Chapter Text
Over the next month, they worked a couple regular cases without making any headway regarding the Nymphs or the Rogue Angels. Sam and Cas had thrown their all into their unique forms of research, and Dean had reached out to just about every hunter or psychic or supernaturally-inclined person they could think of, short of involving the British Men of Letters. Mitch had been coming around to their more empathetic way of hunting, but telling the MoL about the Nymphs still felt like putting a target on their backs.
They’d come up with almost nothing. Sam had been able to put some of the pieces from Greek mythology together with what they’d seen from Aneia and Kye to start parsing that lore. Like the Nymphs in the stories, their Nymphs were long-lived and related – in some way – to the natural world, especially trees. As far as they knew, their Nymphs couldn’t actually turn into plants, though.
This morning, Cas had called a meeting. “I’ve found something,” he said. He set a stack of newspaper cuttings and printed websites on the kitchen table, spreading them out for the Winchesters to look at, all from Vancouver, Washington or the surrounding area. “About six weeks ago, a number of prominent business people with less-than-stellar reputations started making large donations to local causes.”
Sam slid one of the papers towards himself, skimming the article quickly. The reporters wrote of changes-of-heart and giving-back. Following a land deal that would close a local homeless shelter, the CEO of the company had announced that his company would be funding the construction of a new shelter nearby, along with additional family services and job search aid.
“Although most have pretended they did this willingly – likely to save their reputations – it’s too many to be a coincidence.” An uncomfortable tension set in Cas’ jaw as he continued. “Truthfully,” he said stiffly, “it reminded of the sorts of changes I… manipulated when I tried to be God.” An awkward quiet lingered after the revelation, but Sam had to admit he had a point. On a – thankfully – much smaller scale, this did look like what might happen if someone got the power to decide they were a god now.
“No one’s died yet,” Dean said. “That’s a plus.”
Cas nodded, still clearly feeling guilty. “Yes, it is. I don’t know how long that will last. I believe we need to intervene.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “No arguments.”
Cas’ shoulders lowered with relief.
“The question is,” he continued, “who or what do we think is doing this?”
Cas swept the papers to the side of the table, placing one last article in the centre between Sam and Dean. “Exactly one of the victims has described what happened to them. Apparently, it was more important to them than having the public believe in their philanthropy.”
According to Evrett St. John, the head of Vancouver’s Epson Oil Trust, the $10,000 donation made last Friday to the Hope Chest Shelter from his company was a fraudulent misuse of funds. St. John described feeling as though he was in a trance and being told by a stranger to make the donation. Although he could not clarify how he was ‘forced’ to do so, St. John told the press that he strongly suspects he may have been roofied or otherwise drugged to be susceptible to suggestion.
While Wells Fargo – the banking service Epson Oil patronises – was unwilling to block the transfer of funds, citing weak evidence of fraud, as they had St. John’s voice recorded on the call requesting the transfer, the Hope Chest Shelter has pre-emptively offered to return the funds. Jonathan Barley, the director of the centre, explained, “A donation of the size Epson Oil made could profoundly change the lives of hundreds, and while I’m moved by the hope that people like Evrett St. John might care enough to offer that hand up to the good people living at Hope Chest, we can’t accept any money that may not have been given willingly. Until the matter is settled, Hope Chest will leave the entire donation in a separate account, ready to be moved to its proper destination – once one has been decided.”
The public has applauded the integrity of the shelter – with smaller genuine donations pouring in from Vancouver residents, to a sum of nearly $1500 – and reacted negatively to St. John’s attempts to blame an unknown figure for the donation. Although he initially seemed inclined to pursue action to get the money returned, St. John has been unavailable for comment in the wake of the backlash.
In response, Barley said, “I want to thank the people of our city for proving my faith in us. Together, if each of us contributes what we can, we can make a wonderful difference. Thank you to everyone who has donated, and if you want a different way to give or are so-inclined, we always welcome new volunteers.” The Hope Chest Shelter is located on West St. and is open to volunteers Monday-Sunday, 6:00 am-9:00 pm. It’s open to new residents 4:00 am – 12:00 am and has a capacity of 127 beds.
“So they didn’t use force,” Sam said. “The victims were talked into it.” Like Andy Gallagher and Ansem Webber. Or like the Nymphs? It could be something else entirely, but it was clearly something supernatural and something hypnotic. “We should call the Nymphs.”
Dean nodded reluctantly. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I hate to drag more people into this without knowing what it is…”
“But they’re the closest thing we have to experts,” Sam finished. “I’ll talk to Aneia.” As he slipped into the other room, Sam heard Dean congratulating Cas on noticing the case. He couldn’t make out the words, but the angel sounded flustered when he replied.
He clicked call before he really thought about what he was doing. Aneia had said they could… but how was this going to work? He heard the ringing stop as someone picked up. The line was quiet. “Hey,” he said. “It’s, uh, Sam Winchester. I think we might need your help again.” He waited as the static started to stretch awkwardly.
His phone pinged; it was Aneia.
Okay, she’d texted, what’s going on? What do you need?
Alright. He’d talk, she’d text. That would work. “We have a case out in Oregon, mind control, we think. Might be a Nymph, might be another psychic or something else.”
I see. I’ll talk to Kye, and we’ll be on our way.
“You’re okay with that? Will he be okay with that? I don’t think he really likes us.” It was hard to forget the sharp way Kye had watched their every move after they’d helped rescue him. When Cas let Aneia go from whatever bond angels could create, Kye’d looked like he hadn’t believed it was real, and he’d clearly gotten away from them as quickly as possible after. Sam didn’t blame him. They’d met under terrible circumstances, and he got why Kye wanted to be away from the angel and hunters – leave before they could change their minds.
He doesn’t trust you yet. It’s an important difference, Aneia texted. Besides, we’re not too far away from Oregon. We can make it. If it might be Nymph, he’ll want to come. We’ve been looking into stuff anyways.
‘Stuff’ – that wasn’t concerningly vague. “Uh, care to share?” Sam asked.
When we get there. Where exactly is there?
“Vancouver,” Sam said. “It’ll be about a day and a half drive. Where are you guys? Can you make it by then?”
Wyoming.
Wyoming? How had they even gotten out into Wyoming? Wasn’t it, like, one of the few states that didn’t have Amtrak or interstate passenger trains? He didn’t ask. Instead, he said, “That’s actually on the way. Why don’t we pick you up? We can go over the case along the way.”
The silence stretched again, but eventually, Sam’s phone chimed.
Okay. Mission Creek, Wyoming. We’ll meet you on the road.
Weird. “Great!” he said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “We’ll see you there.”
He ended the call and took a moment settle himself. He liked the Nymphs – Aneia at least – but there was something unsettling about them. Maybe it was the way they consciously held themselves back from seeming too human.
When he re-entered the kitchen, he found Dean cooking a late breakfast of French toast. There was a large stack of bread on the counter, a bowl of egg-wash for dipping next to it, and Dean was just turning on the stove.
“Wow,” Sam said. “You work fast.”
“Wasn’t sure how soon we’d want to get on the road,” Dean said, tossing the first slices onto the griddle. Having a kitchen suited him – even if he gravitated towards less healthy foods than Sam. At least French toast had a happy helping of egg in it, too. “She coming?” Dean asked.
“They both are. They’re in Wyoming, so I said we could pick them up on the way.”
“Both,” Dean repeated. “As in…?”
“Yup. Kye, too.”
Cas shifted uncomfortably.
“That’s just great,” Dean muttered. “Why?”
Sam shrugged, sitting down and enjoying the smell of cinnamon as his brother cooked. “Said it might involve Nymphs, so they both want to check it out. Apparently they’ve been ‘looking into some stuff.’”
Dean grunted. “They say what?”
“No,” Sam said. “I guess will find out when we pick them up.”
Dean sighed. “Alright,” he said, jabbing his spatula in Sam’s direction. “But we’re eating first.”
. . .
It was already dark when they rolled into Mission Creek, Wyoming. The atmosphere in the Impala had gradually gotten tenser as they got closer. They’d worked well enough with Aneia last time, but both Dean and Cas seemed uneasy about the prospect of meeting Kye again. The last time they’d met, they’d all seen just how dangerous he could be, and Dean had been the one to take his earplugs out when confronting him and Remiel. He’d heard the full force of the Nymphs’ voices.
Sam knew that wouldn’t make it any easier for Dean to trust them. He’d extended his trust to Aneia because she’d given them hers first. Kye was basically and unknown variable, and so was whatever they were working on in Mission Creek, whatever they thought might interest them about the Winchesters’ case.
Sam sent a text to Aneia, letting her know they were in town, and she responded with a more specific address, directing them to an unpopulated side street. The Nymphs were waiting on the side of the street, far enough away from the closest lamp that they looked like shadows. Dean brought the Impala to a stop, and Sam really hoped the area was as deserted as it looked because he was pretty sure that three grown men getting two teens to hitch a ride with them would be deeply suspicious to any bystanders. As it was, Aneia looked the car over quickly, taking in where everyone was sitting, before making any decisions. Dean was driving, of course, Sam in the passenger seat. Cas was seated in the back.
He didn’t miss the way Aneia took a deep breath before opening the Impala’s other back door and sliding in, placing herself next to Castiel and between him and Kye, who followed her and sat closest to the door. Although Aneia kept what space she could between herself and Cas, it looked like their last case together had helped some. She seemed nervous but not terrified. She waved to everyone in the car. Kye, on the other hand, kept one hand on the door like he was prepared to jump from a moving car if he had to. The other was on Aneia’s wrist, like he wanted to hold her away from the angel. His eyes tracked a clear pattern, watching Cas, checking out the front window, flickering between the Winchesters, back to watching Cas…
Cas just stared straight ahead like he was oblivious to the tension in the car, though Sam was pretty sure he wasn’t. Dean hadn’t said anything, but he shot the occasional glare at Kye in the rearview mirror.
Sam cleared his throat and offered the Nymphs a small smile, which only Aneia returned. “So,” he said. “Did, uh, did Aneia explain what we’re doing?”
Kye’s gaze snapped to Sam and he nodded sharply.
“Great,” Sam said. Not great. He’d been hoping to talk shop to break the ice. “What about you? What were you looking for out here?”
Kye’s grip on Aneia’s arm tightened and he shook his head frantically. She signed something back with her free hand, and Sam tried not to watch, to give them privacy while they worked whatever it was out. The car was dark enough it would’ve been hard to read anyways. All he saw were sharp movements, an argument, and then slowly, Aneia turned to face Kye fully, an intentional sign of trust as it put her back directly to Castiel. Kye noticed, staring in flat terror at the angel over Aneia’s shoulder. He grabbed at her shoulder, trying to get her to turn back around. Aneia stared him down, resolutely finishing what he’d been saying.
Kye shook his head, but he sighed and dropped his gaze to the car’s centre console, keeping them in view, but avoiding seeing their expressions. Aneia squeezed his hand reassuringly, pulled out her phone, and started typing.
It took a little bit – a sharp, awkward, little bit – for Aneia to get down everything she wanted to say. The darkness outside passed, shadows and silhouettes drifting like oil in pitch black water. Eventually, Aneia leaned forward, holding the phone out to Sam.
He took it and read, “We’re looking for other Nymphs. Our species has been scattered since Heaven started rounding us up for rewiring. Some went into hiding to try to avoid it. Some of us were let go after the change. Some we never heard about again. I don’t know. We just want to see who else is out there.”
Sam passed the phone back. “Why now?” he asked.
Aneia shook her head. She held up the phone. He read the sentence off it instead of taking it. “We’ve been looking since angels started falling.” She glanced at Cas, first circling her chest: “Sorry.”
If Cas understood, he didn’t respond. He frowned thoughtfully. “Why did Heaven let you go?” he asked. “Why not keep you – or keep you marked, at least?”
Aneia got to drafting her next answer, Kye reading over her shoulder and occasionally signing something for her to add or change. When Sam got the phone, it had a message from both of them, the closest Kye had actually come to speaking to them. "They gave us rules -- keep out of Heaven and Hell's business. Keep away from angels. Keep away from groups of Nymphs. Overstep, and they'd find you again. It was 70 years ago, so Kye and I were pretty young when it happened -- only remember some stuff from before then. Maybe they knew we'd listen to them. Or, Kye thinks, it takes time and resources to keep us, and we do still have a job to do. They probably knew that the threat was enough."
"Okay," Dean recapped. "So you get a little too uppity, the archangels decide they need to build in a failsafe, round everybody up, lay down the law, then set you back on Earth?"
Aneia nodded.
"So, what did you do to piss them off in the first place?" His tone is gruff, and his gaze is sharp. Sam can practically see the gears turning in his head.
Aneia leaned forward, grabbing for something, and Kye threw an arm in front of her. It was protective, like the instinctive way parents guarded their children in the passenger seat if they had to make a hard stop. Aneia said she was 300 and something. She would've been in the low 200s when Heaven captured them. She'd called Kye her brother... was he older? Some of the lore did suggest Nymphs were natural protectors. Cas had said something similar -- about Nymphs before their rebellion, at least. Sam couldn't tell their ages by looking, but everything about Kye's suspicion, his body language, his actions screamed older brother to him, and Aneia looked to him for something instead of pushing his arm away this time. He handed her his phone, and Sam realised he was still holding hers.
As she prepped the next answer, he decided it made sense. He'd assumed, at first, that they were the same age. And it wasn't like Aneia didn't have a say or wasn't comfortable operating on her own. She'd proved that. But the unprepared panic she'd first met them in made sense like this.
Kye didn't let Aneia hand anyone the phone this time. She held it up for them to read. We tried to stop the apocalypse, it said. Sam handed her phone back before he could forget.
Kye was staring at Castiel, and Aneia darted glances his way, too. He smiled slightly. "Me, too," he said. Kye leaned back a little, surprised. Aneia scrunched her nose up.
"Nice," Dean said.
"So, the other Nymphs..." Cas started to ask. The start of the question sent Kye typing straight away. Cas frowned, but Sam shook his head. They should let him say what he needed to.
Instead of handing the device to any of them to read, Kye held it up as he locked eyes with Castiel. A flat, automated voice spoke. After Heaven fell, Remiel wasn't the only one who wanted to take advantage. We only went looking because of that. We thought the rules had changed because why would we have to follow them if you didn't? His glare was intense and terrified -- daring Castiel to contradict him, bracing for Castiel or one of the Winchesters to ... to what? Yell? Attack him? Nothing good, that much was obvious. He was still positioned like he was trying to shield Aneia from them.
Earlier, Sam had said Kye was distrustful, but that was an understatement. He was clearly terrified, and their first time meeting him as a free ... person involved trapping him in a car with them for hours. This was going well.
"The rules?" Cas asked gently.
Aneia nodded. We don't break them, we don't get marked, she typed.
"I don't know what you have or haven't heard about me," Cas said after a moment. "But I am no longer with Heaven. I live by different rules."
Kye flinched, shaking his head. He mouthed something, a silent plea they couldn't read, but the meaning of which was obvious. Don't.
"You have not hurt anyone. You have helped people -- us and others -- without coercing them. As far as I'm concerned, that makes you allies, not enemies."
Kye blinked, and even Aneia relaxed some, smiling gratefully.
"I don't know about allies," Dean muttered. "But yeah, you don't hurt or control anyone, you don't have anything to fear from me."
Both Nymphs nodded, promising. Kye twisted his hand at his throat, the same sign they'd seen Aneia use on the last case, locking his voice away.
Sam smiled at them. "So," he picked up what he assumed was Cas' actual earlier train of thought, "you think this might be a case like before? An angel like Remiel and someone they marked?"
Aneia nodded again.
"You said they sounded like they were playing God, trying to fix things," Sam read for her. "Yeah," he said. "That's what we think."
That does sound a little like Remiel, Kye said. But even if this new angel has a better way of going about it, we have to stop them. Even if they're not hurting anyone else, if they've marked a Nymph, they're hurting them. We can't leave them.
Sam couldn't tell if he was asking them or just telling them his own plan. He wanted to formulate a reassuring response, but Dean beat him to the chase.
"Hey, no arguments here," his brother said. "Team Free Will." He met Cas' gaze in the rearview mirror with a soft smile.
Kye scrunched his face, confused -- and it was funny how similar to Aneia he looked when he did that -- but he accepted it with a shaky nod.
Great. Now that everyone was coming off the world's shittiest adrenaline high from their near argument.... "Why don't you get some sleep?" Sam suggested. "Dean's dead set on going straight through to Vancouver, so it's going to be a while, and we'll probably be going straight into work."
Aneia nodded. Kye still looked tense, but she threw her weight back so she was leaning heavily on him, poked him in the nose, and then closed her eyes. Oh. Yeah. She was definitely his little sister. He shot one last suspicious glance at Castiel, but when the angel nodded back, he closed his eyes, too.