carrying a weapon, some kind of… hook?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replies, not looking at him.

“Ever seen him before?”

“No, sir.” Sam turns towards the sheriff.

“Son, it seems every time I turn around, I’m seeing both of you. I suggest the two of you try to stay out of trouble,” the sheriff suggests.

Sam nods. “Yes, sir.”

Dean and two sheriffs walk down the hospital hall. “No, it’s alright, I’m with them. They’re my brothers,” he informs them. “Hey! Brother!” Dean yells at Sam and Gabriel.

The two of them and the sheriff turn to see Dean, who smiles brightly and waves at them.

“Let him through,” the sheriff commands. The other two allow Dean through the hallway.

“Thanks,” Dean says. He walks towards Sam and Gabriel, who meet him in the middle. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“More or less,” Gabriel agrees.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks.

“Hook Man,” Sam replies, quietly but aggressively.

“You saw him?” Dean asks.

“Damn straight we did,” Gabriel says.

Sam swings out in front of Dean and stops in the hallway. “Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam asks.

“What are you talking about? I did,” Dean says. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“Sure as hell looked like Captain Hook,” Gabriel mutters.

“And that’s not all,” Sam adds. “I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, yeah, the guy wouldn’t send the Hook Man after himself,” Dan says. He looks over his shoulder, back at the hospital room with the Sorensons.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori,” Sam says, putting words to what they’ve all been thinking.

“Last night, she found out daddy’s been screwin’ a married woman,” Gabriel explains.

“So what?” Dean asks, nonchalant.

“So, she’s upset about it,” Sam says, beginning to pick up steam. “She’s upset about the immorality of it.”

“Said daddy raised her to believe if you do somethin’ bad… well, you get punished. You know, ‘if anyone sins and does what is forbidden in the Lord’s command, they are guilty and will be held responsible’, and whatnot.”

“Is that a real Bible verse?” Dean asks.

“Dean, focus,” Sam says.

“Okay, okay,” Dean says. “Okay, so she’s conflicted. And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to the repressed emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” Sam says. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean mutters. He glances at a doctor in a white coat walking by, falling quiet as he walks.

Sam slouches a little and glances at Gabriel.

“But I burned those bones, I buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?” Dean asks.

“Maybe you missed a bone or somethin’,” Gabriel suggests. “I mean, you are only human.”

Dean gives Gabriel a glare. “No,” he says, turning towards the external windows of the hospital. “I burned everything in that coffin.”

“What, even the hook?’ Gabriel asks.

“The hook?” Dean asks, looking at Gabriel.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam says.

Dean turns slowly so his back is to the window. “So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power,” Dean says, in a moment of realization.

“So if we find the hook…”

“We stop Captain Hook,” Gabriel finishes.

-

In the library, Sam and Dean look through more papers, Gabriel glancing over their shoulders.

“Here’s something, I think,” Dean says, smacking his lips a couple times. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof’,” he reads.

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean says. “‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church’,” Dean reads. He pauses and looks off into the distance, thinking.

“Isn’t that where Lori’s father preaches?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, looking at his brother.

“Where Lori lives?” Sam asks.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean says.

“I imagine a big-ass, bloodstained, silver-handled hook in a church is sorta an eyesore. You’d think someone would’ve seen it in the church or house and said, ‘huh, that’s a weird conversation piece you got there’, right?” Gabriel asks.

“Check in the church records,” Dean suggests. He caps his pen and stands from his chair.

It’s a while of research and another seating rearrangement before they get anywhere close, Dean sitting in a chair a decent ways away from Sam and Gabriel.

“‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary’,” Sam reads from an old book. He taps the next word. “‘Reforged’.” He sighs deeply. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

Dean closes his book, annoyed.

-

Dean parks the Impala by St. Barnabas church and exits. It’s dark as the night before, fog rolling in from one of the sides, just as eerie and off-putting as the graveyard, save all the graves. Another horror movie location. “Alright, we can’t take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire,” Dean says.

“I agree,” Sam says. “So, Lori’s still in the hospital. We’ll have to break in.”

“Alright, take your pick,” Dean says.

“We’re takin’ the house,” Gabriel announces.

“Okay,” Dean agrees, with a smile.

Sam and Gabriel make their way towards the house.

“Hey,” Dean says. He waits until they turn around. “Stay outta her underwear drawer.”

Gabriel flips him off.

-

In the basement of St. Barnabas Church, Dean throws everything silver into the fire with a startling amount of casualty, the metal glinting in the flames. Sam and Gabriel come downstairs with a bag of things they’d taken from Lori’s house.

“We got everything that even looked silver,” Sam announces.

“Better safe than sorry.” Dean takes the back and begins throwing everything in with metallic clatters against the metal woodstove.

Footsteps sound from above them, the ceiling creaking.

“Move, move,” Dean says. He takes his gun and follows Sam and Gabriel upstairs.

Upstairs, Lori sits in a pew, completely alone, crying. Dean lowers his gun, going back downstairs to melt the silver. Sam and Gabriel walk over to Lori, slowly and silently.

“Lori?” Sam asks, kneeling down to her level.

Lori jumps at the sound of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asks.

“I’ve been trying to understand what’s happening,” Lori says. “Why? Now I know, so I’m praying for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness for what?” Sam asks.

“Don't you see?” Lori looks at them, eyes shining with tears the same way the melting silver shines in the fire. “I’m to blame for all this. I’ve read in the Bible about avenging angels.”

“Lori, trust me,” Gabriel says. “This guy? Not an angel. Not even close.”

“I was so angry at my father,” Lori continues, shaking her head. “Part of me wanted him punished. And then he came and he punished him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says.

“Yes, it is,” Lori insists. “I don’t know how, but it is.”

The Hook Man appears in the back of the church for a moment before disappearing, like some sort of smoky glitch in the Matrix.

“I killed Rich. Taylor, too. I nearly killed my father.”

“Lori…,” Sam says.

“I can see it now. They didn’t deserve to be punished.” Lori sniffs. “I do.”

There’s a clatter in the front of the church. All the candles in the altar blow out.

“Come on,” Sam urges. “We gotta go.” He leads Lori away from the pew and opens the basement door, only to find the Hook Man standing behind it, pushing his hook through the door as Sam slams it close. “Go!” he yells at Lori.

Lori runs down the aisle, into a back room. Gabriel takes Sam’s hand and drags him down the aisle as well. The Hook Man follows behind, smashing the glass of another door with his hook. He swings at Sam and Gabriel a couple times, missing each time. He hooks Sam’s forearm once. He yells in pain.

An invisible force grabs Lori and drags her back across the room. Sam and Gabriel run over to her.

“Come on,” Sam urges. “You okay?”

The Hook Man comes behind Sam. Gabriel zaps them away before the Hook Man harms Sam, reappearing behind the Hook Man as he stands over Lori.

Dean enters, gun raised. “Gabe, move!”

Gabriel zaps him and Sam away once more. Dean shoots one bullet at the Hook Man, who disappears to dust once more. The bullet hits the wall.

“I thought we got all the silver,” Sam says.

“So did I,” Dean agrees.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam asks.

“Well, maybe we missed somethin’!” Dean starts looking around, frantically.

Gabriel notices a cross necklace around Lori’s neck. “Lori, where’d you get that nice chain of yours?”

“My father gave it to me,” Lori says, panicked.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Dean asks.

“He said it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school,” Lori explains.

“Is it silver?!” Sam asks.

“Yes!” Lori replies, harried.

Sam rips the chain off her neck.

The Hook Man, invisible in the hallway, scratches his hook along the wall.

Dean turns to look at it. “Sam!” He throws the rifle and rock salt to Sam, who catches it in his good hand. Sam tosses the necklace to Dean. Dean runs downstairs again.

Sam aims the gun at the scratch that’s continuing on the wall and shoots, reloading the fun with rock salt.

-

Dean throws Lori’s necklace into the fire.

-

Gabriel snaps, the Hook Man visible once more. He stands in front of Sam and Lori, the shadows of his wings spread behind him, eyes gleaming with angelic power as the Hook Man continues, unfazed.

-

The cross pendant breaks from its chain and melts in the fire.

-

The Hook Man stops, hook in the air. It begins melting, dripping onto the church floor as the rest of his body catches fire like paper. He chars to ashes on the floor.

Dean rushes upstairs, seeing the Hook Man is nowhere to be seen, and gives the others a knowing look.

-

In the bright light of the Iowa day, sheriffs walk around St. Barnabas Church. An ambulance is parked outside.

“And you saw him, too?” the sheriff asks, sounding exasperated. “The man with the hook?”

“Yes, I told you, we all saw him,” Dean says. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” the Sheriff asks.

“Yeah, that’s all,” Dean confirms, nodding.

“Listen,” the sheriff says, pointing at Dean. “You and your-- your brothers--”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town,” Dean says. He walks over to the Impala.

-

Lori sits in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in another blanket.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asks. His forearm is healed, thanks to Gabriel’s archangel healing abilities, but his sleeve’s cut off above the elbow.

“Yeah,” she says. “I still don’t know what happened,” she says. “But I do know that you guys saved my life. My father’s, too. Thank you.”

Sam nods and smiles.

Dean watches them through the Impala’s side mirror.

“No problem,” Sam says.

“Seriously,” Gabriel says. “This is what we do.”

They walk away, getting into the Impala.

“We could stay,” Dean suggests, eyeing both of them.

Sam shakes his head. Dean looks at Lori through the mirror, shakes his head, and drives off.

Chapter Text

If a construction worker falls into a hole, and bugs melt his brain, who is there to tell what he saw?

-

Outside of a random bar in Oklahoma, Sam and Gabriel stand around the Impala, Gabriel’s hand firmly planted in Sam’s back pocket, casually groping at Sam’s rear while they read a newspaper article. Gabriel’s sipping on a neverending mint julep he conjured up, Sam occasionally taking a drink. Sam’s in a button-up and a jacket, fighting off the slight chill of the dark, and Gabriel seems to have stolen one of Sam’s hoodies and put it under his own jacket, making him look a little childish.

Dean comes outside, laughing while waving a wad of cash through the chilly night air.

“You know, we could get day jobs once in a while,” Sam points out.

“Hunting’s our day job,” Dean points out, counting his earnings. “And the pay is crap.” Dean shoves the wad of cash into his pocket. “You guys better not’ve been screwing on my car.”

“I only take it up the ass on the hood of your car,” Gabriel deadpans. He punctuates his statement with a pointed squeeze of Sam’s ass.

“Gabe,” Sam chastises, a little startled.

“Either put him on a leash or muzzle him,” Dean says.

“Oh, how did you know I’m into that?” Gabriel asks.

Dean gags.

“Hustling pool? Credit card scams?” Sam continues, ignoring all the sex talk like some sort of paragon of purity. “It’s not the most honest thing in the world, Dean.”

“Well, let’s see: honest,” Dean says. He holds up one hand, open palm to the sky. “Fun and easy.” He holds out the other palm, weighting them until fun and easy outweighs honest, looking at Sam expectantly. “It’s no contest,” he says, decisively. “Besides, we’re good at it. It’s what we were raised to do.”

“Yeah, and I was raised to be a fierce heavenly warrior, but I became a Pagan god,” Gabriel says.

Dean looks at Gabriel as though he’s wondering whether to believe Gabriel or not.

“How we were raised was jacked,” Sam says. “All of us, I guess.”

“Yeah, says you,” Dean says. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe,” Sam says. “Oasis Plains, Oklahoma-- not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.”

“Huh?” Dean asks.

“Human mad cow disease,” Gabriel clarifies.

“Mad cow,” Dean says, recognizing it. He leans against the hood of the Impala. “Wasn’t that on Oprah?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “You watch Oprah?” he asks, too surprised to be teasing.

Dean says nothing and avoids Sam’s eyes, embarrassed. He changes the topic. “So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?”

“You see, Dean-O, mad cow disease causes some pretty damn big brain degeneration, but it takes… oh, months to years, for this damage to crop up. But this guy, Dustin? Yeah, his brain just went poof! in about an hour or less, or your money back.”

“Okay, that’s weird,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms. “Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be somethin’ much nastier.”

“Alright,” Dean says. “Oklahoma.”

They pile into the Impala.

“Man. Work, work, work. No time to spend my money,” Dean mutters, starting the Impala and driving off.

-

Dean parks the Impala outside the Oklahoma Gas and Power Company building and climbs out. Sam and Gabriel follow. They approach Travis, standing outside a car.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam asks.

Travis looks at them. “Yeah, that’s right,” Travis confirms.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusy?” Dean asks.

“Dustin never mentioned nephews,” Travis says.

“Really?” Dean asks. “Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.”

Travis smiles at the flattery. “Oh, he did? Huh.”

“Heyo, we wanted to ask you… y’know, what happened out there?” Gabriel asks.

“I’m not sure,” Travis says, smile fading from his face. He looks around. “He fell in a sinkhole, I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh… by the time I got back…” Travis sounds far away.

“What did you see?” Dean asks.

Travis shakes his head. “Nothin’. Just Dustin.”

“No wounds or anything?” Sam asks.

“Well, he was bleeding… from his eyes and his ears, his nose.” Travis gestures at his own face. “But that’s it,” Travis says.

“Whaddya think about the whole mad cow thing?” Gabriel asks.

“I don’t know,” Travis says. “That’s what the doctors are sayin’.”

“But if it was, he would’ve acted strange beforehand, like dementia, loss of motor control. You ever notice anything like that?” Sam asks, quietly.

“No,” Travis says, shaking his head. “No way. But then again, if it wasn’t some disease, what the hell was it?” He, like all other humans, is constantly looking for a logical answer, something that wraps everything up with a nice little bow that says look that this, it all makes sense!

“That’s a good question,” Dean says.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Travis replies.

He gives them directions to the scene of Dustin’s death, the sinkhole surrounded by bright yellow police tape. It’s hard to miss, gift-wrapped with yellow CAUTION tape. Dean stops the Impala on the other side of the road, and they walk over.

“Huh,” Dean says, looking at the scene. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admits. “But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast.”

Gabriel zaps over to stand by the sinkhole, watching the brothers duck under the yellow police tape. “Way too fast,” he says.

Sam and Dean peer into the dark hole with flashlights.

“So, what?” Dean asks. “Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?”

“No, there’d be an entry wound,” Sam says. “Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.”

“Huh,” Dean says, looking into the pit. “Looks like there's only room for one. You wanna flip a coin?”

“Dean, we have no idea what’s down there,” Sam says.

Dean picks up a coil of rope from nearby. “Alright, I’ll go if you’re scared. You scared?” Dean asks.

“Flip the damn coin,” Sam says.

Dean chuckles, taking a coin from his pocket. “Alright, call it in the air… chicken.” He flips the coin. It disappears mid-flip. Gabriel holds out his hand to reveal the coin sitting in his palm, shining in the bright daylight.

“I’m going,” Gabriel says, closing his fist around it and letting the coin poke through one of the slots between his fingers before it disappears once more.

-

Inside the Impala, Dean drives. Sam examines a dead beetle in his hand, sitting in the back with Gabriel, hands where Dean can see them, as Dean has insisted many times. Maintaining the purity of the Impala and whatever other argument Dean has used.

“So your boyfriend found some beetles. In a hole, in the ground. That’s shocking, Sam,” Dean says from the front, sarcastic and dry.

“Listen, Deanie. There were no tunnels or tracks or anythin’ else under there,” Gabriel says.

“You know,” Sam chimes in, going on one of his educational college-boy rants, “some beetles do eat meat. Now, it’s usually dead meat, but--”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean asks.

“Ten,” Gabriel says.

“It’d take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude’s brain,” Dean says.

“Well, maybe there were more,” Sam argues, growing irritated.

“I don’t know. It sounds like a stretch to me.”

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before,” Sam says.

Gabriel leans against Sam’s side. “Smart,” he says. He kisses the side of Sam’s jaw, just once, very chaste for Gabriel.

“Gross,” Dean grumbles. Then he notices a sign for a nearby open house, surrounded by red balloons. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I know a good place to start,” Dean says.

Models Open. New Buyers’ BBQ Today!, another sign reads, large and welcoming.

“I’m kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how ‘bout you guys?” Dean glances in the rearview, catching Sam’s knowing look. “What, we can’t talk to the locals?”

“And the free food’s got nothin’ to do with it?” Sam asks.

“Of course not,” Dean defends. “I’m a professional.”

“Right,” Sam says, unconvinced.

Dean pulls over, parallel-parks between a couple cars on the street, and gets out of the Impala. They walk down the street to the open house, Sam and Gabriel holding hands as they walk.

“Growin’ up in a place like this would freak me out,” Dean remarks, looking a little spooked by the clipper-cut lawns and uniform houses, everything perfectly created to fit in.

“Why?” Sam asks, gently swinging his and Gabriel’s hands.

Dean gestures to one of the houses. “Well, manicured lawns, ‘how was your day, honey?’... I’d blow my brains out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with ‘normal’,” Sam says, scathing. He glances at Gabriel.

“I’d take our family over normal any day,” Dean says.

They approach the house and knock on the door, which the homeowner, Larry Pike, answers with a salesman’s smile. “Welcome,” he says, brightly.

“This the barbeque?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, not the best weather, but… I’m Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are…?”

“Dean,” Dean says. “This’s Sam, and that’s Gabriel.”

They shake hands, a formal action.

“Sam, Dean, Gabe, good to meet you,” Larry says, pleasantly. “So, you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says.

“Let me say-- we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or… sexual orientation,” Larry says, eyeing Sam and Gabriel’s joined hands.

Dean nudges one of Sam’s broad shoulders.

“Ah, yeah. Gabe and I-- we’re looking for a place to start our lives,” Sam says, a statement close to home.

“Great, great,” Larry says. “Everyone’s welcome. Come on in.” He takes them outside into the backyard, full of people walking around with plates of food, chatting idly to each other. It’s very domestic, very idealized suburban America.

“You said you were the developer?” Sam asks, politely.

“Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team,” Larry begins, walking backwards to talk to them. “There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house,” Larry announces, gesturing to the house. “We’re the first family in Oasis Plains.” Larry leads them over to his wife. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there,” she says, sweetly.

“Hi,” Dean says, shaking her hand.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she says.

“Sam, Dean, and Gabriel,” Larry announces.

Sam shakes her hand next. “Sam,” he says.

“Pleasure,” Janie replies.

“That must make me Gabriel. Hi.” Gabriel’s the next to shake her hand, still refusing to let go of Sam’s hand.

“Hi,” Joanie says.

“Tell them how much you love the place, honey,” Larry implores. “And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses,” he adds, semi-jokingly.

“Right,” Joanie replies.

They laugh, good-naturedly.

“Boys, will you excuse me?” Larry leaves.

“Don’t let his salesman routine scare you,” Joanie says, with an almost-manufactured pleasantness. “This really is a great place to live.”

A woman, Lynda Bloome, approaches them. She radiates energy, despite her very professional exterior, her black hair pulled into a tight bun. “Hi, I’m Lynda Bloome, head of sales,” she says.

“And Lynda was second to move in,” Joanie says. “She’s a very noisy neighbor, though.” She leaves politely.

Lynda laughs. “She’s kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners?”

“Well…” Dean looks at Sam and Gabriel.

“Y-Yeah, Gabe and I, we’re, um, considering buying our first home.” Sam says, nervous about the almost-truth, almost-lie. “Dean-- he’s just here to approve. Older brother things and stuff.”

“Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or… sexual orientation,” Lynda says, echoing exactly what Larry had said before.

Dean chuckles. “Right. Um… I’m gonna go talk to Larry.” He turns to Gabriel. “You behave with my brother, you get it?”

Gabriel looks at Dean, then grabs Sam’s ass theatrically.

“Gabe,” Sam chastises.

-

Inside the neat, impersonal house, Larry and Dean walk downstairs, finishing a tour.

“You’ve got three choices-- carpet, hardwood, and tile,” Larry says.

Dean notices a jar of bugs sitting on a nearby table, next to a vase of daffodils. “Whoa. Someone likes bugs,” he remarks.

“My son-- he’s into insects,” Larry says, sounding less than proud. “He’s very… inquizitive.”

-

Lydia still talks to Sam and Gabriel. Sam’s arm has looped around Gabriel’s waist, holding Gabriel close to his side.

“Who can say ‘no’ to a steam shower?” Lydia asks, continuing her sales pitch. “I use mine everyday.”

“Sounds great,” Sam says, uninterested but smiling politely. He glances at Gabriel, who looks like he’s about to tap into angel radio, just for something interesting to do. Sam’s eyes continue to wander. He notices a tarantula crawling towards Lydia’s hand where it’s resting on a table. A teenage boy, Matt, watches excitedly from across the table. “Excuse me,” Sam says, politely. He pushes Lydia out of the way and picks up the spider in his large hand, bringing it over to Matt. “Is this yours?” he asks.

Matt,in his ill-fitting collared shirt, takes the spider from him. “You gonna tell my dad?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “Who’s your dad?”

Matt scoffs bitterly. “Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions,” he says.

Gabriel inhales through his teeth. “Ouch. First name basis with your daddy-- it’s pretty grim,” he says.

“Well, I’m not exactly brochure material,” Matt says.

“Well, hang in there,” Sam says. “It gets better, alright? I promise.” He takes Gabriel’s hand and squeezes it.

“When?” Matt asks, skeptical.

“Matthew,” Larry chastises sharply. They all turn to see Larry and Dean walking towards them. “I am so sorry about my son and his… pet.”

“It’s no bother,” Sam says.

“Excuse us,” Larry says. He walks off with one hand tightly wrapped around Matt’s shoulder.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam asks Dean.

Dean looks over at Larry, who’s angrily chastising Matt. He looks back at Sam, confused.

“Dad?” Sam prompts.

Dean looks back at the Pikes, then at Sam, disbelief etched into his face. “Dad never treated us like that,” Dean says.

Sam looks at them as well, laughing hollowly. “Well, Dad never treated you like that,” Sam says, a little bitter. “You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don’t remember?”

Dean blinks. “Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line,” Dean argues.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

Sam scoffs. “Right. Right, like when I said I’d rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.”

“Bowhunting’s an important skill,” Dean argues, oblivious to Sam’s point.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says. “How was your tour?”

“Oh, it was excellent. I definitely approve of you guys living here with your, uh, golden retriever and two-point-four adopted kids.”

Sam laughs at that.

“So, you might be onto somethin’,” Dean admits, quieting his voice. “Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn’t the first strange death around here.”

“Alright, who else dropped dead?” Gabriel asks.

“About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry’s surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Got this severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

“More bugs,” Sam says.

Dean nods. “More bugs.”

-

Sam drives through the neighborhood while Dean looks through John’s journal.

“You know, I’ve heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is it that could make different bugs attack?” Dean asks.

“Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations,” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any evidence of ghost activity,” Dean says.

“Yeah, me neither,” Sam agrees.

“I get a bad feeling from this place,” Gabriel offers from the back, an arm resting on the back of Dean’s seat, nearly brushing against Dean’s face. He’s hardly even sitting in the seat, something that would be a huge safety violation, were he human. He counts this as payback for Dean not allowing him to sit up front with Sam.

“I’ll write that down,” Dean says. “‘Angel’s creeped out by the bug-infested suburb. Reason unknown. Thought to be too many normal people in one place’.”

“You may mock me, but I’ve saved your ass enough times you should trust my angel intuition,” Gabriel snaps.

“The case,” Sam says, trying to get them back on track.

“Right,” Dean says, taking his eyes off Gabriel. “Maybe they’re being controlled somehow. You know, by something or someone.”

“You mean, like Willard?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats,” Dean says, leafing through the journal.

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals-- elementals, telepaths,” Sam suggests.

“‘What’s that, Lassie? Timmy’s in the mineshaft?’,” Gabriel says.

Dean pauses to think for a moment and realizes something. “Larry’s kid-- he’s got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.”

“He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula,” Sam reasons.

“You think he’s our Willard?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “Anything’s possible, I guess.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “What I’m feeling-- there’s no way that kid’s behind it. This’s some powerful stuff. More powerful than some teenager and his bugs.”

“I’ll write that down, too,” Dean dismisses. “Ooh, hey. Pull over here.”

Sam pulls into the empty driveway of one of the many identical Oasis Plains homes. “What are we doing here?”

Dean gets out of the car. “It’s too late to talk to anybody else,” he says, opening up the garage door quietly..

“We’re gonna squat in an empty house?” Sam asks, judgmentally.

“I wanna try the steam shower,” Dean says. “Come on.” He looks around for anyone else.

Sam doesn’t move, glancing at Gabriel.

“Come on!” Dean insists.

Sam pulls the Impala into the garage, Dean closing the door behind it.

-

If a realtor is killed in her house by thousands of tarantulas, who can tell the tale?

-

In the morning, Sam, hair damp from a recent shower, approaches the bathroom door, the sound of a shower running almost drowning out his knock. “You ever comin’ out of here?”

“You took forever in here!” Dean argues back, over the running water.

Sam politely doesn’t mention the reason he took so long in the shower was that Gabriel was also present, and they’d taken their sweet time in a relatively private area while Gabriel maintained the hot water. There are things his brother doesn’t need to know, despite the fact that Gabriel loves to mention their sex life to Dean, just to rub in the fact that Dean doesn’t get any on a regular basis.

“Dean, a police call came in on the scanner,” Sam says instead.

“Hold on,” Dean says.

“Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

The bathroom door opens, letting out curls of steam. Dean stands in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his head, grinning. “This shower is awesome,” he says.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, loudly. He walks away, back to Gabriel.

The miracle of having separate rooms and a little privacy for once.

-

Dean parks in front of Lynda Bloom’s house, the driveway occupied by an ambulance. They all exit the car and approach Larry, who is finishing talking to someone on his phone. EMTs carry out Lynda’s body in a body bag on a stretcher. Rain sprinkles down on them.

Sam and Dean open black umbrellas, Gabriel crowding close to Sam’s side.

“Hello,” Larry says, noticing the men approaching him. He closes his phone. “You’re, uh, back early.”

“Yeah, we just drove in, wanted to take another look in the neighborhood,” Dean says.

“What’s goin’ on?” Sam asks, pulling Gabriel close to him.

“You guys met, uh… Lynda Bloome at the barbeque?”

“The realtor,” Sam says.

“Well, she, uh… passed away last night.”

The Winchesters are shocked. Gabriel doesn’t look nearly as surprised, but still acts the part.

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“I’m still tryin’ to find out. Identified the body for the police,” Larry says. He looks at Linda’s house. “Look, I-I’m sorry, this isn’t a good time now,” he says, harried.

“It’s okay,” Sam ays.

“Excuse me,” Larry says, politely, before leaving them behind.

“Bad. Place,” Gabriel says, pointedly.

“Yeah, we got it. ‘Angel senses bad juju, bad things happen when human boys ignore it, blah blah blah’,” Dean dismisses. “You know what we have to do, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Get in that house.”

“See if we got a bug problem,” Dean agrees.

They climb over the fence, clamoring up the side of the house, and then through the window to Lynda’s bedroom. It’s always a bedroom window.

Gabriel leans against the wall, joining the brothers with a quip about what took so long? that brings Dean one step closer to strangling him.

The outline of Lynda’s body is drawn on the carpet, blood further muddying the outline.

“This looks like the place,” Dean says, without any sort of reverence for the dead. They wander to another part of the room. Dean picks up a towel, then drops it when he notices it’s completely covered in dead spiders. “Spiders,” he says. “From Spider Boy?”

“I prefer Spider-Ham,” Gabriel says.

“Matt-- maybe,” Sam says.

-

Dean pulls the Impala up to the curb, following a school bus. He’s been muttering about gas mileage the entire time they’ve followed the bus, despite this being the only stop. Matt gets off the school bus and begins walking, hands in his pockets.

“Isn’t his house that way?” Dean points in the opposite direction of where Matt’s slowly making his way into a wooded area.

“Yup,” Sam confirms.

“So where’s he goin’?”

“I’m telling you that there’s no way this kid’s behind this,” Gabriel pipes up from the back.

“Can it, feathers,” Dean says.

They get out of the car and trail behind Matt. He’s examining a grasshopper in the woods, letting it crawl on one hand while his other holds a creature keeper.

“Hey, Matt,” Sam says, quietly. “Remember me?”

“What are you doin’ out here?” Matt asks.

“Well, we wanna talk to you,” Dean says.

“You’re not here to buy a house, are you?” Matt asks.

Dean shakes his head.

“W-Wait,” Matt says, very aware of every stranger danger talk he’s ever had at school in this moment. “You’re not serial killers?”

The Winchesters laugh. Gabriel has to swallow down a snort.

“No, no,” Sam says. “No, I think you’re safe.” He reaches out for Gabriel’s hand once more. Matt eyes them like he’s never seen gay people before. Maybe he hasn’t.

“So, Matt… you sure know a lot about insects,” Dean begins.

Matt looks at the grasshopper on his hand. “So?” he asks, with teenage standoffishness.

“So, you hear what happened to Lynda last night? How she, uh, got chomped up by some spiders?” Gabriel asks.

“Matt… you tried to scare her with a spider,” Sam says, quietly.

“Wait,” Matt says. “You think I had something to do with that?”

“You tell us,” Dean says.

“That tarantula was a joke,” Matt says, defensive, gesturing with the clear box he was going to use to store the grasshopper. “Anyway, that wouldn’t explain the bee attack or the gas company guy.”

“You know about those?” Sam asks, curious.

“There is somethin’ going on here,” Matt says. “I don’t know what, but something’s happening with the insects. Let me show you something.” He picks his backpack up off the ground and walks off to another area with them.

“You know, kid, if you got all this knowledge ‘bout this insect stuff, why not tell your daddy?” Gabriel asks. “Maybe he’d clear everyone out. Keep everyone safe from the creepy-crawlies.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Matt says. “But, uh, Larry doesn’t listen to me.”

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“Mostly? He’s too disappointed in his freak son.”

Sam scoffs. “I hear you,” he says.

“You do?” Dean asks, eyeing him.

Sam turns and gives him a look. “Matt, how old are you?” Sam asks.

“Sixteen,” Matt says.

“Well, don’t sweat it, ‘cuz in two years, something great’s gonna happen.”

“What?”

“College.” Sam says the word like it’s the greatest thing to ever happen in the world. “You’ll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.”

“What kind of advice is that? Kid should stick with his family,” Dean argues.

They stop walking.

“No one should ever stay in a family just ‘cuz it’s family,” Gabriel argues back. “If you gotta leave to save yourself, then you gotta make that choice.”

Sam sighs and galres at both of them. “How much further, Matt?” he asks, with forced politeness.

“We’re close,” Matt says.

Sam glares at Dean once more before he and Gabriel continue walking after Matt. A few moments later, they reach a spacious clearing, the sounds of hundreds of different insects chattering from amongst the trees loud.

“I’ve been keeping track of insect populations,” Matt explains. “I’ts, um, part of an AP science class.”

“The three of you nerds are peas in a pod,” Dean mutters, looking off to the side.

Sam ignores his brother. “What’s been happening?”

“A lot,” Matt says, a little flustered. “I mean, from bees to earthworms, uh, beetles… you name it. It’s like they’re congregating here.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits.

“So, uh, that’s with all that over there?” Gabriel asks, pointing to a dark patch of grass a few feet away.

They all walk over to it to discover hundreds of worms in a mound. Dean steps on some of them, and the area falls into the ground, creating a hole. He crouches down to inspect it and uses a stick to poke around, tapping it against something with a click. “There’s somethin’ down there,” he says, putting the stick down to inspect with his hand in the damp earth. His face warps with disgust when he feels something inside it. When he brings his hand back up, they all look horrified.

Covered in dirt and worms, there is a human skull in Dean’s hand.

-

The Impala pulls up to the local university. The group exits the car, Gabriel with a cardboard box full of bones covered in Sam’s jacket, and heads towards the building.

“So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave,” Sam says.

“Yeah. Maybe this is a haunting,” Dean says. “Pissed off spirits? Some unfinished business?”

“This is more powerful,” Gabriel says, wisely. He looks at the box of bones. “And you can believe me, ‘cuz now we know for sure it wasn’t the kid, so I’ve been right so far.”

“Smug asshole,” Dean mutters.

“Question is, why bugs?” Sam asks. “And why now?”

“That’s two questions, lollipop,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah, so with that kid back there… why’d you tell him to just ditch his family like that?” Dean asks.

“Just, uh… I know what the kid’s goin’ through,” Sam replies, a little hesitantly.

“How ‘bout tellin’ him to respect his old man, how’s that for advice?”

“Dean, come on,” Sam says. They stop walking. “This isn’t about his old man. You think I didn’t respect Dad. That’s what this is about.”

“Just forget it, alright? Sorry I brought it up,” Dean says, prickly.

“I respected him,” Sam says. “But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”

“So what are you sayin’? That Dad was disappointed in you?”

“Was?” Sam asks. “Is. Always has been.”

Dean blinks at Sam. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I didn’t wanna bowhunt or hustle pool-- because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak,” Sam says, voice full of barely-restrained emotion. Gabriel squeezes his hand.

“Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters,” Dean comments with a smile.

Sam looks annoyed. “Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride?” Sam asks. “Proud,” he says, quietly. “Most dads don’t toss their kids out of the house.”

Gabriel represses a flinch at that, memories he’d rather not think about being brought to the surface.

“I remember that fight,” Dean says. “In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin’ out of your mouth.”

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find Dad… I don’t know if he’s even gonna wanna see me,” Sam says.

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“He was afraid of what could’ve happened to you if he went around. But even when you two weren’t talkin’... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says, repressing his emotions.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that?”

“Well, it’s a two-way street, dude. You could’ve picked up the phone,” Dean says.

Sam stares at him, sadly, then at the ground.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late for our appointment,” Dean says. He walks away.

-

Inside of a college classroom, they speak with a, elderly professor who walks with a cane.

“So, you two are students?” the professor asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, uh, we’re in your class-- Anthro 101?”

“Oh, yeah,” the professor says, dismissively.

“So, what about the bones, Professor?” Dean asks.

“This is quite an interesting find you’ve made. I’d say they’re a hundred and seventy years old, give or take. The timeframe and geography heavily suggest Native American.”

“Were there any tribes or reservations on that land?” Sam asks.

“Not according to the historical record,” the professor says. Dean perks up, a little confused. “But the, uh, relocation of native peoples was quite common at that time.”

“So, any legends ‘round these parts? Oral histories?” Gabriel asks.

“Well… you know, there’s a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa. It’s about sixty miles from here. Someone out there might know the truth,” the professor suggests, almost mysteriously.

“Alright,” Dean says.

-

The group enters a diner and finds an older Native American man playing cards at one of the tables, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him.

“Joe White Tree?” Sam asks, politely.

The man nods. He watches Gabriel carefully.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright,” Sam continues.

“We’re students from the university,” Dean says.

“No, you’re not. You’re lying,” Joe says, boldy. He goes back to his cards.

Dean seems taken aback at that. “Well, truth is--”

“You know who starts sentences with ‘truth is’? Liars.”

Dean exchanges a look with Sam.

“Have you heard of Oasis Plains?” Sam asks. “It’s a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

Joe looks at Dean. “I like him. He’s not a liar.”

Dean looks angry at that, rubbing at his face.

“I know the area,” Joe says to Sam.

“Can you tell us somethin’ about the history there?” Gabriel asks.

Joe gives Gabriel an interesting look. “Why do you wanna know?”

Gabriel blinks at him.

“Something… something bad is happening in Oasis Plains,” Sam says. “We think it might have something to do with some old bones we found down there-- Native American bones.”

Joe rests his hands against the table. “I’ll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him. Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead.” Joe pauses, watching the Winchesters and Gabriel as his words sink in. “They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects,” Dean says. “Sounds like nature to me. Six days.”

“And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive,” Joe continues, ominously, looking at Gabriel once more and fiddling with his cards.

The boys exchange a look.

-

They walk back to the car.

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam asks.

“Friday. The twentieth,” Gabriel says.

“March twentieth?” Sam asks.

Dean nods.

“That’s the spring equinox.”

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals,” Dean says.

“So, every year, ‘round this time, white humans in Oasis Plains are in danger,” Gabriel says. He shakes his head. “Cursed land. I told you somethin’ was off with this place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says.

“The sixth night-- that’s tonight,” Sam says. “If we don’t do something, Larry’s family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?”

“Sammy, my lovely cupcake, you don’t just break a curse. You get outta the way and hope for the best,” Gabrie says. “We needed to move these people out, like, yesterday.”

They get in the car and drive off.

-

What hisses and crawls out the ground?

A fountain of cockroaches.

-

Dean drives while talking on the phone with Larry. “Yes, Mr. Pike, there’s a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood,” Dean says, in his official-sounding voice, hurried.

“God, really? And how big?” Larry asks, unbelieving.

“Well, it’s fairly extensive. I don’t want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the civinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe.”

“And who is this, again?” Larry asks.

“Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power.”

“Uh-huh,” Larry says. “Well, the problem is, I know Travis. He’s worked with us for a year, so who is this?”

“Uh…” Dean hangs up, panicking, closing the phone.

“Give me the phone,” Sam demands, taking the phone from Dean and dialing a number.

“Hello?” Matt asks.

“Matt, it’s Sam.”

“Sam, my backyard is crawling with cockroaches,” Matt says.

“Matt, just listen. You have to get your family out of that house right now, okay?” Sam urges.

“What? Why?” Matt asks.

“Because something’s coming.”

“More bugs?”

“Yeah, a lot more.”

“My dad doesn’t listen in the best of circumstances, what am I supposed to tell him?”

“You’ve gotta make him listen, okay?” Sam asks.

“Give me the phone, give me the phone,” Dean says. He grabs the phone from Sam’s hand and holds it up to his ear. “Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth. They’ll just think you’re nuts.”

“But he’s my--”

“Tell him you have a sharp pain in your right side and you’ve gotta go to the hospital, okay?” Dean instructs, authoritative.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Yeah, okay.” He hangs up.

“Make him listen? What are you thinkin’?” Dean asks Sam, scolding.

“Shut up and step on it,” Gabriel insists.

-

Dean pulls up outside Larry’s house. Larry looks out the window and, when he sees their car, goes outside.

“Damn it, they’re still here,” Dean mutters. “Come on,” he tells Sam and Gabriel.

Sam and Dean get out of the car. Gabriel zaps out. They’re joined by Matt.

“Get off my property before I call the cops,” Larry threatens.

“Mr. Pike, listen,” Sam pleads.

“Dad, they’re just tryin’ to help,” Matt begs, sounding weak.

“Get in the house!” Larry yells to Matt.

“I’m sorry,” Matt tells the Winchesters and Gabriel. “I told him the truth.”

“We had a plan, Matt, what happened to the plan?” Dean asks.

“Look, it’s twelve a.m.,” Sam says, quietly pleading. “They are coming any minute now. You need to get your family and go, before it’s too late.”

“Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm,” Larry mocks.

“Listen Larry,” Gabriel snaps, tired of Larry’s bullshit. “What do you really think’s been goin’ on ‘round here, huh? The realtor? And the gas company guy? You’re not puttin’ together the pieces? There’s four of ‘em and they’re only squares, Larry. Get it through your damn head that there’s somethin’ weird happenin’ here and that you needed to leave last week if you wanted to protect your family.”

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’re crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, and we’re gonna have a problem,” Larry threatens, as aggressively as he can.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we’ve got a problem right now,” Dean says.

“Dad, they’re right, okay? We’re in danger,” Matt says.

“Matt, get inside!” Larry commands. “Now!”

“No!” Matt yells back. “Why won’t you listen to me?!”

“Because this is crazy! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Look, this land is cursed!” Sam cuts in. “People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?” Sam asks, aggressively.

“Wait,” Dean says. They all fall silent. “You hear it?”

A buzzing noise approaching from the distance, loud.

“What the hell?” Larry asks.

The blue bug light on the porch begins overheating as it kills several bugs at once.

“Alright, it’s time to go. Larry, get your wife,” Dean says.

“Guys,” Matt says, staring up at the clouded, moonlit sky.

All of them look up. Millions of bugs black out the sky, flying towards the house with a sort of single-minded purpose.

“Oh my God,” Larry says.

“We’ll never make it,” Sam says.

“Everybody in the house,” Dean commands. Then, more urgently: “Everybody in the house, go!”

They rush inside the house, locking the door behind them.

“Okay, is there anybody else in the neighborhood?” Sam asks.

“No, it’s just us,” Larry says.

Joanie enters the room, concerned and ruffled. “Honey, what’s happening? What’s that noise?”

“Call 911,” Larry says. When she doesn’t move, he snaps. “Joanie!”

“Okay,” she says, picking up the phone and dialing the number.

“I need towels,” Dean says.

“Uh, in the closet,” Larry says.

Gabriel snaps some up into Dean’s hands.

“What the hell?” Larry asks.

“Archangel Gabriel,” Gabriel says quickly, running through his usual spiel. “Yes, archangels are real, God’s real, hell’s real, blah blah blah, we can talk theology and God-stuff when we make it through this, okay? Great.”

Sam looks at Matt. “Okay, we’ve gotta lock this place up. Come on-- doors, windows, fireplace, everything, okay?”

They run upstairs. Gabriel stands at the bottom.

“If you die, Sam, I swear to my daddy I’ll kill you!” Gabriel yells.

Sam stops and whirls around. “Love you, too, Gabe.” Then he continues running after Matt.

“Phones are dead,” Joanie says.

“They must have chewed through the phone lines,” Dean comments, putting towels at the base of the front door. The power blips out. “And the power lines.”

“I need my cell,” Larry says. He picks it up. “No signal.”

“You won’t get one. They’re blanketing the house,” Dean says, looking at a window that’s quickly being covered in the shiny, black bodies of millions of bugs.

“911 couldn’t do anything anyway,” Gabriel says. He snaps, an orb of light appearing in the room with them.

“‘Let there be light’,” Dean mutters, tucking in towels.

“Hey, Dean? Shut up.”

Bugs continue to collect on the doors and windows, covering the entire building in a blanket of them. They all watch, waiting quietly.

“So what do we do now?” Larry asks.

Sam and Matt return from upstairs. “We try to outlast it,” Sam says. “Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise.”

“Hopefully?” Larry asks.

Dean searches the kitchen cabinets, finding a can of bug spray, returning to the living room with it.

“Bug spray?” Joanie asks, disbelieving.

“Trust me,” Dean says.

Creaking comes from somewhere in the house.

“What is that?” Matt asks.

Sam approaches the fireplace. “The flue,” Sam says.

“Alright, I think everybody needs to get upstairs,” Dean says.

Thousands of bugs shoot into the living room, swarming them. The people try to protect themselves. Dean uses a lighter and the can of spray to make a makeshift flamethrower, warding the bugs away as the others try to escape.

“We’re going upstairs,” Gabriel says, snapping them into the attic. After a moment of being in the attic, sawdust falls in steams from the ceiling. The buzzing gets louder.

“Oh, God, what’s that?” Joanie asks.
Sam and Dean approach the dust.

“Something’s eating through the wood,” Dean says.

“Termites,” Matt says.

“Alright, everybody get back,” Dean commands, coughing from the dust. “Get back, get back, get back!”

The Pikes move into the corner of the attic. A second later, the bugs chew a hole through the ceiling, swarming around the room in a cloud of little, many-legged bodies, the sound of their swarm near-deafening. Sam and Dean try to patch up the hole, their methods only working for a moment before the bugs break through. Gabriel snaps up a proper seal. He has to keep creating more with each hole the termites chew. Dean tries warding the bugs off with spray.

“Hey, I’d love a helpin’ hand, Gabe,” Dean says.

“I’m sure you would,” Gabriel remarks. He snaps up more spray in Dean’s hand and a can in Sam’s, then turns the wood in the house to metal instead, holding it up with sheer force of will.

Sam and Dean spray at the bugs already in the room, nothing deterring them. Gabriel sighs through his teeth and snaps up invisible walls around all of them.

“Why didn't you do this in the first place?” Dean demands.

“‘Cuz I like making you guys work for it,” Gabriel remarks.

“Why not, oh, I dunno, snap the bugs away?” Dean asks.

“I can let the bugs back in,” Gabriel threatens.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam says, stepping between them. He turns to Dean. “Let’s not bite the hand that just saved our asses.” Then he turns to Gabriel. “You don’t have to be a dick, you know.”

“Oh, but you love my--”

Sam clears his throat. “No,” he says. “Not the place, not the time. Later, okay?”

“Look,” Matt says, pointing at one of the invisible walls. The bugs begin to stop slamming themselves against it, flying away from them and forcing another hole in the ceiling to leave through. Pale, watery light shines in through the hole, the bugs leaving with the same roar they entered with.

Gabriel snaps the walls away. Sam and Dean go to inspect the new hole, watching the bugs, in a huge colony that nearly blacks out the watery sun, fly away from them.

-

In the light of the morning, Larry places boxes in a D.I.Y. Mover van sitting in his driveway. The Winchesters and Gabriel approach him.

“What, no goodbye?” Dean asks.

“Good timing,” Larry comments. “Another hour and we’d have been gone.” He shakes their hands.

“And by gone, you mean the big ol’ forever type of gone?” Gabriel asks.

“Yeah,” Larry says. The development’s been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I’m gonna make damn sure no one lives here again.”

“You don’t seem too upset about it,” Sam comments.

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…” he looks over at Matt, who carries a box out of the garage and rests it on top of a blue garbage can, “... somehow, I really don’t care.”

They share a smile.

Sam and Gabriel walk over to Matt, who is throwing away all his insect paraphernalia.

“What’s this?” Sam asks, arms spread wide.

“I don’t know. They kind of weird me out now,” Matt admits.

They all laugh.

“I’d hope so, kid,” Gabriel says.

A few moments later, Sam and Gabriel join Dean on the Impala’s hood, watching Larry and Matt, who now talk to each other like people instead of enemies.

“I wanna find Dad,” Sam says, quietly. He leans against Gabriel’s side.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean says.

“Yeah, but I just… I want to apologize to him,” Sam says, still watching the Pike men.

Dean glances at Sam. “For what?”

“All the things I said to him,” Sam says. “He was just doin’ the best he could.”

“Well, don’t worry, we’ll find him,” Dean says, with a nod. “And then you’ll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other’s throats.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, probably.”

They all stay in silence for a few seconds. Gabriel rubs his thumb against Sam’s hand.

“Let’s hit the road,” Sam suggests.

“Let’s,” Dean agrees.

They get in the car, giving one final wave to Larry and Matt before they drive to their next adventure.

Chapter Text

She screams for help. She screams for help, hands slamming against the window, and no one’s there to hear her but Sam.

Sam awakens with a gasp and snaps into a sitting position, trying to force air into his lungs. He looks around the dark motel room. Dean’s asleep in the bed across the room, and Gabriel’s by his side.

“Sammich,” Gabriel says, brushing Sam’s hair from his face. “Did you get another one?”

Sam nods, gasping for breath.

Gabriel presses his fingers to Sam’s temple, draining the tension from him. “Go back to the land of dreams, cupcake. I’ll keep you safe now, and we can talk about this later, okay?”

Sam nods again, scooting closer to Gabriel.

-

While Dean’s on the laptop in the morning, Sam’s drawing a picture of a tree on a makeshift sketchpad made out of a pad of cheap motel stationary, Gabriel on the bed next to him. He compares two different inked trees, showing them to Gabriel with a questioning look.

“Alright, I’ve been cruisin’ some websites,” Dean says, gazing at a website. “I think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali— its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean looks up at Sam, paying more attention to the sketchpad than Dean. “Hey,” he says.

Sam looks up from the drawing.

“Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No, I’m listening,” Sam says, returning to his drawings. “Keep going.” Gabriel watches him draw, head cocked to the side.

Dean taps his own pen against the motel desk a couple times in annoyance before returning to the laptop. “And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” Dean puts up three fingers, excluding his pointer finger and thumb, looks at Sam, scowls, and waves his hand o try catching Sam’s attention. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam flips between his drawings, then furrows his brows in confusion. “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“You have?” Gabriel asks.

“Seen what?” Dean asks.

Sam gets off the bed and digs through his duffel bag.

Dean sips his coffee, concerned about his brother but still slightly annoyed. “What are you doing?”

Sam roots through John’s journal until he finds a family photo where he’s a baby, then compares the tree in the photo to his drawing. They’re the same tree, different only due to Sam’s lack of drawing skills.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows at Sam.

“Dean, I know where we have to go next,” Sam says, facing his brother.

“Where?” Dean asks.

“Back home— back to Kansas.”

Dean scoffs, then realizing that Sam’s serious, he raises his eyebrows. “Okay, random,” he says. “Where’d that come from?”

Sam crosses the room and sets the childhood photo on the desk. Dean picks it up. “Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where mom died?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, blankly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right?” Sam asks. “I mean, not completely; they rebuilt it, right?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Dean says. He gives Sam a look. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Dean-O, you’re gonna think this’s all sorts of cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but the people who live in your childhood house— they’re in some big danger,” Gabriel says.

Dean gives Gabriel a look next. “Why would you guys think that?” Dean asks.

“Uh… it’s just, um… look, just trust me on this, okay?” Sam starts to walk away.

Dean follows after him. “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?” He asks, tense and annoyed.

“Yeah,” Sam says. He’s already picked up his duffel bag and is packing up.

“Come on, man, that’s weak,” Dean says. “You gotta give me a little bit more than that.”

“I can’t really explain it, is all,” Sam says. He’s still packing his duffel bag, frantic and uncomfortable.

“Well, tough,” Dean says, stubbornly, arms spread. “I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.” He waits, expectant.

Sam looks at Gabriel.

“Jig’s up, sugar,” Gabriel says. He takes Sam’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

Sam sighs, facing Dean, a touch defensive in his posture. Dean looks at him, giving him a little head shake. Sam looks to the side. “I have these nightmares,” he begins, squeezing Gabriel’s hand back.

Dean nods. “I’ve noticed.”

“And sometimes… they come true,” Sam says. He looks at Gabriel, unable to look at his brother, terrified of the reaction.

Dean lets that sink in for a moment, a confused and somewhat disbelieving smile crossing his face. “Come again?” he asks.

“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Gabriel’s attack— for days before it happened.”

Dean looks at Sam for a moment. “Sam, people have weird dreams, man,” Dean says. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” He sits on a bed, looking up at Sam as he rationalizes the situation.

“No, I dreamt about him on the ceiling, the fire, everything— and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cuz I didn’t believe it.” Sam looks at Gabriel. “And, I mean, thank God he didn’t actually die, because I wouldn’t know what to do if he did.”

Dean looks at them, confused.

“And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man. This has to mean something, right?” He looks at Dean, then at Gabriel, desperate for an answer.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, looking confused.

“You don’t— What do you mean you don’t know, Dean?” Sam sits down across from Dean, frantic now in both his voice and movements, almost yelling in his desperation. Gabriel sits next to him, nestled against his side. “This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be Yellow-Eyes!”

Gabriel rests his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Alright, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands from the bed and begins pacing the room. He lets out a laugh, an action that’s self-soothing and disbelieving, looking at his brother like he’s completely unsure of. “I mean, first of all, you tell me that you’ve got the Shining?” Dean gestures to Sam. “And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when…”

“When what?” Sam asks.

“When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” Dean asks, voice thick with emotion. He looks anywhere but Sam.

“Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure,” Sam says, softly, in that voice he uses on small, scared children. He stands from the bed. Gabriel strokes his hand, reassuring.

“I know we do,” Dean says.

-

Dean parks in front of the Winchester house, staring at it. He hasn’t seen this house since he was a child, and now that he’s looking at it with his adult eyes, he’s trying to find the differences between reality and memory in a weird game of spot-the-difference he’s playing with himself. Either way, he loses.

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam asks.

“Let me get back to you on that,” Dean says. He gets out of the car. Sam and Gabriel follow him.

Dean knocks on the door.

The woman from Sam’s dream answers it. Sam almost takes a step back in shock, eyes completely fixed on her and nothing else.

“Yes?” Jenny asks.

Dean begins his usual spiel. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—”

“I’m Sam Winchester, this is my boyfriend Gabriel, a—and this is my brother, Dean. We— um, Dean and me— used to live here,” Sam interrupts, all his sentences ending in breathy little pauses, more like he’s trailing off at the ends than finishing them. He sounds like a terrified, nervous child again.. “You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester,” Jenny says, like she recognizes the name. “Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I— I think I found some of your photos the other night.”

“You did?” Dean asks.

Jenny nods and moves aside to allow them in. “Come on in,” she says.

The group wanders inside. Gabriel looks around the house with interest, Dean with that surreal moment of visiting a place you used to love as a child. Sam has no memories of this house, just his strange vision.

In the kitchen, there’s Jenny’s daughter, Sari, doing homework at the table, and Ritchie, a jumpy toddler, in his playpen.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” Ritchie chants.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explains. She opens the little buckle on the refrigerator door, takes out a sippy cup, and hands it to Ritchie, who takes it in one of his fat little toddler hands. “But, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” Jenny walks over to Sari at the table. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and their friend Gabriel. They used to live here.”

“Hi,” Sarai says. She’s quiet and polite, holding a pink pencil in her hand.

Dean waves.

“Hey, Sari,” Sam says.

Gabriel smiles at her. “Hi, kiddo.”

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, from Wichita,” Jenny says.

“You got family here, or…?”

“No,” Jenny says. “I just, uh… uh, needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job— I mean, as soon as I find one—, new house.”

“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam asks, oddly stilted.

Jenny picks up a couple glasses and puts them in the sink. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home— I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here.”

Dean smiles weakly, more of a grimace than anything.

“But this place has its issues,” Jenny continues.

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“That’s sucky,” Gabriel says. “What else?”

“Um… sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement,” Jenny continues. She pauses for a moment, leaning against the counter and watching the me. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

“No,” Dean says, not offended. “Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?” he asks.

“It’s just the scratching, actually,” Jenny says.

“Mom?” Sari asks. Jenny kneels down next to her. “Ask them if it was here when they lived here,” Sari whispers to her mother.

“What, Sari?” Sam asks.

“The thing in my closet,” Sari says, completely serious.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets,” Jenny says. She looks to the three men in her kitchen. “Right?”

“Right,” Sam says. “No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Jenny says.

“I wasn’t dreaming,” Sari insists. “It came into my bedroom— and it was on fire.” She looks at the three men in the kitchen, her face open with that childlike honesty.

The Winchester brothers are shocked.

-

They walk back to the Impala.

“You hear that?” Sam asks, fast and frantic. He’s holding Gabriel as closely as he can. It would be painful, for a mortal, but Gabriel doesn’t care. “A figure on fire.”

“And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“She’s talking about scratching and flickering lights. Malevolent spirit, huh?” Gabriel comments.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true,” Dean says, sharp.

Sam stops walking, eyes wide.”Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house— do you think it’s Yellow Eyes?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says.

Sam rests his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders. “Gabe, I know you don’t like to interfere with us, but… do you think it could be Yellow Eyes? Did you— sense it, or see it, or feel anything?”

Gabriel sides his hands into his pockets. “Sam, baby, there’s something in that house. It’s not Yellow Eyes, from what I can tell. There’s something bad in there. Poltergeist or something. And then— I don’t know what it is, but there’s this feeling—”

“Wait a minute, what do you mean you don’t know what it is?” Dean asks.

Gabriel side-eyes Dean. “I know there’s a possible poltergeist. There’s something else, and I don’t know what it is. It’s like it’s— hiding, or something. It doesn’t want to be found.”

“Uh, aren’t you some sorta all-powerful archangel that can, oh, I don’t know, build invisible walls and fly and shit, and you can’t tell what one little ghostie is?”

“Dean,” Sam hisses. “Now is not the time for you to start fights. There is a woman and children in there in danger, and we have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will,” Dean says. He starts walking away.

“No, I mean now,” Sam insists.

Dean swings around. “And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?” Dean asks.

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

-

The Impala’s sitting in a gas station, Sam and Gabriel huddled together in the back. Gabriel’s taken over his boyfriend duties— to soothe and comfort— the best he can while Dean’s nearby.

“We just gotta chill out, that’s all. You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?” Dean asks. He’s leaning on top of the Impala, talking to Sam and Gabriel through the open window.

Sam sighs then takes in a deep breath. “We’d try to figure out what we’re dealin’ with,” he says. “We’d dig into the history of the house.”

“Exactly, except this time, we already know what happened,” Dean says.

“Yeah, but how much do we know?” Sam asks, leaning further into Gabriel. HE looks up at Dean, feeling small “I mean, how much do you actually remember?”

“About that night, you mean?” Dean asks, pulling away from the Impala to meet Sam’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Not much,” Dean says. ”I remember the fire… the heat.” He pauses, just breathing for a moment, trying his best to remember everything and appear unaffected. “And then I carried you out the house.” Dean looks at Sam over his shoulder.

“You did?” Sam asks, quiet.

“Yeah. What, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head. “No.”

“And, uh, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do,” Dean continues, doing his best to appear unphased, the pauses in his speech ruining his efforts. “Mom was… was on the ceiling. And Yellow Eyes was long gone by the time Dad found her. Course, he didn’t know it was Yellow Eyes, but…”

“So, you guys gotta figure out sorta Scooby-Doo villain’s in your house now and see if ol’ Yellow Eyes is back on the block,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He rests his hand on the Impala’s door, fingers near the door lock. “We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

After a moment of silence, Sam speaks up.

“Does this feel like just another job to you?”

Dean lets go of the door. “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” He walks away and turns a corner, standing next to the bathroom door while he takes out his cell phone. After double-checking no one can see him, he dials John’s number.

“This is John Winchester. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean, at 866=907-3235,” John’s voicemail says, the words and tone so familiar to him by this time.

“Dad?” Dean asks, sounding like a child who misses his father more than anything else in the world. “I know I’ve left you messages before. I don’t even know if you’ll get ‘em.” He clears his throat. “But I’m with Sam and—” he takes a breath— “and we’re in Lawrence. And there’s somethin’ in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed Mom or not, but…” Dean’s voice breaks, and he has to stop, trying to pull himself together and not get emotional. “I don’t know what to do.” Dean begins to cry, a broken man, just for that moment. “So, whatever you’re doin’, if you could get here. Please. I need your help, Dad,” he pleads. He hangs up, tears still in his eyes, and stands for a moment, wishing more than anything that he knew what to do.

-

Demon monkey claps.

Plumber loses arm in drain.

The house is unsafe.

-

At Guenther’s Auto Repair, the Winchesters and Gabriel talk to the owner of the garage, Geunther himself.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks, following behind him..

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago,” Geunther says. He reaches for a rag, rubbing his hands clean. “Matter of fact, it must be, uh… twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?”

“We’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, cold cases, and the Winchester disappearance is somethin’ we’re interested in,” Gabriel says. He flashes Geunther a charming smile.

“Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind,” Dean suggests.

“Well…,” Geunther begins, as a man welds nearby, “he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing.”

Sam and Dean nod at that.

“But, uh— oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.”

“But that was before the fire?” Sam asks.

“That’s right,” Geunther confirms, the fond smile dropping from his face. Tragedy changes people on a fundamental level, makes them into completely different people. Geunther witnessed this firsthand when it came to John Winchester.

“Did he, uh, ever talk ‘bout that night after, or—?” Gabriel asks.

“Nah, not at first.” Geunther thumbs at his chin. “I think he was in shock.”

“Right,” Sam says. “But eventually? What did he say about it?”

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” Geunther says. He looks at the ground, smiling to himself at the absurdity of the situation before returning to his serious look. “He said, uh— he said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks.

“Nothin’ did,” Geunther says, forehead pinching together. “It was an accident— an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’,” he dismisses. “I begged him to get some help, but…” he shakes his head.

“But what?” Gabriel prods.

“Oh, he just got worse and worse,” Geunther says.

“How?” Dean asks.

“Oh, he started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.”

“A palm reader? You got a name?” Gabriel asks.

“No,” Geunther scoffs.

-

The Impala’s parked by a payphone. Sam looks through a massive phonebook, Gabriel by his side, hand in Sam’s back pocket.

“So, of psychics and palm readers,” Gabriel says, reading the phonebook from Sam’s side. “There’s an El Divino. And—” he laughs— “the Mysterious Mister Fortinsky. A Missouri Moseley, some guy named—”

“Wait, wait, Missouri Moseley?” Dean asks.

“What?” Sam asks, looking up from the book.

“That’s a psychic?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Dean goes in the backseat and pulls out John’s journal, closing the door with a creak. “In Dad’s journal… here, look at this.” He opens up the first page and slides it to Sam and Gabriel. “First page, first sentence, read that.”

“‘I went to Missouri and I learned the truth’,” Sam reads.

Dean shrugs. “I always thought he meant the state.”

-

Inside of Missouri Moseley’s house, the Winchesters and Gabriel sit on her couch, watching her escort a man out of the house.

“Alright, there,” Missouri says to him as she walks him out. She’s got a sweet, motherly voice, tinged with a southern accent, the type of voice that instantly makes you relax and think of Sunday afternoons and the slow pull of thick, sweet tea. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.”

The man thanks her. She closes the door behind him.

Missouri leans against the closed door. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener,” shei says, walking away from the door.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks.

“People don’t come here for the truth,” Missouri says. “They come for good news.”

Gabriel nods in agreement.

“Well? Sam and Dean and Gabriel, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” Missouri leaves the room, entering another, doorway partially covered by a beaded curtain.

Sam and Dean share a confused look, following behind her. Gabriel follows them, eyebrows raised.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” Missouri admires the Winchesters, laughing in delight. It’s a good, kindly sound from her. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome!” She points a many-ringed finger at Dean. “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.”

Dean glares at her while Sam and Gabriel smirk.

“Sam.” Missouri grabs his hand, beaming at him with a dazzling smile. “Oh, honey, congratulations on your boyfriend. You two had a big scare, didn’t you?”

Sam blinks at her.

“And your father— he’s missin’?”

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, mouth suddenly very dry. He glances at Dea, then at Gabriel. Gabriel just offers him a shrug.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now,” Missouri replies, her voice soft and sweet.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Missouri admits.

“Don’t know?” Dean asks, irritable. “Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”

Missouri looks at him, affronted. “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician?” she asks, sharply. Her voice holds cutting words just as well as it holds kind ones. Sam smirks at his brother’s full chewing out. “I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit, please.”

Sam’s still smirking at Dean as they sit down.

Missouri snaps at Dean. “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, Imma whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dean protests.

“But you were thinkin’ about it,” Missouri says.

Dean raises his eyebrows. Sam smiles. Gabriel laughs.

“Oh, don’t you laugh, archangel,” Missouri says to Gabriel. “We don’t have time to get into everything you’ve gotten up to, but it’s givin’ me enough of a headache without even talkin’ about it, and we don’t have time for any of that, neither.”

Gabriel freezes. “You know,” he says. “You know.”

“Hard not to,” Missouri says dryly. She shifts in her chair.

Gabriel grabs Sam’s hand and squeezes it.

“Okay,” Sam says, trying to get back on track. “So, our dad— when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say… I drew back the curtains for him.”

“What about the fire?” Dean asks.

“Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”

“And could you?” Sam asks.

“I…” Missouri shakes her head. “I don’t know what it was,” she says, softly. She shakes her head. “Oh, but it was evil.”

“Yellow Eyes,” Gabriel mutters.

“You’ve seen him,” Missouri says.

“Bastard tried to kill me. Yeah, I’ve seen him.”

“You might be one of God’s angels, but while you’re in my house, you’ll keep those words outta your mouth,” Missouri says, sternly. She stands from her chair and gazes out a window.

“Alright, alright,” Gabriel says, putting his hands up in surrender.

“So… you think Yellow Eyes is back in that house?” Missouri asks.

“Definitely,” Sam confirms.

“I don’t understand,” Missouri says. She returns to her chair.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” Missouri asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “But Dad going missing and Gabriel being attacked and now this house happening all at once— it just feels like something’s starting.”

Gabriel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking at Sam. Sam looks back at him, confused.

“That’s a comforting thought,” Dean mutters.

-

Child escapes playpen.

The fridge holds his sweet prize.

The door shuts him in.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel return to the house with Missouri. Jenny answers the door with Ritchie in her arms.

“Sam, Dean, Gabe. What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Hey, Jenny,” Sam says, in that soft and gentle voice of his. “This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house,” Dean says. “You know, for old time’s sake.”

“You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy,” Jenny says.

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important,” Dean insists.

Missouri smacks the back of Dean’s head.

“Ow!”

“Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” Missouri asks Dean. “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out,” she says to Jenny.

Dean looks stunned. Gabriel contains his snort.

“About what?” Jenny asks, cagedly.

“About this house,” Missouri says.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny gives Missouri a polite but vacant smile, nervous about what Missouri has to say but even more nervous about looking crazy for being excited about learning.

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” Missouri says, continuing her kindness. “You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?”

“Who are you?” Jenny asks.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing,” Missouri says. “But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.”

Jenny looks unsure, but she allows them into the house. Missouri leads the boys into Sari’s bedroom.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” Missouri explains.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.”

With those words, a shudder almost goes through the room, or perhaps the entire house. Sam looks up at the ceiling, as though he’ll see his mother or Gabriel up there, and grips Gabriel’s hand harder.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, cupcake,” Gabriel says.

Missouri looks around the room, reading it, then smirks when Dean pulls out his EMF meter. “That an EMF?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“Amateur,” Missouri mutters.

Gabriel snorts.

Dean glares at her, then nudges Sam to show him the meter is beeping wildly.

“I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom,” Missouri says.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks.

Missouri nods.

“How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here,” Missouri says. It’s somethin’ different.”

Gabriel elbows Dean’s side with a told you so look.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“Not it.” Missouri throws open the closet. “Them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.” She stands in the middle of the closet, looking at the three men.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks.

“They’re here because of what happened to your family,” Missouri explains, approaching the trio. “You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam says.

“Okay, basically, this house is super attractive to paranormal creatures— you know, ghosts and all that jazz— because of what happened here,” Gabriel explains, glancing at Missouri, both for permission to speak and to offer support. While their styles are different, Gabriel has to admit that he’s a huge fan of Ms. Missouri Moseley, and not just because she likes to put Dean in his place. She’s powerful. He can acknowledge that. “And basically, Jenny and the kiddos, they got a nasty ol’ poltergeist. I mean, one that’ll make most other ghosts you ever dealt with look like Casper.”

“It won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead,” Missouri finishes.

“You— both of you, actually— said there was more than one spirit,” Sam says.

“There is,” Missouri says. “I just can’t quite make out the second one.” She walks around the room, looking for anything.

“It’s hiding,” Gabriel agrees. “It doesn’t want to be seen.”

“Well, one thing’s for damn sure— nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again,” Dean says, full of determination. “So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel sit around a table at Missouri’s house with her, the table covered in jars of herbs and roots like the typical idea of a witch’s house. Gabriel admires her arsonal.

“So, what is all this stuff, anyway?” Dean asks, sprinkling some onto the table.

“Angelica Root, Van Van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends,” Missouri says, pointing out specifics and then vaguely gesturing at everything else. She leaves for a moment to gather something else.

“Sammy, can’t your weird angel boyfriend… I dunno, exorcise the house or somethin’?” Dean asks.

“You know, Dean-O, I’m not the solution to every problem you’ve ever had,” Gabriel says. “And you didn’t come to me for help. You came to Missouri. You either do it her way, or you don’t do it at all.” He crosses his arms.

Dean glares at Sam, mouthing archangel, then sighs. “What are we supposed to do with all this?”

“We’re gonna put them inside the walls in the north, south, east, west corners on each floor of the house,” Missouri says. She returns to the table with a small wooden box and takes a seat.

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the drywall,” Dean mutters. “Jenny’s gonna love that.”

“She’ll live,” Missouri says, slyly.

“And this’ll destroy the spirits?” Sam asks.

“It should,” Missouri says. “It should purify the house completely. We’ll each take a floor.” While Missouri speaks, Dean presses a piece of something to his tongue, making a face at the taste. Gabriel smirks at his stupidity. “But we work fast,” Missouri continues, steadfastly ignoring the others to focus on Sam. “Once the spirits realize what we’re up to, things are gonna get bad.”

-

Missouri walks Jenny and her kids outside the house, Gabriel by her side.

“Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you kids here alone,” Jenny says.

“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back,” Missouri reassures her.

“Hey,” Gabriel says, giving Jenny a reassuring look, that sparkling-eyed face he spent so long perfecting. “Everything’s gonna be okay, right? You and the kiddos— we’re not gonna let anything happen to you. It’s all gonna be peachy keen here in the old Winchester house.” He adds an easy-going little smile.

Jenny, hesitantly, leaves with her kids.

“I think it’s best you stay out here,” Missouri tells Gabriel. “There’s no telling if your presence will make it upset.”

“My presence makes everything upset,” Gabriel says, but he snaps up his pink DS and visits his Nintendogs regardless. Missouri turns to walk inside. “Hey, Missouri,” he says.

She turns to face him.

“Make sure you take care of those boys. They’re a lot like their daddy. Dumb and far too ready to jump into fights.”

Missouri smiles at that. “Exactly like their father,” she says, and walks into the house.

Sam goes into a room with a hammer, kneeling by the wall. He uses the hammer to hit against the dark floral wallpaper without rhythm. Behind him, a plug on the other side of the room unplugs itself and a lamp moves on its own. The plug, snakelike, slithers its way towards Sam.

In the kitchen, Dean punches the beige-colored wall with a hatchet. A drawer behind him opens by itself, preparing to strike.

Missouri looks around the basement, bringing a bag full of herbs to a little hole in the wall. A table slides towards her, pinning her against the wall. She screams in pain and surprise.

Dean hears a noise in the kitchen, ducking as a knife throws itself into the cabinet behind him. He drops fully to the ground, flipping a table onto its side for protection and more knives lodge themselves in the wood, dangerously close to his face.

Sam chops through the wall with the garish floral wallpaper. He turns around when the lamp crashes to the ground. The cord wraps around his neck, bringing him to the ground while it chokes him, leaving the bag of herbs discarded next to him. He picks up the bag, trying fruitlessly to throw it towards the hole in the wall.

Gabriel, outside the house, looks away from his Nintendogs to snap his fingers.

The table scoots away from Missouri. The cord drops from around Sam’s neck. The knives stop flinging themselves towards Dean.

Sam shoves the bag of herbs inside the hole in the wall. A blinking white light fills the room like smoke, then disappears.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Gabriel mutters, returning to petting his virtual puppies.

-

The Winchesters and Missouri stand in the wrecked kitchen. Gabriel snaps in beside Sam, having the decency to make his DS disappear, looking at the crime scene.

“You sure this is over?” Sam asks Missouri.

“I’m sure,” Missouri says. “Why? Why do you ask?”

“Ah, never mind.” Sam sighs, wrapping his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

Jenny enters the house, flipping on the lightswitch. “Hello? We’re home,” she announces. She comes into the kitchen and looks around, shocked at the disaster. “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry,” Sam says, sweetly. “Um, we’ll—we'll pay for all of this.”

Dean looks confused.

“Don’t you worry,” Missouri says. “Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.

Dean doesn’t move.

Missouri turns to face him. “Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.”

Dean walks away, annoyed.

“And don’t do cuss at me!”

Dean continues walking away, muttering beneath his breath. Gabriel laughs.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel sit in the Impala, outside of the house, Sam slumped against Gabriel’s side. The light in Jenny’s bedroom switches off.

“Alright, so tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, irritably.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I—I just… I still have a bad feeling.”

“Why?” Dean asks. “Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.”

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all,” Sam says.

Dean sighs deeply, exhaustion joining the annoyance in his voice. “Yeah, well, problem is, I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” He slides down in his seat and closes his eyes.

Gabriel looks up at Jenny’s bedroom window just to see her screaming. “Sam!” he says. “Sam, look!”

Sam looks out the window and gasps. “Dean! Dean!”

Gabriel zaps them out of the Impala and into the house.

“You grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean commands.

The figure of fire stands in Sari’s closet.

Dean rushes to Jenny’s bedroom and yanks on the door, finding it locked despite the handle jiggling on both sides. “Jenny!” he yells.

“I can’t open the door!” Jenny yells, desperate.

“Stand back!” Dean commands. He kicks down the door and takes Jenny downstairs.

“No, my kids!” Jenny says.

“Sam’s got your kids, come on,” Dean says.

With Ritchie in his arms, Sam enters Sari’s bedroom, following her screams for help. For a moment, all he can do is stare at the figure of fire as though he knows it, but he snaps himself from his stupor. He rushes to Sari’s bed and scoops her up in his other arm.

“Don’t look,” he says. “Don’t look!”

Gabriel zaps them to the bottom of the stairs.

“Alright, Sarai, take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back,” Sam commands, stooping down to her level.

An invisible force brings Sam to the floor, dragging him into another room, where he crashes into a table. Sari screams. Gabriel zaps the kids outside with Jenny, staying with Sam.

Dean kneels down to Sari’s eye level. “Sari, where’s Sam?”

“He’s inside. Something’s got him,” Sari sobs out.

Jenny stays with her children, asking them if they’re alright, comforting them carefully.

Dean looks at the front door, which slams shut on its own. He opens the Impala’s trunk and retrieves a rifle and ax, rushing to the front door and chopping away at it, a slow process that takes far too long for his comfort.

The invisible force pins Sam against the wall, leaving him unable to move his body. The fiery figure walks towards him.

Dean finally breaks into the house and runs into the kitchen, standing in front of Sam and raising his gun at the fiery figure.

Gabriel shakes his head at Dean.

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam insists.

“What?! Why?!” Dean asks.

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now,” Sam says.

The fire vanishes, and in front of them is Mary Winchester, with her nightgown and blond hair, looking exactly as she did when she died.

“Mom?” Dean asks, softly, hand shaking on the gun as he lowers it. His face softens entirely as he looks at his mother, the woman he hasn’t seen since he was a child.

Mary smiles, stepping over to Dean. “Dean,” she says, in the sweet, loving tones of a mother.

Dean’s eyes fill with tears.

Mary walks from him and goes to Sam. Dean never takes his eyes from her, his beautiful mother standing before him. “Sam,” she says.

Sam smiles weakly, crying. He doesn’t even remember Mary, doesn’t have what Dean does other than self-guilt for what happened to her, as though the fire was his fault and the aching gape of what could have been, had life been better.

Mary’s smile fades. “I’m sorry.”

“For—For what?” Sam chokes out.

Mary looks at him sadly, saying nothing. Then she walks away from her sons and looks at the ceiling. “You get out of my house. And let go of my son,” she commands. She bursts back into flames. When she’s entirely covered, the fire climbs up to the ceiling and disappears, leaving nothing behind.

Whatever’s been holding Sam to the wall lets go of him. He walks over to Dean and Gabriel, looking at them both, amazed, tears still glazing his eyes. “Now it’s over,” he says.

-

The next morning, Dean stands by the Impala with Jenny as they look through the old photos she’s found. A picture of John and Mary by a lake, a picture of little Dean holding baby Sam in a chair. He holds them as though they are the most precious things in the world to him, as though he’ll break them if he looks too hard at them.

“Thanks for these,” Dean says.

“Don’t thank me, they’re yours,” Jenny says, kindly.

Dean places the trunk of photos in the backseat.

Sam and Gabriel sit on the front steps of the house, leaning against each other with their hands linked together. Missouri joins them, setting her purse on the step beside her.

“Well, there are no spirits in there anymore, this time for sure,” Missouri says.

“Not even my mom?” Sam asks.

“No,” Missouri says.

“What happened?” Sam asks.

Missouri looks at Gabriel, giving him the go-ahead to explain.

“See, your mom and that poltergeist— they sorta cancelled each other out, see? Their energies did. When your mom went after it, she, uh… destroyed herself,” Gabriel says.

Sam swallows. “Why would she do something like that?”

“Well, to protect her boys, of course,” Missouri says.

Sam nods, tears in his eyes.

Missouri goes to rest her hand on his shoulder, then stops herself from doing it. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sam asks.

“You sensed it was there, didn’t you? Even when I couldn’t. Even when—” she eyes Gabriel, with a moment of suspicion— “Gabriel couldn’t.”

Gabriel shrugs, minimally apologetic.

“What’s happening to me?” Sam asks, sounding small.

“I know I should have all the answers, but I don’t know,” Missouri says.

Sam turns to Gabriel, eyes pleading.

“Lollipop, I’ll tell you when I know,” he says. “I promise I will.”

“Sam, you ready?” Dean asks from the Impala.

Sam nods and goes to the car with Gabriel. Jenny thanks them all.

“Don’t you boys be strangers,” Missouri calls.

“We won’t,” Dean says.

Missouri gives him a knowing look and adjusts her cardigan. “See you around,” she says.

Jenny waves them off. They smile, hop in the Impala, and drive off.

-

Father stands in room.

Son didn’t recognize him.

He searches for truth.

Chapter Text

Missouri enters her house and sets her purse on the table. “That boy…,” she begins. “He has such powerful abilities. But why he couldn’t sense his own father, I have no idea.” She walks into the living room to see John Winchester, sitting on her couch, looking at her with sad eyes.

He rubs his face. “Mary’s spirit— do you really think she saved the boys?” He folds his hands in front of him.

“I do,” Missouri says.

John nods, sad, and twists his wedding band around his finger.

“John Winchester, I could just slap you. Why won’t you go talk to your children?” Missouri asks, sharp.

“I want to,” John replies, tearful, staring at his wedding band. “You have no idea how much I wanna see ‘am. But I can’t. Not yet.” He looks at Missouri. “Not until I know the truth.”

Missouri and John share a look.

“That’s really interesting,” Gabriel says, appearing in the doorway. “‘Cuz, uh, the way your boys see it, Johnny— can I call you Johnny?—, uh… they think you abandoned them.” Gabriel crosses his arms and stares at them.

“Gabriel,” John says.

“Yeah, that’s me. Hi. Big fan of your work. Sam, I mean. Not abandoning your kids to run 'round without 'em and not tellin' 'em. Not the biggest fan of that.” Gabriel shoves his hands in his pockets. “And I thought I had secrets. Hidin’ from your kids, huh?” He whistles. “Hoo boy, that sure is somethin’.”

“Now, I don’t know if you got any business judgin’ John when you’re doin’ the same thing, Gabriel,” Missouri says, tone even despite the peaks and valleys of her pitch. “You’re tellin’ me you really don’t know what’s happening with Sam?”

“That is big Daddy’s business,” Gabriel says. “I’m tryin’ not to meddle too much in human affairs. They don’t really like it when you do that up there.” He shrugs.

“If you knew John was here, why didn’t you tell them?” Missouri asks.

Gabriel looks at Missouri, eyebrows raised. “Not my secret to tell,” he says. “I mean, I got secrets, and I’m willin’ to tell those, but these’re my secrets to tell.”

“Thank you,” John says, voice still shaking. “For keepin’ my boys safe.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it," Gabriel says, acidic.

“You know somethin’, don’t you, Gabriel?” Missouri asks, in that knowing, wandering way of hers. “Not just about Sam. About everything.”

The corner of Gabriel’s mouth turns up. “Yeah, I know things,” he says. “Archangel. I know a lot. Been here from the beginning. Seen it all.”

"And you can't tell us anythin'?" Missouri asks, hopeful but restrained.

Gabriel sighs. "Missouri Mosley, the things I could tell you," he says. "Y'know, I've been through a lot. Seen a lot. Seen the first fish crawl from the ocean, been a Norse god, created the platypus, but what's about to happen to your boys— it's only happened one place."

John looks at Gabriel, desperate.

"Sunday dinner. My place.”

John crinkles his forehead. "What?" he asks.

Missouri wrings her hands. "John, I think what Gabriel's tryin' to tell us is that… well, there's something big about to happen to your sons. Very big."

"My family— you know, uh, Heaven— is dysfunctional, and then some." Gabriel smiles without humor. "Oh, my siblings— they get along like nothing you've ever seen. We're a real Brady Bunch, if Greg and Marcia tried to kill each other. The house is rockin' with domestic issues!"

Missouri and John eye Gabriel.

"Why my boys? Why are— why are they involved in this?" John asks.

"It's Daddy's will," Gabriel says. "If Daddy wills it, then it's gotta come true. And there's really nothin' we're supposed to do about it."

"But those boys— they love each other. They'd never try to…" Missouri shakes her head. "Oh, turn off your mind, boy. I got a headache."

"Wish I could. Really do." Gabriel shrugs, rubbing his fingers together in his pockets. "Sam and Dean— they're good men. What's about to happen to them— no one deserves it. I've lived through it once. I'd rather not have a do-over."

It's a lie. Gabriel thinks about what he'd do differently every time he thinks about it. How he'd get Lucifer and Michael to make up, how no one would have to leave home, how they could be a big, happy family again. Wishful thinking at its finest.

Missouri gives him a look that says she knows he's lying. Gabriel looks away. Damn psychics.

"You can stop it, can't you?" John asks. He looks absolutely pitiful.

"Wish I could," Gabriel says. "Really do. 'Cuz those boys— Sam's a good man. Hell, even Dean's a good man, but don't tell him I said that." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can't make you do anythin', John, and I can't change what's going to happen. But I can tell you that your boys love you. They miss you. And having a deadbeat dad is seriously a drag. Trust me on that."

John looks at Gabriel. He looks like hell, and then some.

"I don't care what you do," Gabriel continues. "You're a grown-ass man. But you're hurting your boys. And anyone who hurts my Sam— well, let's say that I'm not particularly happy 'bout that." He rocks on his heels. "Your call. But you gotta know what’s happenin’, even if it’s just a lil bit.”

John nods, still tearful and shaky.

-

When John leaves, Missouri turns to Gabriel once more, giving him a knowing look that makes him squirm a little. He’s an Archangel, the god Loki, and a human can make him more uncomfortable than anything else. Well, to be fair, most of the time, Gabriel’s the one reading people’s minds. He’s not used to it.

"You really care about Sam," Missouri says.

"I do," Gabriel confirms.

"And it scares you."

"Not anymore."

Missouri gives him a sharp, pointed look. "Now, you might be an archangel of the Lord, silver-tongued trickster, and whatever else you've called yourself, but you can't lie to me, boy."

And she's right. Gabriel can't lie to her, on principle. If she can handle hearing his thoughts for this long and not go completely insane, she deserves the truth.

“You know I do,” Missouri says.

If Gabriel were human, he’d probably be embarrassed, but he hasn’t quite mastered that emotion just yet. "He's just— Sam's small and fragile and I don't know what I would do if something happened to him." Gabriel takes in a breath, something completely unnecessary but comforting nevertheless. "They got big plans for him, up there. For Dean, too. And I don't like 'em."

"You have to make a choice," Missouri says, wisely.

"I never meant for this to happen. It wasn't supposed to." Gabriel snaps up a can of soda. "I just… wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Heaven goes absolutely B-A-N-A-N-A-S for Dean, Gwen Stefani-style, but I wanted to know about Sam. And oh boy, do I know about Sam."

Missouri gives Gabriel a stern look. He reigns in his thoughts. Right. Now is not the time to fantasize about his stupid sexy boyfriend, no matter how much he'd like to.

"I just wanted to check him out. Go to a couple classes, maybe a party, get a feel for him. But— have you met the guy? It's impossible not to love him." Gabriel opens the tab with a crack and a hiss. "I mean, really, Daddy did real good when he made Sam." He whistles. "And then… I didn't mean to fall for him, but now I'll do anything— anything— to keep that boy safe."

"And are you going to do it?" Missouri asks.

Gabriel shakes his head, moving the can from hand to hand. "I don't know," he says. "Dunno if I can, without three different flavors of damnation. But by Dad, I wanna try. 'Cuz that boy deserves the universe, and I love him."

“Well, you know you have to do something, Gabriel. I think you’ve spent enough time just sitting back and watching things happen.”

Gabriel sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Don’t go off alone in a decrepit building, or you might end up getting possessed.

-

Sam’s on his phone in the motel room, sitting on one of the beds, the bright red striped comforter not nearly as headache-inducing compared to the headache that is finding John fucking Winchester. “No, Dad was in California last we heard from him,” he says, soft but irritated. “We just thought-- he comes to you for munitions-- maybe you’ve seen him in the last few weeks.” Sam looks at Gabriel across the room, completely dejected. “Thanks.”

“You bet,” the man over the phone says.

“Caleb hasn’t heard from him?” Dean asks from his makeshift desk where he’s flipping through John’s journal fruitlessly, glaring at the chaotic, sticky note-covered pages like they’ll suddenly tell him their secrets.

“Nope,” Sam says, flipping his phone shut and clutching it between his hands. “And neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim. What about the journal? Any leads in there?”

“No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out,” Dean says, turning pages in annoyance. “I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like friggin’ Yoda.”

“You know, maybe we should call the Feds,” Sam suggests. “File a missing person’s.”

“We’ve talked about this. Dad’d be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail,” Dean argues.

“I don’t care anymore.” Sam looks over at Gabriel for a moment. Dean’s cell phone rings, and he walks across the room to get it. “After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean… he should’ve been there, Dean.” Sam watches Dean’s back. “You said so yourself. You tried to call him and…” Sam shrugs. “Nothing.”

Gabriel gets off the bed and stands by Sam’s side.

“I know!” Dean says, irate, digging through his duffel bag, unearthing a mass of crumpled clothes. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”

“You know, he could be dead for all we know.”

“Hey,” Gabriel chastises gently.

“Don’t say that!” Dean says. “He’s not dead! He’s-- He’s…” Dean makes a limp hand gesture, punctuated by annoyance.

“He’s what?” Sam asks, glaring at his brother. “He’s hiding? He’s busy?”

Gabriel bumps his shoulder against Sam’s arm. “Hey,” he says, again. “Cupcake.”

Dean flips open his cell phone and checks his texts. “Huh,” he says, quietly, grinning down at the little screen. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Sam asks, still irate, but now more curious.

Dean sits on the other bed. “It’s, uh…” he looks up from his phone and looks at Sam. “It’s a text message. It’s coordinates.”

Dean gets out the laptop, Sam hovering around him like a moon in orbit, Gabriel clinging to his side.

“You think Dad was texting us?” Sam asks.

“He’s given us coordinates before,” Dean says, tapping away on the laptop.

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean,” Sam argues.

Gabriel holds in a laugh, knowing it’s inappropriate to laugh at that moment but wanting to.

“Sam, it’s good news! It means he’s okay, or alive, at least.”

“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, it said ‘unknown’.”

“Well, where do the coordinates point?” Sam asks, more irritated now than he seemed to before. Gabriel takes one of Sam’s hands in his own and holds it tightly, almost trying to drown him.

“That’s the interesting part,” Dean says “Rockford, Illinoise.”

“Okay, and that’s interesting how?”

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” Dean swivels the laptop around to show Sam, angling it just a little so it’s a little difficult for Gabriel to see. Gabriel lets it slide this once to keep their tense peace, if only for Sam’s sake. It’s only for Sam’s sake that he puts up with half of the shit Dean does, and he knows sam’s the reason Dean puts up with him, too. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Okay, I’m not following,” Sam says, deadpan and bitchy. “What does this have to do with us?”

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean looks around for John’s journal and picks it up, leafing through the messy pages until he finds what he’s looking for. “Here,” he says, pointing at the table, the page opposite of a Wendigo woodcut. “Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-- til last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.” He smiles at Sam, proud of himself for putting it all together.

Sam snorts, bitterly, and stands from his chair to pace the room, running a hand through his hair, then rubbing at his jaw in annoyance. “This is a job,” he snaps. “Dad wants us to work a job.”

“I mean, maybe we’ll meet up with him? Maybe he’s there?” Dean suggests, sounding like a hopeful child.

“Maybe he’s not?” Sam suggests back, shrugging. “I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“We have an angel,” Dean points out, closing the laptop and standing from the table. “And-- Who cares! If he wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”

“This doesn’t strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam looks at Dean, occasionally glancing at Gabriel.

“Sam! Dad’s tellin’ us to go somewhere, we’re goin’,” Dean snaps, obedient as always, especially when it comes to John’s orders.

Sam gives Dean one of his many annoyed looks, then looks at Gabriel, softening a little.

-

Sam sits in the back of the Impala with Gabriel instead of sitting shotgun as usual. Gabriel leans against his side, messing around on his DS, oddly quiet.

-

In one of those typical roadside bars that Sam and Dean have made themselves home in for a great portion of their lives, a police officer sits at the wooden bar, nursing his beer. He looks troubled in that ragged, quiet way that people who work with people do, who have seen things look.

Dean slides into the chair across from him. “You’re Daniel Gunderson,” he says. “You’re a cop, right?”

“Yeah,” Gunderson says, looking at Dean with suspicion.

“Huh,” Dean says. He shuffles a little, playing up the persona. “I’m, uh, Nigel Tufnel, The Chicago Tribune. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, about your partner?”

“Yeah, I do,” Gunderson says, firmly. “I’m just tryin’ to have a beer here.”

“That’s okay, I swear it won’t take that long. I just want to get the story in your words,” Dean wheedles.

“A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair. Now he’s dead. You gonna ambush me here?”

“Sorry,” Dean says, not sounding sorry at all. “But I need to know what happened.”

Gabriel pushes Dean aside roughly. Sam appears by his side as backup, pushing him back towards Gabriel.

“Hey buddy, why don’t you leave the poor guy alone, huh?” Sam asks, aggressively. “The man’s an officer! Why dontcha show a little respect?”

Dean pauses, staring at both of them, then walks off, acting intimidated.

“You boys didn’t havta do that,” Gunderson says to them.

“Yeah, we had to,” Gabriel says. “That guy? He’s a serious dick.”

“Let me buy you a beer, huh?” Sam looks at the bartender. “Three?”

“Thanks,” Gunderson replies.

-

Sam and Gabriel walk from the bar, shoulder to shoulder (more like shoulder to elbow), looking smug.

Dean looks at them from where he’s leaning on the Impala, hands shoved firmly in his jacket pockets. “Shoved me kinda hard in there, guys.”

“Had to sell it, didn’t we?” Sam asks, arms spread.

“It’s called method acting, kiddo,” Gabriel says, giving him finger guns.

Dean’s forehead crinkles in confusion. “Huh?”

“Nevermind,” Sam says, eyes flicking over to Gabriel, hoping he’s not going to start anything tonight. He walks in an arc behind the Impala until he’s directly across from Dean.

“What’d you find out from Gunderson?” Dean asks.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop,” Sam begins, leaning against the Impala’s roof, folding his hands together on top of it. “Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

Dean nods. “What about at home?”

“Well, y’know, he and the missus had some fights-- who doesn’t--, but they were a real Barbie and Ken. Even talked ‘bout having some little ones.” Gabriel rocks a little, shifting his weight from heel to toe a couple of times.

“Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waitin’ to bust out, or somethin’ else did it to him,” Dean reasons.

“Right,” Sam says.

“What’d Gunderson tell you about the asylum?” Dean asks.

“A whole lot,” Gabriel says.

-

Gabriel snaps the three of them into the decrepit asylum, not letting Sam and Dean bother with climbing over the chain link fence and breaking in properly.

“Huh,” Dean says, looking around. The room is an absolute disaster, its years of trespassing teenagers showing in the empty liquor bottles scattered around and graffiti coating the walls. It’s a place he wouldn’t have minded going to as a teenager, just for the free alcohol and easy lays. “That's kinda useful.”

“Yeah, he is.” Sam looks at Gabriel with gentle affection. Gabriel beams back at him.

Dean clears his throat, mostly only pretending to be disgusted by his brother and Gabriel’s affection. It’s actually kinda nice that one of them found someone, since their chances of a permanent, stable relationship are in the slim-to-none range, what with everything that’s happened to them all their lives. Still, that’s his brother that the centuries-old archangel makes fuck me eyes at all the time, and that’s just disgusting. Good teasing material, but disgusting.

Sam looks away from Gabriel, then looks around. He finds a sign over one of the doors. “So, apparently the cops chased the kids here into the south wing.” He points at the sign, reading SOUTH WING in big, blocky gray letters across the fading white wood.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second.” Dean flips through John’s journal, repeating south wing until he finds the page once more. Teenagers Die in Abandoned Hospital Fire, the headline of a newspaper reads. “1972,” he says. “Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lightin’ up the place.” Dean looks up at Sam, eyebrows raised.

“So whatever’s happenin’ ‘round these parts, the south wing’s the heart of it,” Gabriel says.

“But if the kids’re spelunking the asylum, why aren’t there a ton more deaths?” Dean asks.

Sam looks around the grimy room, noting a broken length of chain on the door to the south wing. “Looks like the doors are usually chained.”

“Probably could’a been chained up for years,” Gabriel adds.

“Yeah, to keep people out.” Dean looks at the door. “Or to keep something in,” he says, ominously, flipping the journal closed.

They all look at each other. Sam slowly pushes the graffitied door open with a squeak.

-

The group walks down a hallway. Grimy doesn’t even begin to cover the state of the place, walls and floors disgusting from years of abandonment, the only light filtering in through filmy windows.

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel,” Dean says.

“Dude, enough,” Sam says.

“Or, uh, you over there, Father Damien Karras. See any demons or--”

“Oh, we got a real jokester over there,” Gabriel says.

“I’m serious,” Dean says, with a chuckle. “You gotta be careful, alright? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got goin’ on.” Dean gestures to Sam, not quite knowing how to describe whatever Gabriel has.

“I told you, it’s not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.” Sam shrugs.

Gabriel reaches out and takes Sam’s hand in his own. “If they’re attracted to any of us, it’d probably be me. No offense to Sam and you, but, hello, archangel!”

Dean gives Gabriel a look, then looks at Sam. “You couldn’t settle for just a dude that goes to church on Sunday. No, you had to pick a friggin’ archangel.”

Sam shrugs again, squeezing Gabriel’s hand. “Did you get any reading on that thing or not?”

“Nope,” Dean says, looking down at the homemade detector. “Of course, it doesn’t mean no one’s home.”

“Spirits can’t appear during certain hours of the day,” Sam says.

“Yeah, the freaks come out at night,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

Dean looks at Sam over his shoulder. “Hey Gabriel,” he deadpans, “who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or Sam?”

“Like it’s a contest?” Gabriel asks. He detaches his hand from Sam’s to slide it into Sam’s back pocket instead. “It’s Hewitt.”

Sam elbows Gabriel’s shoulder. Dean laughs.

-

They check out another room, full of medical supplies so old they’re essentially medieval torture weapons. Jars of human organs sit untouched and likely rotted. A couple rusty old wheelchairs lay strewn about.

Dean whistles as he inspects the dusty old surfaces of the room and the detector. “Man,” he says. “Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to those people. Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo’s Nest.” Dean makes crazy eyes, grinning at Sam.

Sam and Gabriel ignore him. Dean’s smile falls. They all look around some more.

“So. Whaddya think? Ghosts possessin’ people?” Dean asks, deflated.

“Maybe,” Sam says. “Or maybe it’s more like, uh, like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting.”

Gabriel leans against Sam’s side. “Astute observation, cupcake.”

“Spirits drivin’ them insane,” Dean says. “Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.” He grins at his own joke.

“Dean,” Sam says, voice weighed down with seriousness. He only continues when Dean turns to look at him. “When are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Dean asks.

“About the fact Dad’s not here.”

“Oh. Uh, I see.” Dean pauses to think. “How ‘bout… never.”

“I’m bein’ serious, man,” Sam says. “He sent us here…”

“So am I, Sam,” Dean says. “Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We’ll pick up the search later.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” Sam says, irritated.

“See. That attitude? Right there?” Dean points at Sam. “That is why I always get the extra cookie.”

“Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we’re talking about.”

“I understand that, Sam, but he’s given us an order.”

“So what, we gotta always follow Dad’s orders?” Sam asks.

“Of course we do,” Dean argues.

Sam looks at Dean, frustrated. Dean stares at him for a moment then turns away, ending their conversation.

Gabriel takes Sam’s hand once more, holding it tightly.

Dean pokes around a couple of the countertops before picking up a dusty old sign. “‘Sanford Ellicott’,” he reads. He walks over to Sam and Gabriel, handing Sam the sign. “You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.”

Dean turns and walks away, leaving the sign with Sam and Gabriel, who look down at it, Sam with annoyance at being stuck with the research again and Gabriel with mild interest.

-

Sam sits on a couch in the clean, neat waiting room of the therapy building, looking through one of those magazines that you only find in these waiting rooms and nowhere else. Gabriel sits to his side at a respectable distance in public, holding Sam’s hand politely and playing his DS with the other. A man comes to the open door, a sign to the side reading Dr. James Ellicott, Clinical Psychiatry.

“Sam Winchester?” Ellicott asks.

“That’s me,” Sam says.

“Come on in,” Ellicott says.

Sam stands from the couch, tossing the copy of Men’s Health onto the leather.

“Have fun,” Gabriel says, watching Sam leave as he and Ellicott leave the waiting room.

“Thanks again for seeing me last minute,” Sam says, politely. He looks around the room, at a picture of Dr. Ellicott and his daughter, at a plaque with Dr. Ellicott’s name on it, congratulating him for 15 years of service to Rockford. “Dr… Ellicott. Ellicott, that name. Wasn’t there a… a Dr. Sanford Ellicott?” Sam asks, trying to be casual. He feels uncomfortable and seen in the clean little office, in his dark polo over his dark shirt, even without the sleeves pulled up over his fingers like he does when he normally feels uncomfortable. He’s a goddamn adult. He needs to act like one. “Yeah, he was a chief psychiatrist somewhere.”

“My father was a chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum,” Ellicott replies. “How did you know?”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorta… a local history buff,” Sam lies. “Hey, wasn’t there, uh, an incident, or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?”

“We’re on your dollar, Sam,” Ellicott reminds, gently. “We’re here to talk about you.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“So,” Dr. Ellicott says.

“So,” Sam replies, more nervous now than before.

“How’s things?” Dr. Ellicott asks.

“Ah, things are good, doctor.” Sam offers Dr. Ellicott a wide smile.

“Good,” Ellicott says. “Whatcha been doing?”

“Uh, same old,” Sam says, keeping it casual. “I just been on a… on a road trip with my brother and my-- my boyfriend. Gabriel. He’s, uh, in the waiting room, actually.”

“Was that fun?” Dr. Ellicott asks.

Sam pauses for a moment. “Loads,” he says, finally, forcing the word out. “Umm. You know, we… ah... we… met… a lot of… interesting people,” he says, hesitant. “Did a lot of… uh… lot of interesting things, you know?” He pauses again. “You know, what was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I forget--”

“Look, if you’re a local history buff, you know all about the Roosevelt riot.”

“The riot,” Sam says. “Well, no. I know. I’m just… curious.”

“Sam,” Dr. Ellicott says, curtly. “Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.” He sets his clipboard on his desk and moves his rolling desk chair closer to Sam.

“What subject?” Sam asks, far more uncomfortable now than before, panicking at the directness.

“You,” Dr. Ellicott says. “Now I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself. Like, uh, this brother you’re road tripping with. And your boyfriend, Gabriel. How do you feel about them?”

Sam looks terrified at the prospect of talking about himself, about being honest about himself in front of a complete stranger, especially about Dean. Gabriel, he’s more honest and open about, his feelings are less complicated, but his brother?

-

Gabriel looks up from his DS when Sam exits the room, looking drained. He stands from the couch and looks at Sam with that intense look in his eyes.

Sam exchanges final pleasantries with Dr. Ellicott and takes Gabriel’s hand.

“Do you wanna talk ‘bout it, honeybun?”

Sam looks at Gabriel. “Later,” he promises.

Gabriel nods and walks out of the building with Sam. Dean’s leaning against the glass windows outside of the door, bored. He joins Sam and Gabriel when they walk past him.

“Dude! You were in there forever,” Dean says. “What the hell were you talkin’ about?”

“Just the hospital, you know,” Sam answers, vaguely. He doesn’t want to broach the subject with the subject, so to speak. To Gabriel, he can talk all about his feelings about his brother and his father and his childhood, but to Dean? They don’t have that type of bond. He can’t just tell Dean all his complicated emotions without either getting laughed at or starting a fight.

Sam grips Gabriel’s hand harder and continues walking, Dean keeping pace.

“And…?” Dean presses.

“And the south wing? It’s where they housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane,” Sam explains. He lists them off on his fingers, thinking about how he’d probably be in there, if he were alive at the time.

“Sounds cozy,” Dean remarks, dryly.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “And one night in ‘64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.”

“So, what, the patients took over the asylum?” Dean asks.

“How about that,” Gabriel says.

“Any deaths?” Dean asks.

“Some patients, some staff,” Sam says, stopping at the Impala. “I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”

Gabriel hums, still eyeing Sam. He can get a sense of what’s happening in Sam’s head without dipping too deep, Sam’s thoughts too loud for him to contain, but he refuses to dive any deeper out of respect.

“Whaddaya mean, never recovered?” Dean asks.

“Cops scoured every inch of the place but I guess the patients must’ve…” Sam shakes his head at the thought, “stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden.” He shrugs.

“Grim,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “So, they transferred all the remaining patients and shut down the hospital for good.”

“So, to sum it up, we’ve got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies,” Dean says.

“Don’t forget all the angry spirits,” Gabriel adds.

“Good times,” Dean says. “Let’s check out the hospital tonight.”

-

Gabriel snaps them into the asylum once more, back in front of the South Wing doors. Sam has a video camera and a flashlight in his hands, Dean an EMF meter. Gabriel opens the door, looking around curiously.

“Getting readings?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, big time,” Dean says.

“Oh, we’re haunted haunted, boys,” Gabriel says. “You’re going to have to bust some serious ghosts.”

“This place is orbing like crazy,” Sam agrees, looking at the camera, where there are at least five bright white orbs in different places in the room.

“Probably multiple spirits out and about,” Dean says.

“And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ‘em and burn ‘em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed-off spirit is the pissed-off spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean looks down at his EMF meter.

They continue walking, but Gabriel looks at a wall. Behind it, there is a bald man in a straight jacket, looking ill and rotted, head twitching furiously, Jacob’s Ladder-style.

-

Sam and Dean split into two different rotted rooms, Gabriel looking around the hallway, oddly calm for someone who knows he’s surrounded by spirits. But that’s Gabriel. He knows those sons of bitches can’t do anything to him.

Sam looks around the room with the camcorder and flashlight, taking everything in. Other than the orbs and general nastiness of the room, there isn't anything that significant about it. He’s still freaked out. It’s only human of him.

He spots a white-haired old woman with one bloody eye hanging from her socket through the camera and flinches, lowering it to reveal the woman standing in front of him, zombie-shuffling towards him.

“Dean?! Gabe?!”

Dean rushes into the room and digs through his bag.

“Shotgun!” Sam yells.

“Sam, get down!” Dean yells.

Sam throws himself to the ground while Dean shoots the woman, who disintegrates into a cloud of dust.

Gabriel hangs in the doorway, watching it all happen.

“That was weird,” Sam says, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me,” Dean says. He looks at Gabriel. “Hey, I saved your boyfriend’s ass, no thanks to you.”

Gabriel gives him a dry, annoyed look.

Dean pushes past him. Sam follows his brother. Gabriel tags along.

“No, Dean, I mean it was weird that she didn’t attack me.”

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standin’,” Dean says.

“She didn’t hurt me,” Sam says. “She didn’t even try! So if she didn’t wanna hurt me, then what did she want?”

Gabriel looks at Sam, wordlessly wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist. “There’s something going on here,” he says, quietly.

“No shit there’s somethin’ goin’ on here,” Dean says. He starts leading them down the hallway.

There’s a noise coming from another room. Dean raises his shotgun. Sam flicks on the flashlight and shines it into the room, his other hand wrapped around Gabriel’s shoulders. They approach a metal bed frame overturned on its side, covered in a ragged white sheet. The top of a blonde head shivers behind the bed.

“Put down the gun,” Gabriel hisses.

“Oh, I’m not listenin’ to you,” Dean hisses back.

Sam reaches out and tips the bed over, revealing a teenage girl crouched in the corner. She spins around, looking at them with terror, gasping.

“It’s alright, we’re not goin’ to hurt you,” Dean says. “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

“Katherine,” the girl says, shakily, standing from where she was huddled in the corner. “Kat.”

“Hi Kat,” Gabriel says, gently. “I’m Gabriel, this’s Sam, my boyfriend, and that’s his brother Dean.”

“What are you doing here?!” Sam asks, frantic.

“Um,” Kat says, catching her breath. “My boyfriend, Gavin.”

“Is he here?” Dean asks.

“Somewhere,” Kat says. “He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts.” She sniffles. “I thought it was all just… you know. Pretend.” She wraps her pink cardigan around herself protectively and crosses her arms. “I’ve seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…”

“Alright,” Dean says. “Kat? Come on. Sam’s gonna get you out of here and then we’re gonna find your boyfriend.”

“No!” Kat says. “No. I’m not going to leave without Gavin. I’m coming with you.”

“It’s no joke around here, okay,” Dean says. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s why I gotta find him.”

The Winchesters and Gabriel look at each other. Sam shrugs. Gabriel sighs.

“So, split up and search for clues?” Gabriel asks.

-

Gabriel holds Sam’s hand as they walk through the abandoned halls, allowing Sam to lead the way, calling out Gavin’s name.

-

Kat looks through a window so grimy it hardly qualifies as a window anymore. “Gavin? Gavin?”

“I got a question for ya,” Dean says, scathing as ever. “You’ve seen a lot of horror movies, yeah?”

“I guess so,” Kat says, nonchalant.

Dean faces her. “Do me a favor,” he says. “Next time you see one? Pay attention. When someone says a place is haunted, don’t go in.” He walks away, Kat following.

They move out of the room, a dark shape moving from behind the grimy window.

-

Sam sees Gavin unconscious on the ground next to an overturned bathtub and crouches down cautiously to shake him, careful. “Hey, Gavin,” Sam says, quietly.

Gavin wakes, freaking out when he sees them, shouting and shaking.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Gabriel says. “We’re here to help. We’re gonna keep you safe.”

“Who are you?” Gavin asks.

“My name is Sam. This’s my boyfriend, Gabriel.” Sam sighs. “Uh, we found your girlfriend.”

“Kat?” Gavin stands from the ground, unsteady. “Is she alright?”

“She’s right as rain. Worried ‘bout you.” Gabriel’s eyes flick over to a corner of the room. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I was running,” Gavin says, still a little unsteady, rubbing at his head and looking around the room. “I think I fell.”

“You were running from what?” Sam asks.

“There was… There was this girl,” Gavin says, voice shaking. “Her face.” He gestures to his face. “It was all messed up.”

“Okay, listen, did this girl-- did she try to hurt you?” Sam asks.

“What?” Gavin asks. “No, she… uh…”

“She what?” Gabriel asks.

“She… kissed me.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, looking at Gabriel for a moment. Gabriel leans against Sam’s side. Once the shock partially wears off, Sam continues. “Uh… um… but-- but she didn’t hurt you, physically?” he asks.

“Dude!” Gavin says. “She kissed me. I’m scarred for life!”

“Trust me, kiddo, it could’a been far, far worse than just a kiss, trust me.” Gabriel shakes his head. “Now, do you remember anything else?”

“She, uh… actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear,” Gavin says.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know,” Gavin says, irate. “I ran like hell.”

-

In another one of the near-neverending hallways, Dean leads the way, shining a flashlight to guide them. The flashlight begins to fade and flicker. He shakes it, though it does nothing to stop the flashlight from sputtering into darkness. “You son of a bitch,” he grumbles. He reaches into his pocket. “It’s alright, I got a lighter.”

Kat looks into the darkness behind them. “Ow,” she complains. “You’re hurting my arm.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Dean asks.

They look at each other, too far apart for any part of them to touch, and look down in near-tandem. A disembodied hand grips Kat’s arm, dragging her into a room, the metal door slamming shut behind her. She bangs on the door and screams for Dean. Dean struggles to open the door from the outside, but it does nothing.

“Kat!”

“Lemme out! Please!” Kat begs.

“Kat!” Dean yells. “Hang on!”

Dean smashes the door with a metal pipe from the ground, then tries to jimmy open the lock while Kat’s trapped inside.

Kat backs away from the door, staring at it. Someone breathes behind her. When she spins to look at them, there’s no one there. Dean continues to bang on the door, trying to force it open to help her out. Kat turns again, this time seeing the ghost, a tall, heavyset man with long, dark, and oily hair, his face covered in blood. She screams, backing up to the door only to back up into him, screaming again.

Sam runs down the hall with Gabriel and Gavin. “What’s going on?” he yells.

“She’s inside with one of them,” Dean says.

“Help me!” Kat screams, pressing herself into a corner.

“Kat!” Gavin yells.

Kat slides down against the door while the ghost approaches. “Get me outta here!”

“Kat, it ain’t gonna hurt you,” Gabriel says.

“Listen to me,” Sam says, quick and urgent. “You’ve got to face it. You’ve got to calm down.”

Dean turns to Sam, astonished at his words. “She’s gotta what?!” he asks.

“I have to what?!” Kat asks.

“Listen, kiddo, those spirits— they’re not tryin’ to hurt you, ‘kay? They’re tryin’ to talk to you. You gotta face it and listen to it,” Gabriel instructs.

“You face it!” Kat argues.

“No! It’s the only way to get out of there,” Sam says.

“No!”

“Look at it, come on. You can do it,” Sam says, encouraging but urgent.

Kat takes deep breaths, preparing herself to face the ghost, then turns to look at him. He leans in close to her face.

“Kat?” Gavin asks, concerned.

“Man, I hope you’re right about this,” Dean mutters.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replies.

Gavin backs off, terrified.

Cloaked in a tense and thick silence, they wait outside the door. The lock clicks and it slowly opens, Kat standing in the doorway.

“Oh, Kat,” Gavin says, reaching out and taking her with him.

Sam and Gabriel go inside the room to check it’s clear, then come out, Sam shaking his head at Dean. No ghost.

“One thirty-seven,” Kat says.

“Sorry?” Dean asks.

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number,” Sam and Dean say, at the same time.

-

Sam, Dean, and Gabriel crouch against the wall where they can’t be heard by the teenagers.

“Alright,” Sam says. “So if these spirits aren’t trying to hurt anyone…”

“Then what are they trying to do?” Dean finishes.

Sam looks at Gabriel.

“C’mon, kiddo. I mighta helped last time, but I can’t solve your mysteries every single time. What’d the point be? I might as well just do ‘em all myself, then.” Gabriel shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “‘Sides, I love seein’ the two’a you struggle. Warms the old soul.”

“Seriously,” Dean says to Sam. “You coulda had the— I don’t know, the DM of your D&D group, or somethin’, but him? Maybe should’ve picked someone, oh, I dunno, helpful?”

Gabriel glances at Sam.

“No,” Sam says, firmly.

Gabriel sighs.

“I guess we’ll find out. On our own.” Dean gives Gabriel a glare.

“Bite me,” Gabriel says, flippantly.

“Alright,” Sam says. “I don’t know if you guys forgot this in your dick-measuring contest, but we have two kids to look after right now, so…” he makes an aggressive hand gesture, urging for them to move on.

Dean stands. “So, now, are you guys ready to leave this place?” he asks, in that authoritative voice of his.

“That’s an understatement,” Kat says, still a little shaken.

“Okay,” Dean says. He turns to Sam. “You get them outta here. I’m going to go find room one thirty-seven.”

-

Sam and Gabriel lead Kat and Gavin down a grimy hallway, hands linked, the bright white beam of their flashlight pathing their path.

“So,” Kat begins, wringing her hands. “How do you guys know about all this ghost stuff?”

“It’s kinda our job,” Sam replies.

“Why would anyone want a job like that?” Kat asks.

Sam huffs out a tiny, sarcastic laugh. “I had a crappy guidance counselor,” he says.

“And here I was thinking you’d just seen Ghostbusters too many times,” Gabriel says, dryly. Sam gives him a small smile.

“And Dean?” Kat asks. “He’s your boss?”

Sam looks down at her. “No,” he says.

-

Dean makes his way down an equally-grimy hallway, lit only by his flashlight, stopping when he centers the beam on room 137. He pushes on the door with his full weight, pushing aside the broken furniture holding it shut. The room’s a complete disaster. Other than the broken furniture, there are tipped-over filing cabinets on the ground with their papers scattered all over the floor and stained walls, the room in more disarray than the others. Dean looks around with the flashlight, flipping through a couple of folders in a cabinet, and tries to learn more about the room.

-

Sam tries opening a door, only to find it’s locked. When he tries another one, it’s locked, as well. “Alright,” he says. “I think we have a small problem.”

“Then break it down,” Gavin suggests, a little flippant.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work,” Sam says.

“Then a window,” Gavin says, more irritated now.

“They’re barred,” Kat points out.

“Then how are we supposed to get out?” Gavin asks.

“That’s the point,” Sam says. “We’re not. There’s something in here. It doesn’t want us to leave.”

“Those patients…” Kat says.

“No,” Sam says. “Something else.” He looks at Gabriel, eyebrows raised.

“Well, you’re a winner, lollipop!” Gabriel beams at Sam, then goes back to his projected neutrality. “But you know I’m not going to do you any favors.”

Sam sighs. “I know.”

-

Dean continues to search the room, finding a loose panel on the wall and prying it off, smug at his discovery. He pulls out a leather satchel full of papers and places it on a table, opening it up. “This is why I get paid the big bucks,” he says, to no one in particular.

Inside the satchel is a journal filled with notes and drawings of medical instruments done by hand. He pulls up a partially-destroyed chair and begins reading the notes, concerned with the content but intrigued nevertheless.

“Well, all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy,” he says to himself.

He looks up at a breathy noise.

-

Sam walks back down his hallway toward Kat and Gavin, Gabriel following him. “Alright, I’ve looked everywhere. There’s no other way out. Especially if someone isn’t going to help us.”

“If I helped you out at every minor inconvenience, it’d be very deus ex machina.”

“What do you mean? You say that a lot about him, but…” Kat looks at Gabriel like she isn’t sure of what he is.

“What do you think he means?” Gabriel asks.

“I don’t know,” Kat says, apprehensive. “Can you, like, pick locks?”

Gabriel glances at Sam.

“Well, you tell everyone. What’s one more person?” Sam asks.

“Name’s Gabriel.”

“Yeah, we know,” Gavin says, irritable.

“I’m starting to lose my patience with you, kid,” Gabriel says.

“We need to—” Sam’s phone rings. He answers it. “Hey,” he says.

“Sam, it’s me,” Dean says, through a bad line. The reception is awful in the asylum, distorting his even voice. “I see it. It’s coming at me.”

“Where are you?” Sam asks.

“I’m in the basement,” Dean says, urgent. “Hurry up!”

“I’m on my way.” Sam hangs up, then looks at Kat and Gavin. “Alright, can either of you handle a shotgun? He asks.

“What?” Gavin asks. “No!”

“I can,” Kat says, smoothly.

Gavin looks at her, amazed.

“My dad took me skeet shooting a couple of times,” Kat says.

“Alright, here,” Sam says, handing Kat the shotgun. “It’s loaded with rock salt. Now, it might not kill a spirit, but it will repel it. So if you see something, shoot,” he says. Then he looks at Gabriel. “I know you don’t want to be on—”

“Yeah, I’ll watch the kiddos. But I swear to my daddy, if anything happens to you…” he threatens vaguely.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” Sam gives Gabriel a little smile. Then he leaves.

-

Sam searches through the hallways and rooms frantically, shining his flashing around almost frantic. “Dean!” he calls, his voice echoing through the empty rooms. A door opens and he rushes in, apprehensive but desperate to find his brother.

His flashlight flickers a couple times before it fades completely. He shakes it and taps it against the palm of his hand. Behind him, a door swings open. Sam swings around and raises his shotgun, approaching it carefully. The room is empty but still suspicious. “Dean?” he asks.

Behind a ragged curtain, a shadow moves, drawing his attention towards it. He pulls the curtain back to reveal there’s no one there after a thorough check. When he turns around, though, there’s an old, beaten-up man with ragged hair and clothes who grabs his face, the contact points between his hands and Sam’s face beginning to glow a blue-tinted white.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, near-robotically. “I’m going to make you all better.” It’s mocking, taking those words that are meant to be comforting and making them cruel instead.

-

Gavin paces around the hallway. Kat’s crouching against the wall with the shotgun held close to her chest. Gabriel leans against a wall, blowing gum bubbles and watching the young couple.

“Hey, Gavin?” Kat asks, shakily.

Gavin crouches next to her. “Yeah?” he asks, quietly.

“If we make it out of here alive… we are so breaking up,” Kat says.

Gavin stares at her, shocked.

Gabriel snorts. “Yeah, saw that comin’ about a lightyear away.”

A noise sounds from around the corner. Both Gavin and Kat stand.

Kat raises her shotgun. “Did you hear that?” she asks.

“Something’s coming,” Gavin agrees.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows and pops a gum bubble between his teeth, making sure that the gun won’t actually hit anything at the moment.

Dean rounds the corner and sees Kat as she pulls the trigger. He jumps back, skidding around the corner once more and crouching against the wall. “Dammit, dammit, don’t shoot! It’s me!” he yells.

“Sorry!” Kat says. “Sorry.”

“Son of a…” Dean rounds the corner once more, and looks at the marks in the wall left by the salt. “What are you still doin’ here?! Where’s Sam?” Dean makes eye contact with Gabriel, stiffening. “Where’s Sam?” he asks.

“Whoa, hey,” Gabriel says, vanishing the gum from his mouth.

“He went to the basement,” Gavin says. “You called him.”

“I didn’t call anybody,” Dean says.

“His cellphone rang,” Kat says. “He said it was you.”

“Basement, huh?” Dean asks. He looks around and grabs a couple extra weapons from his weapon stash. “Alright,” he says, eyes digging into Gabriel. Gabriel goes stiff at what he finds in Dean’s mind. “Watch yourselves,” Dean says. “And watch out for me!” he looks at Kat for that.

“Okay, I’m takin’ the kids outside, and you’re goin’ to the basement,” Gabriel says, voice sharp. “And don’t get started on that I’m not a kid shit. I’ve been ‘round since the beginning of the world. All of you are kids to me,” Gabriel says to Kat and Gavin.

Gavin gives Gabriel a weird look. “What do you—”

Gabriel snaps, leaving Dean alone in the room.

-

Dean looks around the basement. “Sammy?” he asks, shining his flashlight around. “Sam, you down here? Sam? Sam!” He turns around, jumping back and readying his shotgun when he finds Sam in front of him. “Man, answer me when I’m callin’ you!” He lowers his shotgun. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “I’m fine.”

“You know it wasn’t me who called your cell, right?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I know.” Sam looks around the room. “I think something lured me down here.”

“I think I know who,” Dean says. “Dr. Ellicott. That’s what the spirits have been tryin’ to tell us. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No,” Sam says. “How do you know it was him?”

“‘Cuz I found his logbook. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients. Awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a couple’a asprin.”

“But it was the patients who rioted,” Sam points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was workin’ on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I’m thinkin’, what if his spirit is doin’ the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, makin’ them so angry they become homicidal… Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch ‘em.”

“How?” Sam asks. “The police never found his body.”

“The logbook said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he’d work on his patients. So, if I was a patient I’d drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself.”

“I don’t know, it sounds kinda…”

“Crazy?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Exactly.” He opens another door, looks inside, and jerks his head forward, gesturing for Sam to follow him in. Sam gives him a stealthy, sly look when Dean looks away. They enter the room together.

“I told you I looked everywhere,” Sam says. “I didn’t find a hidden room.”

“Well, that’s why they call it hidden,” Dean says. He turns at the sound of wind passing through the room. “You hear that?” he asks.

“What?” Sam asks.

Dean looks around, crouching down and holding out his hand to a part of the wall. Wind blows against it, chilling his hand. “There’s a door here,” he says, standing by the windy area.

Sam points his gun at Dean. “Dean,” he says, a trickle of blood slipping from his nose. “Step back from the door,” he commands, wiping the blood onto his Carhart.

Dean rises from the floor, eyes flickering from the gun to Sam’s face, looking so unlike his brother. “Sam, put the gun down.”

“Is that an order?” Sam asks, coldly.

“Nah, it’s more of a friendly request.”

Sam points his gun at Dean’s chest, blood smeared beneath his nose. “‘Cuz I’m gettin’ pretty tired of taking your orders.

“I knew it,” Dean says. “Ellicott did somethin’ to you.”

“For once in your life, just shut your mouth,” Sam commands.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun’s filled with rock salt,” Dean says, faux-cocky. “It’s not gonna kill me.”

Sam shoots Dean in the chest, the shot blasting him backwards into the hidden door, his body breaking through the door.

“No,” Sam says, cold and emotionless. “But it will hurt like hell.”

Dean gasps for breath from where he’s lying on the ground. “Sam!” he yells, pained.

Sam looms over him, taller than what seems like possible.

“We gotta burn Ellicott’s bones and all this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.”

“I am normal,” Sam says, blank. “I’m just tellin’ the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? ‘Cuz you’re followin’ Dad’s orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?” Sam stares at Dean, eyes frozen.

“This isn’t you talkin’, Sam,” Dean groans.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Sam says. “I have a mind of my own. I’m not pathetic, like you.”

“So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me?” Dean asks.

“You know what?” Sam asks. “I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.” Sam glares down at Dean, making him look much smaller than he actually is. “I left everything for this. My friends. My college. My interview. The only thing I have is Gabriel. Gabriel, and you. And a deadbeat dad we’re on a wild goose chase for.”

“Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you.” Dean holds out his smooth, sleek Smith & Wesson for Sam to take, pinched delicately between his fingers. “Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.”

Sam hesitates, fis hands wrapped around the weapon.

“Take it!” Dean commands.

Sam takes it and points the gun at Dean’s face.

“You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Dean looks his brother in the eyes. “Do it!”

Sam pulls the trigger, but the chamber is empty. He tries again, and once more, the chamber is empty. He drops to the ground. Gabriel stands behind him, across the room, then appears closer to him.

“Sorry, cupcake,” Gabriel whispers, running his fingers through Sam’s hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, but you’re being a dick.”

Dean pushes himself off the ground. “Jesus,” he says. “You said you didn’t like to Vulcan nerve pinch people.”

“You looked like you needed some help.” Gabriel gives Dean a smug little smile. He sits on the ground, legs folded, Sam’s head resting on them while he smoothes down his hair, occasionally tapping a finger against Sam’s temple to give him pleasant thoughts and drown out Ellicott’s influence.

Dean looks around the hidden room, pushing back the ragged, disgusting curtains with his pistol, exposing more and more blood-speckled gurneys. Dr. Ellicott passes behind him. Dean sees a tuft of something poking from the corner of a mostly-closed cupboard, throwing open the door to find a mummified corpse, then flinches back at the rotten, disgusting smell, gagging on the thick air.

“Oh, that’s just gross,” he mutters. He pulls out salt and begins to pour it on the body. “Soak it up,” he says, not noticing his flashlight flicker as he performs his routine duty of pouring salt on the corpse.

He drops the container of salt and grabs a tiny tin of kerosene, squirting it over the body. His flashlight flickers in the background, still unnoticed. From across the room, a gurney flies towards Dean and knocks him on the ground. Dr. Ellicott grabs his face, hands lighting up just like they did with Sam.

“Don’t be afraid,” he repeats, in that same mocking tone. “I’m going to make you all better.”

“Hey,” Gabriel calls out from where he’s sitting with Sam. He snaps his fingers. Dr. Ellicott’s corpse sets itself on fire. Dr. Ellicott, the ghost, lets go of Dean to watch his physical body burn. Dean crawls out of the way, watching Dr. Ellicott’s ghost char entirely black and fall onto the ground, crumbling as it makes contact with the hard, cold concrete.

Sam wakes up, head still in Gabriel’s lap. He looks at Gabriel, then at Dean.

“You’re not goin’ to try and kill me, are ya?” Dean asks, half-joking, half-serious.

“No,” Sam says, blinking at being awake, mind comfortable but feeling off.

“Good,” Dean says. “Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh, you think that’d be awkward? Imagine my family dinner.”

-

The sun rises as the Winchesters and Gabriel stand outside with Kat and Gavin. Gabriel has Sam’s hand in a death grip, never letting Sam stray further from him than a couple steps.

“Thanks, guys,” Kat says.

“Yesh,” Gavin says. “Thanks.”

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean says.

The three of them watch Gavin and Kat walk to their car before turning to the Impala.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam asks, quiet.

Dean turns to look at his brother.

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I said some awful things back there.”

“You remember all that?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “It’s like I couldn’t control it. But I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

“You didn’t, huh?” Dean asks.

“No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean begins to get into the Impala. “No,” he says. “I’m not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He shuts the door behind him and starts the car.

Chapter Text

Gabriel stands from the bed and snaps on some clothes, layering up as always. Sam isn’t sure how Gabriel’s snapping thing works, if the things exist in the real world before Gabriel makes them appear, or if Gabriel creates them. He doesn’t know how Gabriel’s power works at all, at least not entirely, and it bothers him to no end. Sam likes understanding things, likes being able to know how things work completely. He loves Gabriel— adores him, almost to death—, but he’ll never be able to completely understand what Gabriel is, how Gabriel works, the extent of Gabriel’s powers, and it infuriates him, just a little bit.

He’s pretty sure Gabriel’s wearing one of his flannels underneath his jacket, which lends credibility to his theory.

“You’re leaving?” Sam asks, quietly enough so he doesn’t wake Dean. He sits up, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“I’m sorry, popsicle.” Gabriel cups Sam’s cheek. “I got some business to do. You know, trickster stuff.”

“But you’re not—”

“Everyone’ll miraculously survive. Cross my heart ‘n hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, voodoo doll, love you forever, never wanted to die, whatever.”

Sam smiles at him, exhausted. “Gabe, this is serious.”

“Yeah?” Gabriel presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Too bad I’m bad at being serious, huh?”

“Promise you won’t?”

Gabriel removes his hand from Sam’s cheek and shoves both of them into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I promised you, kiddo. That chapter of my life's been Signed, Sealed, Delivered since I’m Yours.”

“And you make fun of Dean for his pop culture references.”

“First off, he deserves it,” Gabriel says, with a cock-eyed grin. “Second, I can reference things made before the year 1984, which he can’t.”

Sam laughs out his nose. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

“I’m goin’ up north and taking care of some business. Trickster stuff. No funny business.” Gabriel grins at his own joke.

“You love funny business,” Sam says.

Gabriel shrugs. “What can I say?”

“I can’t come with you?”

“Sugar baby, I know you really wanna spend time with me, but this’s, uh, sorta my job, and you really don’t wanna see me like this. It ain’t too hot, and kinda… hm, not great.”

“You said you didn’t kill anyone.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t automatically make it somethin’ you’d be a-okay with.” Gabriel kisses Sam’s forehead, delicately holding the sides of Sam's face. “And as much as I’d like to be able to see more’a you… well, duty calls, and I’m gettin’ creative this time.”

Sam blinks up at Gabriel. “I shouldn’t find this hot, I swear.”

“Well, I think you're hot when you do your job, too, so…” Gabriel smiles at Sam. “So, see ya, baby, just for a couple’a days at most. I’m sure you can survive it, but if you can’t, just pray for me and I’ll be right there. ‘Kay?”

“You want me to pack you a lunch, too?”

Gabriel laughs. “Only if it’s only desserts,” he says.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam kisses Gabriel softly. “Stay safe.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“I know you won’t let me get hurt.”

Gabriel smiles at Sam. “God, you’re so smart. It’s sexy as hell.”

“Don’t get started on that, or you won’t leave.”

“So smart.” Gabriel kisses Sam’s forehead. "Get some sleep right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll work right on that.”

“You better.” Gabriel smiles at him, pulling away. “Love you, cupcake.”

“Love you too, Gabe.”

Gabriel snaps away. Sam’s overcome by the need to sleep, burying himself in the quiet of the motel room and the smell of Gabriel in the bedding.

-

Dean’s phone rings on the nightstand, but Dean doesn’t wake. Sam, the light sleeper he is, stirs.

“Dean,” he mutters.

Dean sleeps on.

Sam reaches out for the phone, looking at the number. He doesn’t recognize it, but he’s not particularly worried about that. It happens all the time. He flips it open and answers. “Hello?”

“Sam, is that you?” John asks.

Sam sits up in bed. “Dad?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” John says.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere. We didn’t know where you were, if you were okay.”

“Sammy, I’m alright,” John says. “What about you and Dean?”

Dean slowly wakes up, sleep-ruffled and confused.

“We’re fine,” Sam says. “Dad, where are you?”

Dean sits up in his bed, more awake.

“Sorry, kiddo. I can’t tell you that,” John says, sounding a little like Gabriel.

“What?” Sam asks. “Why not?”

“Is that Dad?” Dean asks.

“Look, I know this is hard for you to understand. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this.”

“You’re after it, aren’t you?” Sam asks. “The thing that killed Mom.”

“Yeah,” John says. “Yellow Eyes. It’s a demon, Sam.”

Sam stiffens. “Yellow Eyes? How did you know?”

“Yellow Eyes?” Dean asks. “What’s he saying?”

“I know,” John says. “Listen, Sammy. I, uh… also know what happened to Gabriel. Almost happened. I’m so sorry. I would’ve done anything to protect you from that.”

“You know where he is?” Sam asks. "And… hang on, how do you know about Gabriel?"

“Yeah, I think I’m finally closing in on him,” John says.

“Let us help. We have—”

“You can’t,” John says. “You can’t be any part of it.”

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“Give me the phone,” Dean commands.

“Listen, Sammy, that’s why I’m calling. You and your brother and your… Gabriel— you gotta stop looking for me. Alright, now, I need you to write down these names.”

“Names?” Sam asks. “What names, Dad— talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“Look, we don’t have time for this. This is bigger than you think. They’re everywhere. Even us talking right now, it’s not safe.”

“No,” Sam says. “Alright? No way.”

“Give me the phone,” Dean says.

“I have given you an order. Now, you stop following me, and you do your job. You understand me? Now, take down these names.”

Dean grabs the phone, then wrestles it from Sam. “Dad, it’s me. Where are you?” He waits patiently while John talks. “Yes, sir,” he says, then pauses again. “Uh, yeah, I got a pen. What are their names?”

-

“Alright, so, the names Dad gave us, they’re all couples?” Sam asks, rubbing at his neck. Gabriel didn’t vanish his hickeys and bite marks before he left, probably as a marker that Sam’s taken. He’s possessive. Sam didn’t think he’d like having such a possessive partner, but he does. At least Dean hasn't mentioned them yet. Sam's not sure what he would do if he did. Maybe drive the Impala into a tree.

“Three different couples,” Dean says. “All went missing.”

“And they’re all from different towns? Different states?”

“That’s right,” Dean confirms. “You got Washington, New York, Colorado. Each couple took a road trip cross-country. None of them arrived at their destination, and none of them were ever heard from again.”

“Well, it’s a big country, Dean,” Sam says, a little irritated. “They could’ve disappeared anywhere.”

“Yeah, could’ve,” Dean says. “But each one’s route took ‘em to the same part of Indiana. Always on the second week of April. One year after another after another.”

“This is the second week of April,” Sam says, slowly.

“Yep,” Dean says.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?”

“Yahtzee,” Dean says. “Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different orbits Dad had to go through? The man’ns a master.

Sam, annoyed, pulls over to the side of the road, turning off the car.

“What are you doing?” Dean demands.

“We’re not going to Indiana.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” Sam says. “We’re going to California. Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam,” Dean says.

“Dean, if this is Yellow Eyes, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.”

“Dad doesn’t want our help,” Dean says.

“I don’t care.”

“He’s given us an order.”

“I don’t care,” Sam says, steadfast. “We don't always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives. It’s important,” Dean argues.

“Alright, I understand. Believe me, I understand. But I’m talking one week here, man, to get answers. To get revenge.”

“Alright, look, I know how you feel,” Dean says.

“Do you?” Sam snaps.

Dean looks shocked at his brother’s tone.

“How old were you when Mom died? Four?” Sam asks. “Gabriel almost died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

“Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us,” Dean argues. “I mean, he obviously knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.”

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells.

Sam gets out of the car, slamming the door shut. Dean gets out as well, watching as Sam unloads his belongings from the trunk.

“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks,” Dean accuses. “It’s ‘cuz of that boyfriend, I swear to God.”

“That’s really what you think?” Sam asks.

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California.” He slings his backpack over his shoulders and walks away, back straight and posture stiff.

“Come on. You’re not serious.”

“I am serious,” Sam says, stiffly.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean shouts. “Hey, I’m takin’ off. I will leave your ass, you hear me?”

Sam stops walking and turns on his heel. “That’s what I want you to do.”

They stare at each other for a while, waiting for the other to do something.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Dean says. He slams the trunk closed, gets back into the Impala, then drives off. Sam watches him leave before he walks away.

-

Dean pulls to the side of the road in Burkittsville, Indiana, and pulls out his cellphone. He selects Sam Mobile and considers calling Sam, then changes his mind and flips it closed again, shuts off the car, and gets out.

-

Outside of Scotty’s Café, Scotty himself sits on a chair on the porch. Dean walks up to him, gesturing to the sign. “Let me guess,” he says, then points at Scotty. “Scotty?”

Scotty looks up at the sign. “Yep,” he says.

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham,” Dean says.

“Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?”

Dean blinks at him, taken aback. “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.”

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks.

Dean removes two sheets of paper from his pocket; Missing Person flyers for both Holly and Vince Parker. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty looks at the flyers, almost idle. “Nope,” he says. “Who are they?”

“Friends of mine,” Dean says. “They went missing about a year ago. They passed through somewhere around here, and I’ve already asked around Scottsburg and Salem—”

“Sorry,” Scotty says, handing the flyers back to Dean. “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Dean nods. “Scotty, you got a smile that lights up a room, anybody ever tell you that?”

Scotty stares at him strangely.

Dean chuckles awkwardly. Were Sam or Gabriel here, they’d ruthlessly make fun of him for “flirting”, which he most certainly is not doing. “Nevermind. See you around,” he says, then walks away.

-

Sam stands on the side of the highway, wondering if he should pray to Gabriel. Gabriel would know what to do, or at least make him feel better about the situation. He idly looks around, seeing a young woman with short blonde hair, listening to music with his back turned to him.

“Hey,” Sam says, though she can’t hear him with her headphones on. He walks over to her and puts his hand on her shoulder without realizing how absolutely terrifying it must be for her to be approached by a tall man, no matter how far he slouches down to look as non-intimidating as possible.

She jumps and takes off her headphones. “You scared the hell outta me,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, soft and apologetic. He reaches out a kind hand. “I thought you might need some help.”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” she says icily, wrapping her earbuds up to put them in her pocket.

Sam adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Uh, so where you headed?”

The woman gives him a funny look. “No offense, but no way I’m telling you,” she says.

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“You could be some kind of freak,” she says. “I mean, you are hitchhiking.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Well, so are you.”

She laughs, too.

A van honks at them and pulls over.

“Need a ride?” the driver asks, looking like the sort of mildly-suspicious man who could be a freak.

“Yeah,” both Sam and the woman reply.

“Yeah,” Sam repeats, glancing at the woman.

“Just her,” the driver says to Sam. “I ain’t takin’ you.”

The woman gathers her belongings and gets into the van with the driver, looking at Sam from the open window.

“You trust shady van guy and not me?” Sam asks, teasingly.

“Definitely,” the woman replies, equally as teasing.

The van drives off. Perhaps Sam should call Gabriel, just to make things easier. Despite the fact that Gabriel’s been refusing to help him as of late, Sam clings to the hope that he’ll be a little more agreeable without Dean here to annoy him.

He walks on.

-

Dean’s inside the Jorgeson General Store, showing the owners the Missing Persons flyers. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or somethin’?” he asks.

Harley shows the pictures to his wife, Stacy. Stacy shakes her head.

They look homely enough. Harley’s layered up to fend off the coolness of the day, and Stacey has a maternal look to her.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em,” Harley says, returning the flyers to Dean. “You said they were friends of yours?”

“That’s right,” Dean says.

Emily comes downstairs, her arms full of decorated boxes. “Did the guy have a tattoo?” she asks.

“Yes, he did,” Dean says.

Emily hands the boxes to Stacey and looks at the flyer of Vince. “You remember?” she asks Stacy and Harley. “They were just married.” She hands Vince’s flyer to Harley.

Harley’s eyes light up with recognition as he puts his knuckle to his mouth. “You’re right,” he says. “They did stop for gas. Weren’t here more than ten minutes.”

“You remember anythin’ else?” Dean asks.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate,” Harley says. “They left town.”

“Could you point me in that same direction?” Dean asks, eagerly.

“Sure.”

-

Dean drives through the Indiana countryside, full of trees with their new growths on full display. By an orchard near the town, a loud noise comes from the backseat. “What the hell?” he asks. He pulls over and reaches into the bag, pulling out the homemade EMF meter, beeping frantically, the lights on top flashing at full capacity.

-

Dean walks around the orchard, damp and beautiful in that way that new life is in the springtime, everything so magical in the foggy morning. His boots don’t exactly crunch the dead leaves left over from the fall coating the ground of the orchard as he wanders around, noticing a scarecrow on a post. He walks over to it and looks at it, appraising it like a piece of artwork.

“Dude, you’re fugly,” he says to the motionless scarecrow, breath fogging in the cool air. The scarecrow stares back at him, patchwork face emotionless.

The more Dean looks at it, the more he notices, like the sickle in its hand and a design on its arm. He steals a wooden ladder from a nearby tree and climbs up to the top until he’s at eye level with the scarecrow, looking into the dark, empty eye sockets before removing the clothing on its arm and taking a better look at the design. To confirm, he removes the Missing Persons flyer from his pocket and compares the scarecrow’s arm to Vince’s tribal-inspired tattoo to find them to be exactly the same.

“Nice tat,” he tells the scarecrow, dryly.

-

Dean returns to the Burkittsville gas station.

“You’re back,” Emily says, from where she’s standing by the gas pumps. She flicks a piece of blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Never left,” Dean replies, shutting the door behind him.

Emily puts her hands in her hoodie pockets. “Still looking for your friends?”

Dean nods. He takes a good look at Emily, taking in her nameplate necklace. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” he asks.

Emily grabs a pump and fills up the Impala’s tank.

“So, you grew up here?” Dean asks. He leans against the trunk of the Impala with one side, casual as ever.

“I came here when I was thirteen,” Emily says, standing from the gas tank. “I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.”

“They’re nice people,” Dean says.

“Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what? It’s the, uh, perfect little town?”

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it. I mean, the towns around us… people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean nods. “Hey, you been out to the orchard?” he asks. “You seen that scarecrow?”

“Yeah, it creeps me out,” Emily says.

Dean laughs. “Whose is it?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Emily says with a half-shrug. “It’s just always been there.”

Dean nods towards a red van parked near the garage. “That your aunt and uncle’s?”

“Customer,” Emily says. “Had some car troubles.”

“It’s not a couple, is it?” Dean asks. “A guy and a girl?”

Emily nods. “Mm-hmm,” she says, a little suspicious.

Dean looks concerned.

-

Sam’s in a bus station, talking to the clerk.

“Sorry, the Sacramento bus doesn’t run again til tomorrow,” the clerk says. She checks the schedule half-heartedly. Her hair is straight, bumped at the ends. “Uh, five-oh-five p.m.,” she says.

“Tomorrow?” Sam asks. “There’s got to be another way.”

“Well, there is,” the clerk says. “Buy a car.”

Sam leaves the ticket window, annoyed, removing his PalmPilot and selecting Dean’s phone number, considering calling him.

The blonde woman from before sits on the floor with her bags around her. “Hey,” she says, when she notices Sam, taking Sam’s attention away from his task.

Sam looks at her, face wrought with confusion, and turns off his PalmPilot. “Hey,” he says, putting it into his pocket.

“You again.”

“What happened to your ride?” Sam asks.

“You were right. That guy was shady. He was all hands.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, concerned for her.

“I cut him loose.”

Sam looks around, still disappointed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Just trying to get to California,” Sam says.

“No way,” the woman says, surprised.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Me, too.” The woman stands and walks toward Sam. “You know, the next bus isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

“Why? What’s in Cali that’s so important?”

“Just somethin’ I’ve been looking for. For a long time.”

“Well, then I’m sure it can wait one more day, right?” The woman gives Sam a bright smile.

Sam laughs.

She extends her hand for Sam to shake. “I’m Meg,” she says.

“Sam,” Sam replies.

-

Dean walks into Scotty’s Café to see Scotty giving the couple two slices of apple pie. “Hiya, Scotty,” Dean says, friendly. “Can I get a coffee, black?”

Scotty walks away to get that coffee for him.

“Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you’re at it.” Dean sits at a table next to the couple’s. “How ya doin’?” he asks, conversationally.

The couple waves and smiles at him.

“Just passin’ through?”

“Road trip,” the woman answers noncommittally.

“Hm,” Dean says. “Yeah, me too.”

The couple nods. Scotty comes over to refill their glasses of cider.

“I’m sure these people want to eat in peace,” he admonishes.

“Just a little friendly conversation,” Dean says. Scotty begins to walk off. “Oh, and that coffee, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty looks agitated but continues walking away. “So, what brings you to town?” Dean asks the couple.

“We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives,” the woman says.

“Is that right?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.”

“Nice people,” Dean says, a little concerned.

“Yeah.”

“So, how long til you’re up and runnin’?”

“Sundown,” the man says.

“Really.” Dean pauses to think about it for a moment, using his mechanic brain. He’s a man of many talents and skills, despite the common belief that he’s ‘the dumb Winchester brother’. It’s the old ‘brain smarts versus street smarts’ debate. He might not be in law school, but he’s smart enough to know that a leaky brake line should not take that long to fix. “To fix a break line?” he asks, leaning forward.

The man nods.

“I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars,” Dean says, and it's true. “I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.”

The woman looks at the man. “You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it,” she says, uneasily.

“Sure. I know.” Dean pauses, shifting in his chair. “You know, it’s just that these roads… they’re not real safe at night.”

The couple exchange an uncomfortable look.

“I’m sorry?” the woman asks.

“I know it sounds strange, but, uh— you might be in danger.”

“Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?” the man says, annoyed.

“Yeah.” Dean’s disappointed by their coldness. Sam’d probably be able to make them comfortable enough to convince them it’s unsafe. He’s always been better at talking to people, something about him that’s so vulnerable it makes people almost automatically trust him. “You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d buy right into it,” he says, almost bitter.

The bell above the café’s door rings as someone walks in. Scotty comes out from the back room and approaches the man. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”

Dean’s about to start screaming. He’s seriously considering calling down fucking Gabriel to get him to handle this shit. He’s forgotten how much harder it is to hunt without Sam or Gabriel. Especially Gabriel. But he’ll never tell Gabriel that. Egotistical bastard already thinks too much about himself.

Scotty whispers into the sheriff’s ear. They both look at Dean who, in all his wisdom and guilt, looks away. The sheriff walks over to him.

“I’d like a word, please.”

“Come on,” Dean says. “I’m having a bad day.”

“You don’t want to make it worse,” the sheriff says, and Dean nods, slowly.

-

Dean drives to the interstate, the sheriff’s car following him with lights and sirens on. When Dean’s on the interstate, the sheriff turns and drives back to Burkittsville.

-

Sam and Meg sit at a table with beer and food around them at the bus station. Sam’s not particularly fond of the options the bus station has when it comes to food, but it’s better than the plain nothing he’d had all day.

“So, what, are you on some kind of vacation or something?” Sam asks, hand around his beer bottle.

Meg laughs. “Yeah, right. It’s all sipping Cristal poolside for me,” she says, sarcastic.

They both laugh at that.

“No,” she says. “I had to... get away from my family.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“I love my parents,” Meg says. “And they wanted what’s best for me. They just didn’t care if I wanted it. I was supposed to be smart. But not smart enough to scare away a husband.”

Sam smiles at that.

“Um. It’s just… because my family said so, I was supposed to sit there and do what I was told. So I just went on my own way instead.”

Sam stares at her, dumbstruck by the similarities between Meg, Gabriel, and himself. He thinks Gabriel would like her. Headstrong, sarcastic, funny— all traits Sam likes in the people around him.

He desperately tries not to think about how much he misses Dean. How much he misses John. It’s easier to focus on missing Gabriel. Sam’s thoughts about Gabriel are far more uncomplicated than the ones about his family. He knows Gabriel adores him, and he loves Gabriel right back, and they’ve had their rough patches, but they’ve always been… good. But his family? He can’t say the same about them.

“I’m sorry,” Meg says, suddenly self-conscious. She pulls Sam from his thoughts once more. “The things you say to people you hardly know.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I know how you feel. Remember that brother I mentioned before, that I was road-tripping with?”

Meg nods, looking into Sam’s eyes with an openness that makes Sam ache.

“It’s, uh, kind of the same deal.”

“And that’s why you’re not riding with him anymore?”

Sam shakes his head.

Meg raises her beer bottle. “Here’s to us. The food might be bad, and the beds might be hard, but at least we’re living our own lives. And nobody else’s.”

Yeah, Gabriel would like Meg.

Sam taps his bottle against hers with a clink.

-

Dean drives back to Burkittsville, smoothly maneuvering the Impala in the dark night, hoping he’s not too late. A train passes overhead, blaring its horn.

-

The couple run through the orchard, the scarecrow coming out from a thicket of trees and walking towards them calmly. They run through the orchard, nearly making it to the clearing when Dean runs in front of them, stopping them.

“Get back to your car,” Dean commands.

The couple looks over their shoulders, seeing the scarecrow approaching.

“Go! Go!” Dean yells. He cocks his gun and shoots the scarecrow as the couple runs. The scarecrow stumbles at the bullet but continues to walk towards them at its consistent, steady pace. Dean begins to run, cocking his gun and shooting again, but the scarecrow continues on. A third time is just as useless. Dean keeps running, the scarecrow walking after them. “Go! Go!” he urges.

They reach the edge of the orchard, Dean cocking his gun and looking around, but the scarecrow is gone.

The man pants. “What— what the hell was that?” he asks.

“Don’t ask,” Dean says, sharply.

-

In the bus station, at the middle of the night, Meg’s sleeping on the floor in a shockingly uncomfortable position and Sam’s sitting by his bags, talking to Dean over the phone.

“The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town,” Dean says.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam asks. He glances at Meg, making sure she’s still asleep.

“No,” Dean says. “I can’t cope without you, you know.”

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.”

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.”

Sam stiffens, thinking of Gabriel. Gabriel had said he was going to deliver some just desserts, and that he was getting creative. But he’d promised several times that he wouldn’t kill anyone. And Sam wants to believe him.

“Sam?” Dean asks over the phone.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking.” Sam clears his throat. “What makes you say that?” he asks.

“The annual cycle of its killings? And the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. Like some kind of fertility right.”

Sam relaxes. Gabriel’s nothing close to a fertility god. Mischief, yes. Fertility? No.

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.”

“The last meal,” Sam says. “Given to sacrificial victims.”

“Yeah, I’m thinkin’ a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…”

“And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks, already thinking of Pagan gods. Gabriel sure would be useful about now, with his extensive “family tree” of Pagan gods, even if they do hold a lot of grudges towards him, as he’s mentioned.

“No, not yet,” Dean says.

“Well, you figure out what it is, you can figure out a way to kill it.”

“I know,” Dean says. “I’m actually on my way to a local community college. I’ve got an appointment with a professor. You know, since I don’t have my trusty sidekick geek boy and his angelic boyfriend to do all the research.”

Sam laughs. “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hintin’ anything,” Dean says, quickly and roughly. “Actually, uh— I want you to know… I mean, don’t think…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” Sam says.

“Sam,” Dean says, serious, determined to get his words out. “You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.”

Sam stiffens. “Are you serious?”

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I— anyway… I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

Sam swallows. “I don’t even know what to say,” he says.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself,” Dean says, in typical concerned older brother fashion.

“I will,” Sam says, emotional.

Dean sniffs, trying to keep it quiet. “Call me when you find Dad,” he says.

“Okay,” Sam says, sad. “Bye, Dean.”

Meg wakes up and moves next to Sam. Sam doesn't particularly want her presence as much as he wants Gabriel’s or even Dean’s, but he still appreciates her.

“Who was that?” Meg asks, sounding more awake than she should be.

“My brother,” Sam replies.

“What’d he say?”

“Goodbye,” Sam says.

They exchange a look.

-

Dean walks downstairs with the college professor at the local Community College.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on a Pagan ideology,” the professor says.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean’s a little bitter about everything that’s happened with Sam, about having to let him go, but he knows he’s probably made the right choice. He can’t just force Sam to continue to be a hunter when he has his own life to live.

“But you said you were interested in local lore?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean says.

“I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship,” the professor says.

“Well, what if it was imported?” Dean asks. “You know, like, the Pilgrims brought their religion over. Wasn’t a lot of this area settled by immigrants?”

“Well, yeah,” the professor says.

“Like that town near here, Burkittsville. Where are their ancestors from?”

“Uh, northern Europe, I believe. Scandinavia.”

“What could you tell me about those Pagan gods?” Dean akss.

“Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses.”

“I’m actually looking for one,” Dean says. “Might live in an orchard.”

-

The professor puts a large, heavy leather book down on one of the desks and opens it up. “Woods god, hm?” He puts on a pair of reading glasses. “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages.

Dean notices a woodcut of a scarecrow on a post in a field surrounded by farmers. “Wait, wait, wait. What’s that one?” Dean asks, pointing at it.

“Oh, that’s not a woods god, per se,” the professor says.

“The V-Vanir?” Dean reads off, looking up at the professor to ensure that he’s pronouncing it correctly. When the professor nods, he continues. “The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.” Dean points to the picture. “Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?”

“I suppose.” The professor removes his glasses and glances at Dean, darkly.

“This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?”

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.”

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched?” Dean rises to look the professor in the eyes. “You think it’d kill the god?”

The professor laughs. “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Oh, of course. Yeah, you’re right. Listen, thank you very much.” He shakes the professor’s hand.

“Glad I could help,” the professor says.

Dean walks to the classroom door, but when he opens it, the sheriff hits him on the head with the butt of his rifle. Dean falls to the ground. The sheriff and the professor exchange a knowing look.

-

Dean’s trapped in a cellar in Burkettsville, wondering how his luck got this shitty. Sam never would’ve walked into this trap, even though that’s probably only because of that feathery asshole whispering secrets into his ear. The cellar door opens, letting in the cold air, damp with rain from earlier. Emily’s there, crying, being held by her aunt and uncle.

“Aunt Stacy, Uncle Harley, please,” she begs, though they don’t answer. They just bring her down the creaky old cellar stairs and deposit her next to Dean. “Why are you doing this?”

“For the common good,” Stacy replies, cold. She shuts the cellar door, leaving Emily and Dean in the dark, damp cellar.

-

Meg gathers her things from the bus station floor. Sam desperately tries to call Dean on his phone.

“Hey,” Meg says. “Our bus came in.”

Sam hangs up the phone and shakes his head. “You better catch it. I gotta go.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“Go where?” Meg asks.

“Burkittsville.” Sam walks away from the ticket window.

“Sam, wait,” Meg says, running after him.

“I’ve been trying to call my brother for the last three hours. I’m just getting his voicemail.

“Well, maybe his phone’s turned off,” Meg suggests.

“No, that’s not like him,” Sam says. “Meg, I think he might be in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I can’t really explain right now. I’m sorry. Look, I don’t want you to miss your bus.”

“But I don’t understand,” Meg says. “You’re running back to your brother? The guy you ran away from? Why, because he won’t pick up his phone? Sam— come with me to California.” Meg begs.

Sam thinks of his little apartment with Gabriel, of going to class at Stanford, of Gabriel’s bright eyes when he said wanna get a drink, kiddo?. All of that was in California. The best years of his life were in California. His friends were in California. His father is in California.

But Dean isn’t. And Dean isn’t picking up his phone.

“I can’t,” Sam says. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Meg asks, softly.

“He’s my family,” Sam says. He leaves. Meg watches his back as he walks away, nearly in tears.

-

Dean tries to open the cellar door, but it isn’t working. The old wood is too sturdy, locked too well, and Dean is tired. Sam could probably open the door. Easily. Kid’s all shoulders. Broad. Works out every day. Or hell, Gabriel could just open it with a snap of his fingers.

Damn Burkittsville for making Dean miss Gabriel.

“I don’t understand,” Emily says. “They’re gonna kill us?”

“Sacrifice us,” Dean says, passing from trying to shoulder the cellar door open. “Which is, I don’t know, classier, I guess?” Dean walks down the rickety wooden stairs, closer to Emily, going a little soft. “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?”

“About what? The scarecrow god? I can’t believe this,” Emily says, walking away.

“Well, you better start believing, ‘cuz I’m gonna need your help.”

“Okay,” Emily says.

“Now, we can destroy the scarecrow, but we gotta find the tree.”

“What tree?”

“Maybe you can help me with that,” Dean says. “It would be really old. The locals would treat it with a lot of respect, you know. Like it was sacred.”

“There was this one apple tree,” Emily says, after a moment. “The immigrants brought it over with them. They call it the First Tree.”

“Is it in the orchard?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know where.”

The door to the cellar opens, light pouring in from outside, and the four elders of the town stand there, the Sheriff pointing his gun at Dean and Emily.

“It’s time,” Stacy says, grimly. Dean and Emily look at each other nervously.

-

The elders tie Dean and Emily to two adjacent trees, ensuring that they can’t escape.

“How many people have you killed, Sheriff?” Dean asks, pointed and sharp. “How much blood is on your hands?”

“We don’t kill them,” the sheriff says.

“No, but you sure cover up after. I mean, how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?”

The sheriff walks away, not wanting to deal with Dean’s invasive, angry questions.

“Uncle Harley, please,” Emily begs, tearfully.

“I am so sorry, Em. I wish it wasn’t you,” Harley says.

“Try to understand. It’s our responsibility,” Stacy says from her other side. “And there’s just no other choice. There’s nobody else but you.”

“I’m your family,” Emily says.

“Sweetheart, that’s what sacrifice means,” Stacy says, a tear falling down her cheek. She kneels down next to Emily and strokes her hair. “Giving up something you have for the greater good. The town needs to be safe. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one.”

The four elders leave Emily and Dean tied to their trees.

“I hope your apple pie is freakin’ worth it!” Dean yells at their backs, full of rage.

“So, what’s the plan?” Emily asks.

“I’m workin’ on it.”

-

Hours later, they’re still in the orchard, still tied to trees, and no closer to escaping than they were back when the sun was still up. Crickets chirp in the darkness.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” Emily asks.

“I’m workin’ on it,” Dean says, slightly panicked. He’d rather not die while tied to a tree with his brother across the country. He has so many regrets, so many things he has yet to do. So many things he hasn’t said, interesting people he hasn’t met, drinks he hasn’t had. John will think he gave up on him. And Sam— Sam will still think Dean doesn’t care. “Can you see?” he asks.

“What?” Emily asks.

“Is he moving yet?” Dean asks.

“I can’t see,” Emily says, but then she notices a figure moving through the trees, crunching on the ground as it moves. “Oh my God,” she gasps. The figure moves closer as Dean struggles to untie his ropes. “Oh my God!” she yells.

Sam emerges from behind the trees. “Dean?” he asks.

“Oh!” Dean says, overjoyed. “Oh, I take everything back I said. I’m so happy to see you. Come on.”

Sam unties Dean from the tree.

“How’d you get here? Boyfriend show back up?”

“I, uh— I stole a car,” Sam says, a little sheepish.

Dean laughs. “That’s my boy!” He beams up at Sam, warmth flooding in his chest. John taught him how to hotwire, and he taught Sam. There’s pride in teaching someone how to do something, and more pride when they do it. “And keep an eye on that scarecrow. He could come alive any minute.” Dean finally lowers his arms, restraints gone.

“What scarecrow?” Sam asks.

Dean gets up and sees that the scarecrow’s post is empty. He gives Sam a nervous look.

-

They run through the orchard with Emily in tow.

“Alright, now, this sacred tree we’re talking about—”

“It’s the source of its power,” Dean explains.

“So let’s find it and burn it,” Sam says.

“Nah, in the morning,” Dean says. “Let’s just shag ass before Leatherface catches up.”

The three reach a clearing. The elders and other townspeople wait for them, shotguns and flashlights in tow..

“This way,” Dean says.

They turn, but they’re blocked in every direction by townspeople.

“Please,” Emily begs, gasping for breath. “Let us go.”

“It’ll be over quickly, I promise,” Harley says, soothingly.

“Please.”

“Emily, you have to let him take you,” Harley says. “You have to—”

The scarecrow sticks his sickle through Harley’s stomach. Emiy and Stacy scream before Stacy’s taken by the scarecrow as well. Emily runs into Dean’s arms while her aunt and uncle, the only two relatives she has, are dragged away by their scarecrow god. The townspeople run from the scene.

“Come on, let’s go,” Dean says, and with that, he, Emily, and Sam take off running again, turning around at a suspicious noise only to see that the scarecrow has vanished with his victims, stopping when they realize they’re alone in the cold, foggy spring night.

-

Morning sunlight falls over them as they walk through the orchard with a jug of gasoline and a lighter, approaching the sacred tree with solemn looks. The ancient tree is marked by an image carved into the bark. Sam pours the gasoline on the tree, thinking of Gabriel. What would he think about this? Them destroying another Pagan god? Would he care?

Dean picks up a long branch and lights its end with the silver Zippo the way John taught him to.

“Let me,” Emily says, grim. She takes the branch from Dean.

“You know, the whole town’s gonna die,” Dean warns, quiet and equally grim. He doesn’t like this, the part where people have to die, but he knows that if he doesn’t, others will die, too.

“Good,” Emily says. She slowly approaches the tree, almost reverent in her steps, then tosses the burning branch onto the tree, the three of them watching as the flames crawl up the bark.

-

Emily’s getting on a bus to Boston at the bus stop. She gives Dean a kind smile, who waves at her. She waves back before she takes her seat.

Dean and Sam watch as the bus leaves.

“Think she’s gonna be alright?” Sam asks.

“I hope so,” Dean says.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?”

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough,” Dean says, solemn. The weight of what they do is heavy, and sometimes it’s almost impossible to bear. He thinks of children, of innocent people. He thinks of the monsters who allowed this sacrifice in the first place. Somewhere within there is justice. They walk to the Impala together. “So, can I drop you off somewhere?”

“No, I think you’re stuck with me,” Sam says.

Dean stops aand looks at Sam. “What made you change your mind?” he asks.

“I didn’t,” Sam says. “I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.”

Dean nods at that.

“But, Mom— she’s gone. Dad is God knows where. You and me. We’re all that’s left. So, uh, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

Dean pauses, taking it all in. “Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” He puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder before Sam swats it away. They both laugh.

“You should be kissing my ass. You were dead meat, dude.”

“Yeah, right. I had a plan. I’d have gotten out.” Dean walks around the Impala and opens the door.

“Right,” Sam says, with a smile. Dean grins back at him before he gets into the car.

Chapter Text

The Impala engine growls as the Winchesters pull up to a rickety old house, the type of creepy house you only see in horror movies, driving across the countryside, or when you’re professional ghost hunters. Unfortunately for Sam and Dean, it’s always the third option. And, as expected, it’s dark out. Dean parks the car. Sam opens up the trunk and begins shuffling through it with Dean at his side. Dean removes two tasers and holds them with a grin.

“What do you got those amped up to?” Sam asks.

“A hundred thousand volts,” Dean says.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I want this rawhead extra frickin’ crispy,” Dean says. “And remember, you only get one shot with these things. So make it count.” He closes up the weapons stronghold in the trunk.

-

Sam and Dean move silently down the dark, damp basement stairs with their guns and flashlights drawn. Dean clears the room as John taught them to (thank God for the marine stuff, or they would’ve died long ago), careful to make sure he isn’t missing anything.

Tapping sounds. They approach a cupboard quietly, expecting the worst.

“On three,” Dean whispers. “One. Two. Three.” He swings open the door to reveal a young girl and boy crouching inside the cupboard, ears covered. They tremble, pure fear written on them.

“Is it still here?” Sam whispers.

The children nod.

“Okay,” Dean says to the little boy. “Grab your sister’s hand. Come on, we gotta get you out of here. Let’s go, let’s go.” The kids run towards the stairs, steps small and frantic. “Alright, go!” Dean whisper-yells.

Sam starts to take the children upstairs, thinking about how much easier it would be with Gabriel, before a hand knocks him down to the ground. The kids scream and run to the top of the stairs.

“Sam!” Dean yells, shooting the taser and missing. “Sam, get ‘em outta here!”

Sam scrambles up off the ground and throws his taser to Dean. “Here, take this!” he yells, ushering the children out of sight. He’s always been the one to deal with kids, make sure they’re okay and safe, while Dean does the whole action-movie hero thing. He doesn’t mind it as much as he probably should. They’re both protector-types; it’s just that Sam prefers to defend and Dean prefers to attack.

Dean moves around the basement, methodically checking the corners. Again, John being a former marine has completely saved their asses. Seriously, the amount of people who die in the field from not actually clearing the entire area is astronomical. “Come on!” he eggs. He won’t admit that he’s still terrified

A ragged and hairy creature leaps up and shoves Dean backwards, losing his weapons and flashlight on his way down. He scrambles across puddles of water to grab his taser and releases it at the creature as it moves towards him, electrocuting it. The electricity moves from the creature through the water on the ground to Dean himself, shaking and twitching. The creature falls, and Dean loses his consciousness.

Sam runs downstairs and sees Dean in the corner, completely still.

“Dean!” he yells, running over to him and half lifting him, holding his brother’s face in his hands. “Dean, hey. Hey.”

-

Sam stands at the desk in a hospital, speaking to a receptionist. He’s never liked hospitals, something he’d picked up from John and Dean in his childhood. They’re too clean, too sterile, and going to one was always a sign of the worst case scenario. Dean busting his head open on a hunt when he was a young teenager, John almost losing a hand, Sam getting bronchitis so bad it became pneumonia.

“Sir, I’m so sorry to ask,” the receptionist says. “There doesn’t seem to be any insurance on file.”

“Right. Uh, okay,” Sam says, removing a card from his wallet and handing it to the receptionist.

She glances at the card. “Okay, Mr... Burkovitz.”

Sam sees two cops waiting for him, both white, clean-cut guys, one in a hat and one not, then walks over.

“Look, we can finish this up later,” the first cop says.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Sam says. “We were just taking a shortcut through the neighborhood. And, um, the windows were rolled down, we heard some screaming when we drove past the house, and we stopped. Ran in.”

“And you found the kids in the basement?” the second cop asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Well, thank God you did,” the first cop says.

Sam notices a doctor walking towards them. “Excuse me," he says to the cops.

“Sure,” the second cop says. “Thanks for your help.”

“Hey, Doc,” Sam says to the doctor. “Is he…?”

“He’s resting,” the doctor says.

“And?”

The doctor sighs. “The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I’m afraid. His heart… it’s damaged.”

“How damaged?” Sam asks. He feels like a child again, listening to Dean tell him John got hurt real bad during a hunt. That feeling of helplessness… it scares him.

“We’ve done all we can,” the doctor says, grimly. “We can, uh, try and keep him comfortable at this point. But, I’d give him a couple weeks. At most, maybe a month.”

“No, no,” Sam says, heart dropping to the floor. He couldn’t imagine a life without Dean, his annoying older brother, always there to hog the bathroom for hours and watch bad reality tv and sing too loud to the radio and try to steal his food. “There’s, there’s… gotta be something you can do, some kind of treatment,” he begs.

“We can’t work miracles. I really am sorry,” the doctor says.

Sam walks away, upset.

-

Dean’s flipping through tv channels in his hospital room, pale with dark bruise-looking circles under his eyes. He stares at the tv when Sam enters the room.

“Have you ever actually watched daytime tv?” Dean asks, sounding so weak he hardly even sounds like himself. “It’s terrible.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs. “I talked to your doctor.”

“That fabric softener teddy bear,” Dean says. “Ooh, I’m gonna hunt that little bitch down.”

“Dean,” Sam says, serious.

Dean looks up at him. Sam hardly wants to look at his older brother when he’s like this, weak and in pain. “Yeah,” Dean says, sounding resigned. He turns off the tv and tosses the remote down, mostly just letting it slip from his hand and gravity do the rest. “Alright, well… looks like you’re gonna leave town without me.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks. “I’m not gonna leave you here.”

“Hey, you better take care of that car,” Dean says, serious. “Or, I swear, I’ll haunt your ass.”

“I don’t think that's funny,” Sam says, dryly.

“Oh, come on. It’s a little funny,” Dean argues.

Sam looks down at his shoes. He doesn’t want to think about his brother dead in the ground. This is Dean. His older brother. His childhood superhero. The person who made sure he ate every day, who put stolen Batman band-aids on his scraped knees, who could make him feel better with that cocky smile of his. There’s always been the worst case scenario of death, but that’s always been a far-off nightmare, not something so terrifyingly close.

Dean sighs. “Look, Sammy, what can I say, man? It’s a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That’s it, end of story.”

“Don’t talk like that, alright? We still have options,” Sam argues.

“What options?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised. Even near-death, he’s still expressive. Assholishly expressive, yes, but still Sam tries committing it to memory. Every twitch of his eyebrows, every twisting of his mouth. Dean’s starting to get crow’s feet, or maybe it’s just the light. Maybe this job is aging him prematurely. It aged John. “Yeah, burial or cremation. And I know it’s not easy. But... I’m gonna die. And you can’t stop it.”

“Watch me,” Sam says. That’s the Winchester stubbornness right there. Those boys are always so willing to pick a fight and then die on that hill.

-

Sam’s in the motel room, near-tears, his hair messy from running his fingers through it. Across the bed are pages and pages of research about heart care, chakras-- anything he can find.

“This is John Winchester. I can’t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 866-907-3235. He can help,” John’s voicemail says.

“Hey, Dad. It’s Sam.” Sam’s voice is rough from crying, and he’s on the verge of crying again. “Uh… you probably won’t even get this, but, uh… it’s Dean. He’s sick, and, uh… the doctors say there’s nothing they can do.” Sam rubs his hand over his jeans. “Um… but, uh, they don’t know the things we know, right? So, don’t worry, ‘cuz I’m, uh… gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright… just wanted you to know.” The last part is nearly inaudible. Sam hangs up, tosses his phone on the bed, and sits there in silence, chewing his nails. He contemplates calling up Gabriel, but he knows Gabriel won’t do anything, and he doesn’t want to disturb Gabriel’s work for Dean. Gabriel and Dean don’t get along well, he knows.

“You know you’re not a bother, right?” Gabriel asks, sitting next to him on the bed, on the piles of papers.

Sam straightens up. “You’re back?”

“Sorry I wasn’t here to stop it from happening,” Gabriel says. “Got way too wrapped up in my own business. But…” Gabriel rests his head against Sam’s shoulder. “I can heal him, you know. Easy.”

“I don’t--”

“I know you’re getting desperate.”

“This is my brother,” Sam asys, brokenly. He doesn’t want to admit how easily he breaks when Dean’s in danger. “He’s-- I can’t let him die.”

“I know, cupcake. C’mere?”

Sam lays his head in Gabriel’s lap, feeling small despite his height. Gabriel cards his hands through Sam’s hair.

“You could’ve called me at any time,” Gabriel says. “He’s your brother. I understand.”

“Gabe, he’s-- he’s dying, and I can’t even do anything to help.”

“You have me.”

“But--”

“Sam. My love. Cupcake. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Sam says nothing, just shudders and lets Gabriel run his hands through his hair.

“You haven’t showered in three days,” Gabriel says.

Sam sighs. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Baby, you should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want to--”

“Bother me? Don’t worry about it. I’m a Dad-damned angel of the Lord. You can’t bother me.” Gabriel bends down to kiss Sam’s temple. “I already have one Winchester heart. Might as well steal the other.” He rests his hands on the sides of Sam’s face. “I meant heal.”

“You didn’t,” Sam says.

“You’re right.” Gabriel gives him a cocky half-smile.

“You’re not going to do any funny business with it, are you?”

“I’ve thought about it, but… might make my boyfriend a little upset.” Gabriel pokes the tip of Sam’s nose.

Sam laughs out his nose. “I’d be pissed,” he says. “I want my brother in mint condition.”

“I’m not fixing his liver. Just the heart. And I’m not giving him a brain or courage, either.”

“Working condition, then,” Sam says.

“Working--”

There’s a knock on the door and Sam looks up at Gabriel.

Gabriel snaps, opening the door to reveal Dean leaning against the door jam, looking like death’s on his heels. His hoodie hangs off him and his face is bleached-bone white.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Sam asks, surprised, confused, happy-- feeling everything at once. He lifts off Gabriel’s lap and looks at his brother.

“I checked myself out,” Dean says, creaky and thin.

“What, are you crazy?”

Dean enters the room, leaning on everything within his reach to support himself. “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He shrugs, all false bravado. But it’s highly apparent it’s false, to Sam’s trained eye. Sam knows Dean’s tells better than Dean does.

Sam huffs out a laugh and stands to look at his brother. Gabriel’s still on the bed.

“You know, this whole I laugh in the face of death thing?” Sam asks. “It’s crap. I can see right through it.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude,” Dean says, brushing Sam off easily. “Have you even slept? You look worse than me.” He limps over to a chair.

Sam sees what Dean’s doing and helps him into the chair. “I’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days,” Sam says. “Calling every contact in Dad’s journal.”

“For what?” Dean asks.

“For a way to help you,” Sam says. He sits on the bed. “One of Dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean asks.

“Well, you’re not gonna die period,” Sam says. “‘Cuz I got a solution.”

Gabriel stands, beaming at Dean.

“No,” Dean says, stern.

“Dean, he’s the only option,” Sam says. “Unless you want this specialist to work on you.”

“What sorta angel voodoo are you gonna do to me?” Dean asks.

“It’s not voodoo, first of all. It’s technically a miracle. Y’know, being an angel and all. It’s godly.”

“Godly,” Dean mutters.

Gabriel looks at Sam.

“Yes,” Sam says. “You do have to still heal him.”

“Fine,” Gabriel says. He walks closer to Dean and looks at him, then shakes his head. “This’s probably gonna feel weird.”

“Probably?” Dean asks.

“I’m not human,” Gabriel says with a flippant shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Great.” Dean shakes his own head.

“Don’t be such an asshole.” Gabriel glances at Sam, then looks back at Dean. He snaps his fingers. Dean’s breathing stutters and he grabs at his chest.

“Shit!” he says.

“I told you it’d feel weird,” Gabriel says. He crosses his arms and appraises Dean. “Heart’s in tip-top shape. The rest… take it or leave it, it’s functional. We got our Tin Man.”

“Which one does that make you?” Dean asks, still a little bent over in his chair from the shock. “Scarecrow or Cowardly Lion?”

“I like to think of myself as a Dorothy,” Gabriel says, cheerfully. “I look great in dresses. I’ll show you sometime.” He winks at Dean, then gives Sam a salacious little look. Dean immediately tries to block that from his memory.

Dean rubs at his chest, still unsure how to process the situation. “So I’m not dying?”

“You just look like it, now.” Gabriel smirks at Dean. “But seriously,” he says, face getting a touch more sober, “cut down on the drinking. Your liver looks like shit.”

“Hey, man, I’m not--”

Sam clears his throat and gives Dean a sharp look, coming up behind Gabriel and wrapping his arms around Gabriel’s shoulders. “Let’s not pick fights right now, okay?”

Dean sighs. “Sure, sure. Whatever.” He pauses and thinks for a moment, still absently rubbing at his chest. “So, this, uh, specialist… what’s up with him?”

“You don’t trust my miracle?” Gabriel asks.

“Is that a question?” Dean shoots back. “I don’t trust voodoo hoodoo of any kind, angelic or not. Or, uh… miracles. Seriously, miracles? Where’d you even get that from, man?”

“Oh, an angel across the pond. It’s not important.” Gabriel waves him off.

Sam sighs. “Ever hear about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?”

“Ever hear about seeing is believing?” Dean asks.

Gabriel leans against Sam’s front, cuddling up to him

-

Sam drives the Impala down the gutted, pockmarked gravel road toward a large white circus tent in a field. Rain pours down on the people walking toward the tent through the muddy ground, many of them helped by others. Sam gets out and runs around the Impala to help Dean. Dean opens the door and looks around skeptically, eyes falling on the sign next to the tent that reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle, it reads. Dean pulls himself out of the car, able to walk by himself once more. He gives Gabriel a look of wonder at his miracle healing, then looks at Sam, brow furrowed, thinking about going here for healing.

“Man, you are a lying bastard,” he says, wet already through his layers of hoodie and jacket. “Thought you said this guy was a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist,” Sam says. “Look, Dean, this guy’s supposed to be the real deal.”

“What, and your boyfriend isn’t?” Dean asks. “I can’t believe you wanted to bring me here to some guy who heals people outta a tent.”

“Reverend LeGrange is a great man,” an elderly woman with an umbrella says. She eyes Sam and Gabriel with a touch of distaste. Gabriel notices and crowds closer to Sam, glaring at her.

“Yeah, that's nice,” Dean says, waving her off. They continue on through the rain, Gabriel staying by Sam’s side and holding his hand tightly. They walk past an outrageously angry man remonstrating with a cop.

“I have a right to protest!” the man yells at a cop in a khaki uniform, angry. “This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people out of their hard-earned money.”

“Sir, this is a place of worship,” the cop says. “Let’s go. Move it.”

“I take it he’s not part of the flock,” Dean says, dryly.

“But when people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy,” Sam says.

“I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer?” Dean asks, skeptical as always. For someone who hunts and slays monsters for a living, he remains exceedingly skeptical, to the point of being annoying.

“What do you think I did? Am I a joke to you?” Gabriel plasters himself against Sam’s side dramatically.

Dean gives Gabriel a glare with surprisingly little bite.

“Maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam says, full of hope as ever. For each bit of skepticism Dean shows, Sam matches it with optimism.

“You know what I’ve got faith in? Reality. Knowin’ what’s really goin’ on.” Dean straightens himself, rubbing at his chest, right over his heart.

“Y’know, sometimes, it’s Big Daddy’s will,” Gabriel says, splashing in a puddle childishly.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dean mutters.

Gabriel shakes his head.

“How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday? With Gabriel?” Sam stares at his brother, full of disbelief.

“Exactly. We see ‘em, we know they’re real,” Dean says. “And Gabriel-- well, I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout angels. I’ve seen him, haven’t I?”

“But if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam asks, a little childish in his hopefulness. “Gabe-- I mean, angels in general, too... that’s goodness, isn’t it?”

“You’re callin’ Gabriel good?”

“I’m actually with Dean-O, here,” Gabriel says.

“Gabe, please,” Sam says, voice thin and exhausted.

“And I’ve seen what evil does to good people,” Dean continues, eyes tired. For someone so young, Dean looks absolutely exhausted almost all the time.

“Maybe God works in mysterious ways,” a young blonde woman says, overhearing Dean’s conversation. She holds her umbrella delicately, looking like she’s ready to go to church in neat, well-pressed clothes.

Dean checks her out with a smile. “Maybe he does,” he says. “I think you just turned me around on the subject.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” the young woman says, not believing him at all.

Dean holds out his hand. “I’m Dean. This is Sam, and that’s Gabriel.”

The young woman shakes Dean’s hand. “Layla,” she says. She smiles charmingly at Dean. “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?”

“Well, apparently my brother and his boyfriend here believes enough for the both of us,” Dean says, tilting his head in Sam and Gabriel’s direction.

An older woman approaches Layla, putting her arm around her. They look almost the same, as though time travel has been invented and this is Layla from the future. “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.”

Both of the women smile at Sam, Dean, and Gabriel and move inside the tent.

Dean looks after Layla, continuing to check her out. “Well, I bet you she can work in some mysterious ways,” he says.

Sam shakes his head fondly and follows Dean inside the tent, Gabriel holding his hand. A sign at the entrance reads, in bold text, Welcome All Faiths. True Believers Revival.

-|-

Inside the tent are folding seats filled with people, all in front of a small stage with a lectern on it, lit candles resting on the wood. There are Bible verses on large posterboards hung up, obviously hand-written. For I will restore health unto thee, & the heal thee of thy wound Jeremiah 30:17, one of them reads. Gabriel chuckles at the butchering of the verse.

Dean looks around, tilting his head to the corner, towards a security camera. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” he says.

Sam follows his brother’s gaze to the security camera, raising his eyebrows. Dean starts taking a seat, but Sam puts an arm around him and maneuvers him to the front of the tent, a testament to how strong Sam really is.

“Come on,” Sam says.

“Don’t!” Dean hisses in protest, not wanting the attention. “What are you doing? Let’s sit here.”

“We’re sitting up front,” Sam says.

“What? Why?” Dean asks.

Sam scoots Dean up the aisle. Their height difference is noticeable, but never more noticeable than when Sam uses it to his advantage. Gabriel notices the strange looks they’re receiving for being three men, two of them holding hands, one with his arm around the other’s shoulders, and relishes in the attention. “Come on.”

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Dean growls.

“You alright?” Sam akss.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean says, slapping Sam’s hand away from him. “I’m good, dude, get off me.”

Sam lets go of him and points out three empty seats behind Layla and her mother. “Perfect,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, sarcastically, “perfect.”

Sam moves Gabriel into the seats first, then slides in after him. “You take the aisle,” Sam says. He tries helping Dean sit, but Dean raises a hand irritably at him. Sam takes Gabriel’s hand instead, holding it in his own lap. Dean rolls his eyes at them.

On stage, Roy LeGrange, a blind man in sunglasses, is helped to the lectern by a woman. He’s wearing the typical Mormon wear: short-sleeved white button-down and a black tie.

“Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news,” Roy says, beginning like an old preacher normally does. “Never seems good, does it?” The crowd makes noises of assent. “Seems like there’s always someone committin’ some immoral, unspeakable act.”

Sam looks at the stage behind Roy, attentive as always. There’s a table filled with religious items, particularly an antique-looking wooden cross with a similar, smaller cross encompassed in a circle on top of it. He nudges Gabriel a bit, gesturing towards the table.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“But, I say to you, God is watchin’,” Roy continues. He has perfect straight white teeth.

Gabriel hardly holds in a snort, making a small noise. Sam elbows Gabriel, giving him a sharp look. Dean glances at Gabriel, a smile twitching on the corners of his mouth.

“Yes he is,” the crowd murmurs.

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt,” Roy continues.

The crowd, in typical Baptist fashion, nods, cheers, murmurs in response. Gabriel idly looks at his own fingers.

“It is the Lord who does the healin’ here, friends,” Roy says, smiling as he speaks. He’s charismatic, Dean’ll give him that. “The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people’s hearts.”

“Yeah, and into their wallets,” Dean mutters, quiety.

At that, Gabriel snaps his fingers as silently as he can, half-covered by the mutterings of the crowd, and Dean clutches his chest in pain. Gabriel shrugs, half-apologetic, in response.

“Gabe,” Sam snaps, as quietly as he can. Gabriel gives him a bright smile, more apologetic than his response to Dean.

“You think so, young man?” Roy asks.

The crowd falls completely, terrifyingly silent, Dean shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Sorry,” he says, louder.

“No, no. Don’t be. Just watch what you say around a blind man. We’ve got real sharp ears.”

The crowd laughs, jovial.

“What’s your name, son?” Roy asks.

Dean clears his throat, hesitating. He can lie perfectly in front of law enforcement, swindle people out of money in pool and poker, comfort people that the unnatural is really sublime, but crowds have never really been his thing. “Dean,” he says, wavering and uncomfortable.

“Dean.” Roy nods to himself. “And you got a Gabriel with you. Who else?”

“My brother. Sam.” Dean glances at Sam.

“I want-- I want you to come up here with me,” Roy says. He steps away from the podium a little, Sue Ann carefully watching him.

The crowd claps for Dean. Layla and her mother don’t move, no response from them at all. Sue Ann LeGrange, Roy’s wife, moves to the center stage, smiling brightly at Dean, all midwestern charm. She’s dressed as the perfect rural housewife, really: just as well-groomed as Roy, hair pulled back the perfect amount, clothes pretty but plain. They could be in a movie, the two of them, or a tv show. Something on TLC.

Dean shakes his head. “No, it’s okay.”

“What are you doing?” Sam hisses.

“Y-You-You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t’cha?” Roy asks, confused.

Dean hesitates again, his chest absolutely killing him with pain. It’s only a fraction of what happened with his heart before, but it’s still some of the worst pain in his life, and he’s been through a lot.

“Well, yeah, but, ahh…,” he looks at the crowd, clapping and making encouraging noises for him. “Maybe you should just pick someone else.”

Sam looks at Dean like he’s insane, then at Gabriel, a sharp glare that makes even Gabriel avoid eye contact.

“Oh, no. I-I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did,” Roy says.

Gabriel holds back a snicker.

“That’s right!” people in the crowd yell out. A couple of “yeah”s and “come on!”s surface.

“Get up there!” Sam encourages, excited. He beams at his brother. While this might not be necessary, he wants to see if this really is faith healing, or if it’s something else

Dean reluctantly stands and moves towards the stage, back to limping. Sue Ann comes to assist him and stands him next to Roy onstage.

Dean looks nervously to Sam, who meets his eyes and tries to encourage him.

“You ready?” Roy asks.

Dean looks at the crowd in front of him, then Roy. “Look, no disrespect, but ahh, I’m not exactly a believer.” Despite everything he’s seen, despite Gabriel, a friggin’ angel, being in his life, dating his brother, Dean still doesn’t really believe. He’s had to keep his beliefs close to him, not allowing it to interfere with his life, the way that he operates. Dean doesn’t believe in much of anything, anymore, except for John.

Roy smiles warmly. “You will be, son. You will be.” It nearly sounds like a threat Roy turns to the crowd. “Pray with me, friends.”

The crowd lifts their arms up and joins hands with each other. Roy mirrors them, lifting his hands into the air, then places one on Dean’s shoulder, then the other on the side of his head, gentle.

“Alright now,” he says to himself in preparation. “Alright now.”

Dean’s eyes glaze over, knees weakening so hard he has to sink to his knees, Roy’s hand still on his head.

“Alright now,” Roy repeats quietly.

Dean wobbles, eyes falling back in his head, slipping to the stage floor.

Sam jumps from his chair, not even letting go of Gabriel’s hand, dragging him up in his terror. “Dean!” he yells over the crowd’s loud, excited claps. He runs to Dean’s side, finally dropping Gabriel’s hand to grab the front of Dean’s hoodie. Dean’s eyes burst open and he gasps for air.

“Say something!” Sam begs.

Dean blinks, groggy and confused, and looks up. Roy stands over him, hands out from his sides, palms up, joyful. Beside and behind Roy, a tall man in a black suit with shockingly white hair and wrinkled, pale skin comes into focus, staring at Dean intensely before turning away and vanishing. Dean looks at him in shock.

-

“So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks Dean from where they’re sitting in a hospital room. Gabriel leans against a wall, arms crossed, annoyed that he’s being ignored.

“I feel fine, Sam,” Dean says, unhappily. His face is blank. He’s wearing his worn red button-up.

The doctor enters the room, reading some paperwork. “Well, according to all your tests, there’s nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, uh, still, it’s strange it does happen.”

“What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks.

“Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you-- twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Dean says, numbly.

“No problem,” the doctor says, leaving the room.

Dean looks at Sam. “That’s odd.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Sam says. “People’s hearts give out all the time, man.”

“No, they don’t,” Dean argues back, knowing enough about hears now.

“Look, Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can’t we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on?”

“Well, first of all, your boyfriend saved me. And then he gave it back to me.” Dean crosses his arms. “Why the hell would you even heal me if you’re just gonna give it back?”

Gabriel gives him a look. “I’m like my Daddy. I work in mysterious ways.”

“No, dammit, I wanna friggin’ know!” Dean says. He stands from the bed.

“Dean, come on. He saved you.”

Dean shakes his head and walks over to get his jacket. “‘Cuz I can’t shake this feelin’, that’s why.”

“What feeling?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

“When I was healed, I just… I felt wrong,” Dean says. He starts putting on his coat, slowly. “I felt cold. It wasn’t like when Feathers did it.” He inclines his head towards Gabriel. “Which friggin’ sucked and hurt like hell, but it wasn’t… wasn’t like this.” He shakes his head again. “And for a second… I saw someone. This, uh, old man. And I’m tellin’ you, Sam, it was a spirit.”

“But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would’ve seen it, too,” Sam rationalizes. “I mean, I’ve been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Well, excuse me, psychic wonder.” Dean turns to face his brother and takes a couple steps closer. “But you’re just gonna need a little faith on this one. Sam, I’ve been huntin’ long enough to trust a feelin’ like this,” he says.

Sam looks at Gabriel for a second, getting a head nod in response. He sighs. “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

“I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. I’m gonna visit the reverend.”

-

The inside of Roy LeGrange’s house looks exactly how you’d imagine it, full of Christian imagery and southern homeliness. Dean suppresses a shudder at the unnaturalness of it all, not used to being surrounded by the heavy feeling of home, aggressively invading him. Gabriel looks equally as uncomfortable, but he’s not as open about it. There’s a lot of subtlety to him, despite all his dramatics. Dean’s partially pleased to be able to see the small signs of discomfort in Gabriel’s otherwise relaxed posture.

“I feel great,” Dean says. “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann says, sitting on the couch after pouring a couple glasses of sweet tea. “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.”

“Truly amazing,” Gabriel says, sounding shockingly honest.

Dean gives Roy a once-over. “When did they start?” he asks Roy. “The miracles.”

“Woke up one mornin’, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, ‘you just keep right on prayin’. I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn’t wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” Roy removes his sunglasses, exposing his white eyes. “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I’d ever had it.”

“And suddenly you could heal people,” Dean says.

“I discovered it afterward, yes. God’s blessed me in many ways.” Roy puts his glasses back on. He speaks so reverently, you have to believe his every word.

“He has,” Gabriel agrees, as though he doesn’t have capital-d Daddy issues with the man in question. He’s polite, unlike his normal snarky self. He’s… a completely different person. Dean can’t really believe him. Gabriel acts different with Sam than he does with Dean, and, like, okay, ‘cuz he’s, like, dating Sam, and Dean doesn’t approve, and that’s their dynamic, but he’s never seen Gabriel act like this. Is this what Sam and Gabriel mean when they reference Gabriel’s old ways? Dean’s concept of Gabriel is this sarcastic asshole, not… whatever this is.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann says, proud and loving. “And this is just the beginning.”

Dean shifts in his seat. “Can I ask you one last question?” he asks.

“Of course you can,” Roy says.

“Why?” Dean asks, weighed down by years of self-hatred. “Why me? Out of all of the sick people, why save me?”

Roy shifts as well. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Gabriel folds his hands neatly.

“What did you see in my heart?” Dean asks, almost begging.

“A young man with an important purpose,” Roy answers. “A job to do. And it isn’t finished.”

Dean blinks in surprise. Gabriel gives him a side-eye that might, just might, have a fleck of agreement in it.

-

“I’m telling you, he seemed healthy,” the employee of the swimming area says. His bleached white polo looks brighter against his black skin. “Swam every day, didn’t smoke. So, a heart attack just kind of seemed, well, bizarre.”

Sam looks at the man, walking closer to the pool area. “And you said he was running, right before he collapsed?”

“Yeah, yeah, he was freaking out. He said that something was, uh… was after him.”

They both stop at the fence in front of the pool, right next to the wooden stairs that lead up to it.

“Did he say what?” Sam asks, needing to know but aware it’s a weird question. He’s used to weird questions by now. He grew up with them, and even though he was out of the life for a couple years, he fell right back into the life. Fuck.

“Well, thin air is what,” the employee says. “I mean, it wasn’t anything.”

Great. Now he thinks Sam’s some sort of whack job.

“Alright, thanks,” Sam says, politely, as he leaves up the stairs. He glances at a clock on the wall in front of him, stuck in time. “Hey, buddy?” he says, helpfully. “Your, uh, your clock’s busted.” He points at it with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah. We, uh, can’t get it workin’,” the employee says, walking up the stairs to stand next to Sam and look at the clock. “Just froze at four-seventeen.”

“Is that the same time Marshall died?” Sam asks.

The employee stares at Sam. “How’d you know?”

-

Dean and Gabriel exit the LeGrange’s house, walking down the wooden porch steps, when they see Layla and her mother.

“Dean, hey,” Layla says, surprised to see him but polite. She’s always smiley, always well put together.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“How you feeling?” she asks, genuinely.

“I feel good. Cured, I guess.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, glances at Gabriel, then looks back at Layla. “What are you doing here?”

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla looks at her mother, walking up the stairs after her with glowing eyes.

Sue Ann comes on to the porch, looking at Layla and her mother. “Layla?” she asks.

“Yes, I’m here again,” Layla replies, with the softness of embarrassment.

“Well, I’m sorry, but Roy is resting. He won’t be seeing anyone else right now.”

“Sue Ann, please,” Mrs. Rourke begs. “This is our sixth time, he’s got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla’s situation. And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” Sue Ann goes back inside the house, leaving Mrs. Rourke staring at the door before turning to Dean.

“Why are you still even here?” Mrs. Rourke asks, frustrated. “You got what you wanted.”

“Mom,” Layla begs. “Stop.”

“No, Layla, this is too much,” Mrs. Rourke snaps at her daughter. “We’ve been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don’t even believe. I just can’t pray any harder.” The exhaustion seeps into her voice.

Dean looks at Layla, feeling guilty. “Layla, what do you have?”

Layla looks like she doesn’t want to talk about it at all. “I have this thing…”

“It’s a brain tumor,” Mrs. Rourke says. “It’s inoperable. In six month, the doctors say…”

Layla puts a hand on her mother’s shoulder. She stops talking, still looking upset and angry. And Dean understands. God, does Dean understand. There’s always the question of why do bad things happen to good people?, that question that people who have seen the unfairness of life always ask.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says.

“It’s okay,” Layla reassures him.

Mrs. Rourke looks into Layla’s eyes. “No,” she says, slowly. “It isn’t.” Then she looks at Dean. “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” she asks. She walks away.

Layla takes a deep breath, shakily, then follows her mother down the stairs. Dean watches them as they leave, then turns back to look at the LeGranges’ farmhouse.

“Why me?” he asks Gabriel. “I mean, seriously. Why me? I’ve done nothing to deserve-- and you made me--”

“Dean,” Gabriel says. He reaches up to touch Dean’s shoulders, and he actually allows it, for once. “You’re better than you think. And that ain’t me tellin’ you a lie. ‘Kay? You just gotta have a little faith.”

“I don’t have any,” Dean says, words uneven and unsure.

Gabriel looks at Dean. “You gotta, to keep doin’ this job. Faith in somethin’. Not Daddy, just… somethin’. The good’a humanity, maybe.”

Dean stares at Gabriel, then walks back to the Impala without him.

-

Dean enters the motel room and throws his keys onto one of the beds. Gabriel comes in behind him and sits next to Sam at the table. Sam’s despondent, giving Gabriel a look that tells him everything. Reading minds sure helps.

“What’d you find out?” Dean asks Sam, not reading the room as he removes his jacket and walks towards his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, quietly.

Dean stops walking, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry ‘bout what?”

“Marshall Hall died at four seventeen.”

Dean stops. “The exact time I was healed,” he breathes, stunned.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “So, I put together a list of everyone Roy’s healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits.” He hands Dean a stack of printer paper. “Every time someone was healed, someone else died.”

Dean leans against the wall, staring at the papers, then at his brother.

“And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

-

A woman jogs along a foggy, evergreen-lined path, her headphones on, listening to “Don’t Fear the Reaper”.

-

“Someone’s healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks.

“Somehow,” Sam responds. “LeGrange… he’s trading one life for another.” He looks at Gabriel.

“Sounds like someone feels he’s gettin’ his just desserts,” Gabriel says.

-

The woman stops jogging, removes an earphone, and looks into the woods, like she’s heard something. “Hello?” she asks, a little out of breath.

-

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean says. “So, Marshall Hall died to save me?”

“Dean, the guy probably would’ve died anyway,” Sam says, visibly upset. “And someone else would’ve been healed.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “That’s…”

-

Roy is on stage with an old man in a wheelchair with an oxygen tube. He places his hand on the man’s forehead.

-

“You never should’ve brought me here,” Dean says, cold and sharp.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life,” Sam pleads.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now, ‘cuz of me,” Dean snaps. He walks into the archway separating the bedroom area from the kitchenette. “Your boyfriend healed me, and then made some guy die for me.”

“I didn’t know,” Sam says.

Dean swallows, eyes sliding from Sam to his own boots.

-

“Pray with me, friends,” Roy implores. The crowd collectively lifts their arms in the air.

-

“The thing I don’t understand is how is Roy doing it? How-- How’s he-- How’s he trading a life for a life?” Sam looks at Gabriel, almost desperate.

“Oh, he’s not doing it.” Dean walks back into the kitchen

-

The woman in the part is bent over, gasping for her breath. She looks around in fear.

-

“Somethin’ else is doin’ it for him,” Dean says.

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“The old man I saw on stage.”

Gabriel looks at Dean approvingly.

-

The woman turns to see the old man in front of her. She’s startled by his sudden appearance.

-

“I didn’t wanna believe it, but deep down I knew,” Dean says.

“You knew what?” Sam asks. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that,” Dean says.

Sam looks at Dean, confused.

“We’re dealin’ with a reaper,” Dean says.

Gabriel nods.

“A-- reaper?” Sam asks.

-

The woman runs down the path, looking back in terror, gasping for breath. The reaper follows her calmly, not bothering to rush.

-

Roy lifts his hands towards Heaven, preparing to lay them on the old man in front of him.

-

The woman, in a state of pure exhaustion, looks behind her again to see the reaper. When she turns to look back forward, she runs into him and falls to her knees. The reaper lays his hand on the side of her face, looking unaffected. Her eyes glaze over. She gasps for air.

-

Roy lays his hand on the old man’s head, healing power running through him.

-

The woman continues gasping for breath, her face pale. She stops and falls to the ground, dead.

-

The same reaper appears on stage next to Roy, invisible to the crowd. He places his own wrinkled hand beside Roy’s on the old man’s head. The old man raises from his wheelchair, falling to his knees. Color returns to his face. He slowly removes his oxygen tube. The crowd gasps, then cheers, clapping loudly. Roy smiles contentedly. Another life saved.

The crowd cheers.

-

Dean sits at the motel dining table with Sam and Gabriel. He’s holding an old woodcutting of the Grim Reaper, looking at it intently.

“You really think it’s the Grim Reaper?” Sam asks him. “Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No, no, no,” Dean says, looking at Sam over the paper. “Not the Grim Reaper. A reaper.” He sets down the paper and picks up another woodcutting, this time neatly labelled with Famine!. “There’s reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by a hundred different names, it’s possible that there’s more than one of them.”

“But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam insists, weakly.

“Oh, cupcake, the black robe thing went out of style a long time back,” Gabriel says, his hand over Sam’s.

“You said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? Reapers stop time,” Dean says. He shows Sam another woodcutting, this time of a skeleton holding up a hourglass, reading mortalitas on top. “And you can only see ‘em when they’re coming at you, which is why I could see it and you couldn’t.” Dean looks at Gabriel. “You saw ‘im, didn’t you?”

Gabriel nods. “Yeah, I saw the reaper.” Then he looks at Dean, almost appraising him. “You’re good at figurin’ things out.”

Dean furrows his brow. “Yeah,” he says, a little confused. Then he looks at Sam. “The question is how is Roy controlling the damn thing?”

“That cross,” Sam says.

“What?” Dean asks.

“There was this cross. I noticed it in the church and I knew I had seen it before.” Sam looks through some tarot cards, then snorts. He holds a card up to Dean. “Here,” he says.

Dean leans in and takes the card from his brother. “A tarot?” he asks.

“Oh, you brought those back out?” Gabriel asks.

“Well, I figured since you wouldn’t be here to mess them up, I might as well take them out,” Sam says. He gives Gabriel a contented side-eye.

“You always need more Fool cards,” Gabriel reasons, leaning against Sam’s side.

“I don’t need to know what you get up to,” Dean says. “Anyway, a tarot?”

“It makes sense,” Sam says. “A tarot dates back to the early Christian era, right, when some priests were still using magic? And a few of them veered into the dark stuff? Necromancy and how to push death away, how to cause it?”

“You’re so hot when you’re being smart,” Gabriel says.

“So Roy’s using black magic to bind the reaper?” Dean asks, handing the card back to Sam.

Sam takes the card from him and puts it back in his deck. “If he is, he’s riding the whirlwind. It’s like putting a dog leash on a great white.”

Dean stands to put his cup in the sink, then leans against the countertop. “Okay, then we stop Roy,” he says.

“How?” Sam asks.

“You know how,” Dean says, darkly.

“Wait, what the hell are you talking about? Dean, we can’t kill Roy,” Sam says.

Gabriel shrugs. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” he says.

“He’s a person!”

“Sam, the guy’s playing God. He’s deciding who lives and who dies. That’s a monster in my book.”

Gabriel shrinks. “Well…,” he says. “That doesn’t make you a monster--”

“Gabriel, dammit, if someone were pretendin’ to be your dad, the Big Man himself, and killin’ whoever he damn well pleased, wouldn’t you think he’s a monster?” Dean asks.

Gabriel looks at Sam. Sam shakes his head in a quick, tearse movement. He looks back at Dean, a bit of his bravado and comfort gone. “I’m not that quick to call people monsters. I’m just sayin’... maybe imitation is the greatest form of flattery? Weren’t you made in His image?”

“No,” Sam says, decisively. Sam rarely has this air of finality to anything he does. He’s so quiet and nonconfrontational that this firmness is unusual. “We’re not going to kill a human being, Dean. We do that, we’re no better than he is.”

“Oh, you and your morals,” Gabriel says, completely lovestruck.

“Okay,” Dean says, barreling on so he doesn’t have to listen to Sam and Gabriel be gross and lovey with each other. “We can’t kill Roy, we can’t kill death. Any bright ideas, college boy, angel?”

“Okay,” Sam says. “Uh… if Roy’s using some kind of black spell on the reaper, we gotta… figure out what it is. And how to break it.”

“You think we can get any help on that?” Dean asks, staring pointedly at Gabriel.

Gabriel shrugs. “Dunno. Don’t wanna play God.”

Dean sighs.

-

The Impala bounces down the pothole-riddled gravelled road again, passing a sign reading Service Today. They park and exit the car, this time not in the rain.

“If Roy’s using a spell, there might be a spell book,” Sam reasons.

“Genius,” Gabriel says, not sounding sarcastic at all.

“See if you can find it.” Dean looks at his watch, hurriedly. “Hurry up, too. The service starts in fifteen minutes. I’ll try to stall Roy, ‘cuz someone’s not gonna help me out with the whole Vulcan nerve pinch thing.”

“I’ll Vulcan nerve pinch you,” Gabriel threatens.

“Kids,” Sam says. “We kinda have something to do.”

The man who was yelling about Roy LeGrange the night Dean was healed, holds out a leaflet to Dean. “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He’s no healer.”

“Amen brother,” Dean says, accepting the leaflet.

“You keep up the good work,” Sam agrees.

“Fuck that guy,” Gabriel says.

“Thank you,” he says, looking pleased with himself.

-

Roy comes down the stairs, assisted by Sue Ann on his one arm and a dark-haired man on the other. Sam and Gabriel watch them leave from the corner of the porch, invisible thanks to Gabriel’s help.

Gabriel snaps them into the house, allowing Sam to start searching through it. He looks at the bookshelves, lusting over the large copies of books he can’t have, when he notices that all of the books have dust in front of them but one.

Sam pulls out the Encyclopedia of Christian History, flipping through it to find nothing, before he realizes there’s another, much smaller book, hidden behind the larger book. Inside of the book is a picture of a skeleton reaper, and on another page is the wooden cross he saw earlier in the tent. Within the book are newspaper articles about the people who have died. The man who died for Dean was an openly gay teacher, the woman jogging was an abortion rights advocate. Then he finds a third about Wright, the man handing out leaflets in front of the tent.

-

Dean walks slowly up the side aisle when his phone rings. He answers. “What have you got?”

“Roy’s choosing victims he sees as immoral,” Sam says, walking from the house towards the parking lot. “And I think I know who’s next on his list. Remember that protestor?”

“What, the guy in the parking lot?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says, opening the tiny book against a van. “Yeah, I’ll find him. But you can’t let Roy heal anyone, alright?”

Dean hangs up and moves further toward the front of the tent, eyeing Roy suspiciously.

-

Sam and Gabriel begin searching the parking lot for Wright.

“Dean would think I’m a monster,” Gabriel says.

“Since when do you care about what Dean thinks about you?” Sam asks, looking at the rivers of people walking towards the tent. “I thought you hated the guy.”

Gabriel kicks at the gravel, a spray of pebbles rising like droplets. “You like him.”

“He’s my brother. Of course I like him.” Sam squints at someone who looks a little like Wright. “You don’t do it anymore. Right?” Sam glances at Gabriel.

“I left that behind for you,” Gabriel says. “No more Loki if I want that sweet, sweet Winchester ass. And I don’t miss it too much. But…”

“But?” Sam stops walking.

“I dunno. I want your brother to like me, not want to kill me.”

“Nothing can kill you.”

“Nothing your brother knows about can kill me,” Gabriel amends. “But that doesn’t mean being stabbed with a wooden steak doesn’t suck. Or the fact that he wants to kill me. I kinda wanna be with you for a while, and homicidal brothers don’t exactly make good travelling companions.”

“You wanna be with me for a while?” Sam asks, stunned. “How long’s a while?”

“As long as you’ll have me,” Gabriel says, open and honest.

Sam blinks at him. “My entire life?”

“As long as it takes before you start hating me,” Gabriel says.

Sam laughs, confused. “What? Gabe, I don’t-- I won’t start hating you. Why do you think that? That I’d-- what, find someone better?”

“Yeah?”

“Better than you? An actual Angel of the Lord? I don’t think there’s anyone better than that. And you’re--” Sam shakes his head. “Perfect.”

Gabriel looks at Sam a little too long, too tender and open for his own taste. Then he looks away. “Well, ain’t you a peach,” he says. He takes Sam’s hand. “Let’s go. We got innocent ass to save.”

Sam swallows his protest and follows Gabriel through the parking lot, weaving through cars.

-

“Layla,” Roy says. “Layla Rourke. Come up here, child.”

The crowd bursts into joyous applause. Layla, stunned at her fortune, looks around, then rises to hug Mrs. Rourke.

“Mom, thank you,” Layla says, tearfully.

“I love you,” Mrs. Rourke says tearfully.

“Oh, man,” Dean says, watching them hug. When Layla passes him, Dean grabs her arm. “Layla, listen to me. You can’t go up there,” he warns.

“Why not?” Layla asks. “We’ve waited for months1”

“You can’t let Roy heal you,” Dean says.

“I don’t understand,” Layla says. “Roy healed you, didn’t he? Why can’t you let him try?”

“‘Cuz if you do, somethin’ bad is going to happen. I can’t explain. I just need you to believe me,” Dean begs.

Dean and Layla stare at each other while Sue Ann stands waiting on stage.

“Layla,” Sue Ann says, holding out her hand for her.

“Please,” Dean begs.

Layla stares at Sue Ann’s proffered hand, then turns back and stares at her mother, standing while ringing her hands. Her mother nods at her. Layla looks at Dean and shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Layla,” Dean says, as Layla leaves him. “Layla!”

Sue Ann smiles and puts her arm around Layla, taking her to the stage. “Dear child!” she says.

The crowd continues to clap, happily and oblivious to the horror that’s happening behind the scenes.

“You deserve this,” Sue Ann softly tells Layla as they reach the stage, her smile wide.

Roy takes Layla’s hand. “I knew the Lord was planning,” he says, joyously. “I knew it was just a matter of time.”

Dean moves back to stand near Mrs. Rourke, frustrated. Mrs. Rourke cries, covering her face with her hands. Dean is once again filled with the overwhelming feeling of guilt. He wants Layla to be healed, wants her brain tumor gone, but it’s not worth killing someone over. Dean Winchester might not have many solid morals, but this is one of them.

-

Sam and Gabriel continue their search.

Wright rounds a car, running fast like the devil’s on his heels. “Help!” he yells, to anyone who might be there.

Sam runs, searching for the direction of the voice.

-

“Pray with me, friends,” Roy says to the crowd. He addresses Layla quietly. “I hope you’re ready,” he says.

Mrs. Rourke cries joyful tears.

“I am,” Layla says with a soft smile.

Roy raises his hands, wedding band shining in the strange tent lighting.

-

“Help!” Wright yells, pleading. He presses himself against a red car. “Help me please!”

Gabriel’s the one who finds Wright, flying over while holding Sam’s hand.

Sam looks around wildly. “Where is he?!”

Wright grabs Sam’s shoulder and points at thin air between two cars. “Right there!”

Sam grabs Wright and pulls him away. “Fine, come on,” he says. “Gabe?”

“Oh, I see him, lollipop.”

-

Roy is about to lay his hands on Layla, who looks enraptured.

“Fire!” Dean yells, loudly. “Hurry, tent’s on fire!”

Layla opens her eyes and looks towards the crowd. Everyone rises and begins to evacuate.

“No!” Mrs. Rourke yells, running toward the stage against the flood of people escaping. “No, please. Please don’t stop. Reverend! Please, please! Please don’t stop, please!” she begs.

Dean watches, helplessly. He feels dirty and disgusting for dooming Layla to a short lifetime of suffering, but he can’t let any other people die. Not with him knowing what’s happening.

“Friends, uh, if you’d all just leave the tent in an orderly fashion… and we’ll, uh, and we’ll figure out what’s going on out there and we’ll come back,” Roy says, trying to commandeer the crowd. The tall man in black hands him his coat.

Dean pulls out his phone, still feeling disgusting. “I did it. I stopped Roy,” he tells Sam.

-

Sam holds the phone to his ear, looking around with Gabriel and Wright.

“David, I think it’s okay,” Sam says, quietly and kindly.

Wright looks around at Sam, nodding shakily, then turns back to see the reaper in front of him. “No!” he yells, dropping to his knees and choking.

“Dean, it didn’t work. The reaper’s still coming!” Sam yells.

-

“I’m telling you,” Sam continues, as Dean looks out the opening of the tent, seeing Roy in the crowd. “I’m telling you it didn’t work. Roy must not be the one controlling this thing.”

“Then who the hell is it?” Dean asks. He looks around the tent itself and spies Sue Ann beside the stage, facing into the corner of the tent, reciting words to herself.

“Sue Ann,” Dean says.

Dean runs towards her and spins her around. She gasps, interrupting her reciting, reaching down to hold a cross on a chain around her neck. It’s the same cross as the one Sam saw earlier.

-

The reaper holds his hand to Wright’s face. He stops, suddenly, looks confused, and stands.

-

Sue Ann stares at Dean and tucks the cross inside her blouse. “Help!” she yells. “Help me!”

Dean backs away, nodding and staring at Sue Ann like he should’ve expected just as much. He gives her a look of utter distrust, utter disgust, knowing she’s the type of monster he hates. Ghosts, ghouls, werewolves-- he can deal with all that shit. Those are the monsters he’s used to. But people? People aren’t supposed to have this sort of power, and they’re certainly not supposed to use it. Two cops in khaki uniforms grab him, roughly, and pull him away.

-

The reaper stares at Wright lying on the ground, gasping for breath, then turns away and vanishes into the night like a shitty cryptid.

“I got you,” Sam says, with that same gentle voice he uses on kids, as he moves to help Wright up. “I got you.”

“Thank God,” Wright breathes, looking horrified.

“That ain’t the end,” Gabriel says. He looks at Wright when Wright makes a noise of fear. “It is for you. You’ll be fine.” He waves Wright off. “But whoever’s doin’ this-- they ain’t gonna stop ‘til we, uh…” he looks at Sam’s disapproving face. “No, we’re not gonna kill ‘em. We’re just gonna have to get rid’a the magic. Everyone’s gonna live. Promise.”

Sam gives him a weak smile. “You’ve changed.”

“If you ask certain people I know, I’ve gone soft,” he says. He bends down next to Sam, attending to Wright with him, and kisses his cheek. “I’m lucky to have you.”

-

The two cops manhandle Dean through the entry of the tent, but he shakes them off as soon as they are outside. Sue Ann follows close behind.

“I just don’t understand,” she berates, almost maternally disappointed. “After everythin’ we’ve done for you. After Roy healed you. I’m just very, very disappointed, Dean.”

Dean stares at her, saying nothing. He can’t, with all the guilt and anger and other disgusting, churning emotions choking up his throat. He gives her just as disappointed of a look as she’s giving him.

“You can let him go. I’m not gonna press charges,” Sue Ann says to the cops. “The Lord will deal with him as he sees fit.” She gives him a holier-than-thou look, then leaves.

The cops turn to Dean.

“We catch you ‘round here again son, we’ll put the fear of God in you, understand?” the first cop, the shorter one, says.

“Yes, sir. Fear of God. Got it,” Dean says, numbly. He gives the shorter cop a sad half-smile.

The cops push him one last time before they leave. Dean turns, only to find Layla waiting for him.

“Layla?” he asks.

“Why would you do that, Dean?” Layla asks, angrily. “And it could have been my only chance.”

“He’s not a healer,” Dean says.

“He healed you,” Layla says.

“I know it doesn’t seem fair, and I wish I could explain. But Roy is not the answer. I’m sorry.”

Layla shakes her head. “Goodbye, Dean.” She walks off. Dean raises his eyes to the sky, as if to forsake God, then looks back at her. She turns back to him. “I wish you luck. I really do.”

“Same to you,” Dean says, voice cracking. The flyaway lapel of his jacket flaps in the wind.

Layla turns once more.

“You deserve it a lot more than me,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Layla walks away past where her mother is talking to Roy and Sue Ann.

“Private session tonight, no interruptions. I give you my word. I’ll heal your daughter,” Roy promises.

Dean walks behind them to where Sam and Gabriel are waiting, Gabriel pressing the side of his face against Sam’s bicep, holding Sam’s hand in a death grip. He looks at them, trying to confirm that they’ve heard what he has, and Sam nods.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Mrs. Rourke says. “God bless you.”

-

Sam sits on one of the motel beds, Gabriel pressed against his side, arm wrapped around Gabriel’s waist. “So Roy really believes,” he says.

“I don’t think he has any idea what his wife’s doin’,” Dean says.

“Well, I found this,” Sam says, handing the little book from the LeGrange’s bookshelf to Dean. “Hidden in their library. It’s ancient. Written by a priest who went dark side. There’s a binding spell in here for trapping a reaper.”

“Must be a hell of a spell,” Dean mutters, flipping through the book.

“Yeah,” Gabriel says. “This’s some really terrible shit. Black altars are built with dark stuff. Bones, human blood-- stuff preachers’ wives aren’t really supposed to mess with. Black magic, murder. Evil.”

“As opposed to being given the power of life and death by God himself?” Dean asks Gabriel. He shakes his head and continues back on topic. “Desperate,” he says. “Her husband was dyin’, she didn’t have anythin’ to save him. She was usin’ the bindin’ spell to keep the reaper away from Roy.”

“Cheating death, literally,” Sam says with a dark chuckle.

“Yeah, but Roy’s alive, so why is she still usin’ the spell?” Dean asks.

“Right,” Sam says. “To force the reaper to kill people who she thinks are immoral.”

“May God save us from half the people who think they’re doin’ God’s work,” Dean says.

Gabriel offers him a weak half-smile. “If you wanna know, Daddy hasn’t been doin’ much of his own work lately. Someone’s gotta pick up the slack.”

“It ain’t our job,” Dean says. “We’re human. She’s just as human as me’n Sam, and we’re not out here killin’ people we don’t agree with.”

“No,” Gabriel says, dryly. “You just kill monsters and witches. Who are humans, actually.”

“They’re monsters. Like Sue Ann.” Dean clutches the book a little tighter.

“We gotta break that binding spell, Dean,” Sam says, forcing them back on topic.

Dean looks at the picture of the cross in the book, running his thumb down the delicate paper. “You know, Sue Ann had a coptic cross like this. When she dropped it, the reaper backed off.”

“So you think we gotta find the cross or destroy the altar?” Sam asks, restinghis hand on his knee.

“Maybe both,” Dean says. “Whatever we do, we better do it soon. Roy’s healing Layla tonight.”

-

The Impala rolls down the gravel driveway at night without lights and stops.

“That’s Layla’s car,” Sam says, pointing at it. “She’s already here.”

Dean nods sadly. “Yeah,” he says.

“Dean…” Sam says.

“You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me, she’d be healed right now? And if she’s not healed tonight, she’s gonna die in a couple’a months.”

“What’s happening to her is horrible. But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself, Dean. You can’t play God.”

Dean sits without speaking, then glances at Gabriel in the rearview. He gets out of the car. Sam follows. Gabriel appears at Sam’s side, tucked against him. They approach the tent and peek inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of the faithful, including Layla and her mother.

“Gather ‘round,” Roy implores. “Please everyone, gather ‘round. Come in closer. Come on up.”

“Where’s Sue Ann?” Dean whispers.

“House,” Gabriel says. He flies them over to the house on the property.

“Go find Sue Ann,” Dean says. “I’ll catch up.” He pushes Sam away from him.

“What are you gonna…?”

“Just let him work his annoying magic,” Gabriel says.

Dean pauses to glare at Gabriel before he eyes the two cops from earlier coming down the stairs. “Hey!” he yells, as obnoxiously as possible.

The cops look over at him.

“You gonna put the fear of God in me?”

The cops drop their coffee and run at Dean, who runs off. Dean, as a master of running from the police, is gone in seconds.

Once they’re gone, Sam runs up the stairs with Gabriel and checks around the house. He turns back, confused, then spots light shining from the cracks outside the basement entrance.

-

Dean, still the self-appointed World Master of Evading Arrest, creeps up behind a camper van. On the other side are the cops with flashlights.

“You see him?” the first cop asks.

“Nah,” the second responds.

-

Sam moves toward the basement entrance, opening the door with ease thanks to Gabriel, and slips inside, Gabriel on his heels.

-

Dean slowly rises next to the passenger window of the camper van, looking behind him, then trying to look through. A large dog jumps at the window, barking wildly. Dean leaps back, terrified. On the other side of the van, the cops shine their lights beneath the undercarriage, then at the still-barking dog.

“Psycho mutt,” the first cop mutters.

They move on. Dean peaks out from on top of the camper, checking that they’re gone, before sagging against the roof, exhausted mentally and a little physically. Fucking cops. Making life so much harder for him while working on cases.

-

Sam and Gabriel silently creep through the basement to a candlelit altar littered with parts of dead animals, blood, horns, and other equally-terrifying, cliché B-horror film items. In the middle is a photo of Dean, taken from the security footage of the first time they were in the tent, before Roy healed him. His face has been crossed out with what appears to be fresh blood.

Sam picks up the photograph, looking at Dean. He looked so sick, only days ago, like he was going to

Sue Ann speaks from behind Sam, startling him but not Gabriel. Gabriel gives her an annoyed look. “I gave your brother life and I can take it away,” she threatens, coldly. Her voice holds no emotion, just raw power. Sam whips around to watch her, barely containing his anger.

“I did that with the platypus, and I don’t threaten to kill them,” Gabriel says.

Sue Ann gives him a confused glare. While she’s distracted, Sam, furious, flips over the altar table, then runs at Sue Ann. She’s already up the stairs, closing the hatch and securing it with a smile. Sam stretches to push against them and keeps trying, despite the resistance.

“Sam, can’t you see?” Sue Ann asks. “The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked. And your brother is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God’s will.”

“You don’t know Daddy’s will,” Gabriel says, voice on this level of danger.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Sue Ann says, with a note of finality.

Sam fumes, enraged at Sue Ann trying to kill his brother.

Gabriel, not for the first time in his life, wants to press Sam against one of the dusty cellar walls and do dirty things to him. He’s never been so in love with anyone as much as he’s in love with Sam Winchester. Gabriel loves him so much it terrifies him sometimes. “You wanna get outta here, or do you want me to?”

“May I?” Sam asks, sweet despite his anger. He yanks a block of wood from the wall and smashes out a small boarded-up window with it.

Gabriel whistles. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You’re an archangel,” Sam says.

“I’d let you slay me,” Gabriel says, open and honest.

-

Inside of the church tent, Roy takes Mrs. Rourke’s hand. “Mrs. Rourke, pray with me now,” he says. “Pray with me, friends.”

-

Dean heads towards the tent when some of the lights outside go out. He stops, looking behind him, watching the line of lights illuminating the path go out one by one, his heart sinking to the gravel road. He turns back to see the reaper walking toward him. Oh, God.

-

Roy raises his hands. “Alright now. Alright.” He places his hand on Layla’s head.

Outside the door, Sue Ann chants quiet Latin and holds the cross in her hands.

-

The reaper places his hand on the side of Dean’s head with clinical disinterest. Dean knows what’s happening next. He grunts as the reaper makes contact.

-

Inside the church, Layla sinks to her knees. Outside, Dean does the same, eyes glazing over.

“Alright,” Roy says, soft and gentle as ever.

-

Sue Ann continues reciting her Latin, holding up the cross.

Sam appears, grabbing it and throwing it aside, breaking a glass bottle of blood in the process. He stands at his full height, towering over her.

“Oh!” Sue Ann exclaims.

-

The reaper stops what he’s doing and looks up, a little confused. Dean falls to the ground, gasping for breath.

-

Roy raises his hand from Layla’s head, confused that he’s not feeling the healing energy. “I don’t understand…”

“I don’t… feel any different…?” Layla says, unsure.

-

Sue Ann falls to her knees beside the blood. “My God, what have you done?!”

“He’s not your God,” Sam says, darkly. Gabriel stands next to him, relishing in this dark side of Sam. He loves kind, gentle Sam as much as the next guy, but he really enjoys this newfound darkness.

-

Layla looks up at Roy, confused. “Reverend?” she asks.

“Sue Ann?” Roy asks.

-

Outside, Sue Ann looks up and sees the reaper. He smiles at her, disconcerting. Terrified, she rises and turns to run, but he’s standing in front of her. He places his hand on her head. Her eyes glaze over and she falls to her knees. After a moment, still smiling that same, horrifying smile, he allows her to slide to the ground, watching with satisfaction as she convulses once, twice, and dies on the ground in front of him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen that,” Gabriel says.

The reaper looks at him, blinking, then leaves.

Sam turns and goes to look for Dean.

-

Dean makes it back to the Impala as Sam and Gabriel approach.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Hell of a week,” he says, nonchalant. He’s holding his hand to his stomach, the pain from nearly dying making him weaker than normal.

“Let’s get goin’, then,” Gabriel says.

They enter the car.

-

Dean sits on his bed, staring at nothing in particular in the motel room.

“What is it?” Sam asks, watching him.

“Nothin’,” Dean says, simply.

Sam waits a few seconds, looking at Gabriel. For once, Gabriel’s not cracking jokes, leaning against Sam’s side, but not indecent.

“What is it?” Sam asks, even more gently. He rests his hands on his hips. It’s the voice he uses on kids. They’re all acutely aware of this fact. Normally, it would piss Dean off beyond belief.

“We did the right thing here, didn’t we?” Dean asks, a little childish. He looks at Sam and Gabriel for reassurance, though Gabriel’s mostly in there by association.

“Of course we did,” Sam says.

Dean hangs his shead. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

There’s a knock at the door. Gabriel snaps it open, revealing a confused Layla.

“Hey, Layla,” Sam says. “Come on in.”

“Hey,” Layla says, entering the room. “How did you--”

Dean rises. “Hey,” he says. “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam… called,” Layla says. She gestures to him. “He said you… wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam, who is still with Gabriel, looking sheepish.

“I’m gonna…”

“We’re gonna have sex! Byyyye!” Gabriel announces loudly, dragging Sam out the door. Sam looks startled.

“We’re not--”

Gabriel slams the door shut behind them.

“So, uh,” Layla says. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t know yet,” Dean says, honest but vague. “Our work kinda takes us all over.”

Layla watches Dean in silence for a moment. “You know… I went back to see Roy.”

Dean nods. “What happened?” he asks, though he already knows.

Layla gingerly sits on the bed Dean was on earlier, before he stood up. “Nothing,” she says, quietly. "He laid his hands on my forehead but nothing happened.”

Dean sits beside her. “I’m sorry,” he says. It hurts him, that he gets to live and she doesn’t. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

“And Sue Ann,” Layla continues. “She’s dead, you know? Stroke.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Dean says. He folds his hands, rubbing his thumbs on top of them. “You know Roy’s a good man. He doesn't deserve what’s happened.” He looks at Layla. “Must be rough. To believe in somethin’ so much, and have it disappoint you.”

Layla smiles at him. “You wanna hear somethin’ weird?”

Dean turns to look at her properly.

“I’m okay. Really,” Layla says, trying her best to be reassuring. “I guess if you’re gonna have faith… you can’t just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don’t.” Her voice is strong and sure in what she’s saying, though soft as ever.

She makes eye contact before looking down at her lap.

“So, what now?” Dean asks.

Layla shrugs. “God works in mysterious ways,” she says, with a soft smile. She lays her hand gently on the side of Dean’s face, staring at him. “Goodbye, Dean.”

The door opens, and Gabriel enters.

“Couldn’t leave you kids alone for too long,” Gabriel says, with a bit of a smile. He stretches his arms. “Inoperable?” he asks.

Layla blinks, then looks at Dean, confused. “Did you--”

“No,” Gabriel says, waving off the thought that Dean talks to him at all. “I can tell.”

“You--”

“Do you believe in angels?” Gabriel asks, cutting to the chase.

Layla blinks. “Yes,” she says.

“Good. ‘Cuz you’re right.” Gabriel spreads his shadowy wings out behind him and gives her a grin.

Layla recoils, staring at Gabriel. “You’re--”

“Hello. The archangel Gabriel, at your service.” Gabriel takes a bow.

Dean gives Gabriel a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes. Gabriel gives him a half-shrug.

“I didn’t-- you’re a…?”

Gabriel stands at his full height, unimpressive compared to Sam and Dean but still taller than Layla. “I’m here to heal you.”

Layla pauses. “You can do that?”

Gabriel smiles at her. “Please. Lemme help you.”

Layla nods.

“Good.” Gabriel moves a little closer to her and snaps his fingers. She shivers, hands rising to touch her head. “How’s that feel?”

“Lighter?” she says. “I feel…”

“Healed?”

Layla nods at him, looking at Gabriel like he’s crafted the world himself.

“Don’t worry about it. Just go out and be your nice little self, ‘kay?” Gabriel gives Layla a kind, easy-going smile.

-

When Layla leaves, in grateful tears, Dean and Gabriel are left alone.

“Thought you didn’t bother with helpin’ us humans out,” Dean says.

Gabriel looks at him, ahnds in his pockets. “I’m tryin’ to be a good person, ‘kay?”

Dean shakes his head at Gabriel. “Dunno if I’m ever gonna understand ya.”

“Likewise,” Gabriel replies. He stretches out. “Now, if you’ll excuse yourself, I’ve done my one good deed of the day.”

“Why do I gotta leave?” Dean asks.

“‘Cuz I’m gonna sex up your brother, and I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna see that,” Gabriel says. He gives Dean a salacious look, then laughs a little.

“Dude!” Dean protests.

“Hey, Dean-O, I’m no angel.”

“You’re--”

“I can’t hear you over the amazing sex I’m about to have with your brother,” Gabriel says.

Dean sticks up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. You did somethin’ good, so you can sexile me. Whatever.”

Gabriel beams at him and closes the door behind him. He snaps up Sam.

“I think you’re a good person,” he says. “I’ve always known you were a good person.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve heard I’m good at a lot of things.” He slides his hands down Sam’s sides. “I think you said somethin’ about handcuffs?”

Chapter Text

Sam looks at a map laid out on top of the Impala. The Impala’s low enough to the ground that even Gabriel’s tall enough to read the map with him, though he cares more about draping himself all over Sam than looking at a map. Dean’s listening to someone on the phone off to the side.

“Okay, I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here,” Sam says, hopefully. “We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought.”

Dean lowers his phone, looking thoughtful. “Yeah,” he says. “Problem is, we’re not goin’ to Pennsylvania.”

“We what?” Sam asks, confused.

“I just got a call from an, uh, old friend. Her father was killed last night. Think it might be our kind of thing.”

Gabriel gives Dean a knowing look from around Sam, eyebrows raised. Dean narrows his eyes at him in a silent threat.

“What?” Sam asks, oblivious to Gabriel reading Sam’s mind.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Believe me, she never would’a called—never—if she didn’t need to.” He gets into the Impala, looking at Sam and Gabriel expectantly. “Come on, are you two comin’ or not?”

-

The Impala smoothly cruises down the road, bracketed by rolling fields on one side and a lake on the other.

“By old friend, you mean…?” Sam asks, already having an idea of what type of friend Dean’s talking about.

“A friend that’s not new,” Dean says, dryly and unhelpfully.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” Sam says. “So her name’s Cassie, huh?”

Gabriel perks up, for a second, trying to catch Dean’s eye in the rearview. He does not succeed, Dean so firmly adhered to staring directly at the road.

“You never mentioned her,” Sam continues.

“Didn’t I?” Dean asks, still dry.

Sam stares at his brother expectantly, the silence stretching on like the open road ahead of them.

“Yeah, we went out,” Dean says.

Sam stares at Dean, shock etched in his features. “You mean you dated somebody? For more than one night.”

“Am I speaking a language you’re not gettin’ here?” Dean asks, irritably. “Dad and I were workin’ a job in Ohio, she was finishin’ up college. We went out for a couple’a weeks.”

“And…?” Sam asks, still expectant.

Dean shrugs.

“Look, it’s terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident. I’m not seeing how it fits with what we do. Which, by the way, how does she know what we do?” Sam asks.

Dean looks shifty and uncomfortable. The pieces click together for Sam.

“You told her,” he accuses. “You told her the secret! Our big family rule number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it.” The more Sam talks, the bitchier he gets. “For a year, I do nothing but lie to Gabriel, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple’a times and you tell her everything?”

Dean says silent, staring straight ahead at the road.

“Dean!” Sam yells, angrily.

“Sam,” Gabriel says, slow and careful.

“Yeah. Looks like,” Dean mutters, blankly staring at the road ahead and laying harder on the gas.

Sam gives Dean a bitchface and shakes his head.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel walk into a newspaper office.

“Jimmy, you’re too close to this,” the Mayor says to a middle-aged black man. “Those guys were friends of yours. Again, Cassie, I’m very sorry for your loss,” he says to a young black woman. He leaves and Jimmy walks away. Cassie sighs and turns around, spotting Dean.

Dean nods at her, apprehensively, and grins.

“Dean,” Cassie breathes.

“Hey, Cassie,” Dean says, awkwardly.

They stare at each other for a long moment, not speaking. Sam and Gabriel watch, smirking to each other.

Dean clears his throat, still uncomfortable. “This is my brother Sam, and this is his partner, Gabriel.”

Cassie smiles at Sam, who returns it with one of his own, then at Gabriel, who gives her a small salute. But her gaze returns to Dean like a magnet.

“Sorry ‘bout your dad,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Cassie says. “Me too.”

They continue staring at each other.

-

They sit in the living room of Cassie’s mother’s large country house. Cassie brings in a tray of tea and cups for them. “My mother’s in pretty bad shape. I’ve been staying with her.” She stops. “I wish she wouldn’t go off by herself. She’s been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about dad.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

Cassie pours tea into the cups. “He was scared. He was seeing things.”

“What kinda things?” Gabriel asks, holding onto Sam’s hand but not draped all over Sam, respectful of Cassie in a way he doesn’t extend to Dean.

“He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him.”

“A truck,” Sam says. “Who was the driver?”

Cassie hands them cups of tea. “He didn’t talk about a driver. Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear. And, in the accident, Dad’s car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big.”

Sam accepts his cup of tea gently. “Thanks,” he says, polite as ever. “Now you’re sure this dent wasn’t there before?”

Dean looks at his tea like he’s never seen anything like it before and doesn’t know what it is, and places it on a side table.

Gabriel takes his tea with a charming smile.

“He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn’t a scratch on that thing,” Cassie says. “It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from dad’s car… leading right to the edge, where he went over.” She bows her head down, focusing on controlling her emotions. “One set of tracks. His.”

“The first was a friend of your father’s?” Dean asks, doing his best impression of his usual self.

“Best friend,” Cassie corrects. “Clayton Soames. They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about dad. He ‘lost control of his car’.”

“So, are there any reasons your daddy and his partner might be targets? Somethin’ suspicious?”

“No,” Cassie says.

“And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” Sam asks, gently.

“When you say it aloud like that… listen, I’m a little skeptical about this… ghost stuff… or whatever it is you guys are into,” Cassie confesses.

Dean huffs. “Skeptical,” he says. “If I remember, I think you said I was nuts. Guess it’s harder to convince people when you don’t have a friggin’ angel.”

Cassie stares at him. “That was then,” she says.

They stare at each other again for a while.

“I just know that I can’t explain what happened up there,” Cassie says, tense. “So I called you.”

The door opens and a middle-aged woman who looks like Cassie enters the room. The Winchesters and Gabriel rise to their feet. Cassie goes to take her mother’s arm.

“Mom,” she says. “Where have you been? I was so...”

“I had no idea you’d invited friends over,” Mrs. Robinson says.

“Mom, this is Dean, a… friend of mine from… college. And his brother Sam and friend Gabriel,” Cassie says, struggling on what to call Dean.

“Well, I won’t interrupt you,” Mrs. Robinson says.

“Mrs. Robinson,” Dean says, able to be professional once more. “We’re sorry for your loss. We’d like to talk to you for a minute if you don’t mind?”

“I’m really not up for that,” Mrs. Robinson says, slightly affronted. She leaves the room.

-

The corpse, slumped over his steering wheel. On the road behind him, a black truck revs its engine, then disappears into the night. Poor Jimmy.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel approach Cassie and the Mayor, easily spotted amongst the emergency vehicles surrounding a crashed car. They stand behind Cassie.

“Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy’s car, see if it was pushed?” Dean asks, all business.

“Who’s this?” the Mayor asks Cassie.

“Sam, Dean, and Gabriel Winchester. Family friends. This is Mayor Harold Todd.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows, realizing they never gave Cassie a last name. And, well, he must admit to himself—and only himself—that he loves the way “Gabriel Winchester” sounds. He takes Sam’s hand, though he knows it’s unprofessional.

“There’s one set of tire tracks. One,” the Mayor says. “Doesn’t point to foul play.”

“Mayor, the police and town officials take their cues from you,” Cassie says. “If you’re indifferent about…”

“Indifferent!” Mayor says, indignant.

“Would you close the road if the victims were white?” Cassie asks, sharply.

“You suggesting I’m racist, Cassie?” the Mayor asks. “I’m the last person you should talk to like that.”

“And why is that?” Cassie asks.

“Why don’t you ask your mother?” the Mayor suggests, then walks away, leaving them all standing in the field.

-

Inside this week’s motel room, Sam picks up a suit jacket, already dressed smartly in slacks, a dress shirt, and tie. Gabriel looks at him like he wants to eat him alive and then some, already fully dressed. “I’ll say this for her: she’s fearless.”

Dean fixes his tie in the mirror. “Mm-hmm,” he agrees.

Gabriel gives Dean a grin. “Bet she kicked your ass a couple’a times, huh?”

Dean glances at Gabriel with venom before returning to the mirror.

“What’s interesting is, you guys never really look at each other at the same time. You look at her when she’s not looking, she checks you out when you look away.” Sam grins at Dean this time. “It’s just a… just an interesting observation in a… you know… observationally interesting way.”

“You think we might have more pressin’ issues here?” Dean asks, irritably.

“Hey, if I’m hitting a nerve,” Sam says, ready for a surrender.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, turning away.

Sam and Gabriel snicker to each other.

-

The Impala drives down a wet country road.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel walk down a pier at the docks. A few people fish around them. They approach two older men having lunch together.

“Excuse me,” Sam says, politely. “Are you Ron Stubbins?”

Ron nods.

“You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?” Dean asks.

“Who are you?” Ron asks.

“Mr. Anderson’s insurance company,” Gabriel says, convincingly. “We’re dottin’ some ‘i’s ‘n crossin’ some ‘t’s.”

“We were just wondering, had the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?” Sam asks.

“What do you mean, unusual?” Ron asks.

“Visions, hallucinations, the like.” Gabriel brushes some hair from his forehead.

“It’s part of a medical examination kind of thing,” Dean says, reassuring as possible. “All very standard.”

“What company did you say you were with?” Ron asks.

“All National Mutual,” Dean says, quickly. “Tell me, did he ever mention seein’ a truck? A big black truck?”

“What the hell you talkin’ about?” Ron asks. “You even speakin’ English?”

“Son, this truck. A big, scary monster-lookin’ thing?” Ron’s friend asks.

“Yeah, actually, I think so,” Dean replies.

“Hmm,” the friend says.

“What?” Gabriel asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I have heard of a truck like that,” the friend says.

“You have,” Sam says. “Where?”

“Not where. When,” the friend says. “Back in the ‘60’s, there was a string of deaths. Black men. Story goes, they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck.”

“So, lemme guess, they never caught the guy who did it?” Gabriel asks.

“Never found him,” the friend says. “Hell, not sure they even really looked. See, there was a time, this town wasn’t too friendly to all its citizens.”

Gabriel nods. “Yeah, I understand that.”

“Thank you,” Sam says.

They make their way back down the pier to the Impala.

“Truck,” Dean says, simply.

“Comes up like a bad penny, huh?” Gabriel stretches over the center seat.

“You know, I was thinking,” Dean says. “You heard of the Flying Dutchman?”

“Yeah, a ghost ship, infused with the Captain’s evil spirit. It was basically part of him,” Sam says.

“You’re so smart,” Gabriel says. He kisses Sam’s cheek.

“Hey,” Dean warns. “Keep the car sacred.”

“Like you haven’t made this car into a Love Shack before,” Gabriel says.

Dean continues on. “So what if we’re dealing with the same thing? You know, a phantom truck, an extension of some bastard’s ghost, re-enacting past crimes,” he reasons.

“The victims have all been black men,” Sam says.

“I think it’s more than that,” Dean says. “They all seem connected to Cassie and her family.”

“Alright,” Sam says. “You work that angle, go talk to her.”

“Yeah, I will,” Dean says.

“You might also wanna mention that other thing,” Gabriel says.

“What other thing?” Dean asks.

“The serious, unfinished business?” Sam prompts.

Dean remains obstinately silent.

Gabriel laughs. “You two got more unfinished business than a haunted house.”

“Alright, so maybe we were a little bit more involved than I said.”

Sam stares at Dean and waits. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

If Dean taught Sam anything about interrogation, it was the art of silence. He knows when to push, and when not to.

“Okay, a lot more. Maybe,” Dean says, still embarrassed and hesitant. “And I told her our secret, about what we do. And I shouldn't have.”

“Ah, look man, everybody’s gotta open up to someone sometime," Sam says.

“I’ve opened up to exactly one person,” Gabriel adds. It's not much of an admission, except that everyone knows the one person is Sam. It's more implied, but hey, might as well take it.

“Okay, angel of the friggin’ Lord,” Dean mutters. “Yeah, I don’t. It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended.”

Sam smiles at Dean. Dean looks away, accidentally glancing at Gabriel to find him smiling, too.

“Would you stop!” Dean says to both of them.

Both Sam and Gabriel continue staring and smiling at him, obnoxious.

“Blink or somethin’!”

“It took me ten years to learn how to blink,” Gabriel says.

“You loved her,” Sam teases, only partially.

“Oh, God,” Dean groans. He turns to the Impala.

“You were in love with her, but you dumped her.”

Dean is completely silent, staring at the ground. He looks up at Sam and Gabriel, then looks back to the ground.

Double. Fucking. Trouble.

“Holy shit,” Gabriel says. “She dumped you.”

“Get in the car,” Dean commands, getting in the Impala himself. “Get in the car!”

-

Cassie’s sitting on the desk in the lounge of her house when there’s a knock at the door.

“Dean!” she says.

“Hey,” Dean says, a little sheepish.

“Hey,” Cassie says. “Come on in.”

“So… you busy, or…”

“The paper’s doing a tribute to Jimmy,” Cassie says. “I was just going through his stuff… his awards. Trying to find the words.”

“That’s gotta be rough,” Dean says.

“For years this family owned the paper,” Cassie says. “The Dorians? They had a whites-only policy. After they sold it, Jimmy became the first black reporter. He didn’t stop til he became editor. He taught me everything…” she drifts off, caught in the net of painful memories. “Where’s your brother and his—?”

Dean shrugs. “Not here.”

“Alright,” Cassie says. “So, uh, what brings you here?”

“Tring to find the connection between the three victims,” Dean explains, quickly. “By the way, did you talk to your mom about what Todd said about not being a racist?”

“I did,” Cassie says. “She didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Right,” Dean says.

They’re silent for a moment.

“So just then, why did you ask where my brother and Gabriel were?” Dean asks.

“Nothing,” Cassie says, quickly. “Not important.”

“Could it be because, without them here, it’s just you and me? Not you, me, Sam, and his boyfriend, which would be easier?”

“It’s not easier… Look, I…”

Dean turns away. “No. Forget it. It’s fine,” he says. “We’ll keep it strictly business.”

Cassie stares at him. “I forgot you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Oh,” Cassie says, disappointed in him. It weighs heavy on Dean's chest. “Whenever we get—what’s the word… close? Anywhere in the neighborhood of emotional vulnerability, you back off. Or make some joke. Or find a way to shut the door on me.”

Dean barks out an offended laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious,” he says. He walks back to stand in front of her. “See, I’m not the one who took that big final door and slammed it behind me.”

“Okay, wait a minute…,” Cassie protests.

“And I’m not the one who took the key and buried it.”

“We done with this metaphor?”

“All’s I’m sayin’ is, I was totally up front with you back then, and you nailed me for it,” Dean says.

“The guy I’m with, the guy I’m hoping might be in my future, tells me he professionally pops ghosts.”

“That’s not the words I used!” Dean protests.

“And that he has to leave, to go work with his father.”

“I did!”

“All I could think was, ‘if you want out, fine, but don’t tell me this insane story’.”

Dean, following his typical urges to desperately establish dominance, gets in Cassie’s face, raising his voice. “It was the truth, Cassie, and I notice it didn’t sound insane the minute you thought I could help you.”

“Well back then I thought you just wanted to dump me,” Cassie says.

“Whoa!” Dean protests. “ Now let’s not forget who dumped who, okay?!”

“I thought it was what you wanted,” Cassie says.

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” Dean says.

“I’m sorry!”

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly, “me too.”

They stare at each other for a moment before making out furiously.

-

Truck revs its engine, runs down the Mayor.

-

Dean lies on his back, arm around Cassie, who’s tucked neatly against his side, the covers cosily wrapped around them.

“We should fight more often,” Cassie says.

Dean stares at the ceiling, running his fingers up and down her arm absently. “Absolutely.”

“Actually, we were always pretty good at fighting.” Cassie gestures to their position. “This we were good at. It’s all the other stuff… not so much.”

“Hey, I tried,” Dean argues. “I told you who I really was. That was a big first for me. I've opened up to one person.”

He thinks about Gabriel for a brief moment before shaking that damn angel from his mind.

“Why’d you tell me?” Cassie asks.

“I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t lie to you.”

“Dean,” Cassie says, gently. “You told me that story… it scared the hell outta me. I thought you were nuts. Dangerous, even. Actually, maybe I was looking for a reason to walk away.”

“In my work… uh… I see some horrible things,” Dean explains. “Things that can’t be explained. I deal with them. But working things out with you?”

“I’m a scary one alright,” Cassie says, jokingly. “Well, usually things get worked out. When you really want them to.”

Dean hesitates. “You know, I’m still really involved,” he says. “With my dad’s work.”

Cassie leans up on one elbow to look down at Dean. “No more excuses, okay? From you or me.”

“Okay,” Den agrees.

They begin kissing, sweetly, and before they can do anything more, Dean’s phone rings. He reaches for it.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. Annoyed. He listens to Sam, then looks startled. “You’re kidding!”

-

It’s snowing outside. Dean approaches Sam and Gabriel, who are talking with a cop. Gabriel’s wearing a hoodie and a coat, both of them Sam’s. He looks tiny.

Gabriel puts away some sort of immaculate fake ID. “He’s with us,” he says, gesturing to Dean.

The cop leaves. Sam turns to Dean with a half-smile, wrapping his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. Gabriel snuggles up next to his side.

“Where were you last night? You didn’t make it back to the hotel.”

“We liked the privacy,” Gabriel adds.

“Well…”

“I’m guessin’ you guys worked things out?”

“We’ll be workin’ things out when we’re ninety,” Dean says, waving things off with an air of professionality. “So what happened?”

“All his bones, crushed. Poof, gone. Internal organs turned into pudding. Cops’re stumped, of course.” Gabriel tucks his head against Sam’s shoulder. "Man just got pureed. Most humans would be."

“It’s like somethin’ ran him over,” Sam says.

“Somethin’ like a truck?” Dean asks.

“Yep,” Sam says.

“Tracks?”

“What do you think?” Gabriel asks.

“What was the Mayor doing here anyway?” Dean asks.

“Owned the property,” Gabriel says. “Bought it a couple’a weeks ago.”

“But he’s white,” Dean says. “He doesn’t fit the pattern.”

“Killings didn’t happen up on the road,” Sam says. “That doesn’t fit either.”

-

In the newspaper office, Cassie makes two mugs of tea and takes them over to Dean at a computer. “Here,” she says.

“Thanks,” Dean says, even though he's more of a coffee kinda guy, triple shot of whiskey, himself. “So I’m tryin’ to find some link between those killings back in the ‘60’s and what’s goin’ on now. There wasn’t a lot about it in the paper.”

“Not surprising,” Cassie says. “Probably minimal policework, too. Back then, equal justice under the law wasn’t too literal around here.”

Dean’s phone rings, and he picks it up. “Yeah.”

“Okay, the courthouse records show that Mr. and Mrs. Mayor bought an abandoned property,” Sam says. “The previous owner was the Dorian family for, like, one hundred and fifty years.”

“Dorian?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Didn’t you say the Dorian family used to own this paper?” Dean asks Cassie.

Cassie nods. “Along with everything else around here. Real pillars of the town.”

“Right, right,” Dean says. He clicks a few links on the computer. “That’s interesting,” he says.

“What?” Sam asks.

“This Cyrus Dorian,” Dean says. “He vanished in April of ‘63. The case was investigated but never solved. It was right around the time the string of murders was going on back then.”

“Well, I pulled a bunch of papers up on the Dorian place. It musta been in bad shape when the Mayor bought.”

“Why’s that?”

“Bulldozed it down first thing,” Gabriel says. “Not bad.”

“Mayor Todd knocked down the Dorian place?” Dean asks Cassie.

“It was a big deal,” Cassie says. “One of the oldest houses left. He made the front page.”

“You got a date?” Dean asks Sam.

“Tonight, if everything goes according to plan,” Gabriel says. “Hopefully I’ll get my—”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Sam says. “The third of last month,” he says, loudly and quickly.

Dean clicks something on his screen. “Mayor Todd bulldozed the Dorian family home on the third. The first killing was the very next day.”

-

Cassie sets a glass on her desk when the lights flicker and an engine revs outside. The truck makes passes at the house.

She picks up a phone. “Dean! Dean!”

-

Sam hands Cassie a cup of tea. Dean’s at her side, protective as ever. Gabriel’s on her other side, suspiciously quiet.

Cassie’s hands shake, rattling the cup. “Maybe you could throw a couple of shots in that,” she suggests, jokingly.

“You didn’t see who was driving the truck,” Sam says.

“It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast. And then it was just gone. Why didn’t it kill us?” Cassie asks.

“Whoever was controlling the truck wants you afraid first,” Dean says.

“Who needs time travel when you have racist ghost trucks?” Gabriel mutters.

“Mrs. Robinson, Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died,” Sam says, polite and gentle.

Mrs. Robinson shakes.

“Mom?” Cassie asks.

“Oh,” Mrs. Robinson says. “Martin was under a lot of stress. You can’t be sure about what he was seeing.”

“Well, after tonight, I think we can be reasonably sure he was seein’ a truck,” Dean says. “What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked. Okay? Your daughter could die. So if you know somethin’, now would be a really good time to tell us about it.”

“Dean,” Cassie warns.

“Yes,” Mrs. Robinson says. “Yes, he said he saw a truck.”

“Did he know who it belonged to?” Sam asks.

“He thought he did,” Mrs. Robinson says.

“Who was that?” Dean asks.

“Cyrus,” Mrs. Robinson says. “A man named Cyrus.”

The Winchesters look at each other. Dean reaches for his bag and shows Mrs. Robinson the newspaper article about Cryus Dorian’s death.

“Is this Cyrus?” Dean asks.

“Cyrus Dorian died more than forty years ago,” Mrs. Robinson says.

“How did you know he died, Mrs. Robinson? The papers said he went missing," Dean says, softly. “How do you know he died?”

“We were all very young,” Mrs. Robinson begins. “I dated Cyrus a while. I was also seeing Martin… in secret, of course. Interracial couples didn’t go over too well back then. When I broke it off with Cryus and he found out about Martin… I don’t know, he—changed. His hatred. His hatred was frightening.”

“The murders,” Sam says.

“There were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of a truck. Nothing was ever done. Martin and… Martin and I, we were gonna be, uh, married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope as we didn’t want the attention.”

“And Cyrus?” Dean asks.

Mrs. Robinson breaks down. “The day we set for the wedding was the day someone set fire to the church. There was a children’s choir practising in there. They all died.”

“Did the attacks stop after that?” Sam asks, softly.

“No!” Mrs. Robinson says. “There was one more. One night that truck came for Martin. Cyrus beat him something terrible. But Martin, you see, Martin got loose. And he started hitting Cyrus and he just kept hitting him and hitting him.”

“Why didn't you call the cops?” Dean asks.

“Think about it,” Gabriel says. “Forty years ago. A white man assaults a black man, cops get called? What do you think?”

“He called on his friends,” Mrs. Robinson says. “He called on his friends, Clayton Soames and Jimmy Anderson, and they put Cyrus’ body into the truck and they rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land and all three of them kept that secret all of these years.”

“And now all three are gone,” Sam says.

“And so is Mayor Todd,” Gabriel adds.

“Now, he said that you of all people would know he is not a racist,” Dean says. “Why would he say that?”

“He was a good man,” Mrs. Robinson says, firmly but tearfully. “He was a young deputy back then investigating Cyrus’ disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done, he… he did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus had done.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cassie asks.

“I thought I was protecting them,” Mrs. Robinson sobs. “And now there’s no one left to protect.”

“Yes, there is,” Dean says. He looks at Cassie. So does Mrs. Robinson. The air thickens with the dark, terrible knowledge that someone is in danger.

-

It’s cold and dark outside of Cassie’s house, but the Winchesters and Gabriel don’t particularly care. Sam’s leaning against the Impala with Gabriel tucked against his side. Dean’s pacing, as he does when he’s worried.

“Ah, my life was so simple,” Sam says, nostalgic for his life as a student. “Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms.”

“Mm, don’t forget living in an actual apartment with no roommates,” Gabriel says, giving Dean a pointed look. “That was a wonderful life.”

“So I guess I saved you from a boring existence,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Occasionally I miss boring.”

“Our life was never boring,” Gabriel says. He crosses his arms and burrows deeper into his over-large coat.

“So this killer truck,” Dean begins.

“I miss conversations that didn’t start with ‘this killer truck’,” Sam says.

Dean laughs a little. “Well, this Cyrus guy,” he says, all business. For someone so opposed to the white-collar, apple pie life, he’s shockingly good at acting business-like. “Evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb, and his spirit was dormant for 40 years.”

“So what woke it up?” Sam asks.

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“The construction on his house,” Dean explains.

“Or the destruction,” Gabriel adds.

“Right,” Sam says. “Demolition or remodelling can awaken spirits, make them restless.”

“You’re so smart, sweetheart,” Gabriel says. He leans his head against Sam’s shoulder.

“Like that theatre in Illinois, y’know?” Sam asks.

“And the guy that tore down the family homestead, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus’ murder quiet and unsolved,” Dean says, methodical. He's good at doing piecework, following the logic, understanding things. The stupid Winchester his ass.

“So now his spirit is awakened and out for blood.” Sam wraps his arm around Gabriel’s waist. Gabriel tucks himself further into Sam’s side. He doesn’t actually need a coat or to huddle for warmth, but he enjoys it.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean says. “Who knows what ghosts are thinkin’ anyway.”

“Ghosts aren’t too far off normal human logic,” Gabriel says. “Nonhuman creatures aren’t that crazy.”

“You know we’re going to have to dredge that body up from the swamp, right?” Sam asks.

Dean smiles at Sam.

“Man,” Sam grumbles.

“You said it,” Dean reminds him.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“And you have an angel boyfriend, man! What’re you complainin’ about?”

Sam gives Dean a full bitchface, annoyed with Dean’s bullshit.

Cassie approaches them from the house. Dean stands up straight.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Cassie replies. “She’s asleep. Now what?”

“Well, you should stay put and look after her… and we’ll be back. Don’t leave the house,” Dean says, authoritative as ever. He sounds like John in his prime.

Sam would cower if he didn't know it was his beloved older brother.

Cassie smiles. “Don’t go getting all authoritative on me,” she chastises, playfully. “I hate it.”

Dean glances behind him to Sam and Gabriel, knowing damn well what they’re both thinking. Sam looks down, grinning at his shoes, and Gabriel looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Don’t leave the house please?” Dean mumbles, a little embarrassed.

Cassie blinks slowly at Dean. He leans in to kiss her with a smile. Sam glances over, notices them making out, and takes the initiative to make out with Gabriel in response. Gabriel’s always willing to make out with tall, handsome Sam, gripping the lapels of his jacket tightly and taking control of the kiss. Oh, Dad bless those competitive Winchester brothers.

Dean breaks his kiss with Cassie, basking in the intimacy for a moment.

“You comin’ or what?” he asks Sam, still a little preoccupied with Gabriel.

-

“Alright,” Sam says, looking up at the tractor Dean’s in. “Let’s get her up.”

Dean backs up the tractor, pulling an old, waterlogged truck from the swamp.

“Alright,” Sam says, encouragingly. “A little more. Little more.” He watches as the truck is pulled from the water fully. “Alright, stop.”

Dean turns off the tractor’s engine and jumps down, proud of his handiwork.

“Nice,” Sam says.

Dean moves to the Impala’s trunk. “Hell yeah,” he says, rummaging through the weapons storage.

“Now we know what she sees in lil ‘ole you,” Gabriel says.

“What?” Dean asks, still concentrating mostly on finding what he needs from the weapons locker.

“Come on man, you can admit it,” Sam goads, still a little teasing, but still partially serious. “You’re still in love with her.” He’s desperately trying to initiate what Dean would call a chick-flick moment.

“Ah, can we focus, please?” Dean asks.

“I’m just saying, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean hands Sam something from the trunk. “Hold that,” he says.

“Alright,” Sam says. “What am I getting?” he asks.

“Gas,” Dean says, in business mode. It’s amazing, how he can shift from the typical Dean Winchester to Dean Winchester, son of John Winchester, a hunter of monsters and nightmares. “Flashlight.”

“Got it, got it,” Sam says,

“Okay, let’s get this done.”

“Alright,” Sam says, acquiescing to Dean’s desire to finish a job. He takes Gabriel’s hand instead.

Dean lowers the trunk of the Impala lovingly, with great care. “Got it.”

They move toward the door of the waterlogged truck, glancing at each other before Dean opens the door. A decayed corpse falls out from the cab. Not the first corpse they’ve ever seen, but it’s still shocking to see one, especially for one to fall from a vehicle.

After the novelty of the situation wears off, Dean looks at Sam and Gabriel. “Alright, let’s get to it.”

Sam and Dean make a quick job of salting and burning the body, having done it so many times it’s almost entirely second nature. The heat is welcome in the chill of the dark, cold winter night. They watch as the body burns.

“Think that’ll do?” Sam asks.

The black ghost truck appears, headlights on and engine revving.

“I guess not,” Dean says, dryly.

Sam grips Gabriel’s hand tightly. “So burning the body had no effect on that thing?” he asks.

“Sure it did,” Dean says, still dry and joking. “Now it’s really pissed.”

“But Cyrus’ ghost is gone, right Dean?” Sam sounds like a child, hoping what he’s seeing isn’t actually there.

Dean begins to walk away from the truck. “Apparently not the part that’s fused with the truck.”

“Where you going?”

“Goin’ for a little ride,” Dean says.

“What?!” Sam looks incredulously at his brother.

“Gonna lead that thing away,” Dean says, stopping at the Impala. “That busted piece of crap, you gotta burn it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to burn a truck, Dean?!” Sam asks.

“I dunno,” Dean says. “Figure somethin’ out. Ask your boyfriend to do it.” Dean throws a bag at Sam.

Sam catches it. “Figure some—something—” he sputters. He looks at Gabriel, eyebrows raised. Gabriel gives him a shrug.

Dean reverses the Impala quickly and takes off down the road, driving way faster than he normally does. For someone who cares more about that damn car than he does about himself, he’s going awful fast. The ghost truck tears after him, Sam hiding until it passes.

Sam’s phone rings, and he picks it up. “Hey, you gotta give me a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute,” Dean says, irritable as he’s leading the truck on a chase on the misty backroads. “What are we doin’?”

“Ahh,” Sam says, not sure about what he’s doing. “Let me get back to you.” He hangs up on Dean.

“Get back to me?” Dean asks his phone, astounded.

-

Sam makes another phone call. “Hey, Cassie?” he asks. “Hey, it’s Sam. I need some information and it has to be exactly right.

“I find you incredibly attractive,” Gabriel mutters. Sam glances at him, giving him a flash of a gentle, happy smile before he goes back to business.

-

Sam’s back on his phone again. “Alright, Dean?” he asks.

“This better be good,” Dean says.

“Where are you?”

“In the middle of nowhere with a killer truck on my ass!” Dean says, irritable. “It’s like it knows I put the torch to Cyrus.”

“Both’a you burn, baby burned that body,” Gabriel points out, argumentative as always.

“Listen to me, this is important,” Sam says. “I have to know exactly where you are.”

Dean looks at a road sign in the misty darkness as he speeds past, not worried about hitting any small animals or patches of ice. “Decatur road, about two miles off the hallway,” he says.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Headed East?”

“Yes!” Dean replies.

The truck rear ends the Impala, sending it skidding all over the road before regaining traction for a terrible moment.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean yells, full of rage.

“Okay, uhh, turn right!” Sam commands. “Up ahead, turn right!”

Dean swings right, the Impala sliding in a large, graceful turn. The ghost truck is on his ass still, making as much noise as the Impala’s engine.

“You make the turn?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I made the turn! You need to move this thing along a little faster.”

“Alright, you see a road up ahead?” Sam asks, hurriedly.

“No!” Dean says. “Wait,” he says, squinting at the road signs. John would kill him for driving the Impala like this. Speeding down the road in the pitch darkness? Dead. Instantly. “No, yes, I see it.”

The truck slowly gains ground on the Impala’s left side, a cruel monster creeping up towards him.

“Okay, turn left,” Sam says.

“Wha…?” Dean asks. He grimaces, slamming on the breaks and silently apologizing to the car for putting her through this, then spins the Impala left onto the smaller backroad. The truck careens past, too large to make sharp turns and not expecting the slow-down. “Alright, now what?” Dean asks, frantic.

“You need to go seven tenths of a mile and then stop,” Sam says.

“Stop?” Dean questions.

“Exactly seven tenths,” Gabriel says. “‘Kay? No more, no less. Exact. We're talkin' fractions here."

Dean looks at the speedometer. “Seven tenths, seven tenths,” he mutters to himself.

At the exact right moment, Dean spins the car around and moves it exactly to where Sam and Gabriel advised him to (it was more of a demand from Gabriel, but details), facing the way he had come. He’s honestly shocked he didn’t hit anything or drive off the road. The Impala’s between two posts on each side of the road and the last remains of a wall, almost totally broken down with time. The ghost truck appears down the road he’d just been on, revving its engine intimidatingly.

“Dean, you still there?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says, uneasy.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s just staring at me,” Dean says. “What do I do?”

“Keep doin’ what you’re doin’. You’re a pilot fish.”

“Wha—”

The truck spins its tires and barrels towards Dean and the Impala. Dean’s stomach fills with ice and drops as he watches it, clutching the Impala’s steering wheel so tightly it hurts. He doesn't notice it in his terror.

“Come on,” Dean mutters. “Come on.”

It approaches. Dean closes his eyes and hangs on tightly, thinking about everything he loves. If he survives this, he’s going to kill Sam, and probably kill Gabriel, since he’s probably the dumbass that came up with this idea in the first place. He'll find a fucking way to kill that feathery bastard.

The truck flies through him, disintegrating to dust.

Dean opens his eyes and stares at the empty road in front of him, the only sound the gentle purr of the Impala’s well-maintained engine. He twists around in his seat to look behind him. Nothing.

“Dean,” Sam says, frantically. “You still there? Dean?”

“Where’d it go?” Dean asks, shocked.

“Dean, you’re where the church was,” Sam says.

“What church?!”

“The place Cyrus burned down,” Sam says. “Murdered all those kids.”

Dean looks at the posts left on the sides of the road, at the crumbling wall. Some church. “There’s not a whole lot left.”

“Kiddo, church ground’s hallowed ground, even if the church isn’t there anymore,” Gabriel explains. “Evil spirits cross over it, sometimes it’s poof! and they’re gone. So Sam figured hey, maybe that’d get rid’a it.”

“Maybe?” Dean asks, infuriated. “Maybe?! What if you were wrong?!”

“Huh,” Sam says. “Honestly that thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

“You’d’ve been fine,” Gabriel reassures him.

Dean stares at his phone, then hangs up. “‘Well, it honestly didn’t occur to me’,” me mutters, mimicking his brother. Then he drops to a different register to mimic Gabriel. “‘You’d’a been fine’.” He smacks the steering wheel. “I’m gonna kill them.”

He swears it.

He… is kinda impressed. Sammy's coming up with big boy plans. Probably not on his own, but hey, Dean's still proud of his baby brother regardless. Growing into himself and his nerdy-ass brain.

Still gonna kill them, though.

-

Back at the docks, the smell of lake water in the air, Dean and Cassie walk toward the Impala. Sam’s in the backseat with Gabriel, watching him play Mario Kart on his DS and pressing gentle kisses against Gabriel’s temple occasionally.

“My mother says to tell you thanks again,” Cassie says.

Dean nods. They come to a stop beside the Impala, facing each other.

“This is a better goodbye than last time,” Cassie says.

“Yeah, well, maybe this time it will be a little less permanent,” Dean says, optimistic as ever.

“You know what?” Cassie asks, aware of Dean’s optimistic tendencies. “I’m a realist. I don’t see much hope of us, Dean.”

“Well, I’ve seen strange things happen. A hell of a lot stranger.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cassie says.

“I’ll see ya Cassie… I will.”

They kiss, then stare into each other’s eyes.

-

Sam’s driving the Impala today, down a long country road, typical of Ohio. “I like her,” he says at last, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“You meet someone like her… doesn’t it make you wonder if it’s worth it? Putting everything else on hold, doing what we do?” Sam looks at Gabriel in the rearview. Gabriel’s tuned into Angel Radio, blocking out the rest of the world.

Dean looks at Sam for a long, thoughtful moment, the taste of Cassie still on his mouth. He smiles, then, and reaches for his sunglasses, slipping them on. “Why don’t you wake me up when it’s my turn to drive?” He slouches down in the seat with a sigh.

Sam shakes his head and looks back at the long, straight road. There are few times when Sam’s willing to argue with Dean as much as he needs to in order to change his mind, and this is not one of them.

Chapter Text

He drives his car into the garage, turning off the engine. The door closes by itself.

He is stuck in his car, stuck in his garage, when the engine starts again. The smoke fills the garage.

“Help,” he begs. “Somebody help me!”

But there is no help. Not for him.

-

Sam starts from his bed, wide awake and terrified. He’s sweating through his white shirt. Gabriel takes his hand carefully. Sam shakes his head, looking at where Dean’s sleeping peacefully in the bed across from theirs.

Sam sits for a moment, holding Gabriel’s hand and controlling his breathing, before he moves into action, flipping on the light switch and shaking his brother’s arm until he’s awake, Gabriel still in their bed.

“Dean,” Sam says. “Dean.”

The moment Dean stirs, Sam rises and begins gathering his things.

Dean rubs at his eyes, irritated that he’s been awoken. “What are you doing man? It’s the middle of the night.” He props himself up on his elbows.

“We have to go,” Sam says, stuffing his duel.

Dean’s immediately alert and awake, but not quite alarmed just yet. “What’s happening?”

“We have to go,” Sam says. “Right now.” He grabs his bag, takes Gabriel’s hand, and walks out.

-

Dean drives the Impala down the dark country roads. Sam’s in the back, snuggled against a sleep-rumpled Gabriel, still in Sam’s over-large Stanford sweatshirt, on his cell phone.

Sam reads from a Michigan State Police ID. “Detective McReady. Badge number 158. I’ve got a signal 480 in progress,” he says, voice firm and authoritative. “I need the registered owner of a two door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven.” He listens for a second. “Yeah, okay, just hurry.”

“Sammy, relax,” Dean says. “I’m sure it’s just a nightmare.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam mutters, angrily.

“I mean it,” Dean says. “Y’know, a normal, everyday, naked-in-class, nightmare. This license plate, it won’t check out. You’ll see.”

“I sleep next to Sam every night,” Gabriel says. “I know his dreams. This? This isn’t it.”

“It felt different, Dean,” Sam argues. “Real. Like when I dreamt about our old house. And Gabriel.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Dean says, stressing his syllables. “You’re dreamin’ about our house, your boyfriend. This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“No,” Dean says, making his point. “Exactly. Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?”

“Prophetic visions don’t always make sense,” Gabriel says. “I know prophecies. Trust me.”

Dean rolls his eyes at Gabriel.

“I don’t know,” Sam admits to Dean, then listens to the person on the other end of the line. “Yes, I’m here,” he says into his phone. He listens, glares at Dean, and picks up his pen. “Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. You have a street address?” Sam pauses to listen. “Got it. Thanks.” He hangs up his phone. “Checks out,” he says, too tired and completely wired to be smug. “How far are we?”

“From Saginaw?” Dean asks. “Couple’a hours.”

Sam looks out the window for a moment, watching the dark, blurred surroundings pass. Gabriel leans against his side. “Drive faster,” he commands.

-

The Impala cruises to a stop in the suburbs. Emergency vehicles crowd the Miller house, and a body on a stretcher is zipped into a body bag. Everything is dreamlike and morose in the early-morning misty rain.

Dean looks over his shoulder at Sam, concerned. Gabriel holds Sam tightly against him, glaring at Dean.

-

Dean approaches the watching crowd outside the Miller residence. “What happened?” he asks a woman outside the house.

“Suicide,” the middle-aged woman says, pleasantly midwestern. “I can’t believe it.”

Sam comes up from behind with Gabriel tucked against his side, standing on the woman’s other side. “Did you know them?”

“Saw him on every Sunday at St. Augustine’s,” the woman says. “He always seems… seemed, so normal. Guess you never know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“Guess not,” Dean says, staring straight ahead.

Sam can’t bring himself to look at the house, holding Gabriel closely to him. “How did… uh. How are they saying it happened?”

“I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running.”

Dean’s wide eyes flick over to Sam in mild horror.

“D’you know what time they found him?” Gabriel asks.

“Oh, it just happened about an hour or two ago.” She sighs, a cloud exiting her mouth. “His poor family,” the woman says. “I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.”

On the front step of the house, a blonde woman cries against a middle-aged man. Behind them is a young man looking distraught. He can’t be much older or younger than Sam himself.

Sam watches for a second, grimacing, then turns to walk away with Gabriel. Dean notices them and follows them. They all stare at the house. The crime scene.

From the vision.

“Sam, we got here as fast as we could,” he says, kind and gentle as possible.

“Not fast enough,” Sam says, glumly. “It doesn’t make any sense, man. Why would I even have these premonitions unless there was a chance I could stop them from happening?”

“I dunno,” Dean replies.

Sam looks at Gabriel.

“Prophetic visions… they’re logical, but they can seem nonsensical sometimes. There’s some sort of connecting thread. Always.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs. “So what do you think killed him?” he asks.

“Maybe the guy just killed himself. Maybe there’s nothin’ supernatural going on at all?” Dean suggests.

Sam shakes his head again. “I’m telling you, I watched it happen,” Sam says. “He was murdered by something, Dean. It trapped him in the garage.”

“What—a spirit? A poltergeist? What?” Dean asks.

Sam looks exhausted and close to tears. “I don’t know what it was,” he says, breathing becoming harsh the more terrified he gets. “I don’t know why I’m having these dreams. I don’t know what the hell is happening, Dean.”

Gabriel wraps his arms around Sam tightly. “Oh, Muffin,” he whispers, burying the side of his face in Sam’s brown Carhartt.

Dean stares at Sam for a long moment.

“What?” Sam asks, nearly crying.

Dean shrugs. “Nothin’,” he says. “I’m just, I’m worried ‘bout you, man.”

“Well, don’t look at me like that!” Sam says. He looks down at Gabriel, running his hands through Gabriel’s hair.

Dean looks away from him. “I’m not lookin’ at you like anything,” he says. He glances back. “Though I gotta say, you do look like crap.”

“Nice,” Sam says, with venom. “Thanks.”

Dean opens the car door. “Come on, let’s just pick this up in the mornin’,” Dean says. “We’ll check out the house, talk to the family.”

“Dean, you saw them, they’re devastated,” Sam says. “They’re not going to want to talk to us.”

Dean thinks for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “But I think I know who they will talk to.”

“Who?” Sam asks.

Dean smirks that cocky little half smirk that only means trouble.

-

Dean rings the doorbell of the Miller residence, in a priest’s outfit.

Sam shifts uncomfortably, his hair nicely slicked back. “This has gotta be a whole new low for us,” he says, with a sigh.

“I think it’s a good look,” Gabriel says, making sure he’s not having as much contact with Sam as usual. Not just to preserve the image of holiness and whatnot, but also to control himself. Because, well, let’s be honest, Sam in a priest’s outfit with his hair all done? Dear Dad, the sacrilege. Gabriel can barely keep his hands to himself.

He can’t wait for later.

Dean turns to smirk at Sam, then looks back at the door, waiting for an answer.

The blading middle-aged man from the night before opens the door.

“Good afternoon,” Dean says, clear and careful. “I’m Father Simmons. This is Father Frehley and Father Stanley. We’re new junior priests over at St. Augustine’s. May we come in?”

The man nods tersely.

“Thanks,” Dean says, politely.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Sam says.

“It’s in difficult times like these when the Lord’s guidance is most needed,” Gabriel says.

“Look, you wanna pitch your whole ‘Lord has a plan’ thing? Fine,” the man says. “Just don’t pitch it to me. My brother’s dead.”

Gabriel likes this guy’s style, really. Unfortunately, he’s got the right idea, in the wrong direction.

Ms. Miller appears. “Roger,” she chastises. “Please!=.”

“Excuse me,” Roger says, moving away from them.

“I’m sorry about my brother-in-law,” Ms. Miller says. She’s dressed sweetly and holding a tinfoil-wrapped casserole. The eternal look of the grieving. “He’s… he’s just so upset about Jim’s death. Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be great,” Dean says.

They make their way to the living room. Dean ends up on the lounge, Sam on an armchair, and Gabriel in another armchair. Ms. Miller pours coffee and hands it around.

“It was wonderful of you to stop by,” she says. “The support of the church means so much to me right now.”

“Of course,” Dean says. “After all, we are all God’s children.”

Ms. Miller walks away and Dean immediately steals more cocktail sausages from the coffee table, chewing contentedly. Dean loves his food, and more importantly, he loves free things.

Sam shakes his head.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Just… tone it down a little bit, Father,” Sam says.

Gabriel stifles a laugh.

Ms. Miller returns to the room and sits down gracefully, hands folded in her lap.

“So, Ms. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?” Dean asks. Wrong question.

“Nothing like that,” Ms. Miller says, shaking her head. She begins to get upset. “We had our ups and downs like everyone, but we were happy.” She breaks a little, beginning to cry. “I just don’t understand… how Jim could do something like this.” Ms. Miller wipes at her tears politely.

“I’m sorry you had to find him like that,” Gabriel says, sympathetic. “No one should ever have to see someone they love like that.”

Ms. Miller gestures behind her. “Actually, our son Max— he was the one who found him.”

Sam looks through the doors into the dining room, seeing Max sittin in the corner, staring off into space. “Do you mind if maybe we go talk to him?”

“Oh, thank you, Father,” Ms. Miller says.

Sam nods politely and gets out of the chair, Gabriel with him.

They approach Max in the other room.

“Max?” Sam asks. “Hey, I’m Sam. This is Gabriel.”

-

Ms. Miller takes a tissue to dab at her face.

“Ms. Miller, you have a lovely home,” Dean says, professionally casual. Everything he does is shockingly calculated, when you take in his occasional inability to read a room in his personal life. “How long have you lived here?”

“We moved in about five years ago,” Ms. Miller says.

“The only problem with these old houses, I bet you have all kind of headaches.”

“Like what?” Ms. Miller asks, with curiosity.

“Well, weird leaks, electrical shortages, odd settling noises at night. That kind of thing,” Dean says, casually. He’s been in enough old, haunted houses to know the symptoms.

“No, nothing like that,” Ms. Miller dismisses. “It’s been perfect.”

“Huh,” Dean says. He thinks for a moment. “May I use your restroom?”

“Oh sure,” Ms. Miller says, gesturing. “It’s just up the stairs.”

Dean rises, taking another cocktail sausage with him as he leaves.

-

“What was your daddy like?” Gabriel asks Max.

“Just a normal dad,” Max says. He’s in an olive green dress shirt with a striped tie. Messy hair that’s been strangled to look a bit presentable. Wide nose and uneven eyes. A real unfortunate-looking man.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You live at home now?”

“Yeah,” Max says, voice quiet. “Trying to save up for school, but it’s hard,” Max says.

“So when you found your dad…,” Sam says, trying not to push Max too hard. He’s aware that, out of the two Winchester brothers, he’s the one who’s more in-tune with his feelings and those of others. Dean might be great at flirting with women, but Sam’s the one who comforts everyone.

“I woke up, I heard the engine running.” Max goes quiet for a while, picking at his cuticles. “I don’t know why he did it,” he says, at last, thickly.

“It’s rough, I know, losin’ a parent,” Gabriel says. “Especially if you don’t got all the answers.”

Sam looks at Gabriel, eyeing his boyfriend quietly. Gabriel doesn’t talk much about his family, unless it’s giving Sam comforting words or comparing their families. He’s always full of shockingly good advice for someone who used to kill actual human beings as a faux-Anubis figure.

If they weren’t playing a part, Sam would probably take Gabriel’s small hand and hold it tightly in his own. But that would break the illusion.

-

Dean enters the upstairs hallway. He checks the coast is clear before taking out a infer-red thermal scanner from his pocket and turns it on, shining it into rooms as he passes them by. Nothing. Nothing at all.

He reaches the end of the hall, then hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, he hides the scanner. He doesn’t see the unusually hot Gabriel-shaped figure on the screen, but why would he?

Sam appears in the hallway. “Anything?” he asks, holding Gabriel’s hand.

“Zip,” Dean says, relaxing when he sees his brother.

They move back down the stairs, Sam letting go of Gabriel’s hand.

-

Dean’s cleaning his weapons in their room at the Escanaba Motel, looking like some sort of crazy doomsday prepper with the sheer amount of weaponry spread out in front of him. Sam and Gabriel enter through the door, thank God.

“What do you have?” Dean asks.

“A whole lotta nothing,” Sam says, ruffling the papers pinned to the walls, John Winchester-style. Never let it be said John didn’t teach the boys a couple tricks of the trade before he decided to become a deadbeat. “Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built.”

“What about the land?” Dean asks.

Sam sinks onto his and Gabriel’s bed. Gabriel sprawls against him.

“Nothin’,” Gabriel says. “A whole lotta nothin’. Graveyards, battle fields, tribal lands, general atrocities— nada, none, zilch. Place’s cleaner than the damn Hilton Inn.”

“Hey man, I told you,” Dean says, assembling a gun. “I searched that house up and down. No cold spots, no sulfur scent. Nada.” He examines it.

“And the family said everything was normal?” Sam asks.

“Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist in there, you think somebody would have noticed something?” Dean asks. “I used the intfer-red thermal scanner man, and there was nothing.”

“So what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was just some sorta freakish coincidence?”

“I dunno,” Dean says, not wanting to outright say he thinks Sam’s crazy. He tries to be the best older brother he can, and that includes not calling Sam crazy crazy. Sure, he likes to tease and joke as much as the next guy (and as much as Sam teases him, he should be allowed to make fun of Sam), but he’s not cruel. Sam’s terrified of what’s happening to him, and, if Dean’s being honest, he’s scared, too. But he can’t let Sam know he’s scared. He’s a good older brother, and good older brothers don’t let their baby brothers know they’re scared. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothin’ supernatural about that house.”

He unassembles a gun and cleans it.

Sam rubs at his temples, firelike pain flaring through them. “Yeah,” he admits, upset. “Well, maybe, uh, it has nothing to do with the house.” He sucks in a sharp, deep breath, holding his head. “Maybe it’s just… gosh.” Sam holds a large hand to his forehead. “Maybe it’s connected to Jim in... some other way?” he offers, pained.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asks.

Sam makes pained noises, sinking from the bed to crouch on the floor. He’s in so much pain he can’t even articulate it, head flaring up in horrific amounts of excruciating agony, wanting to curl up into a ball and stop existing. “Ahh,” he grits out. “My head.”

“Sweetcheeks,” Gabriel says, hopping off the bed and bending down next to him. “Oh, c’mere.” He presses his small fingers against Sam’s temple, alleviating part of the headache.

Dean leaves his own bed. “Sam? Hey.” He crouches and grabs Sam’s arms. “Hey! What’s going on?! Talk to me.”

Sam looks at Dean, but he’s not there.

He watches ill-tempered Roger enter his apartment’s kitchen with groceries, drinking wine from the bottle. The window opens mysteriously. Roger closes and locks the window and returns to unpacking his groceries. The lock moves by itself and the window slides open again. Like magic.

Confusing.

Roger attempts to close it, but it sticks. He leans out, twisting around to look up at the top of the window, checking to see what’s happening. The window slams closed, decapitating him. Blood gushes onto the window.

Sam focuses back on Dean and Gabriel in their shitty motel room, bloodless and clean. “It’s happening again,” Sam says, breathing heavily through his teeth. “Something’s gonna kill Roger Miller.”

-

Dean drives the Impala, sneaking worried glances at Sam in the rearview. He’d really rather have Sam in shotgun so he can keep a better eye on him, but Gabriel refused to let go of Sam after his recent episode, and Dean would rather not have a pissed-off, overprotective archangel at his throat.

“Roger Miller,” Sam says into the phone, speaking slowly and clearly, exhaustion dragging down his voice into a tangle of tireness. He’s leaning his head against Gabriel’s shoulder, Gabriel’s fingers against his temple as he removes Sam’s pain and improves his mood. “Ah, no, no, just the address please. Okay, thanks.” He holds in a groan. “450 West Grove, Apartment 1120,” he says to Dean.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “Is he okay?” he asks Gabriel immediately after.

“Yeah,” Sam grunts. He sounds exhausted.

“Just post-vision pain and exhaustion. It ain’t easy for the psychically-gifted.” Gabriel takes away more of Sam’s pain, fighting against Sam’s pain and exhaustion.

“If you’re gonna hurl, I’ll pull the car over. You know, ‘cuz the upholstery...”

“I’m fine,” Sam insists.

“Alright,” Dean says, giving up.

“Just drive,” Sam commands. He looks at Dean, his nervous older brother, sighs heavily, and looks away. “Dean, I… I’m scared, man,” he confesses, burying his face in Gabriel’s jacket. It smells like him, sugary-sweet and masculine, and a little bit like Sam’s cologne. “These nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And these… visions, or whatever—they’re getting more intense. And painful.”

“Come on, man, you’ll be alright,” Dean says, doing his best to soothe Sam but not sure of what to do. He’s just a guy. Admittedly, a guy that hunts monsters and hustles pool for a living, but he’s only a man. And he’s never dealt with this. Sam’s always been a little weird (they both are, and not even mentioning Gabriel), but these visions… they’re not normal, even for them. If it wasn’t his brother having them, he’d be convinced they were the ramblings of a crazy person.

But Sam isn’t crazy.

“It’ll be fine,” Dean says.

“Honeybunch, you’re okay,” Gabriel says. He smooths down Sam’s hair. “It’s going to be alright. Okay? There’s a reason for it. You’re not crazy.”

Sam makes a tiny noise into the thick material of Gabriel’s jacket. “What is it about the Millers?” he asks. “Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them die?” The more he speaks, the more distressed he gets. “Why the hell is this happening to me?” he asks, sounding small and terrified.

“I don’t know, Sam, but we'll figure it out,” Dean says, faking confidence. This is his little baby brother. “We’ve faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing.”

“No. It’s never been us. It’s never been in the family like this,” Sam insists. He fists his hands in Gabriel’s jacket. “Tell the truth, you can’t tell me this doesn’t freak you out.”

Dean stares ahead of him for a long moment, silence filling the car. “This doesn’t freak me out,” he says at last, with a firmness that doesn’t match the silence before.

Sam stares at him for a moment before folding back into Gabriel. Gabriel rubs at his back and mutters sweet nothings to him, quiet and careful and loving.

-

Dean pulls up the Impala in front of Roger Miller’s apartment. Roger’s approaching the entrance of the building with his groceries.

“Hey, Roger,” Sam says, outside the window.

“What are you guys, missionaries?” Roger asks, bitterly. “Leave me alone.”

“Please!” Sam says.

Roger is gone. Dean guns the engine, jumping the curb as he hurriedly parks. For someone who loves his car so much, when he has to choose between the car and his brother, Dean will always pick Sam.

“Hey Roger,” Sam says, getting out of the car and running after Roger. “We’re tryin’ to help! Please! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” He knows he looks and sounds like a crazy person, but he’s desperate. He runs up to the entrance, just as Roger closes the door behind him.

“I don’t want your help,” Roger says firmly, and walks away.

“We’re not priests, you gotta listen to us!” Sam calls after him.

“Roger, you’re in danger!” Dean adds. He looks around. “Come on, come on, come on,” he mutters to himself, desperately trying to find a way into the building.

Sam and Dean run around the corner to a back entrance, securely locked. Gabriel snaps over to them. Dean looks around hastily, making sure no one is watching before he kicks it open. They jump onto the first level of the fire escape and begin running up the stairs.

Rickety, old metal stairs aren’t the best to run up when you’ve got a murder to stop.

When they’re only one floor from Roger’s apartment, the window slides down with a wet squelching noise. Sam freezes up on the stairs. Dean sprints past him, grabbing the railing.

Roger’s head lies in the flower bed beneath the window. The kitchen window is splattered with blood. Roger’s blood.

Sam thinks he’s about to get sick. He grabs Gabriel’s shoulder tightly, trying not to tip over the railing in his shock.

Dean stares at himself in the blood-covered window.

“Honey,” Gabriel mutters. “Are you okay?”

“I’m going crazy,” Sam says. “I’m going crazy. I don’t… why me?” he asks, quietly.

Gabriel lays his hand atop Sam’s. “I love you,” he says. “And I wish I could help.”

Dean looks over his shoulder. “C’mon!” he says, desperately. He’s wiping down the railing with a handkerchief. “Start wiping down your fingerprints, we don’t want the cops to know we were here. Come on, come on!” He throws one to Sam, then uses his to push up the window leading out to the fire escape. “I’m gonna take a look inside.”

Sam begins wiping down the metal railing.

-

“I’m tellin’ you there was nothin’ in there,” Dean says. “No signs either, just like the Miller’s house.”

“I saw something, in the vision,” Sam says. “Like a dark shape. Somethin’ was—”

A car honks at them as they try jaywalking across the road. Dean holds out his arm to stop Sam from walking. Big brother instincts.

“—something was stalking Roger,” Sam continues.

“Whatever it was, are you sure it’s not connected to their house?” Dean asks.

“No, it’s connected to the family themselves,” Sam says. “So what do you think, like a vengeful spirit?”

“Well yeah, there’s a few that have been known to latch onto families, follow ‘em for years,” Dean says. This part is easier than Sam’s visions. He knows spirits.

“Angiak. Banshees,” Sam says.

“Basically like a curse,” Dean says. “So maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in somethin’ heavy, somethin’ curse worthy.”

“And now the something is out for revenge. And then men in their family are dying.”

“Could be,” Gabriel says. “How’s the noggin, dearest?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s… alright. Not too bad,” he says. “You think Max is in danger?” he asks Dean.

“Let’s figure it out before he is,” Dean replies.

“Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people,” Sam says.

Gabriel stiffens a little.

“What’s that?” Dean asks.

“Both our families are cursed,” Sam says. He offers a grim smile and snort.

Dean huffs. “Our family’s not cursed,” Dean says. “We just… had our dark spots.”

“Our dark spots are… pretty dark,” Sam says, laughing humorlessly. He leans against Gabriel.

“You’re… dark,” Dean snipes back. He gives Gabriel a strange look.

"Not as dark as my family," Gabriel quips.

"Yeah," Dean says, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Gabriel beams at him. A false smile.

-

Max leads the Winchesters and Gabriel into the Miller house, in their priest outfits again. Gabriel’s still eyeing Sam with interest in that particular outfit.

“My mom’s resting, she’s pretty wrecked,” Max says.

“Of course,” Dean says, understanding.

“All these people kept coming in with, like, casseroles? I finally had to tell them all to go away,” Max says. He looks at the dining room table, covered in casseroles in their shiny tin foil wrappings. “You know, ‘cuz nothing says I’m sorry like a tuna casserole.”

Sam smiles at that. Max smiles back. Then he gestures to the lounge. They all take seats.

After a moment’s silence, Sam sighs.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, softly.

“I’m okay,” Max says.

“Your dad and uncle were pretty close, huh?” Gabriel comments.

“Yes, I guess,” Max says. “I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little.”

“But not lately much?” Sam asks.

“No, it’s not that,” Max says. “It’s just… we used to be neighbors when I was a kid, and we lived across town in this house. Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time.”

Sam nods. “Right,” he says. “So how was it in that house when you were a kid?”

“It was fine,” Max says blankly. “Why?”

“All good memories?” Dean interrogates. “Do you remember anythin’ unusual? Somethin’ involving your father and your uncle, maybe?”

Max shakes his head. “Why do ya—why do you ask?”

Sam watches Max closely.

“Just a question,” Dean says.

“No, there was nothing,” Max says. “We were totally normal.” He pauses, like he’s holding something back. “Happy.”

Gabriel stares at him. “Well, it’s nice when your family gets along.”

“That’s good,” Dean says. “Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off.”

“Right,” Sam says to Dean. He turns to Max, gentle and kind. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Max says.

-

The Winchesters and Gabriel walk down the drive to stand next to the Impala.

“I’m gonna be the one to say it, ‘cuz I think I have the most authority to: no one’s family is that happy ‘n normal,” Gabriel says. He has his hands in his pockets. “My family’s pretty damn messy, but I know it ain’t normal.”

“See when he was talkin’ about his old house?” Dean asks.

“He sounded scared,” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, fiddling with his collar to open it. He hates these fucking costumes. “Max isn’t tellin’ us everythin’. I say we go find the old neighborhood, find out what life was really like for the Millers.”

-

The suburbs always look the same to Dean. Really. It freaks him the hell out, especially because Sam and Gabriel seem to enjoy it so damn much. They’re standing on the sidewalk, talking to a man in his front yard. They’re all in their normal street clothes, Sam in his beloved brown Carhartt, Dean in a flannel and a jean jacket, and Gabriel wearing one of Sam’s Stanford shirts beneath his own jacket. Comfortable. Known.

“Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, almost twenty years now,” the man says. They’ve interrupted him while he was doing his lawnwork, still in his gardening gloves and worn-through red hat. “It’s nice and quiet. Why, you looking to buy?”

“No, no,” Sam says. “Actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street, I believe.”

“Yeah, the Millers,” Dean says. “They had a little boy called Max.”

“Right,” Sam agrees.

“Yeah, I remember,” the man says. He points at the houses. “The brother had the place next door.” The man looks at them. “So, uh, what’s this about? Is that poor kid okay?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Well, in my life I’ve never seen a child treated like that,” the man says. “I mean, I’d hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street. He was a—was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of.”

Gabriel fumes silently.

“This was going on regularly?” Sam asks, trying to reign in his own anger.

“Practically every day,” the man continues. “In fact, that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy, but the worst part... was the stepmother. She’d just... stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good.”

“Now, you said step-mother,” Dean says.

“I think his real mother died,” the man says. “Uh, some sorta… accident. Car accident, I think.”

Sam has his hand against his head, grimacing in pain. Gabriel touches his elbow gently.

“Are you okay there?” the man asks Sam.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says, wincing.

Dean holds out an arm toward Sam. “Thanks for your time,” he says.