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Not long ago they were at a diner called the Rooster, picking at pierogi with the sister of god--the long shadow of the Atlantic draped, cloaklike, over their convocation.
Now Dean is in shotgun, rubbing his hands together as if over a campfire.
Got something, Dean says. He’s been nervy, letting Sam drive, flicking his eyes over his phone, out at the dark, down again at the road; the screen, the road.
Somewhere there are stars. Roadside eyes. Trees.
Didn’t we just—Sam says.
Dean had gone back to talk to her, Amara, and god only knows what they said to each other.
It’s a quick one, meet-and-greet really, Dean says, I’m not that tired.
What?
Dean clears his throat.
Got a message, he says, apparently--
From who, Sam asks.
A stone clunks in the road and Baby abides.
Shaman, Dean says, no relation to Sergei. Bobby knew this one from back in the day. Says he wants help with--
With what, Sam says, if he’s anything like Sergei--
Dean sighs.
A relationship problem, he says, figured you’d be all over it.
I’m already over it, Sam says.
Dean laughs but there’s something hollow in the sound.
And he has something we want, Dean says.
***
Not long ago they were at the Rooster, picking at pierogi with the sister of god.
Now Sam simmers and fumes, alert to lightning and woundings.
Jesus, Sam, pull over and let me drive, Dean says.
They’re 70 miles west of Atlantic City and headed for the heart of Pennsylvania, dark as a barn star.
I don’t know about this, Sam says, haven’t we been through enough?
Jack is waiting. Cas is waiting.
Or they’re not.
Somewhere near here (Sam read) wild foxes have been leaving gifts in people’s backyards: socks, dog bowls, catcher’s mitts, lumps of coal.
He told Dean but Dean said that wasn’t the case, that the case was a meetup with a shaman and it would help them in the end.
***
People don’t come here often, but dogs do. Foxes do. Sometimes a person follows. Or people.
The ghost in the field off state road 320 waits.
There are mystery spots all over the state--gaps where the wind comes through.
Favorites of nine-tailed spirits; yōkai.
***
Not long ago they were at the Rooster, picking at pierogi with the sister of god.
Maybe someone is fucking with us, Dean allows. He’s never liked Pennsylvania. Sam thinks of dream root--Pittsburgh, the imminence of hounds. It’s been a long time.
Sam has mixed feelings. Sam has a compendium of northeastern herbs and favorite byways and a strange desire for parenthood.
There are hellfires here, sure. But at least they’re not memories.
(Not that there aren’t those—this place: angels, monsters, demons on airplanes,killers haunting the gallows on which they were hanged.)
Sam doesn’t much like it either, but it’s a way through.
***
Now it’s dawn and they’re drinking coffee at a truck stop with a shaman named Tod. Or no, Ted, he says, that’s what he’s usually called.
He’d been the one stealing cadaver hearts but somehow his partner got blamed.
Worked with some urban magic, he’s saying, had a nice little loft in Fishtown, nice little life fixing--
Things that can’t be fixed, his partner says.
Green-stoned ring clinks against her cup.
She’s Leeza, she says, golden-eyed, russet fringe pointing back towards her ears like—
She blinks at him and Sam knows:
She’s kitsune.
Sam looks furiously at Dean, kicks him under the table.
I didn’t know, Dean mouths.
Dean says something about foxes stealing bras and leaving them in backyards.
Oh that was Leeza’s little army of nine-tails, Ted says, just a bit of fun.
I wouldn’t say they were mine, Leeza says, and blinks, and Sam goes back, back, almost before—
Sam thinks of Asa Fox, Max and Alicia and the magic they taught him.
Flares in the forest beyond their house; earth and den and skulk.
I paint murals, Leeza says, animals mostly.
She’s good, Ted says, makes a rat look like a Rembrandt.
He's got a cliche of a claw necklace, a face impossible to age, or recall.
What do you want, Sam says.
Safe passage outta state, Ted says, a way around the hunter network ‘til we can find somewhere else to settle.
There isn’t any way around, just through.
That can be arranged, Dean says, if you really have something we need.
Ted raises a brow.
Heard you have a bit of a god problem, he says, not that I believe.
What have you got, Dean asks.
Cosmic information, says Ted, what else.
***
Not long ago they were at the Rooster, picking at pierogi with the sister of god.
Now time has caught itself by the throat and wind has passed through and—
Here they are, woundings and all.
I loved her, Sam's saying. I loved her and you just—
Who, Dean's asking, Eileen?
Amy, Sam says fiercely, Amy Pond, the kitsune. My friend. You murdered her, don’t you remember?
I--Dean says, and something inaudible follows.
It isn’t, I thought we were over that, because they never are.
But that was another time, wasn’t it?
That was another time and they weren’t who they are now.
***
Not long ago they were drinking coffee. Now the cups are empty and its afternoon.
We can’t agree on kids, Ted’s saying, almost broke us up.
Might still, Leeza says. Her eyes luminesce; luciferase, aurora.
Lisichka, Ted says, don’t be like that.
Can't drag a child every time we go to ground, Leeza says, every time we--
We have a son named Jack, Sam says, not our son really, of course.
Ted gives him a look.
Dean gives him a look.
I mean, we’re brothers.
Amy had a son too.
***
There’s a vixen in a henhouse, bones in her mouth.
Lights flickering in the elm and ash at Wind Gap.
Haunted camps: Furnace Hill, Lords Valley, Sparrow Bush.
People don’t come here often, but dogs do. Foxes do. Sometimes a person follows.
The ghost in a field off state road 320 waits.
There are mystery spots all over the state.
Favorites of nine-tailed spirits; yōkai.
***
Not long ago they were sitting at a diner, one of many.
Dean ran back in to talk to the sister of god, a shaman, and a kitsune.
What did Ted tell you, Sam says, if that was even his name.
Told me to stay out of Ohio, Dean says, shrugs: It’s kind of in the way, though.
I hate Pennsylvania, Dean says, whole place is cursed.
He’s driving again, hard, making a run for the border.
And what did Amara say, Sam thinks, while we’re on the subject.
Eyes open behind Sam’s when he closes them—Jack’s, Amy’s, Leeza’s. His dreams are bright breath and the want of a den.
The only way out is through.
Want to stop for breakfast, Dean asks, again?
No breakfast, says Sam, just drive.
Stars are somewhere, torches in the trees.
Don’t stop ‘til we get to Indiana, Sam says.