Archive of Our Own

The serrated blade cut clean through the vampire’s, sending blood spewing into the air. Sam stepped back from the gush, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“That’s the lot of them,” Dean said, surveying the decapitated bodies around them. It had been a relatively small nest – just six vampires. For all that, they’d still left quite the trail of death behind them. Must have been newly turned to leave the bodies so carelessly, with no regard for attracting hunters.

“So,” Sam said. “Back to the bunker?”

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean protested. “Let’s get a beer first.”

Sam didn’t really want to spend the night in one of the town’s local bars, but Dean’s good mood made him smile anyways. “You have fun,” he said. “I think I’ll just head back to the motel for some sleep.”

Dean shrugged, still cheerful. It was good to see Dean getting back to his happier self – enjoying the life, the rhythm of researching, hunting, and celebrating. Some of it, Sam thought, had to do with the fact that they were working smaller cases again – no end of the world stuff, at least for a little while. While sometimes it felt a whole lot like playing whack-a-mole – a ghost here, a vampire there, another demon exorcised, and another cryptid that turned out to be the worst type of real – nothing could compare to saving people. When you saved the world, you didn’t really get to know who you were saving, and it usually came such a cost.

Whatever the cause, Dean was clearly buzzed. So was Sam, but he had a suspicions he’d be crashing soon. A night out – talking to someone who wasn’t his brother – would be good for Dean. Of course, Sam doubted he’d actually do more than any of the bartenders or other patrons tonight. He honestly wasn’t sure his older brother had figured it out yet, but lately, Dean’s interests had seemed far more specific and invested. Denial was a hell of a thing. Dean would figure it out eventually. He at least seemed to be doing better than Cas on that front.

The buzz lasted all the way back to the motel. Once Dean had dropped him off and driven away, though, Sam felt the tell-tale lag of adrenaline starting to fade. Yup. He needed some shut eye.

. . .

Sam startled awake to the sharp ring of his phone. He groped blindly for it in the dark, trying to find it by sound before giving up and flipping on the bedside lamp. He squinted through the light to check the time as he picked up. 11:00. He’d been asleep for less than two hours. The number was Dean’s. He hoped this was important.

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat.

“I think we’ve got another problem,” Dean said, voice muffled by the sounds of the bar on the other end. “I just watched someone – and not a cute chick someone – get drinks for free just by asking. I mean, he’s a little handsome, if you like that sort of thing, but there’s better picks here. And he got someone’s watch the same way.”

“Wait – like Andy?” Sam sat up. He shouldn’t have hoped it was important.

 “Or something, yeah. I don’t know for sure, but I think we need to find out.”

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.” He clicked off the call and stretched his back out with a sigh. He slept light enough, but a lifetime of hunting would leave anyone with some old injuries. He and Dean, Sam thought, probably had that doubled.

He splashed some water on his face and checked the address Dean had texted him. It wasn’t too far. He could walk it.

If this really was an Andy situation, Sam didn’t know what to think. It had been years since the yellow-eyed demon had did and, with him, Sam’s visions. By that point, Sam had been the last one left of Azazael’s superpowered children. Either there had been another Prince of Hell running around feeding babies demon blood thirty years ago, or this was something entirely new.

Despite how late it was, the bar was still plenty crowded. It took a moment for Sam to spot his brother and make his way to the high table he was at.

“Hey,” Sam said. “What do you think? Could this be another Nymph or something else not demon-related?”

“Don’t know that I’d say the Nymphs aren’t demon-related,” Dean said. “But I didn’t think they had this sort of specific control.”

“Well, we don’t really know, do we? It’s not like we tested it out. And they did seem pretty powerful.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I think this is something else… that’s him, there.” He dropped his voice and gestured to a bearded man behind him. The guy was fairly average looking – dirty blond hair, a medium build, curved nose, nothing particularly notable about his features. Sam studied him discreetly, watching the darts the man hurled at a corkboard on the wall. His throws weren’t very accurate. “Can Nymphs be white?” Dean asked, startling Sam out of his observations.

“What?”

 “You know what, I’ll just text Aneia.”

Sam stared. “She gave us her number in case we needed help, and you’re just going to text, Çan Nymphs be white’?”

“Can’t hurt to check,” Dean muttered, already pulling his phone out. It would probably be pointless to try to stop him.

And he did have a point. He had it in the most tactless way possible, but Nymphs weren’t angels or demons, possessing someone else. It could be helpful to know if they had a specific look or any distinguishing features that were unique to them – besides the empathy and the subtle patterns Sam had noticed appear the first time Aneia had panicked in front of them.

“Huh,” Dean said, holding up the phone for Sam to see. Under his text – which was just Hey. Can Nymphs be white? Aneia had replied:

Yes.

[image credit: Birch Tree Free Stock Image, by Travis Soule. https://stocksnap.io/photo/birch-tree-2MU9LSTGGN]

Also

[Wood color chart, by Leslie Alexander https://www.behance.net/gallery/6125503/wood-color-chart ]

“Okay, yeah. So they can look like anything,” Sam said. “Does… does that mean they’re actually trees?”

Dean shrugged. “No idea. I’m still trying to figure out if they even have a sense of humour. Guess this means our guy could be one, though,” Dean said. “But I don’t know… Shit. He’s on the move.”

The man had apparently given up on his game, and he was heading back to the bar. On the way, he bumped into a taller woman. She turned to face him, glaring. Her top was wet from her drink, which had spilled down the front. The man said something the man couldn’t make out, and the woman’s glare dropped away. She looked at him, a little awed and a little vacant. They continued to the bar together, ignoring the confused calls of her two friends.

“I see what you mean,” Sam said. Whatever the man’s power was, it was a lot less subtle than what they’d seen from Nymphs so far – a lot stronger and faster acting, too. It might just be an age or experience difference, but something about it did remind Sam of Andy. Damn. “So what are you thinking? We wait and follow him?”

Dean shook his head. “Tried that with Andy, remember?”

“Right,” Sam grinned. “And, if I recall, he talked you into giving up the Impala.”

Dean shot him a glare, refusing to take the bait. “Well, I doubt you’re still immune, so we’ll need to be more careful. Maybe we should call for backup.”

“Yeah. We don’t have any idea how he’s doing this, or who or what he is… Who are you thinking of calling?” Sam asked.

“Eileen?” Dean said. “I mean, what are the odds this guy signs, too?”

Sam shook his head. “She’s hunting a shifter down in Florida right now.”

“Okay. Aneia, then.”

“Aneia?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “She said Nymphs get influence from everyone, right? Even each other? So they must live resisting this sort of mind control crap.”

“Maybe…” Sam said. “I don’t know. You said yourself, this seems different. We need to know more before we jump to conclusions or drag someone else out here.”

“Great,” Dean muttered, studying the man. “I’ll just do that then… while staying far enough away he can’t use his voodoo shit on me.” He saw Sam open his mouth and rolled his eyes. “I know it’s not voodoo. I’ll ask around – see if someone else knows our mystery friend’s name. You hit the lore.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He pulled out his laptop as Dean approached the nearest other patron – a young brunette drinking with a couple friends.

Sam stared at the screen. They didn’t have much information to ‘hit the lore’ with. Where to start? He checked for a house fire, just in case, but the town hadn’t had any in the last half century.

If it was demon-related, it’d have to have come from a pretty powerful demon. There must have been omens. How old was the guy – late twenties? Early thirties? It was a pretty big range, and he’d have to check local newspapers and weather outlets to see if anything stood out, but it was the best they had.

He was glad he didn’t have to do it all by hand anymore. Once he found his sources, it only took a minute to ask the computer to find any references to cattle dying in his timeframe. Then he just had to wait for the results and repeat with other possible omens. He kept half an eye on Dean as he worked through the crowd, a friendly smile and the occasional wink getting most people talking to him. He ordered some food while he was waiting and started downloading the articles his program had found. He had a feeling this might turn into another long night.

There were a few possibilities – an occasional electrical storm, a pretty bad crop failure one year – but none of them lined up with each other. It just looked like some coincidences, isolated incidents across the eight years he’d searched with no connection or pattern. There was nothing about animals going missing, cattle mutilations, or sulphur in the air or water. Great. He’d have to widen his net.

He started a newspaper search of all the deaths in those eight years. There had to be something to give them a clue. Hopefully Dean was faring better in his part of the investigation. The waiter set a mixed basket of fries and onion rings – somehow the least greasy thing they sold – on the table, and Sam smiled at him gratefully. He took a look at the return from his search: about a dozen articles. Most of them were ordinary obituaries, elderly people passing after a full life. A few mentioned car accidents or terminal illnesses, but they didn’t scream monster, either. Except… one, dated twenty-nine years ago. It described an unknown accident. According to the paper, the victim – a woman in her thirties – was found dead with her face destroyed. There was no picture attached to the article and no explanation given.

Sam grabbed a few onion rings – he needed the salt and carbs – and started looking for police reports from the same time. There had to be more information out there. It took some time, and a few firewall breaches that probably weren’t legal, but he found it eventually. According to the coroner’s report, the woman had been brought into the morgue with her eyes burned out. They assumed foul play, but most of the details were censored, and no one was ever arrested. The original copies of the files were probably in the station, if they even still existed.

Still, he’d found something. It just wasn’t what he’d expected. There’d been in angel in town twenty-nine years ago, exactly when Sam was looking for a demon. It felt like it had to be related, but he didn’t know how. Heaven had never sent angels to get involved when Azazael was running around claiming children. Did they send someone to stop whatever was happening here, or had it been an accident? How did anyone have demon powers if there’d been an angel around to stop it?

There wasn’t enough information to piece it together, but they definitely had something supernatural on their hands, and it looked like the apocalypse was their best guess as to how. Sam sighed and texted Cas. They were going to be here longer than they expected, and they could probably use some back up. He grabbed a few of the onion rings. They were pretty good.

Sam poked around a little bit more, but nothing else was standing out. Nothing he saw mentioned people being hypnotised or controlled. He sighed and texted Cas the news; they were going to be here longer than they expected. The angel had stayed back at the bunker, saying he had full confidence that two Winchesters was more than enough to handle a vamp nest. Now that the case was evolving, they could probably use some back up if the angel had the time, but Cas had been in and out recently. He was obsessed with Nymphs since they’d run into them Seattle. He didn’t seem to think it could be chalked up to Heaven being shitty again and leave it at that. Until Dean came to the conclusion of his own investigation, it looked like it’d just be Sam and the onion rings.

“Hey.”

Sam turned toward the new voice.

“Did you come here alone?” A woman asked. She was pretty, leaning towards him across the table with the blue tips of her hair framing her face. Sam smiled awkwardly. Normally, Dean attracted the girls – whether or not he was trying to, and he usually was. She sat down across from him, returning his smile with a more genuine one. She was waiting for him to answer.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I’m here with my brother, but he’s…” Sam paused as he looked around. He couldn’t see Dean. He tried not to let his concern show. Dean was a grown-up. He could handle himself in most situations, and this was a bar – Dean’s home turf and a pretty distracting environment.

“Flirting?” The woman laughed.

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled a little. “Probably.” If it had been a few months earlier, he wouldn’t have been lying. And if they’d been there for any other reason, Sam wouldn’t have been worried, but he scanned the crowd again, and he couldn’t see the man Dean was keeping an eye on either. Just because Dean hadn’t been intending to talk to their suspect hypnotist didn’t mean he’d been able to avoid it. Maybe the guy had noticed Dean was onto him. Maybe he’d just liked the look of something Dean had and wanted it for himself. Shit. “Sorry,” Sam said. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”

The woman frowned, disappointed, but Sam didn’t have time to feel guilty. He took in the room as he stood – bar, dartboard, one entryway, a closed office, tables, stools, the short line for the bathrooms – he couldn’t see either of them anywhere. He pushed his way to the front of the bathroom line, ignored the glares and shouts of protest, just to check, but it was a dead end. No Dean.

Sam rushed out of the bar. The streets were near-empty, and the Impala wasn’t where they’d parked it by the bar. Bad sign. He scouted the area, listening for voices or the sound of a scuffle. There was a narrow alley down one side of the bar. The rest of the street was too well lit, even by the sparse streetlights, to be hiding anyone. Well, anyone human, at least.

He pulled out his phone and, without looking down at it, shot Cas a second, more urgent text. If Dean was off the radar, they had a problem. He snapped his phone shut, slipped it back in his pocket, and opened the bar door behind him. He crept towards the alley as it slammed shut again. If there was someone listening, it should’ve sounded like Sam went back inside.

He fell naturally into a half-crouch as stepped into the entrance of the alleyway. The sound of a fist slamming into a wall brought Sam’s gun to his hand. He was at a disadvantage with the light behind him, but there was someone there. He could just make out their figure in the shadows.

“Damn freak mugged me,” the figure growled.

“Dean?” Sam relaxed, tucking the gun back into his belt.

“He talked me out of my wallet, my jacket, and then he just walked off,” Dean said.

“Alright,” Sam said. “Are you okay?” His eyes were adjusting, and he could see Dean more clearly, but not well enough to check for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Dean sounded more pissed than hurt, which tracked.

“Do you think he knows what you were up to? Did he know you were asking about him in there?”

“Nah,” Dean said. “I was getting a drink when he came up. Got my to buy him one, then started talking about how cool my jacket was.”

“And next thing you know, you were outside, handing it over?” Sam guessed as they headed back out of the alley. “Okay. We need back up. I texted Cas – we’ll see if he comes. You still thinking about calling Aneia?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I don’t think he’s a Nymph, but I’d say their still our best shot for someone immune to this crap.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “You’re right.”

“Besides, I couldn’t find out a ton, but we got a name now. We should head back to the motel – see what we can find out before the cavalry arrives. You text her; I’ll drive.”

“Wait, Dean, the Impala—”

Dean took in the empty street. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

“Keys were in your pocket?” Sam guessed.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We better find this guy.”

With the car gone, they ended up walking back to the motel while Sam texted Aneia. He was surprised she responded immediately, just like she had to Dean, despite the fact that it was now well after midnight.

What’s the problem? She asked.

Do Nymphs not sleep?

We sleep. I’m bad at it. I assume that isn’t why you texted?

He couldn’t tell if she was annoyed, but he explained what he could of the situation.

Huh. Another bubble appeared as she typed. Not sure what he is. We’re probably immune? Or resistant, at least. Location?

He sent the motel’s address.

I should be there by tomorrow.

“What’s she saying?” Dean asked.

“She’s coming,” Sam said. “Like, now, I think. She said she’ll be here by tomorrow. Doesn’t know what our guy could be.”

“But she can take him?”

“She says ‘probably.’”

Dean nodded. “Well, we’ve had worse odds.”

Sam shook his head and glared at him. There was no reason to go tempting fate. This was already something bigger than they’d been expecting. Dean shrugged.

“And Cas?” he asked.

“No answer yet,” Sam said.

. . .

Cas was waiting at the motel when they got there. “I got your message,” he said.

“And standard procedure when that happens,” Dean started.

“Thanks for coming, Cas,” Sam said. They could worry about human texting etiquette later. The angel was here, and they had work to do. Cas cocked his head at Dean’s mood. “He took the car,” Sam explained. He set himself down on the bed tiredly. It had been a long day, and that was before he’d had walk between the bar and the motel both ways. He’d been looking forward to some sleep, not jumping straight into another, more complicated case.

Cas stepped next to Dean and awkwardly laid a hand on his shoulder. “My condolences,” he said.

Sam quickly turned his snort into a cough. He cleared his throat and pulled out his laptop, ignoring Cas’ confused expression and Dean’s glare. He saw the last webpage he’d been on – the report about the burnt out body. “Hey, Cas,” he said. “Will you take a look at this?”

The angel scanned the report quickly, taking in the news about the murder.

“Could this be related?” Sam asked.

“It is possible,” he said. He looked troubled. “Some angels can grant and remove psychic abilities, but it’s not an easy or pleasant process.”

“When is it?” Dean scoffed. “Let’s just get some sleep. There’s nothing more we can do tonight that we can’t do tomorrow.”

“Well, I could—” Sam started.

Dean shook his head. “Go to bed.”

. . .

The next morning came too early. Sam felt groggy and drained as he tried to pull his thoughts together. It was too bright to be dawn – probably sometime midmorning, like 8:00 or 9:00. Dean, on the other hand, seemed up and awake. He didn’t seem hung over or particularly warn out from the previous hunt. The front door opened, and Castiel entered the room with coffees for the three of them.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, patting the angel’s shoulder almost absently. Sam smiled gratefully as he took his, feeling the warmth in his hands. Castiel seemed happy as well, in his subdued, awkward way. “What now?”

“You said you got a name?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, taking a long drink form his coffee. “James Anderson.”

“Alright. I’ll see if I can find him.” Sam’s laptop was on the end table from the night before. He pulled it back over and started with the internet – looking for the usual: phone numbers, addresses, employment, social media profiles, anything to tell him about a James Anderson in Masonville. Masonville wasn’t the largest city, but unfortunately, James Anderson wasn’t a particularly uncommon name, either. Sam had managed to confirm there were two different James Andersons living in the city when there was a soft knock on the motel door.

Castiel opened, and they saw Aneia standing outside. Castiel stepped back to let her in. She stepped around him stiffly and waved to the Winchesters. Sam nodded to her. She came a little farther into the room, but Sam could see she still tensed when the door shut and Castiel moved back by Dean. She looked a lot better than the last time they’d seen her, but she definitely wasn’t totally comfortable with Castiel yet – maybe not totally comfortable with any of them.

“Thanks for coming,” Dean said. She smiled politely, then raised her hand in a ‘what’s up?’ motion. “Take a look,” he said, gesturing to Sam and his laptop. She followed the motion, turning towards Sam and moving closer to see what he was working on.

Once again, Sam ran through the events of the previous night and what little information they had so far, just like he had with Cas. Aneia nodded thoughtfully, expressions flickering across her face as he talked. She was able to telegraph her reactions remarkably well with out words. Interest, concern, understanding.

When Sam was finished, she pulled out a notepad. So what’s the plan? she asked.

“We’ve got two addresses to check out – two different James Andersons’. Problem is, one of them is our guy, and if we talk to him, we don’t know what he might ask us to do,” Sam said.

Okay. How do I help?  

“Well, Dean saw him, so he can recognize him again. It might just be a risk we have to take. But if you are immune, then you’ll be okay.”

She looked confused.

“If he tries to talk us out of our money or something, just let it go,” Dean said. “Save the element of surprise. But if he tells one of us to walk into the road or attack someone, you can help take him down.”

She nodded a little uncertainly. Not great in physical combat, but okay.

“If an angel did grant him these powers,” Castiel said. “There’s a significant chance I may also be able to resist persuasion.”

“Great,” Dean said. “So we can split up, check out both locations at once.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “You and Cas take one house; Aneia and I will take the other. Only issue is transportation. How did you get here?”

Train, she said simply.

He nodded, a little surprised. It made sense – how else would she have gotten there – but it was a bit of a hike from Masonville’s only Amtrak station to their motel. She must have a night train and walked a good chunk of the morning, just cus he’d texted for help.

“Guess that means we’re hoofing it,” Dean said with a sigh.

She shrugged. Or bus.

“Yeah. I think I’d rather walk than chance it with Masonville’s two-line bus system,” he said.

She shrugged again.

Sam and Aneia ended up heading towards the closer address, which was only 7 or 8 blocks away, according to the map. Aneia was a quiet presence. Sam realised that he’d never seen her this calm before. It was strange, knowing that she was older than him by far but still a child. Now, walking quietly, smiling as she took in the neighbourhood, she looked her age – her physical age of 13 or 14, not the 317 years she’d been alive. He felt guilty for bringing her into another dangerous situation.

What did he really know about her? He didn’t know if Nymphs had parents or families, where Aneia was from, how she and Kye knew each other – any of it. It was different with other humans; even when he didn’t know the specifics, he had a general idea of what life was like. He could pretty much say the same for angels now, too.

He was startled out of his thoughts as she waved to get his attention. He saw her face draw in an apologetic frown as he jumped. Her fist circled her chest quickly. He recognised the sign easily enough: “Sorry.” She tilted her head, the question implied. Are you okay?

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

She pointed to a house across the street. It had a blue-grey face and metallic numbers matching the address they were looking for. They were here.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” He took a moment to study the house. It looked nice – run of the mill middle class. He wouldn’t have picked it out as housing someone with the ability to get whatever they wanted just by asking. Maybe that was the point. He didn’t see the Impala anywhere, but whoever this James was, he’d have to be pretty stupid to park a freshly stolen car right on the street, in the open.

Nothing stood out to Sam one way or the other. They’d have to knock, see who was home and if he matched Dean’s description. “I’m going to have to talk to him,” Sam said.

Should I go with or wait for you here? Aneia wrote.

Sam considered. “We can say it’s a school shadowing opportunity. Let’s go.”

Aneia nodded, following him across the street and up the driveway. The door opened on the second knock. Sam cleared his throat slightly. “Hi,” he said.

“Can I help you?” The man asked. He looked like he could be the right age – late 20s or early 30s, white. He was a bit short, and his hair looked darker brown than Sam thought their guy’s had been, but in the daylight, it was hard to be sure.

“I’m Detective Gabriel, and this is Aneia Patterson – career shadowing opportunity.”

Aneia waved helpfully.

“We’re looking for a James Anderson,” Sam continued.

“I’m he,” he sighed.

“Great. Can we ask you a few questions?”

“Uh, sure. Come on in.”

They both followed the man into his home. He seemed normal enough – decently dressed, slightly rumpled clothes. He might have woken up recently, but that could be from a long night at the bar, a long night at work, or just a long night watching the TV.

“Where were you last night, around 11:30-12:00 pm?” Sam asked.

This Anderson shifted, eyeing Sam carefully. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“Of course. There was a car theft last night in the area. We’re trying to figure out what happened, if anyone saw or heard anything that might be helpful. Were you at home?”

“Yeah – I was. What, uh, what kind of car?”

Sam pretended to consult his notes while Aneia watched them both. It passed for something close to childish curiosity and excitement. “It was a black 1967 Chevy Impala,” he said.

Anderson shook his head. “No. No one around here owns something like that. If I’d seen it, I’d have noticed.”

The conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere. If Anderson could charm them, it didn’t seem like he wanted to. He glanced over at Aneia to check. Her face was interested and non-judgemental. Nothing screamed danger, and they didn’t really have anything helpful on Anderson.

“So you haven’t seen or heard anything?” Sam checked. “No, strange sounds, people coming and going at odd hours?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Alright. If you do think of anything, please, call this number.” Sam handed the man a business card. “Even if it doesn’t seem important. It might help.”

“Of course, detective.”

Sam shook his head as they left the house. That felt like a dead end. He had no idea if their Anderson was their hypnotist. They’d have to hope that Dean and Cas had been more successful. If Dean got a look at the other James Anderson, they could at least confirm which guy they should be following.

He should check with Aneia, though. See if she’d noticed anything that he hadn’t. “What did you think?” He asked.

She shrugged. Normal? Maybe deflective?

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Lots of people don’t like talking to the police. It might mean something, or it might not.”

You want to keep an eye on him?

“It’s hard to run a stakeout without a car.”

True. What about the Dean and Castiel?

“No news yet,” Sam said. “Let’s find out.”

. . .

Dean and Cas had taken the house farther from the hotel, so Cas teleported them about a block away – close enough they didn’t have to walk a few miles, far enough to avoid raising James Anderson’s suspicions when he saw them come. They walked the rest of the way to the house.

This house seemed rundown – paint peeling, chipped wood. Dean knocked sharply on the door. He wanted his damn car back. Floors creaked inside as someone approached the door. As soon as the door opened, Dean forced himself to check his temper. He wasn’t looking at the man from the bar – he was looking at a young man, twenty at most, with light blond hair and a nervous expression.

“Yeah?” the kid said.

“I’m Detective Allman; this is Detective Herschel. Can we ask you some questions?”

“Oh,” the kid said. “Uh, did something happen?”

“There was a car stolen nearby.” The kid straightened, just a little, and Dean watched him as he kept talking. “We’re checking the whole neighbourhood. If you’ve seen anything…”

“What does the car look like?”   

“It’s black,” Castiel said.

Dean resisted the urge to shoot him a glare. Black was hardly a full description of his baby.

“Uh, okay. We have a few black cars on this street, but I mean, most of ‘em have been here forever.” He shifted on his feet.

“It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala,” Dean clarified.

The kid shook his head. “I, um, I don’t really know what that means,” he said. He sounded embarrassed.

Dean sighed. “Older car – four doors, black body, silver accents. Ring any bells?”

“No, sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen anything.” He stepped back, starting to close the door.

There was definitely something up with this kid, but Dean couldn’t really blame him if he was cop-shy. Wasn’t like he and Sammy were model citizens. “Wait,” Dean cleared his throat. The young man froze. “Can we get your name? In case we have questions later.”

“I guess, yeah. I’m Daniel. Daniel Anderson.”

“Alright. Thanks for your time, Daniel,” Dean said.

“Does anyone else live here?” Castiel asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Daniel looked away. “My older brother. But he’s not here right now. He’s at work—”

“Here’s my card,” Dean said. “Let him know we came by, and if either of you remember anything or see anything that might help, give me a call. Even if you don’t think it’s important.”

“Sure.” He took the card hesitantly and shut the door.

The hunters headed back down the driveway. “So,” Cas said. “That wasn’t him.”

“Nope,” Dean agreed.

“Do we wait for his brother to get back?”

Dean felt his phone vibrate. “Hold on. Sam’s calling.” He picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

“You find anything?” Sam asked.

“Not sure,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel. “Kid answered the door. Said he lives with his brother, who could be our guy, but no way to know for certain til we see him. You?”

“About the same here. There’s a James Anderson at the address, but I can’t tell if it’s him,” Sam said. “You got a better look than I did.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You get a picture of him? Maybe I could take a look.”

“No, we didn’t. We were thinking of scoping things out a bit here. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great. We’ll hold down the fort here. Meet back at three?” Dean offered. “Late lunch and hopefully some news?”

“Sure,” Sam said. That gave them about four hours to find some sort of evidence before planning their next move.

The phone clicked as Dean hung up. He looked around the open, lower-middle class neighbourhood. “How do we have a stakeout without the Impala?” he muttered.

“I could stay nearby – invisible,” Cas offered.

“And I’ll just stalk the house?” Dean joked. He didn’t know what he would do, but it was a good idea. Invisibility allowed for a pretty perfect stakeout.

“Good point,” Cas said, furrowing his brows.

“Relax, Cas,” he said. “You do your thing. I’ll find somewhere to wait.”

Cas smiled and nodded. Then he was gone. Dean held back a sign until he was on the next street. He hated this new uncertainty between them. After all they’d been through, Cas was one of the few people he really felt he could trust. He needed that.

Lately, every interaction they had felt charged, like Dean couldn’t stop thinking about what he wasn’t saying. It was far too early to get a drink, but he could drown his worries in onion rings. Never to early for an onion ring – especially if the bar’s were as good as they looked. It was the only place they knew Anderson frequented, and there was no way a man who could get anything he wanted was working a regular nine-to-five. If that kid was their hypnotist’s brother, he was being lied to or he was covering.

. . .

Sam sighed quietly. After calling Dean, who said they didn’t have anything certain either, he and Aneia had looked for a place to keep an eye on the house. It was difficult to find a way that wouldn’t look suspicious in a relatively mundane neighbourhood. Aneia had found a relatively close bus stop with a decent view of the house they were keeping under watch. Sam had lapped the neighbourhood on the longest route he could find so it wouldn’t look like he was stalking the house. Aneia sent him occasional texts – just saying she hadn’t noticed anything of note. In the few times Sam had been close enough to the house himself to check it out, the place had been quiet.

Together, they’d been watching the house for some hours now, without any signs of suspicious activity. He finished his third lap around and sat down next to Aneia at the bus stop. Last her text said, she’d seen Anderson pass in front of the windows to the kitchen. That was about forty minutes ago.  

I don’t think it’s him. She held up the note.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Is there a bus from here that actually goes somewhere we want to be? The motel or the bar Anderson was at?”

She studied the schedule on the post and pointed to one of the columns. A bus in twenty minutes. Sam didn’t recognize the end stop. “You know when we need to get off?”

She nodded, gesturing to something on her phone.

“Great,” he said. He hesitated. “Could I, um, ask you for a favour?”

Aneia looked over at him, eyebrows arched inquiringly.

He ran his hands over each other. He knew it could be rude to ask, but he’d been thinking about it since they’d first met. “Could you help me practice ASL?”

She studied him, brows furrowing. After a moment, she wrote, Are you fluent?

“Definitely not,” he said, sheepishly. “Sorry.”

She shook her head, curls bouncing at her ears. Not a criticism. Just checking it won’t enchant you.

Oh. That did make sense.

Aneia tucked the notebook away and turned to face him fully. She flicked her pointer finger out from her mouth, smiling. He recognized that one: “Sure.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. “I’m trying to learn, for Eileen.”

She lifted her eyebrows and stared at him.

“What?” he asked.

She nodded towards his hands.

“Oh! Right.” He cleared his throat reflexively and lifted his hands, slowly signing, “Sorry.” It felt clumsy.

“It’s okay,” Aneia signed. She kept her movements slow and clear. “You saying…?”

Sam missed one of the words, but he was able to get the jist of the question. He tried to repeat what he’d said, about meeting Eileen and wanting to learn ASL. He’d picked some stuff up from her, and he’d found a couple video resources online, but living in the bunker didn’t provide a ton of practice opportunities.

Aneia was encouraging, supplying signs when he fingerspelled things and reading his expressions when she signed to see where she needed to slow down or repeat herself. Her dialect was different than he was used to. A more experienced signer like Eileen might’ve had some idea where she’d learned. Or when she’d learned? Maybe a combination of both.

It was difficult for Sam at first, but just like when he talked with Eileen, the more he got into the conversation, the more natural it felt. They stuck with basic topics – likes, dislikes, family and friends. Aneia referred to Kye often as her brother. Sam didn’t know if she meant that literally or how Nymph families worked, but they were clearly close.

“Where is Kye?” he asked.

“He’s back in Iowa. We …” She saw he missed the last sign and spelled it carefully. “I-n-v-e-s-t-i-g-a-t-i-n-g.”

Oh. They’d been on a case. “You didn’t have to come,” he said.

She shook her head, smiling. “No problem. Happy to help you.”

The bus rolled into the stop, and they boarded. Aneia pulled out her phone, checking the stops again. She held up the number four and gave him a thumbs up.

4 stops.

She slouched carefully back in her seat, looking like she was totally at ease. If she weren’t holding just a little too still, Sam would’ve bought it. The bus was pretty empty, but Aneia kept her eyes moving between the few other passengers, even as she avoided looking too directly at any of them of moving too fast. She was on-guard. Sam took it as a hint that, at least for until they got back to the motel, the conversation was on pause.

It wasn’t long before they were back, the bus stop just a few blocks from their hotel. It had actually been pretty easy. Sam wondered if Dean had bothered giving the bus system a shot, or if he’d stuck to walking. He glanced at his phone. 2:50. They were right on time.

Sam opened the door to the room, letting Aneia through first. She cocked her head but didn’t draw any more attention to it. Dean was already there, feet propped on the table next to a bag of takeaway from the bar. He noted with surprise that he didn’t see Cas anywhere.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Where’s Cas?”

Dean pulled his boots off the table so there was room for them and sat up. “He’s watching the other house. We only talked to a relative so Cas is doing the invisible stakeout thing on his own. Got some food – didn’t see James at the bar yet. I take it you guys struck out?”

“We think so,” Sam said. “That James Anderson doesn’t seem like our guy.”

Dean nodded, sighing. Aneia pulled out her phone, tilting the screen so they could see a photo. It was taken through the window from a distance, so it wasn’t the clearest image, but that was the guy she and Sam had talked to. Dean studied it a moment. “I mean, I can’t be totally sure, with the—” he gestured vaguely at the entire thing, “No offense. But yeah. That doesn’t look like him.”

Aneia shrugged and nodded her understanding.

Sam sat. “Alright. It sounds like it’s your James Anderson, but there’s not much more we can do til Cas gets back. What’d you get?”

Dean grabbed something wrapped – probably a burger – and some onion rings for himself, then pushed the bag over to them, nodding at it. “There weren’t a lot of options, so I just grabbed a few of whatever looked good.”

“Okay. And any reason you had to get lunch from this bar?” Sam asked, trying not to wrinkle his nose as he picked out a burger for himself before passing the bag to Aneia.

“Hey, it was as good a reason as any to see if that’s where Anderson’s holing up during the day. Besides, onion rings.”

“Fair point,” Sam said. At least the burger he’d picked had some lettuce.

“Two fair points,” Dean countered.

Sam rolled his eyes, noticing that Aneia was looking at the bag, head tilted. She looked back at them, question clear in her expression.

“Mh—” he said, swallowing a bit quickly. “Cas doesn’t eat much, so just grab whatever looks good. I mean – assuming you eat?”

She nodded, then signed, “Money?”, not bothering to pull out her notebook to write.

“What?” Dean asked, as Sam said, “No, don’t worry about it. It’s the least we can do for you coming out here.”

She lifted her hand to her chin and let it fall forward. The sign for thanks and – if memory served correctly – some people also used it as a sign for your welcome. He smiled.

“What’s up?” Dean asked again as Aneia reached for the bag curiously. Sam summed up their two sign conversation, and the Nymph poked through the options, sniffing a few before settling on one.

She unwrapped what looked like a cheese melt of some kind and pulled out her notebook. Is everything so improvisational with you three?

“Pretty much,” Sam said.

. . .

Castiel didn’t like to rely on his invisibility, especially since the Leviathan incident. It felt wrong now – deceptive and potentially underhanded. Before, it hadn’t bothered him, but before, he hadn’t really understood things from a more human perspective.

Still, there were times the case required it, and he knew this was one of them. It wasn’t just that Dean didn’t have the Impala for the brothers’ usual form of stakeout. He’d sensed something when he and Dean were talking to Daniel. Something off. Not quite dishonesty, but not far off. Something was wrong with Daniel, and Cas hadn’t wanted to say anything to Dean because the man was worked up enough about the Impala. He’d seen the effort Dean put in to dialling it back once he realised Daniel wasn’t the thief. It wouldn’t have been fair for them to interrogate the kid.

It didn’t take long for Castiel to decide he’d made the right call. He watched Daniel move around his own house, and something about the cautious way he interacted with his space, the way he jumped at the slightest noises – it reminded Cas of Sam and, on the man’s worse days, of Dean, too. The angel had been around enough wary, traumatised people to recognise the look. He’d been there himself.

Daniel’s older brother hadn’t come home by 3:00. Castiel sent a text – he was going to stay, observing the situation further. It was close to 4:00 pm before Castiel saw a man walking up to the house. The man matched Dean’s description of the guy from the bar. He entered the house carelessly, letting the door slam shut behind him as he stretched out with a sigh. Daniel jumped when he heard the door.

The man – presumably James – went straight for the table, ignoring his brother, who was copying something from a textbook. Daniel shot a glance at James, who was scrolling through his phone, legs sprawled askew under the table, arm slung over the back of the chair. The kid kept writing, pencil scratching nervously. Castiel moved to look over his shoulder: he was taking notes on a section of a chemistry textbook.

Whether or not James was the hypnotist, he was undoubtedly the cause of Daniel’s distress. The tension in the room had gotten significantly worse since James sat down, while James acted like he didn’t notice anything was off. After a few minutes, James cleared his throat, still looking at his phone. Daniel froze and looked up. James pointed to the fridge. “Get me a beer, wouldya Dani?”

“Sure, yeah,” Daniel said. He left his books on the table, and pulled open the fridge. He grabbed a beer and paused. “Any ideas on what you want for dinner?”

James sighed. “Just make whatever. Your food all tastes the same anyways.”

Cas frowned. It didn’t sound like a sibling jab. Daniel laughed it off as he set the beer in front of James, but it was a nervous laugh, and the kid took himself right back out of arm’s length, opening the cabinets – presumably to check options. He looked through mixes and box meals as quietly as possible, standing on his toes to reach the higher shelves. James snorted but didn’t get up to help. Eventually, Daniel pulled down a box of something called Hamburger Helper Alfredo.

He set water on the stove to boil, then turned back nervously. “Uh, there were some police here earlier,” he said.

“What?” James stood up suddenly, shoving the chair away from the table. Daniel took a hesitant half-step back, almost bumping into the stove.

“They just had some questions about a car? I don’t know – I hadn’t heard anything about it, okay?”

James took a step closer. “What exactly did you say?” The venom in his words was indescribable.

“I told you – nothing! I don’t know anything about a stolen car! You—you said the one in the garage, you bought that, right?”

James cursed under his breath. “You’d do anything for attention, wouldn’t you? Dirty trap. What – some cops show up so you just had to go running your mouth? This is the thanks I get for taking care of you since our parents died? You tell the cops all about the new car I got?”

Daniel shook his head, hands coming up defensively as his brother dragged him forward by his shirt, shaking him. “I didn’t say anything about you or the car, really. Just – they wanted me to give you this—” he hurriedly fished the business card from his pocket, raising it like an olive branch.

James snatched it and stalked away, reading the card intently. It had one of Dean’s many aliases on it with a number to call. Daniel fixed his shirt, pulling the hem straight with shaking fingers.

Castiel had seen enough. If it wouldn’t jeopardise the case, he would have taken Daniel from the situation right then, before James could turn his fury back on him.

James sighed. “Look. I get it. Dad died and this is your fucked up way of coping. I put up with it. But this—” he held up the card “—this is stupid and dangerous. What – you think you’ll find anyone else to tolerate your shit? I feed you. I keep a roof over your head! It is none of your business how I do it or what I do when I’m not in this house.” He was working himself back to a rage, gesturing wildly.

“I know,” Daniel said. “I should have … should have pretended I wasn’t home, or—”

“If the cops come after me, it’ll be a mess. Just like last time, and whatever happens, that be your fault. You did this!”

“I’m sorry! James, I’m sorry – I was just trying to help.”

James stepped right up to Daniel, glaring down at his younger brother. “You better be,” he growled. “I give you a lotta leeway cus you’re family, but you keep making slip ups like that, and I’ll have to fix you, too.”

Daniel nodded, staring back with wide eyes. James seemed satisfied for the moment, dropping himself back into his chair like the argument had taken all the energy out of him. “I do everything around here…” he grumbled.

His younger brother, still shaking, breathed in and out carefully, turning back to the stove where the water was starting to boil.

Fix. Technically, James Anderson hadn’t admitted to anything that sounded like code for mind-control, and Castiel had more than enough evidence that the man was a threat, if only to his younger brother. He returned to the motel with a silent flip of his wings.

. . .

The Winchesters and Aneia were seated around the motel’s tiny corner table when Cas appeared in the room. There were some wrappers scattered on the table, and Dean was working his way through a thing of onion rings.

They all looked up. Aneia straightened and gave Castiel a tentative wave.

“Hey,” Sam said. “How’d it go?”

Dean gestured for him to sit.

“I believe we’ve found our James Anderson,” Cas started. Dean nodded expectantly. “I observed Daniel’s older brother. While I did not see him do anything supernatural, the way he spoke implied he could.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“He threatened Daniel—threatened to “fix” him.”

Aneia cocked her head, eyes wide as she watched them discuss. There was something strange and tense in her expression. Castiel knew she still feared him. She was incredibly polite about it, doing her best to treat him normally, but he could see she was careful: about where she was, what she said. This felt like something else, though, and Castiel didn’t trust his people-reading skills when it came to figuring out what. He exchanged a quick look with Dean, hoping the man would pick up on Castiel’s question. He often did.

Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, add to the fact that his name’s a match, and – I’m assuming – his description?”

Cas nodded. “Average height, shorter than you. Short brown hair. No obvious scars.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Well, either he’s the guy from the bar or we’ve got two problems in this town.”

“Three,” Dean snorted. “We’re already on two.”

Aneia looked at him questioningly.

“We were here for a vampire nest,” Sam filled in.

So what’s the plan now? She wrote.

“I don’t believe Daniel has anything to do with his brother’s crimes. We should try to remove him from the situation before we confront James,” Castiel said. “From what I saw, I doubt James would hesitate to use him.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “That’s a good point. What do you think we should do? I mean, we can’t talk to him with James in the house.”

“No,” Castiel said. “But I could bring him here without James seeing anything.”

“Wait,” Dean and Sam both started, voice overlapping as they processed the implication.

Aneia held up a hastily written note. Kidnap him?

“I saw Daniel. The boy is in real danger, and our hunt is making it worse.” He held up a hand before either of the Winchesters could protest. Aneia watched him carefully. “If it’s necessary, then yes, I will take him out of the house, for his own good.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Aneia slapped her right hand against the table, left hand writing furiously. They startled, turning to stare at her as she finished crafting her point. She held up the notepad, noticing their shock for the first time. She tensed as they read the page. This is about control. You can’t kidnap him – it has to be his choice. She’d curled back into herself but she kept eye contact, glare firm.

“Okay—” Sam said. “But we have to be able to talk to him to give him a choice, right?”

She nodded slowly.

“I know you don’t want to scare him, but Cas grabbing him might be our best option. We won’t force him to stay if he doesn’t want to.”

Aneia started to shake her head, but it was Dean who answered. “You two might be able to talk to him,” he said. “Daniel’s already seen Cas and I, so if we show up again, it might spook him. But if it’s you two, you might be able to get in the door.”

“Then we wouldn’t need Cas to grab him,” Sam said, nodding. “It could work, as long as James is out of the house when we go.”

Cas tipped his head. He was unsettled by the way he’d seen James treat Daniel. His instincts – the protective nature that working with the Winchesters had strengthened – told him to get Daniel away from the threat and deal with the consequences later. Aneia had a point, though. Forcing Daniel could make things worse, and it’d be treating him more like a monster than someone to protect, even if it was for his own good.

Aneia was still watching him; Sam was, too, waiting for his response. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “But you will call me if something goes wrong.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sam said. “We can handle this. What about you and Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “He wasn’t at the bar when I went earlier…”

“You think he might show up tonight?”

“It’s a long shot,” Dean said. “But it’s the only place besides his house that we know he actually goes.”

“If Dean is going to stake out the bar,” Cas said, “I could take you two to the Anderson house, wait for James to leave, and see where he goes while you talk to Daniel.” He nodded to Dean. “I’ll be able to let you know when James is coming to the bar.”

“Okay,” Sam said, palms slapping against his thighs as he stood. “Everyone good to go?”     

Dean checked his gun in his belt and gave Sam a double thumbs-up. Aneia nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Castiel stepped in closer, readying himself to transport so many people at once. It was doable, but not ideal. Sam and Dean moved closer – familiar with this method of travel, even if they normally avoided it. Aneia just stared. When she caught the angel’s gaze, she raised her hands and scrunched up her face, forming a silent question.

“It will be faster if I take you,” Castiel said. “Dean says the feeling can make people motion sick, but I assure you it’s safe.”

She held her notebook across her chest with one arm as she came around the table. She raised her other to throat, pointer finger curled, and twisted it in a short locking motion. Castiel glanced towards Sam for a translation.

“Voices off,” he said. “Aneia isn’t going to speak to Daniel.” She nodded resolutely.

“Of course,” Castiel said. “That is your decision.” He placed his hands on the Winchesters’ shoulders, and Sam put his hand on Aneia’s. It wasn’t strictly necessary – more a symbolic gesture – but it helped Castiel concentrate his powers. He didn’t want to leave anyone behind. The ground lurched away from his feet in a familiar spinning sensation. It was freeing.

He dropped Sam and Aneia off a few blocks from the Anderson house, both of them looking green and doing their best not to show it. Next, he moved to the alley beside the bar, dropping off Dean, who made no effort to hide his disgust. Cas knew Dean hated ‘riding angel airlines,’ as the hunter called it.

“I’ll be back as soon as James is headed this way,” he promised. Dean nodded, and Castiel turned invisible for the second time that day.

. . .

The bar was loud and far more crowded than it had been in the afternoon. Dean felt the bartender give him a curious onceover as he came in, probably recognising him from before. He wove his way through the small groups, recognizing a handful of people form the night before – regulars who’d had a good enough lay of the land to know who Anderson was. He ordered a beer, and the bartender served him without comment.

Dean took a seat and scanned the faces again – no sign of Anderson yet. Of course, he hadn’t shown up until about 9:00 the night before. There was still plenty of time for him to put in an appearance. He’d just have to wait for word from Sam or Cas.

He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of the beer. It was cool and a little bit bitter. The chatter made pleasant enough background noise to wait to.

Dean’s phone buzzed just as Castiel stepped in the door. Sam had texted that Anderson was leaving the house. “He on the way?” Dean asked, as the angel sat down next to him. He offered Cas the bear instinctively, before remembering that Cas rarely ate or drank since he became an angel again. Right.

“He is,” Cas agreed, eyeing the drink curiously.

“Sorry,” Dean said. While bars might as well have been Dean’s natural habitat, Cas looked uncomfortable. Of course, he never quite blended in with humans. Dean smiled to himself.

He’d missed this – the quiet moments with a beer and a good friend, tucked between the fights and world-ending crises. He’d take them where he could get them, even if that was on a case, waiting for the next fight to begin.

And Cas wasn’t just a good friend. He was the closest person to Dean aside from Sam – Dean’s best friend. Or more – a small voice in his head suggested, but he shrugged of the emotions threatening to rise. He had to avoid them. He didn’t want to think about what they were, what they could mean. They could change things. Why bother with the uncertainty when he knew he could have this?

Him and Cas, waiting to kick ass.

. . .

Sam watched the garage open and the Impala roll out. He texted Dean quickly. Somewhere, he was sure Cas was following the car, making sure the bar was Anderson’s destination. No doubt now that they had the right house. “We should go,” he said.

The house looked like a lot of the joints he and Dean had been around – dirty and a little dark. Sam crossed the street, Aneia close behind him. There were lights on in at least one of the rooms; Sam could see them shining through the window curtains as he walked up the steps. Hopefully, that meant that James hadn’t taken Daniel with him.

Sam knocked on the door. Aneia stepped up beside him, head tipped to the side like she was listening to something. When no one opened the door, he knocked again and Aneia started writing something.

Quiet footsteps inside.

He couldn’t hear anything, but he trusted her. Someone was home. He stepped away from the door. “Okay,” he said softly. “What are you thinking?”

His name, maybe? She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

“Maybe,” Sam said. “Could scare him off.”

She shrugged.

Sam moved back to the door and knocked again, ready to try calling out the kid’s name if it didn’t work. The door swung open, revealing a slender figure and the shadowed inside of the home. “Yes?” the young man asked.

“Hi,” Sam smiled. “Are you Daniel Anderson?”

“Uh, yeah. Can I help you?” He took a small step forward as they talked – out of the shadows, but still partially shielded by the doorframe – and Sam could see him more clearly. He had the same brownish-blondish hair as his brother, the same flat nose and square-ish jaw, but he was shorter and he held himself less confidently.

“We need to talk to you about your brother. You met some of our colleagues earlier?”

Daniel took a quick step backwards. “I- I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Shit. Sam started forward, no idea what he was about to do. He stopped as Aneia reached her hand out, resting it gently against the open door. She gestured to the interior of the house, intention clear, at least to Sam.

“You’re not police,” Daniel said. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Aneia met Sam’s eyes and nodded, tipping her head towards the open doorway.

“I’m Sam. This is Aneia,” he said. “We’re here to help you. Can we come in?”

Daniel’s gaze flicked between the two of them, eyes narrowing on Aneia in confusion. Sam didn’t keep waiting for an answer. They needed the chance to talk Daniel down, even if it wasn’t a conversation the kid wanted to have. He stepped over the threshold, and Daniel scrambled back out of his way. Sam heard Aneia sigh as she followed him softly into the house.

“Thanks,” Sam said, pretending he’d misinterpreted Daniel’s stare as an invitation. “Listen, we can help you—”

 “Help me? Why would I need help?” Daniel’s voice cracked a little.

Aneia shut the door with a light click, and Sam felt himself twitch. Daniel jumped nervously, gaze drawn immediately back to her. She met his gaze for a moment, then started writing.

We know what James can do. Her words were difficult to read in the semi-dark.

Daniel peered at the paper intently but didn’t move, like he was reluctant to get any closer to them. He shook his head, confused. “What?”

“We know what James can do,” Sam repeated for her. “We’re going to take care of it. We don’t want you to get hurt in the process. Come with us. We can keep you safe.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Was it possible Daniel didn’t actually know James could control people? “Your brother has been scamming people. Using his abilities to take what he wants,” Sam explained.

Daniel shook his head. “He said he wouldn’t—you don’t understand. He’s not a bad person.”

Aneia shifted her weight away from the door, coming fully into the entryway and a little bit closer to Daniel as she started writing again. We know James isn’t a normal man. I’ve known people like your brother. It would be enough if it was just you he hurt, but it’s not. Let us help.

“It’s not his fault,” Daniel protested. “He’s… cursed. He didn’t choose to be like this.”

“We’re not saying he did. If it’s a curse, maybe we can help. We’ve got some experience.”

Daniel looked at him sharply. “Really? You believe me?”

Sam and Aneia both nodded.

Daniel studied both of them like they were something he couldn’t understand. “Who are you?”

Sam decided to take a chance. “When I was a kid,” he said softly, “something killed my mom. My dad wouldn’t rest til he killed it. I’ve spent my life chasing ghosts and monsters and the things in the shadows. My brother – one of the ‘police officers’ you met earlier? We work together.”

“You think you can help James?”

“Maybe,” Sam said as Aneia started writing. The last hypnotist they’d met had ended up shot. If this went the same way…

He glanced at Aneia’s notebook, hoping she wasn’t about to tell the kid they might have to kill his brother.

I know we can help you.

Daniel’s shoulders dropped. “Where do you want to go?” he asked quietly.

. . .

It wasn’t long before James Anderson entered the bar. Damn. Dean had been taking for granted how much faster driving was than walking, especially in a slick beast like his Baby. Cool it, he told himself. Anderson would get his for messing with the Impala, but this was the last place Dean wanted to have that fight. The bar was full of innocent patrons, people who could get caught in the crossfire or pulled into the fight itself by Anderson’s magic words. Instead, Dean nodded discreetly as Anderson walked by, signalling Cas. That’s our guy.

He hoped Sam and Aneia were able to get Daniel out of the house. For now, Dean was content to keep an eye on Anderson, but he didn’t want to let the guy get away for long. Cas was studying Anderson now, a perplexed look on his face.

“I highly doubt this human has ever been touched by a demon…” he said, just audible over the noise of the bar.

“Really?” Dean said. “So it’s an angel then?”

Cas hesitated. “I can’t be certain,” he said slowly, “but it seems like the only possibility.”

Dean swore low. “Do we think his powers will work like demon-granted ones?”

“If anything,” Cas said, “they’ll be stronger. We need to be careful.”

“Okay,” Dean said, thinking through their options. “I’m going to call Sam, see how things are going on their end.”

“Wait— If they are speaking with Daniel, it may be best not to interrupt.”

Yeah. Cas had a point. “I’ll text then,” Dean said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He shot Sam a quick message, then, just in case she had better access to her phone, he texted Aneia as well. “Hopefully we’ll hear something back. Until then, I guess we watch and wait.”

Anderson was at the bar, talking up one of the waitresses while the bartender watched him. So far, Dean hadn’t actually seen Anderson work his mojo on any of the staff. He never asked them directly for free food or drinks; he got someone else in the bar to pay for it. Probably less likely to get kicked out or permanently banned when his mark wised up to it that way.

The conman paid for his first drink himself in cash, turning to survey the bar. Dean brought his gaze elsewhere, pretending to be interested in a pair of women a few seats down from Anderson. They didn’t seem to being paying Anderson any particular attention, though a few of last night’s regulars were giving him a quiet berth. Dean scanned the rest of the bar, but he couldn’t predict where Anderson might be headed for this night’s thrills.

Hunter instincts lead him to pick spots with decent vantage points, even when he wasn’t on a case. He and Cas could surveil the room; they’d just have to be subtle about it. Anderson already knew Dean’s face.

. . .

The bus ride back to the motel was quiet and uncomfortable. Daniel definitely wasn’t happy to be with them. He seemed more resigned than anything else. He kept moving his focus between Sam and Aneia like he was trying to figure them out. Aneia, for her part, was strangely uncommunicative again – not that she was the chattiest person to begin with. Even in writing, her words were usually carefully chosen.

Some of the people on the bus gave them strange looks, like they noticed something off about the group. When Daniel followed them off the bus, the driver whispered something to him, but he shook his head and stepped down onto the curb.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked.

“Of course,” Daniel said. “She was just—it’s not my normal route,” he explained. “I told her everything was fine. It’s fine.”

Sam couldn’t tell if he was trying to reassure them or himself more. He’d kept out of arms reach right up until they were on the bus, and he stepped back now that they were back on the sidewalk.

“So,” Daniel said. “You don’t talk?”

Aneia shook her head and started writing. Not worth the risk. She gave him a small smile. Daniel looked back to Sam, eyes wide and suspicious. Aneia shook her head again and flicked her hand to bring Daniel’s attention back to her. She made a small negative motion towards Sam, then tapped her own chest.

Sam could figure near enough what she was trying to communicate – that there wasn’t outside pressure on her, that Sam wasn’t dangerous. Sam didn’t know if Daniel understood. Either way, the kid didn’t look reassured. He dropped the topic as they kept walking. When they rounded the corner, he balked at the sight of the motel.

“What – uh – what are we doing here?” Daniel asked, eying Sam warily.

“We have a room here while we’re in town—it’s safe and we can talk openly.” Sam opened the door, stepping back so Daniel wouldn’t feel crowded. He could see how ‘cheap motel room’ didn’t exactly scream trustworthy. They’d all but pressured him out of his house to begin with.

Aneia brushed past Sam confidently, and Sam nodded for Daniel to follow her. “It’s alright,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you.” That was the wrong thing to say. Daniel entered the motel room quickly and turned back to face Sam, hands coming up placatingly.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m here. What do you want from me?”

. . .

Anderson was clearly in a bad mood, edgy. He’d gotten a few drinks of the other patrons at the bar, but without any of non-supernatural charm to it, they were looking at him with confusion faster than Dean expected, and the way the man slammed his glass down on the bar between drinks screamed simmering rage.

Cas had said their conversation with Daniel had pissed his brother off. It definitely didn’t look like he’d calmed down. Anderson finished his drink, muttering something to himself before turning to watch the waitress he’d been talking to earlier. She was heading back to the bar with a tray of dirty glasses, and Anderson turned a clearly forced smile on her. Dean couldn’t make out what was being said, but the waitress didn’t look pleased. She set the glasses down on the bar and shook her head, one of those fake customer service smiles on her face as she glanced towards the bartender nervously.

Dean tapped his hand on the table and subtly directed Cas’s attention to Anderson. The man’s smile had faltered, just for a second, turning into something hard and cruel before his smile returned. Whatever he said next had the waitress following him, the expression on her face a little dazed. It wasn’t normal hypnotism like Dean had seen last night. The waitress didn’t seem like she was falling for his charms or being convinced to do something. She seemed confused about why she was listening to him, upset and out of it.

Dean checked his phone anxiously. He hadn’t heard back from Sam or Aneia. He didn’t know if they’d had any success, and it didn’t look like they were going to be available for back like they’d planned if Dean had to start the fight sooner rather than later.

Anderson led the waitress further. The bartender started to say something, but he froze, slack jawed, at a retort from Anderson. Damn. The man didn’t care if he was being subtle anymore. Dean didn’t think he was aiming for something petty like cash or a free beer this time.  

“We gotta move,” Dean said. “You wait for him outside.”

Cas nodded and slipped away from the table, manoeuvring through the crowd to get to the door. Dean stayed where he was, pretending to be absorbed in his drink.

He waited until Anderson got closer. They had to find a way to get him out of here without other people getting caught up in it. Dean let his beer tumble as he stood quickly, the table tilting precariously. “It’s you!” he snapped, drawing Anderson’s attention.

Anderson must have been buzzed – or have just scammed too many people to keep track of – because he didn’t recognise Dean right away. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on his face, and he frowned.

“You totally hustled me last night!” Dean snapped.

 Anderson scoffed. “No one likes a sore loser, man. You shouldn’t play if you can’t hack it.”

The other patrons were starting to turn away, but Dean had Anderson’s full attention. Good. “I—I always hack it.” He let his words slur. “There’s something about you… something weird…”

Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t we take this outside,” he said with false congeniality. “I’m sure we can settle things between us. Come on, little lady.” The last words were directed to the waitress.

Dean did as the man asked, following him out the door. Dean knew logically that had always been his plan – get Anderson outside – but he hated not really knowing if he was under the man’s sway yet. He thought this was what he wanted, but then, he’d thought that last night. And the waitress – he’d been hoping that Anderson would just forget about her. He didn’t want her to follow them out, but she was. Did that mean Dean wasn’t being controlled yet, or just that the orders not directed at him didn’t affect him?

It was dark and empty when they got outside the bar, but Dean knew Cas was somewhere close by – waiting for the right moment. Dean dropped the pretence of being drunk, levelling Anderson with a flat glare. “You got a lotta audacity,” he growled. “Driving my car here.” The Impala was parked a building or two down the street. She didn’t look any worse for wear, but Dean’d have to look her over as soon as this was done. Who knew what sort of bad habits Anderson had? He probably drove 90 miles an hour, riding the brakes the whole way.

“Your car?” Anderson feigned innocence. “You gave it to me just last night. Don’t pretend you don’t remember.”

Not specific enough, Dean thought smugly. “Oh, I remember alright.” He took a couple steps towards Anderson, who looked increasingly pissed but unworried. “Why don’t you get out of here, sweetheart?” Dean tried. “I’ve got a score to settle here, and you’re not part of it.”

“Stop, both of you. Stay where you’re at.”

Dean stopped moving against his will, about to take another step.

“I’ll deal with you first, but then Sandra and I are going to have some fun,” Anderson said.

Anytime now, Cas, Dean thought desperately. They weren’t going to be able to get the waitress – Sandra – out of this. They’d just have to try to keep her safe.

In answer to his prayers, Cas appeared behind Anderson, spinning him around roughly and shoving him towards Dean, who caught him. “Thanks, Cas,” he said.

“What? Who are you people?” Sandra gasped.

James Anderson stared at Castiel, dazed and disoriented. Dean had him by the arms, and he seemed too focused on the new threat to use his voice to get free. “You’re an angel!” he spat. His breathing was speeding up, coming in short quick gasps. “Why now? What do you want?”

Cas looked to Dean for guidance, but Dean could see the angel was pissed and he was more than content to let him lead. “You were given a gift,” Cas said. “Not one without flaws, but still, how could you choose terrorizing innocent people?”

. . .

They’d eventually convinced Daniel to take a seat on the closer bed. He fidgeted now, glancing between Sam and the motel room door. The scene was strikingly similar to his and Dean’s second meeting with Aneia, when she’d come back with the notebook. Maybe all troubled kids had that in them.

“It’s going to sound crazy,” Daniel said.

“Try me – us,” Sam corrected himself. Aneia nodded encouragingly.

“I mean, really, really crazy sir. Like, stuff you wouldn’t believe.” When had Daniel started calling him that? “I’m not trying to stall or anything. I just—I’m not lying, I swear.”

Sam looked at Aneia. There was one way he might be able to convince Daniel. He said they’d seen the supernatural, but he got it. There was a difference between between someone like the Ghostfacers or your average dime-a-dozen psychic and a Hunter. Hell, there was a difference between what the average Hunter was used to and demons, let alone angels. “Can I?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“You’ve met Aneia,” Sam said. “I know she looks human, but she’s not.”

Daniel jolted back, eyes wide. “What?” he asked hoarsely.

Aneia raised her hands in surrender, just like she had when the Winchesters first met her. She didn’t look scared now – only a little sad.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “She’s something called a Nymph. They can be good or bad or anything in-between. Just like humans.”

Daniel looked back at Aneia, who gave him a small smile and a wave. “You—” he stopped himself, studying her. “When you said you don’t talk? Cus it’s dangerous?”

Aneia nodded. Your choices should be your own, she wrote, then handed Sam the notebook to hold. He looked down at it, confused, until Aneia started signing. She moved slow and clear, repeating her point in ASL so they could see her face, her tone, as she said it. Sam didn’t get all the signs, but she ended with “promise,” in one strong movement, then tapped the paper again for emphasis.

“She promises,” Sam supplied, in case her goal with signing hadn’t been clear to Daniel. Aneia nodded as she took her notebook back. “Nymphs can create a sort of empathy,” Sam explained. “Make other people understand or mirror emotions, and they can’t turn it off.”

“You mean… control people?”

I don’t. Aneia wrote. I will not.

Daniel nodded slowly, the fear starting to fade from his expression. “But—” he said, more confused than scared. “All the time? It’s your voice…”

Aneia just shrugged it off. Sam didn’t know if not talking bothered her, exactly, but he remembered the hurt on her face when she’d had to stop signing with Eileen. Whether or not it was her voice she missed, there was something she was sacrificing to keep them safe. She looked away from both of them, clearly done with this line of questioning.

“Okay,” Daniel said. “Thank you.”

She smiled back and dipped her head elegantly. It was a strangely old feeling gesture.

“Whatever you’ve been through,” Sam said – bringing them back to point, “we’ll believe you. But we need to know about James. Our colleagues, the ones you met? They’re trying to keep an eye on him right now so he doesn’t hurt anyone else, but he’s been manipulating and robbing from people here for a long time. We needed to be able to confront him, and we need to know what we’re walking into.”

“Of course,” Daniel said. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—should’ve known, but when he said he wouldn’t anymore…”

“It’s not your fault, and we won’t let it keep happening. Just tell us everything, from the beginning.”

“I will tell you everything I know,” Daniel promised. “But James – there are some things he never talks about.”

“That’s fine,” Sam said.

Daniel took a deep breath, then dropped his gaze as he started his story, hands twisting against his jeans as he spoke. “Our parents said, when James was little, an angel visited. Our neighbour tried to host it, but she wasn’t strong enough. It… it burnt her up. But while it was there, it gave James these … powers.” He swallowed. “It said he was supposed to grow up and lead others against some kind of demon revolt. He—we—we thought he was going to save the world.

“I don’t, uhm, I wasn’t born yet, so I don’t know for sure? But that’s what they said. Anyways, at first, things weren’t really that bad. When I was little, James couldn’t do much with his powers. Just, some small stuff, and he liked to show off. But, I don’t know, it turned him cruel or something. As we grew up, he got more powerful, and the more powerful he got, the-the meaner he got. I don’t know if-“ he cut himself off. “It used to look, sometimes, like it hurt him. To use his powers, but like maybe he couldn’t really stop.”

Sam nodded sympathetically. It had been years since his last prophetic headache or demon-related nosebleed, but he could understand what James must’ve went through. And as a kid, no less. Sam’s powers hadn’t surfaced until he was in his twenties.

“Uh, one day,” Daniel said. “The angel came back, and it used our dad. Like, he was right in the house, totally fine? And then he heard something and he said ‘yes’ and it … just wasn’t Dad anymore. It was this angel, and it said they’d been watching James and he’d failed them? Heaven wanted to, to take his powers away, and James… he fought back. I don’t know if he even realised what it was doing to Dad.” Daniel’s voice dropped. “I just… grabbed Mom and ran.”

Sam moved cautiously towards the shaking young man. He didn’t know what to say. Daniel’s gaze, which had mostly been directed at the floor or his lap, snapped up, wide and more than a little nervous as he looked at Sam. “Sorry!” he said. “You don’t, uh, need to hear all that. I’ll get to the point.”

“No, hey,” Sam said gently, hands outstretched to calm him. “You never know what might be important. You’re doing fine.”

Aneia moved closer as well, setting herself on one of the chairs at the tiny table they’d shared lunch at.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

Daniel nodded hurriedly. “Yeah. Yes, sir. Our dad – um, the angel’s vessel, it – he… died in the fight. I don’t think anything was the same after that. We didn’t… at least, I didn’t blame James? But we were scared all the time, and he… it was like he wanted us to blame him or something. Mom held on for awhile, but six years ago – I was thirteen and James was twenty-two? – they got in a big fight. And James—” His breathing was coming too fast. Sam was worried he’d panic or hyperventilate.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just take it slow. You’re alright.”

“I think he made her kill herself,” Daniel said softly. “He said, like… why don’t you just want into traffic, right? And she did. He always says, uh, that he hadn’t meant it like that. It was an accident, but some of the time… I don’t think he’s even sad. He was supposed to stop using his powers after that. He promised…” Daniel hastily whipped his face.

Sam let out a breath, leaning back slowly. This was worse than they’d thought. They’d pegged James Anderson as a manipulator, an abuser. They hadn’t guessed him for cold-blooded murder. If he noticed that he was being watched… he needed to get in contact with Dean and Cas. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” he said. “That’s a lot to go through.”

The kid shrugged, not looking up. “It’s life, I guess.”

“Take a minute,” Sam said. “I need to call, tell our friends what you told me, okay?”

Daniel nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

Aneia gave Sam a thumbs-up, then pointed to the fridge. “Give?” She signed, hands passing from her to Daniel. “Can I give him some of the leftovers?”

“That’s a good idea,” Sam said. Daniel looked up, concerned. “If you’re hungry, Aneia can heat you up something from the fridge,” he explained.

“Oh… thank you.”

Aneia flashed a quick double thumbs-up, and Sam stepped outside of the motel room, pulling out his phone to call Dean.

The text on the screen pulled him in. Dean had already tried to reach him.

Dean: Hey – how’s it going with the kid? 9:07

Dean: Might have to move in. 9:09

His phone told him it was 9:17 now. He didn’t have any other texts from his brother or Cas. No missed calls. Shit.

. . .

“Terrorising innocent people?” James growled, twisting in Dean’s hold. “I’m just doing what I have to do to get by. You made me like this! Turned me into a freak!”

“And what about how you treat Daniel?” Cas asked coldly.

“What?” James said. “What would you know about it? I mean, I thought you of all people wouldn’t fall for her bullshit. Isn’t all that shit a sin?”

Her.

A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched. Cas cocked his head, eyes cold, but he didn’t answer. In Dean’s opinion, Cas had a range of different head tilts. Some made him look like a lost puppy. Not this head tilt. It was sharp, like a bird watching its prey – if birds could channel righteous fury.

Whatever Anderson saw, it must have scared him. He tripped over his words, trying to justify himself. “Six years! Six years since our parents died, and still I support her. I put up with it cus I know it’s not her fault she’s so messed up. It’s yours. She should be grateful to me, and she knows it.”

 “Alright,” Dean said. “You’re going to have to come with us.”

Anderson froze, like he just remembered who was holding him. “No,” he said. “You are going to let me go.”

Dean felt the weight behind his words. They were the truth. He was going to let him go. His hands dropped without him thinking about it. Anderson wrenched forward, eyes darting between Castiel and the empty road behind him. The waitress hadn’t moved since Anderson told her to stay.

Dean tried to leap forward, to tackle Anderson, but his body was still stuck in Anderson’s command. Stay where you’re at. You’re going to let me go. Dean couldn’t fight like this. His blood was pounding in his ears.

Anderson took a wild swing, and Cas dodged, but it was just a feint. “C’mon, Sandy!” He cried. “You gotta help me. He wants to kill me!”

Like she’d been startled out of a stupor, the waitress spun towards Castiel in panic.

“Do something!” Anderson screamed. Sandra reached took a hesitant step forward, keys dropping into her shaking hand.

Dean was stuck, helpless. Cas would never hurt an innocent woman. Her keys couldn’t hurt him too much, except he was already distracted, and Anderson was circling. He was aiming behind him.

“Stand down,” Castiel said firmly, the barest trace of angelic static lacing his voice. It was power, but not the right kind. Sandra didn’t waiver.

“Your kind,” Anderson spat, “ruined my life. You lifted me up, gave me these powers! Then you dropped me on my ass like garbage. I suffered ALONE because of you. Where were you, all those times I prayed?”

Cas turned back to Anderson, face pained.

“But you were wrong – all of you! I am destined to be something greater. Hell! I’m already something greater than anyone in this town could understand!”

“We get it,” Dean snapped. “Heaven fucked you up. They fucked a lot of people up, but guess what? We don’t get to go around hurting people and screwing them over.”

Anderson swiveled on him, eyes burning, but Dean hadn’t really been talking to him. He was talking to Cas. He knew the angel still felt responsible for the actions of his brethren. He’d take this on himself, but he could let guilt stop him from doing what needed to be done in the fight.

“You don’t get to hurt Daniel,” he said. Final nail in the coffin. Cas had never had sympathy for abusers.

“Daniel?” James said. “You know her name’s actually Lindsey? I mean, I get it. It’s a dumb name. I can manage Dani if it’ll keep her quiet, but c’mon. Who does she think she’s fooling? She’s just some dyke playing dress up. And if you—” he jabbed his finger at Cas “—hadn’t ruined her, who knows? Maybe she’d’ve turned out alright.”

Castiel shoved him, sending him reeling across the sidewalk just in time for Cas to turn back and face the waitress approaching him – terrified but unstoppable. Her keys flashed in the streetlight as she swiped at Cas’ shoulder. The angel didn’t flinch, raising a gentle hand to her forehead. She slumped into a deep sleep as he helped her to the ground.

From the semi-dark behind him, Anderson came back into view, foot kicking into Castiel’s legs as he was already bending over. The angel stumbled.

“Cas!” Dean said, but his friend was already back on his feet.

“Stop!” Anderson tried, but his voice was useless on the angel.

“We can stop this,” Cas said. “We can release you from your powers, let you live a normal life.”

“No!” He spat red on the ground. “I have worked too hard! You think I can’t kill you? I’ve done it before.” A blade flashed in the dark, pure silver.

Dean had to do something. Anderson was going to charge, and Cas only had his angel blade on him. He’d have to let him get close. Stay where you are. You’re going to let me go. He had let Anderson go. That had already happened. Stay where you are. Anderson hadn’t said for how long, but Dean didn’t think that loophole would work. He couldn’t take a step. He knew Cas could fight. He’d been a soldier of Heaven, and he was more than a proficient Hunter in his own right. But most of his opponents didn’t actually carry weapons that could kill him, and Dean was terrified.

Cas stood firm, taking in everything about Anderson as the man lunged towards him. He shoved Anderson’s arm to the side, deflecting a strike aimed for his chest, and Dean realised that Cas hadn’t even drawn his own blade. Pissed as he must be, he still saw Anderson as human. He was trying for the non-lethal option in a fight that had already escalated, and Dean couldn’t move.

No. He couldn’t move his feet. His body. His arms? He gave one an experimental tug – no resistance. Anderson really had to get more specific about what he wanted. Dean just had to reach his gun while Anderson was too distracted to stop him. His full focus was on Cas as they grappled, and Dean slipped his hand behind his coat. It was instinct to find and draw the pistol, and he had it levelled in a flash. He looked for an opening – where could he shoot that didn’t risk hitting Cas?

Anderson saw the weapon, he took a breath, and Dean was out of time. He fired.

His aim was true, bullet slamming into the side of Anderson’s torso with a sickening popping sound. Blood gurgled from the man’s mouth as he fell back from Cas, breaths wet and thick. The space between each rasp grew and his hands scrabbled at his oozing side until he slumped, dead.

. . .

Allergies? Dietary stuff? Aneia asked.

Daniel shook his head, so she pulled some fries and one of the leftover burgers onto a paper plate. She watched his reflection as the plate turned in the microwave. His hands flattened on the covers, and he was breathing a little bit more evenly, like he was starting to come back down from the emotional turmoil they’d pushed him into reliving.

She tapped the notebook she kept with her, considering her words. She knew they weren’t strong enough to actually change someone’s mind, but since she’d learned that her powers went beyond her voice, she constantly wondered how much of an affect she was having on the people around her. She wanted to have the right words, the right facial expression and body language – or no words? No presence?

It was confusing. She’d spent so long sure she was doing the safe thing. Still… Daniel looked hunched in on himself. She should say something. Thank goodness for pencils.

A minute or so later, when the microwave beeped, she had something down. She hoped it was enough. She handed Daniel the plate and her note.

Thank you for helping us. You’re safe here. I know what it’s like to be controlled, too. I promise I won’t do anything against your will. I won’t let anyone else either.

“Thanks,” he said.

Aneia shrugged. You don’t need to thank me. You deserve that much.

“Now I know you’re telling the truth about the whole, no influence thing,” Daniel said, smiling slightly. “Because that is pretty hard to believe.”

Aneia pushed away the twinge of guilt. I know, she said, her expression a mixture of pain and humour that matched Daniel’s. It gets easier the more you hear it.

Outside the motel, Sam finally reached Dean on his third frantic call. “Hey—what happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We’re fine. Anderson was trying to take someone out of the bar with him. She didn’t look like she wanted to go, so. We couldn’t wait for you, sorry. Anderson’s dead – Cas offered to remove his powers, but he didn’t want that. He had an angel blade…” Dean trailed off. He sounded like the adrenaline was fading. He sounded a little shaken, too. He must’ve been brought under the influence, Sam realised. There was something different and horrible about someone else using your body – something violating that neither of them would ever get used to. “I shot him,” Dean summarised. “The kid okay?”

“Yeah. We got Daniel – got most of the story from him, too,” Sam gave a quick recap, and he heard Dean whistle low on the other end when he got to the end. “I tried to call you as soon as we knew.”

“Hey, don’t worry about.” His brother spoke with his usual bravado, but Sam could still sense the disquiet. “We managed. Impala’s here. He didn’t bust her up too bad, but I’ll take a better look when we’re back at the bunker. Cas and I are on our way.”

Sam listened to the phone click off, then unlocked the motel room door. Daniel looked up from a half-eaten burger and plate of fries, tensing as Sam entered. Aneia was sitting a few feet away on the same bed, legs crossed like a schoolkid. She and Daniel seemed more comfortable around each other, at least. Her notebook was close at hand, but not clutched like a lifeline, and Daniel didn’t seem quite as stiff or wary as he had before.

“Listen, Daniel,” Sam said. “Our partners are coming back, but there’s a few things we need to talk about before they do, alright?”

“What is it?” He asked.

“You remember them from earlier?”

Daniel nodded.

“One of them is my brother, Dean. The other is Castiel. He’s an angel.”

Just like that, Daniel was frozen again, sitting perfectly still on the bed. “What?”

“It’s alright,” he said. “He’s not going to hurt you either.”

Aneia nodded to a piece of paper near Daniel – something she must’ve said earlier. Daniel followed her gaze, a small smile flicking on his face. “The host?” he asked softly.

Ah, yeah. Sam should’ve seen that coming. “It’s… a long story,” he settled on, “but in the end, Chuck – God, I mean – gave him his own body. There’s no human inside.”

Daniel stared, and Sam had no idea which part of that might be the hardest to digest. “God’s name is Chuck?” he asked after a moment.

Sam laughed. “Sometimes.”

“Okay,” Daniel said. “Okay. So, uh, what happened? Did they find James?”

Sam took a seat at the table, running his hands over each other. “I’m sorry, Daniel. They found him, but it didn’t go well. Your brother’s dead.”

Just like that, the small light Daniel had been finding went out. Sam had a split second to see his face fall before he buried his head in his hands, tugging his fingers through his hair. “This is all my fault,” he murmured. “I should’ve known, I—” he cut himself off, rocking slightly as his voice choked.

Moving slowly, Aneia lightly touched her hand to Daniel’s shoulder. He still flinched. She laid her palm against his arm, pressing gently, before handing him something she wrote. With her now free hand, she signed the same message. “It’s Not. Your. Fault.” The words were pointed and firm.

“Thanks,” Daniel said. “But I still feel… he was my brother.”

. . .

“We’re lucky he couldn’t control you,” Dean said, relieved. “That could have been a lot worse.”

Cas nodded. “I figured I’d be safe; Heaven doesn’t tend to create weapons that actually pose a threat to them.” Cas’ sleeve was torn, and Dean could blood across his arm and chest. He couldn’t tell how much was Cas’ and how much was Anderson’s, but nothing he saw looked lethal, for angel anyways.

“Hm. They’ve made mistakes before.” Dean examined the Impala closely – partially so he had an excuse to look away, and partially to see what he’d be dealing with when he got her back to the bunker.

“Rarely,” Cas said.

“I mean, you didn’t know the Nymphs could be dangerous to you,” Dean said.

“I doubt the Nymphs qualify as “Heaven-made,”” Cas said. “They’ve existed almost as long as we have.”

“Huh,” Dean said, finishing his inspection. Did that mean Cas didn’t think that God had made the Nymphs? Or just that angels didn’t have a hand in it? He didn’t think Cas needed to feel any more guilt about Heaven’s actions, but despite their power over angels, the Nymphs hadn’t been able to protect themselves, either. “Let’s just get back. Sam’s trying to explain what happened to the kid.”

. . .

Dean pulled back into the motel parking lot, relieved to have his Baby back exactly where she belonged. Cas had taken off his coat, but there were still spatters of blood on his shirt. Well. They’d all been there. He opened Cas’ door, oblivious to the considering look his friend gave him, and let them back into the motel room.

“Ugh, I’m exhausted,” Dean said. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed movement and pulled his gun, spinning to face the potential threat.

The kid – Daniel – flinched back, hands up.

Dean lowered his weapon quickly. “Sorry, kid,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Cas moved past him into the room. “Hello, Daniel,” he said.

Daniel met his gaze mutely, eyes wide as they fixed on the angel. Cas stepped closer, and he shrunk into himself, pulling back from the new presence.

“I’m sorry things turned out this way,” Cas said. “You don’t need to fear. We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

“Y-you—” Daniel stammered. “It’s more than enough. I mean,” he seemed both terrified and awed. Flustered. “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” Dean said. “It’s our job.”

That only seemed to confuse Daniel further, but Aneia gave him an encouraging smile, before waving to acknowledge each of their presences. Dean waved back.

“Dean! Cas!” Sam said, exciting the bathroom with water and paper towels. “You’re back. How’s everything looking?”

Cas moved to take the water, rolling his sleeves back to address the few cuts he’d gotten in the fight. Sam looked over to Dean.

“Safe and sound, Sammy,” he reassured his brother. “What’s the plan now? Unless you think that house was paid off?” The last question was directed at Daniel.

“James didn’t get into specifics, but he complained about a mortgage sometimes,” Daniel said. “I don’t know how much is left on it. But I’m sure it’s fine! I mean, I can probably drop out and get a job, or sell, or—”

“No,” Sam said. “We got you in this mess. We’ll help you figure it out.”

“How old are you?” Dean asked.

“Almost twenty,” Daniel said.

“So nineteen,” Dean said.

I know a few places. Aneia had written. Kye and I have to move around quite a bit, and we don’t exactly look old enough to have jobs or rent places.

“No!” Daniel said. He jumped at the volume of his own voice, stammering out a muffled apology for the outburst.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “We won’t make you go anywhere. What are you worried about?”

“I can’t go just anywhere. I, uh—” He seemed torn and anxious. “I’mtrans—uh, transgender, so –” God, the kid looked like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

“I know,” Dean said calmly. “So?”

Sam shot him a scandalised glare that told Dean he thought he was being insensitive, but Dean ignored him.

“What does that mean for finding a safe place for you?” He asked. He kept his voice totally casual. Maybe it wasn’t the perfect approach, but it was good enough. Daniel looked at him quickly, starting to focus again as he realised none of them looked pissed or judgemental.

“I’m not sure, sir. I tried to look into it, once, but James, he didn’t like it.”

“What about Jody?” Cas asked. “She took Alex and Claire in. She had a son before, right?”

“We can ask,” Sam said. “But we can’t just expect her to…” he glanced at Daniel. “We need a plan B, too, in case Jody doesn’t have the resources to take in more kids.”

“I understand,” Daniel said. “It’s okay. I’m an adult. I can find my own way.”

“You’re in college?” Dean confirmed. “What year?”

“Sophomore.”

Dean had never said it outright, but he still regretted it sometimes, that Sam hadn’t gotten to finish school. Not that he didn’t love hunting with his brother – but the world really couldn’t give him a few more years? Let him at least have that?

He didn’t want their hunts to do that someone else, especially someone who’d lost their guardian because of them. Not that Anderson was much of a guardian to begin with.

“We’ll help you figure something out,” Dean promised. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I can work,” Daniel offered.

I’ll look up queer friendly safehouses and shelters. Aneia said. I told you, I have some experience. We’ll make sure that wherever you end up going, it’s somewhere you’re safe and respected as you are.

Dean nodded. “Go ahead, Aneia. I’ll call Jody, see what she says. If neither of those pan out, we’ll worry about it then.”

He stepped outside to call Jody. She picked up on the second ring.

“Dean?” She sounded worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Jody.” He couldn’t help smiling. “There’s something I need to ask you. It’s big. You can say no.”

“Please – like you think I wouldn’t. Out with,” she said.

“How would you feel about taking in another kid?” Dean glanced back towards the motel room where Daniel was sitting, waiting for total strangers to decide his fate after they’d wrecked his life.

 “What happened?” Jody asked.

“We were working a case, and we sort of … killed this kid’s older brother.”

“Excuse me?”

Dean did his best to catch her up on the situation – both what the hunt was and who Daniel was, how they’d ended up responsible for him. “So? What do you think?”

 Jody sighed. “I think you’re right. I’ll have to talk to Claire and Alex, make sure they’re okay with adding another member to the family,” she said.

“Of course,” Dean said. “But they’ll be okay with him? No problems?”

“They’re both accepting girls. They won’t mind he’s trans. Let me call you back in a bit. I’ll see what they think.”

“Great. Thanks, Jody,” Dean said.

“Uh huh. You boys owe me,” She teased.

Dean rested his head against the door, enjoying the cool night air as he waited for Jody to call back. They’d work this out. If Jody couldn’t do it, there might be other Hunters they could turn to, or other people they’d helped on cases. A lot of Hunters did trend more conservative… they weren’t all comfortable with themselves or with people who didn’t fit the mold in any way that was different than theirs.

Dean would know. He’d made some mistakes in the past – had a hard enough time figuring how much of his macho bravado was his actual personality, and how much was a something he thought he had to live up to. He’d been lucky enough to grow up with Bobby to set him straight, and it had still taken seeing the way men treated Claire to realise he wasn’t doing as good as he’d wanted to think.

Kids. They’d do that to you. If staying with Jody didn’t work out…

The phone rang before he could get dragged too much further into his thoughts. “Yeah?” he said.

“They’re onboard,” Jody said. “When can you get here?”

“Tomorrow work?”

“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Jody.”

. . .

The Winchesters and Daniel ended up crashing in the motel room. Aneia insisted on staying with them until she saw Daniel off safely, but she excused herself from sleeping there, heading who-knows-where for about seven hours until the morning.

Castiel – sensing Daniel’s fear of him and Aneia’s lingering uncertainty – returned to the bunker early. He didn’t want to crowd them, he’d said. Dean had to wonder if he was still nervous about seeing Claire. He loved her, in a way, and at some point, she’d stopped seeing him as the man who’d gotten her dad killed and stolen his face, but things were never easy between them.

In the morning, Dean swung by Daniel’s house one last time to see if there was anything the kid wanted to take, then he drove them on down to Jody’s.

Claire was waiting for them when they pulled in, hair in a half-ponytail, arms crossed.

“Hey, Claire,” Dean said, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Hunt anything exciting?”

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Sam.”

“Where’s Jody?” Sam asked.

“She kind of freaked and decided she needed to get a bunch of groceries and stuff. Like we don’t have enough food to wait out the apocalypse already.” Claire rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “She asked me to let you in if you got here before she finished. Alex is off with her boyfriend.” Her gaze landed on Daniel. “You must be the new kid, right? I’m Claire.”

“Daniel,” he said, shaking her offered hand.

“And who’s this?” She pointed to Aneia, who waved while Sam explained.

“Nice to meet you both. Wanna take a look around?”

“Uh, sure,” Daniel said. He followed Claire into the house.

He didn’t exactly seem comfortable, but he didn’t look scared of Claire either, and he’d started to relax around the Winchesters. Jody had texted that Daniel’s credits should all transfer to Alex’s school if he wanted to finish college there. It looked like things were going to work out alright.

They got Daniel settled in, and Jody invited them to stay for dinner.

“I’m never going to turn down a homecooked meal,” Dean said.

Aneia tapped him on the shoulder. I’m going to say goodbye to Daniel, then I should be heading out.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Dean asked.

Aneia shook her head.

“Alright. Thanks for the assist.”

No problem. You basically handled it yourselves, but don’t hesitate to call. It’s always an adventure.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It is that.”