Chapter Text
In all of our phonecalls with Dean, we had shared some better moments than him asking me to join on a hunt when I repetitively told him I’d stay away, to keep he and Sam safe from angels. But he insisted, because for once, he had a very good idea about what they were after. The Winchesters were in a small town of Ohio, just a few hours from where I was, where a man got allegedly attacked by a bear. A bear, that his wife sworn to have actually been the Incredible Hulk. Sam had found candy bar wrapping papers on the crime scene, and they feared the monster of the week to be an old friend of theirs. A Trickster, that they had met a couple times, and who had a very bad habit of never dying properly. And since I suspected it was a pagan demi-god, they thought they could use some extra hands on this one.
“I’m still thinking I shouldn’t be here.” I said as I took off my helmet when joining the boys next to the warehouse of an old paper mill.
“And I’m glad you came anyway.” My man greeted me with a wink, that I responded to with a playful grimace, before turning my attention to his brother.
“Hi Sam, how you holdin’ up?” I asked, even if I kinda knew he wasn’t doing so great. A couple weeks before that, I was on the phone with Dean, as usual, and my boyfriend was telling me about how things were not easy, being back hunting with Sam, even if they just been separated for a few weeks. I had heard on the background the door of their motel room closing in a slam, which most certainly meant Sam had caught what his older brother was saying. The way he described it sounded a bit like Sammy was being a little overdramatic, but I was curious to know how he was feeling from his perspective.
“Fine. Not happy to deal with a demi-god when we could be going after Lucifer, but fine.” He replied, his long face closed, as he joined Dean by the Impala’s trunk to retrieve their hunting gear. He was obviously not doing fine. “So you think we’ve really been dealing with Loki this whole thing?”
“Yeah, if what Dean said’s accurate, I can’t think of another pagan deity. Shapeshifter and playing tricks on people? That sounds like the norse god of mischief to me.” I said, adjusting my angel blade - that I hadn’t tested on this kind of creature yet - on my leg holster.
“And do you know how we kill that thing? Cause we’ve tried wood stakes already, it failed.” Dean inquired, but I nodded no.
“I guess we’ll have to improvise.”
“And I still think we should trap him and get him to talk.” Sam argued. “He could be useful.”
As we walked towards the side of the building, Dean noticed the place to be weirdly empty, when they expected police cars to be here, for a dispatch call informed a murder was committed. That quietness wasn’t a good sign. The boys opened the door and got in first. I was barely three feet behind them, and only turned my eyes that got caught by some shiny reflects in the grass. Another wrapping paper, of a chocolate bar. I opened the door too, and when I stepped in, the inside of the warehouse was just as empty as the outside. Completely empty. Even devoid of the presence of the hunters.
“Dean?” I called and my voice echoed through the metal joists. “Sam?” Nothing answered but the sound of my boots on the concrete floor. “Dean?!” I insisted. Still nothing. “f*ck, no-”
It happened again, just as that morning in that hotel in Missouri, when I woke up and my man wasn’t there. Gone. Taken by an angel. And now that the word was out that Sam was Lucifer’s vessel, Zachariah must have taken them both. I immediately felt my chest get heavier, and started taking long and deep breaths to remain calm. I grabbed my phone, and my hands were shaking already. Good thing I had put Cas on speed dial, but he didn’t pick up.
“Come on, you stupid dickhe*d, answer you damn phone!” I tried four times, but I never reached the angel. Instead, I started searching the facility. Like Dean said just a few minutes before, this place was strangely quiet. There must have been a reason. Maybe it wasn’t Zachariah, maybe it was just that Trickster. If I found him, I could find Dean and Sam.
That warehouse was huge, and the main part was cleared of any shelf, machinery or equipment, but I noticed darken glass windows of what happened to be those of a foreman office. I went to check it out, and the closer I got, the clearer I could hear some people talking. It was very very faint, even when I was facing the door. When I got in, the room was also completely empty, except for a television settled on a desk, with its remote right next to it. Puzzled, I slowly got around to discover it was showing a medical show - I recognized a character from a series Dean liked to watch as a guilty pleasure. That brunette doctor was talking to… Sam?! I was utterly speechless. In a haste, I seized the remote to turn the volume up. That doctor lady just slapped him, in a dramatic twist where he, obviously, had no idea what to say to her. The tv also displayed Dean, amazed by the situation the brothers had been thrown into, which was the show Dr Sexy M.D. Obviously this was all the Trickster. The whole thing was confusing, including the part when my boyfriend got all flustered when a handsome and brooding-type guy with long dark hair appeared on the screen. Dr Sexy himself. And my boy was, well, a fanboy. So much that he noticed his undisclosed tv crush wasn’t wearing the right type of shoes. I still kinda found it amusing to watch, until the show stopped. Not the tv display, since the screen was still on, and the brothers looked fine, still moving. No, it’s Dr Sexy M.D. that just suddenly froze around them.
“You guys are getting better!” The brooding doctor morphed into another man, that greeted the Winchesters with a large grin. A man, that I very much recognized.
“You’ve gotta be sh*tTIN’ ME??!” I screamed at the screen.
Gabriel. The man in question was Gabriel. The Trickster was Gabriel. That whole clownery tv thing was Gabriel’s. It didn’t stop with the medical soap. I had to watch the Winchesters go to a japanese game show in which Sam got… nutcracked. I was also given the reason behind Castiel not answering my calls. He happened to be stuck in this tv trick as well, or like he tried to hijack it and was immediately zapped away by the archangel. Gabriel wanted the hunters to figure out how to get out on their own, by going along with his television broadcast maniacal masquerade. And I was cast aside, left alone in an empty warehouse, to watch the show.
“Enjoying what you see?”
“Fu-!” I startled, surprised. The mischievous archangel had appeared by the door of the office I was sitting in. “Gabriel!”
“What’s your favorite movie? I could put our lovely pets on it.” I didn’t answer, not really thrilled by the idea of watching Dean and Sam being chased by a pack of raptors in Jurassic Park. “Come on, don’t be like that, fire girl! They’re safe.”
“Safe? Ever heard of PTSD? You’re gonna cook them looney.” I replied, bitter.
“Hm, I know you didn’t like the trick I played on you. But remember, it served a purpose. And this one too.” Gabriel grinned, before disappearing.
After a commercial for genital herpes, the next program was a sitcom, where an audience would laugh at every sentence the Winchesters would say. I didn’t find it funny at all. The trick Gabriel had thrown me in during the concert was gory and scary, but this one was particularly cringe - the part where Sam said he feared they might die in there even more than the gag where Dean had supposedly spent the night with a busty gorgeous girl. Cas came back, telling the boys he suspected the Trickster to be something else.
“No sh*t, Sherlock.” I told to the television.
Unfortunately, said not-so-Trickster shoved him against a wall and prevented him to give more clues to the brothers. Gabriel made his entrance, under the applause of the phantom audience. I saw on Castiel’s face that he had recognized his hierarchical superior, but the archangel cast him away again.
“All right, you know what? I am done with the monkey dance, okay?” Dean stepped in front of the powerful celestial f*cker. “We get it.”
“Yeah? Get what, hotshot?”
“Playing our roles, right? That's your game?” I could see Dean had lost his patience.
“That's half the game.” Damn, Gabe’s smug face was unsufferable.
“What's the other half?” Sam asked.
“Play your roles out there.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean said.
“You know. Sam starring as Lucifer. Dean starring as Michael.” The archangel replied as an anchorman. “Your celebrity death match. Play your roles.”
What the hell did he just say?
___________________________________
Playing our roles. That son-of-a-bitch got it coming. Later, in another tv show, Sam stabbed that f*cker and just like that, we got zapped from CSI-Doucheland back into the warehouse from which we came. The Trickster’s body was laying at our feet, the large wood stake all across his chest. He was dead this time. At least, he looked dead. We had to make sure of it. We needed… Damn.
“Liiiiiv?!”
My brother helped me search the whole facility but my girl was nowhere to be found. Her bike wasn’t outside. She couldn’t have left, could she? Not in the middle of a case, not like that. Sam suggested we texted her the address and waited for her at our motel, which we did. But something just didn’t sit right.
“I’m worried man. Liv not being there. And what that SOB did to Cas, I mean, where are they?” I kept checking at my phone to see if any of them had responded, so much that I didn’t even notice Sammy had left the room. “Sam? Where are you? SAMMY?”
The hell? I went out, and tried to call him. And that moron replied, only he did from the car. And by that, I mean he was the car, full Knight Rider style. The buffoonery obviously not being done, it confirmed what our angel said, that the Trickster was something else. Liv talked of a pagan god. Maybe that was it. Or maybe not. Cas did look at the guy almost like he knew him. And if he did, it could only mean one thing. I know everyone think Sammy’s the smart brother, and I like it this way cause that makes me the fun one, but I’m not halfwit, I know my job. And my recent one with Castiel taught me a really cool, well, trick.
“Tell me one thing. Why didn't the stake kill you?” I asked the asshole of the day that obviously wasn’t dead, after he finally showed himself again.
“I am the Trickster.”
“Or maybe you're not.” I said, before Sam, now back in his giant normal shape, dropped a zippo on the ground and enflamed the holy oil circle I had prepared. “Maybe you've always been an angel.”
“A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?” For someone playing with tv tricks, that dude was a real-bad actor.
“I'll tell you what. You just jump out of the holy fire and we'll call it our mistake.”
He didn’t laugh for long. The so-called Trickster zapped us back in the warehouse and started applauding. “Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?”
“Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass.”
“Where'd I screw up?” The angel asked.
“You didn't.” Sam started. “Nobody gets the jump on Cas li--”
“You f*ckING dickhe*d!”
I recognized my lover’s poetry signature. Liv burst out of a room at the end of the building. I felt relieved to see her, fine and in one piece. That was proof we were really back. I gave Sam a sign to keep an eye on our guest, and started walking in her direction. She was almost running and- totally passed right by me, furiously going to the angel.
“Liv!” My girl blindly walked right through the holy fire, which didn’t do anything to her. She grabbed the guy by the collar of his jacket, getting her angel blade under his throat.
“Come on, fire girl, you know that won’t do anything.” He grinned.
“It might not, but it’ll feel good! Care to explain what the HELL you said earlier?!”
“Liv, get out of there!” I yelled, confused.
“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, my friend, I have that tendency of never shutting up.” He replied to her, ignoring Sam and I now. It looked like they- knew each other?
“The bit about the boys playing their part?! You’ve gotta be f*cking kiddin’ me, Gabriel!”
“Gabriel? Wait, Liv!” Sam intervened and I just cluelessly looked back and forth between him and the explosive hostage situation. “When you told me an archangel saved you and Cas, I thought you meant you got zapped away by their intervention, not that you actually met with one!”
“An arch- He’s an archangel?” I barked to our guest, also turning to my brother who apparently forgot to mention a couple things to me.
“Yeah, he is.” Liv grunted. “And the worst kind. The lying, gambling-with-our-lives kind!”
“One thing at a time, fire girl.”
“What’s your game? Uh? Get us all killed? You lied to me, you are in with the Apocalypse.”
“Not quite, told you last time. I don’t work for Heaven. Got my own stable, still willing to bet on th-.”
“On the best horse, yeah I remember. Well, f*ck you! I’ll join the fight alright, but I’ll have you grilled medium-rare just as much as the rest of your brothers.” She shoved him off, and grazed his cheek with her blade as she walked her way out of the scorching circle. It bled a drop and healed instantly. He said ‘last time’. She really did meet with him before, God knows when. And kept it concealed. I don’t think I had ever seen her be that scary. Challenging and gloating, sure, and there was this time when she was possessed by Barbatos. But there she was just her, and it was concerning on a higher level.
“Liv!” I called her, not so happy I had a thousand questions to ask her. I only got the sound of her boots on the concrete floor for an answer. She ignored me, searching her pack of cigs in her jacket as she was making her way out.
Sam and I gave the archangel a little interview. The dude was a coward. Left right in the middle of his big biblical family feud. He blamed us both, equally, for forcing his brothers to be back at one another’s throats. He made it clear why Hell and Heaven chose Sam and I to be their Apocalypse sandwich boardmen, said we were born to do this. That the bloody thing was our destiny. Literally, bloody, since one of us would have to kill the other. I had refused to even imagine that when my actual father told me I might have to come to this end, I would never let angelic douchebags make that happen.
“Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always.” Gabriel said, doomful.
“So what about Liv? Why d’you take an interest in her?”
“Well, that girl’s fiery enough to come in first for the end of civilisation, but someone has to be last, to sing the eulogy. And even if Heaven is still clueless about what to do with her, it could be the song of the century.”
What the actual f*ck was that supposed to mean. I just grumbled, turning my back on him and also going out. I needed some air. And answers. “Don’t leave him out of your sight, Sam.”
The door creaked as I opened it to get outside. It wasn’t dusk yet, but thick clouds were starting to block the sun. I almost mistook one with a large puff of smoke Liv was exhaling out of her lungs. It stank the air around us.
“So. You've been in contact with an archangel and what, you forgot to tell me?”
She didn’t move an inch and brought her cigarette back to her half opened lips. I could only see her profile, the shape of her straight nose cutting the swirls of her smoke. If I were to kiss her right now, its sharpness would surely cut my face.
“Dean, can we not do that right now?” She replied wearily.
“Sorry, but no. You can't keep that kind of stuff a secret, Liv. How much more are you not telling me?!” I had a hard time to cool it down. I felt like we had that argument a hundred times. And she said already she was tired, of us fighting. But how was I supposed to react when I was last to be presented a done deal?
“Bloody hell.” She whispered, exasperated. “Okay, I knew Gabriel. I had no idea he was the Trickster, but I had met with him and knew who he was. It just wasn't relevant for you to know.” She began to explain, coldly.
“Relevant, you're serious? Liv, I'm the vessel for one of his damn brothers! Sam too. So if you meet with an archangel, you tell us, RIGHT AWAY.”
“Hey, I didn’t know that at the time! And what would it have changed?! Again, I knew how you'd have reacted - which is, duh!” She looked up and down on me. “And you had enough to deal with.”
“‘At the t-’ What time?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation civil.
“It was right after the Alastair incident. Sam and the demon blood? The Seals? So yeah, I sneaked out once on a mission with Castiel, and we met with Gabriel, so what? And don't start wringing about Cas, you got mad at me about that already.”
“Alastair? That was over six months ago! What- Hey, you just talked about the Apocalypse with that son of a bitch! You think I’m stupid? That’s obviously a little more recent. Tell me!”
“Alright! Gabriel played a trick on me too, this summer. And mine was f*cking gory and scary, by the way!” I could see she got more angry. “Told me I should buff my game for the big fight.”
I exhaled, and went to lean on Baby’s trunk. Gory and scary. That sounded more like the Trickster than TV Land. Sammy told me he once got to live six imaginary months where I was dead with that Mystery Spot loop we got stuck on. But Liv just stayed quiet about what happened to her.
“Seriously, you… So you went on as if nothing happened. What the hell's wrong with you?”
“Excuse me?” She replied, looking sideways at me.
“Sorry but- You’re a fugitive among witches, a menace to demons, on the code-red watchlist for angels, even these weird British f*ckers are after you. I just- Am I missing something? Cause if you keep big fat scary secrets like this from me Liv, I might start wondering for real.” I hesitated a second, if I dared getting to the end of my thought. I could regret whether I did or not. “Am I too deep in love with you that I’m missing something?” I almost instantly regretted I did. Something shifted on her face, like her sharpness got blunted. I saw the muscles of her jaw clench a little, and of her throat as well, as if she painfully gulped.
“You- You're an idiot.” She crushed half her cigarette in her palm, right into ashes, before taking steps in the direction of her bike.
“You- Hey, stay here. STOP leaving, for Christ’s sake!”
“Then quit being such a paranoid ASSHOLE! How do you even DARE question me like that?! If I'm ever leaving, it's always so that I get to run back to you! I just- Hey, you call and I come, right away! But I'm f*ckING TIRED, Dean, of us, fighting again?! f*ck, this? This isn’t real, you idiot! Open your eyes! This isn’t me, or you, it’s just the pile of crap we are with all this sh*tload we’re put under! Okay, maybe lately I’m not quite myself, but DON’T you f*cking insinuate you regret you met me! Don’t-” Her voice started cracking at the end of her sentence.
That’s the thing, Liv and I don’t express anger the same way. I don’t talk. I break stuff. You’d think she’d torch things down, to release the pressure, but no. My love, she’d keep it all concealed inside, until it erupts from her guts and her words get melted in the sizzling flow of her inflamed speech. Her eyes were sparkling with tears that didn’t drop. Good. I hated to see her cry. The thinnest tear on her face would always tear down any sense of resistance I might have as an inborn defense mechanism. That’d make me want to shove everything away and take her and shelter her from the fire and the cold. I was well aware how she’d been struggling this past year, against that anxiety that had sliced her spirit and crawled inside of her through a crack in her back. I told her already, I would fight for her, I’d become air for her to breathe and ask nothing in return if not to see a smile on her face, just to catch a glimpse of the true nature of her zealous heart.
But not today. I couldn’t. I was f*cking tired too.
“No. I can't- Not this time, not on this.”
“What?”
“I can't let you get away with this one. It’s too big.” You can't keep doing that, select what you tell me and what you don't, not on big shots like that.”
“Dean… You’re carrying all the weight, all the time. I’m only trying to help you, to help us! Get to the finish line of this f*cking bad dream we can’t wake up from. You know what I want, I’ve told you already. I want long and peaceful roadtrip dates. Coffees on a bench on a cold morning. Cheap motels and july fireworks. And yeah, a couple monsters here and there in the middle, but not demons, not angels- not f*cking archangels, not all of that crap!”
“Hey, I want a freaking break too.” I was still on a very thin line between fear and rage. “But until then, I've got to be sure we're on the same page, Liv.”
“We are.”
“Are we?! Cause if we are, then stop pushing me to the bench like that! Guess what, Liv?! I can handle that stuff, cause that's sh*t’s all I've EVER KNOWN. I've been trying SO HARD to trust you on all of this, all summer. Let you go off with that demon of yours, again, giving you that space, since I'm so bossy apparently!”
“Hey, you and Sam needed space, you guys still have a zillion bullsh*t to sort out! You can't blame me for dodging that Winchester nuke zone!”
“That doesn't excuse you for lying to me! Or not telling me all you're up to, on purpose!”
“All? I- Dean… You're the ONLY person that knows ALL about me!”
“DO I? Then, what was that big fish you and Barbatos went after?! What did Gabriel want with you with his gory trick?! HOW come the Prophet didn’t see you in his visions?! Why did that Higher Grounds Voldemort BASTARD guy had you committed all these massacres?! WHY did Lilith left you alive, twice?! WHAT was that ritual of yours?! WHAT ARE YOU?!”
That’s it. That’s why I break stuff. Because when I talk, I go too far. And I did there. My love crumbled like the earth rewrote the laws of gravity just for her. She trembled and I couldn’t tell if it was from a sob or if she was choking. I couldn’t resist this time. She was crying. If I ever do resist that, then please God, shoot me dead on sight. I kneeled and wrapped her in my arms and she huddled in like she wanted to disappear.
“I’m sorry.” I said, regretting what just happened.
“You better be.” She whispered, sniffling. “You should know what you hit here.”
“What? Tell me the truth, Liv, whatever it is.”
She straightened up, her fingers still planted in the dirt while she captured my eyes with her amber rivers. “Ramiel, Prince of Hell. I told you, Gabriel told me he thinks I should fight the Apocalypse. Don’t know, don’t care about the Prophet books. Don’t know, and want to cut that bastard in half for what he made me do. Don’t know for Lilith. Don’t know for my Ritual.” She paused before the last answer. “And I’m just me, Dean. Hoping a little more everyday Sam was wrong when he started to have doubts about me, about these freaky powers of mine. I- I just hope I’m not the next big villain in your story.”
f*ck. I had hoped she had buried those concerns long ago. Damn, I am an idiot.
“That- That’s been eating you all this time, hasn’t it? Come on, come here.” I grabbed the back of her neck to get our foreheads against one another’s. “I don’t want to hear a word of that, you hear me? That's bull, I- You’re just you? Then that’s enough for me. Of course you're enough.”
“Dean, Gabriel wants you two to ‘play your roles’. And he wants me to fight. What if he wants me to stop you guys, as Michael and Lucifer? He's an archangel, maybe he knows something we don't. If Gabe’s right, I-” A sob interrupted her, so the rest came out in a whisper. “I can't lose you, not again.”
“You won’t. Come on, I’ll never say yes. You know I won't.”
“What if Sam does? Hm? If he's compromised, like in that future crap Zachariah sent you you told me about. What will you do?”
“We won't get there. I'll make sure Sam won't get there. We'll figure it out before that.” I took her head with both my hands, wiping her tears away with my thumbs. “But I need to know I can trust you, blindfully. Cause I know I won't hold on if I can't hold onto you.”
I told Dean everything. Cleared all the half-truths I had scattered for quite some time now. The trick Gabriel played on me, and the whole conversation the archangel and I had afterwards. The whole business with Piers, amping up his powers upon the witches whilst being in league with a Prince of Hell. How another demon named Crowley could also be another big problem. How Barbatos was still very much mysterious and his attitude didn’t arrange the constant angst that was burdening me. The wall in my head Pamela had warned me about. The delicate balancing act I’ve been performing for months, between caring way too much and pretending I didn’t.
There’s only one thing I kept to myself, because it had nothing to do with the Apocalypse: how I suspected Castiel to have literally fallen for the same green eyes I had. It didn’t concern me, and I wasn’t even entirely certain it concerned Dean yet. If I were right, that was all on Castiel to figure out what to do about it. But I liked that I had this light and sweet secret sidequest to investigate on my own, next time I’d get to see the angel. Whether it was true or not actually didn’t matter much to me. The very idea that some new spark spontaneously ablazed in the middle of all this mess was enough. It gave the overall very dark painting we were plunged in, a brighter note, which felt very much like some Castiel magic.
“Stay with them, I’m fine.” My favorite grumpy old man told me on the phone. I hadn’t called Bobby in a while. I had visited him a couple times during the summer, obviously without Barbatos around, but never stayed for long. He had settled not-so-badly to his life in a wheelchair, which was weird in the sense that we hoped it’d be temporary, until Cas could find a way to get his Heaven-Wi-Fi back or whatever. But the temporary turned into months, and it was now half a year already since the Cage got opened and that demon Meg attacked our dear mentor. He was still very stubborn about everything, maybe even more than before this incident. But I learned he had finally accepted the Sioux Falls sheriff to check on him, from time to time, give him a call. I had never met with her but she sounded nice. Also, if she could bend the legendary embittered Bobby Singer, then there was a true miracle.
“I don’t know. The risk for more angels to show up isn’t dismissed.”
“Screw that, Dean needs you around, and you damn know it.” I heard the sound of the microwave beeping, but since it was just 2pm, I wasn’t sure if he was having a late lunch or an early snack. I still bet on a pre-prepared meal. Surely a boxed hotdog. “Keep your bike, and follow the boys for once. Or make a fool out of that damn old Impala and always get to destination before them. So you still dodge their stifling car arguments.”
I chuckled, as it happened I was sitting on my bike, waiting for Dean to finish filling up Baby’s gaz tank. “Well… Dean and I aren’t strangers to stifling arguments either.”
“Good, that’s part of how a couple works.” It felt odd to get relationship tips from Bobby, but strangely fitting at the same time. I knew he always had the best advice. “Well, not to the point to be at each other’s throats 24/7, but life ain’t puppies and teddy bears. Especially ours.”
I hesitated a second, but a question spawned in my head and I had to ask. “Did you fight often? With your wife?”
He paused a second, and his voice was slightly milder. “Never. My Karen was the sweetest soul on Earth.” I smiled, picturing a happy Bobby with his beloved, even if I had no idea what she had looked like before her death. “But that quality doesn’t apply to either you or Dean, so you two have to make things work with what you have.” He said in his usual grouchy voice.
“Alright, you- You got a point.” I replied, taking a look at my beloved, still on the other side of the parking lot.
“Raaah f*ck!”
“Bobby? Everything okay?”
“I- I just closed the fridge, but didn’t back enough with my chair. I dropped the ketchup bottle, I’m fine!” Which confirmed he was most certainly having a hotdog.
I sneered. “You’ve battled against enough things not to be made a fool by that damn chair, Bobby, you got this.”
“Thank you son, but I’ll have you chasing down demons now, I’m busy cleaning ketchup!”
So I stayed with the Winchesters. Things were fine. Things were fine with Dean, things were fine with Sam. Nothing out of the ordinary to report. Which, for hunters, means being out of job. Until, some day, Sammy received a text from dear old Chuck, with an address to an hotel in Vermillion, Ohio, mentioning he was in a ‘life or death situation’. Even if, over the years, I hadn’t been travelling with the boys all the time, whenever we’d have to make a decision, we’d usually take a vote. As we were a group of three, it was easy - many times it was either Dean and I sticking together or sometimes Sam and I siding as a pair of goblins to pick on the oldest. It was very rarely the two brothers against me. Except this time, where I obviously was the only one not so keen on the idea to go rescue the poor Prophet, and had no choice but to follow their decision.
“I’m sure I could have beaten each of you two at rock-paper-scissors.” I complained in a childish way, as the boys stepped out of their car on the hotel parking lot. Bobby was right, of course I’d always arrive first with my bike.
“Not now, love, we gotta find Chuck.” Dean replied, opening Baby’s trunk so I could stash my helmet and gloves in it. I did with a smirk, without taking my eyes off of him until he’d finally notice what was surrounding us. The parking lot was almost full, for a very good reason. Among random trucks and cheap cars, over half a dozen of other Impalas were also parked in that hotel. “What the h-?”
“Guys, come on.” Sam called.
The Winchesters rushed to the front porch and I followed slowly, grabbing a smoke. Right by the stairs leading to the Pineview Hotel, Chuck was there. I think it was the first time I saw him in proper clothes instead of his pitiful drunken author get-up. From his reaction when he saw the hunters, there obviously was a misunderstanding.
“You told us to come.” Dean said.
“Uh- No I didn’t.”
“Yeah you did.” The younger brother insisted. “You texted me. This address. ‘Life or death situation.” Obviously it was not, and I was almost disappointed to see the Prophet seemed fine. “Any of this ringing a bell?”
“I didn’t send you a text.”
“We drove all night!” Dean exclaimed - which was true, we took off our motel in a haste at 3am. Less than two hours of sleep didn’t arrange my mood. But the writer wasn’t lying.
“Sam! You made it!” An overexcited woman appeared on the porch and almost ran down the stairs to join us. Her name was Becky. I noticed Dean giving the fiercest eye-roll and I remembered he told me about that girl once. Soon after Sam opened Lucifer’s cage, Chuck had a vision with clues to find the Michael Sword and she delivered the news to the brother - which obviously, was useless, since the Michael Sword turned out to be Dean. Yet another proof that the Prophet was bullsh*t. My boyfriend explained she was a fan of those damn Supernatural books - and he didn’t lie when he said she was a Sam girl, she was all over the 6’3 very uncomfortable hunter. She had taken Shurley’s phone from his- pants? to trick the boys and have them come here. We were all three getting a bit tired of pranks lately. Another dude from the hotel called for Chuck, saying it was ‘show-time’, and the bearded man apologized to the brothers - not to me, by the way. I finished my smoke in a long inhaling and followed them in.
We got in a pretty spacious lobby, much cosier than I imagined from the outside, with a bar, plenty of armchairs to chill in and… a merch booth. A broad guy wearing a heavy brown leather jacket and a cheap yellow-gold amulet around his neck greeted Dean, claiming he was Dean too. We all looked around to discover people dressed as ghosts, and clowns, one had a large hat and a hook, another a fake beard and a baseball cap. And plenty others were just wearing flannels and clean boots. All of them nerds. And we were surrounded.
“Becky. What is this?” Sam asked, anxious he already knew the answer.
“It’s awesome! ♪” The very enthusiastic lady replied. “A Supernatural convention! The first ever.”
The boys were demoralized, each in their own way. Sam looked flabbergasted and Dean was more vexed by the very concept, and surely a bit annoyed by the way we got dragged into it. I just thought the whole thing to be laughable, to be honest, but I did my best to hide it, because it obviously meant a lot to this Becky girl for the Winchesters to be here. My sister Hannah never had costumes or went to a con, but it reminded of how fervent she could get over her Batman comicbooks. If her twin and I ever shared one thing, it was to pick on our eldest sis about how much of a nerd she truly was behind her very serious poster-witch-girl attitude. But, well, I waited half a day under a scorching Sun to get a good spot at a rock gig in California, so who am I to judge? The geek farce got better: it had a panel room. The host announced where and when the fans could debate the subjects ‘Frightened little boy: the secret life of Dean’, and ‘The hom*oerotic subtext of Supernatural’. It was getting harder and harder not to laugh, if only they knew they would be dissecting my man’s long life of traumas and Castiel’s little secret. But then Chuck was welcomed on stage and I suddenly didn’t want to laugh anymore. Seeing all these people applauding him when he announced he’d start publishing more books, I wondered why on earth would they be fascinated by such a poor creator. I suddenly wanted a drink. And a strong one.
I had to admit the nerds were dedicated. In addition to the Hotel standard menu, the bar offered a Supernatural-themed list of liquor. It was pretty pithy, but I took my time to read it thoroughly, just because I didn’t want to sit at the same table as the Prophet quite yet. I’m usually a rhum girly, so the Impala Colada was pretty tempting. Rhum’s sugary and festive, and I knew I could handle a bunch. But I wasn’t in a sugary and festive mood. And it was still afternoon, so getting hammered so soon would be a little too conspicuous. So I settled on a Hellhound for now. ‘Since there’s plenty of options, I guess I’m sticking with vodka for once, if we stay here all day’ I thought, remembering Dean’s good advice when it comes to handle a hangover, and making my way to the table where my partners, the VIP guest and his fangirl were already sit. The boys were scolding the writer about getting more of his terrible work out there.
“Who gave you the rights to our life story?” Dean grunted.
“An archangel, and I didn’t want it.” Shurley replied.
“Deal’s off, okay? No more books. Our lives are not for public consumption.” Sam argumented.
I was sipping on my drink while I was watching them, wondering if that ridiculous scene had appeared to Chuck as a vision already or not. Obviously nervous, he wanted a word with the Winchesters, so the men excused themselves out.
I slouched in one of the chairs, observing the lobby full of Supernatural fans, and wondered the f*ck I was doing here. I had demons to hunt and an Apocalypse to stop. And I was sipping vodka in a stupid convention. But given how Becky was looking around her, I was the only person in the room for which it was stupid. Since she and I literally met half an hour before, we didn’t have much to talk about together. Sort of an awkward silence started to settle.
“So you and Dean?” Becky asked out of a sudden.
I tilted my head back in frustration. I’m not big on doing small-talk with strangers, but gossip-ish small talk? Duh. I exhaled, looking for a way out. “So you and Chuck?” I smirked, hoping she’d get the hint to mind her own business.
She choked on her drink, actually looking all flustered. “What? No no no no, haha, come on.”
“Yeah, I’d strangle myself on that idea too.” She didn’t insist, fortunately, but I guessed that we were talking now. “May I ask you a question, Becky?”
“Yes?” She said, straightening on her chair.
“Why this convention?”
“Well, to gather the fandom of course!” She replied, still very happy about what was obviously of her doing.
“The fa- oh yeah, the nerds.” I sighed. “Okay, but why Supernatural then? Why do you love those stupid books so much?”
“Well, first they’re not stupid. And second, well, Supernatural has everything. It’s got thrill, comedy, horror, love, courage! It’s so fun and inspiring!”
“Hm. How about violent deaths? Treason? Depiction of mental illness? That’s supposed to be inspiring too?”
“Well, okay look. I know it’s sad, now that I know the boys are real, like I haven’t been able to read ‘No Rest of the Wicked’ again, with Dean going to Hell-”
“Yeah, that wasn’t a nice day to live.” I said sarcastically.
“-But, if you take a step back, it also teaches you that you can overcome anything, if you just keep fighting!” She said, almost beaming with sparkles. “You know, the Winchesters are so brave, their story’s empowering! And to know they’re hunting evil out there, for real, it’s even comforting, in a way.”
I just hummed and nodded. I got it, what was making me feel like a fish out of the water in here. My own hunting book started around three years before, and I wasn’t sure I’d say I felt empowered and comforted. I mean, sure, technically speaking, I could kick some ass and snap sh*t on fire, but it all came with guilt, grief, regrets, hopelessness and fear to carry with, because it was real life. My very out-of-the-ordinary life. These fans were normal people, reading about the strength of brotherly bound against monsters. I fought very hard the idea they would most certainly categorize me as one, if Chuck had put me in his books. For once, I felt pretty satisfied with not being included in that story.
I went out to have my fifth smoke of the day. I only had three left and that was my last pack. I hated to ration my cigs. I was checking on my phone where the nearest store could be when I received a call from Barbatos.
“Hi Barbie!”
“Good afternoon to you, young lady.” He replied and I was let down he still didn’t get the joke that he was supposed to say ‘Hi Ken’ back. “How are you and the Winchesters doing?”
“Fine, I guess. What are you up to?”
“Well, thank you for inquiring about me, I am actually calling to keep you updated on my recent whereabouts. I am tracking down the demon Crowley as we speak, but he is hard to catch red-handed.”
“Red-handed? For what?”
“Well, plotting against Hell, of course. Not that I care a tiny bit for that Pit-” He chuckled and I knew it was for the rhyme. “-but an open war between demons could be the last thing we need since we’re already up to stop the end of the world, don’t you think? So I thought I could do my part in helping with that.”
“Have you found anything?”
“Not exactly, but a cross-road salesman told me he summoned the states managers a few weeks ago. That can’t be a good sign.”
“The states managers?” I asked, taking another puff.
“Yes. Crowley’s very organized as King of the Crossroads. He’s got a manager keeping track of all the deal per states - turns out American people are particularly greedy and not so caring about their souls, for him to need such a neat organisation of the soul business.”
“Hm. And what does that mean he’s gathered them?”
“Giving them instructions, surely. The demon I interrogated didn’t know much, I’m afraid.”
“And there’s still a good chance he was lying.”
I heard my companion chuckle again. “Oh, trust me, young lady, he was not.” That surely meant Barbatos had his hostage at the tip of his sword cane. “I’m afraid that’s all I have to report for now.”
“‘kay, be careful. That Crowley’s business doesn’t look good to me.”
I hung up and stayed outside for a bit, away from the chaos of the crowd, stacking in the lobby. I couldn’t see her from where I was, but I knew my old Triumph was parked somewhere, between two Impalas - one being dear Baby. I kinda wanted to leave. I wouldn’t, I was honestly a bit too tired to get back on the road so soon. And I also was aware Dean wouldn’t be too happy about that. It was just a longing, within me, coming from deeper than the guts. Like a calling, saying that I should be elsewhere. When I got back in, the uproar among the fans was worse than I imagined. I checked the hour on my phone and remembered some sort of game was programmed to start soon. I looked around, searching for my comfort person among all these strangers. It wasn’t easy to spot him, among all these idiots wearing leather jackets and flannels. Even if he and Sam were still talking with Chuck, I just wanted to see him. I wanted my idiot. Suddenly, a woman’s scream pierced through the lobby. People from all over the place rushed to the staircase. Well, people. Most of them, not to say all, were men. And even if it was convincing, I just could hear that yelling was performed, not genuine. A real shriek would have stung my stomach in a very peculiar way that can’t be impersonated. Good news then. That meant it cleared the access to the bar. I stared at the menu again, that hadn’t changed since I first read it, and had a hard time to decide what to pick this time. I didn’t like the Hellhound I drank earlier. It tasted a bit dull, basic. My eyes locked on the Bloody Mary co*cktail. I usually liked this one, since it’s spicy. Also, it’s a classic. You can’t be surprised with a Bloody Mary, you know what’s in it, you know what it tastes like. Which is exactly the reason why I selected the Bubble Trouble one. The name was inspiring. The ingredients too. I sit at one of the high chair by the counter until I got my drink. The visual didn’t disappoint. The bubbles were there indeed, making the ice cubes swirl in the glass, and mixing the nuances of deep and light purple. And the lemon had it much more tangy than I anticipated. I liked this one, and decided I’d stick with this drink for as long as the hotel bar hadn’t run out of that fuming carbonic ice. Or vodka.
“Having fun?” A random dude asked, leaning on his elbow on the bar a bit too close to my taste. I sipped on my drink as a very much intended silent answer. “Let me guess, you’re cosplaying Jo, right?” f*ck, he was a bit more determined than I thought. I wondered if he was brave, though.
“What gave it away? My hair or my grouchy attitude?”
“Well, there aren’t many female hunters in Supernatural. And you don’t look like a casual damsel-in-distress pictured in the books.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m not one.” I took another sip, very politely losing patience. But since he thought I fit so well with Jo’s aesthetic, I could give him a run for his money. “You know, I actually do see what you mean. I think Jo and I have something in common.” I searched in the side pocket of my cargo pant and grabbed my dear old silver knife, that I twirled around my right-hand fingers and fiercely land flat on the counter, the pointy end facing towards him, barely two inches from his elbow. “And I mean we both like REO Speedwagon, of course.” I said with a defying grimace. The guy didn’t insist, thank gods. Urgh, still. Men.
“I guess this seat isn’t taken. May I?”
f*ckin’ hell, I couldn’t have two minutes alo- Chuck. That was Chuck this time. “I guess you’ll sit, no matter what I say. Am I wrong?” I remarked.
Shurley grabbed the chair and settled, before order a plain glass of water. “You’re usually the rude one, not me.”
“Meh, I won’t pretend like I’m not. What can I say? I don’t like you.” I smirked to the author.
“What have I ever done for you to be so… like this?” He said in a tired sigh.
“Hm, where do I start?” I snickered, playing with the bubbles of my co*cktail. “Being Heaven’s puppet.”
“Didn’t ask for it.”
“Making money out the Winchesters’ misery.”
“Man’s gotta eat.”
“Lying to me about the Last Seal and sending me to Lilith where I almost got killed when I could have warned Sam if you had done your job correctly with the Tablet?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I’m just human, I made a mistake, it happens.” Chuck looked around, nervous for people to hear our conversation. “I got the Tablet transcription wrong, okay, but that was an exhausting chore, by the way.”
“Really? Well, you truly are as terrible a Prophet as you are a writer.”
“You’re talking like you think my job’s any kind of easy.”
“Well it must be, since you’re gonna publish more of these atrocious books. I can’t believe you kept writing!”
“I had to, the angels demanded.”
“And you didn’t question it? Damn, why is it with you guys, needing to be told what to do?” I knew that Cas was only in a male vessel, but this talk with Chuck reminded me of our favorite angel.
“Oh yeah, like you never make any mistake.” The bearded man grumbled.
“Oh, I do. I just don’t make a livin’ out of it.”
Despite the obvious tension, neither of us moved, standing our grounds. Surely, Chuck and I had more in common than I realised at the time. He ordered a second glass of water. I took my third drink, sticking with my Bubble Trouble. I didn’t even notice, but one of my legs was nervously trembling on the footrest of my chair.
“You’re gonna ask me about the rest of my visions, aren’t you?” He calmly said. “After the Seals.”
“How d’you know?”
“Lucky guess. I can’t see what’s up with you, remember?” He took a sip of his plain dull water. “So, what do you wanna know?”
I took a minute to think. I could ask if he had any clue about who saved the Winchesters and put them in a plane, like Castiel said, when we gathered in Bobby’s hospital room. I could also ask if he had any information for Cas’ sidequest. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to know about that. “We got a visit, from the first of the Horsem*n. Seen any bit of that?”
“I did.” He answered. His face was hard to read, though.
“And you couldn’t have warned Dean, or Sam? That would have been pretty helpful.”
“Angels have given me pretty clear instructions, I am not to intervene in the Winchesters gospel. I’m just writing it.”
I snickered, taking a long sip of my drink and making a grimace from the sting of the lemon. “Well, too bad. Cause getting my throat clogged with salt wasn’t very pleasant.”
“Your- You got targeted? What, by Rufus Turner?” He looked perplexed all of a sudden.
“Yeah. Got beaten up. And shot, if you wanna know all about that awful day.” I scoffed. Chuck didn’t comment. His face was pretty closed, like he was thinking intensely. “What is it? Oh, I take it that’s not quite what you've seen?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” He replied.
“Okay, so let me get this straight: basically, you're gonna know about the Apocalypse? And keep you mouth shut about it?”
“Again- that's what Heaven said. It's best if the Winchesters aren’t influenced, by anyone.”
What kind of bullsh*t was that again. I was so fed up with that f*cking dickhe*d. “You're aware that whole thing is a freaking mad circus? That we're all clowns in it, and that you, as a Prophet, get to be the butt of the joke? Come on, if you think for one second that what you're writing about is remotely true, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought you were.”
I spotted the boys had just come back and installed at the other end of the counter, so I abandoned Chuck on-the-spot, finishing the rest of my drink in one gulp, to go and join them. Sam was having a light beer, and Dean had ordered whisky shots. I slumped on his back, my head resting on his shoulder and passing my arms around him, not so caring about PDA.
“Hm, let me guess. You wanna go?” He said with a kind smile. I nodded, tightening my embrace. “Tomorrow, love. For once, we’re staying in a little fancier hotel than usual. My back could use the extra fluffy mattress that place must have.” He had a point, and more than earned a restful night. I stayed where I was, resting on him nonetheless. My boy was comfy.
I spotted the guy that tried to hit on me earlier, before Chuck arrived. He was now trying his chance with a girl dressed as a ghost. She was on her phone, very obviously not paying attention to him. The relative quietness of the room got interrupted by some dudes that burst in, one pretty shaken up, telling his friend he got attacked.
“For the last time I'm not making this up, okay? She's upstairs, a real live dead ghost.”
I didn’t even have to move, I just felt Dean turn his head to face Sam. My man took my hand and slowly straightened, as a gentle way to ask me to let go of our hug. They couldn’t help it, they had to check that out. I had to admit, the guy in question was bleeding, so it didn’t look like it was part of the game. The boys crossed the lobby, as another actor was telling a story about the place being an orphanage once, or whatever lore for their LARPing game. I followed the hunters to the reception. Not that I was particularly interested in the case, but I had barely seen Dean all day, and so far it hadn’t been a good one. The Winchesters did their usual speech, to try and convince the hotel manager to tell them more about any potential truthfulness of that lore story. The man with early signs of baldness looked down on them - figuratively - and Dean grabbed his wallet. Gave away 100 bucks in the negotiation. Crazy how they never hesitated to pour money down the drain for a job. The receptionist informed them a janitor saw the ghost of a woman called Leticia Gore, and that the best place to go have a look would be the attic. The boys exchanged a quick look, thanked the manager and started to leave. Dean stopped and turned back when he noticed I wasn’t following them.
“You’re not coming?”
“Nah, sorry. I think the three of us would be a little overkill for a simple ghost.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, you guys go. I’ll wait for you down here.”
He raised an eyebrow, a bit troubled. “You good? You don’t look okay.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry.” I said, dropping a quick smack on his lips that still smelled like the whiskey he drank. He tried to hold my hand but let it slip from his as I was making my way back to the lobby.
Now that the game had really started, the different teams of Sams and Deans had emptied the place. I didn’t want to have a fourth drink on my own and still didn’t want to finish my pack of smokes. So I just looked around and decided to take a nap, rolled into a ball on an armchair I noted earlier, by the entrance. It wasn’t really comfortable, but it couldn’t be worst than the hard backseat of the 67 Impala.
I couldn’t tell if it had been a short or a long nap. I got woken up by the noise of the hotel front door getting opened and closed not so carefully. As I emerged, I noticed my bomber jacket had been rearranged, the fleece carefully covering my shoulder almost up to my nose. It wasn’t how I remembered I had it on me, so I guessed that nice attention came from Dean. It's just the kind of little things he'd always do. I got up, put my jacket back on, and was delighted to see him coming to me.
“You guys are having fun, chasing ghosts?” I said with a wink.
“Salted and burned already. Could have used extra hands to dig the grave, though.” My boyfriend replied in a light tone.
“Oh, but you don’t want these flimsy fingers to get dirty. Plus, I see you guys got yourselves some interns! I knew you didn’t need me.” I giggled, passing by him and grazing his cheek with the tips of said flimsy fingers. I waved at Sam who was with two other guys at the bar, ordering drinks - given they were white as a sheet, they looked like they needed one. But I had enough interactions with nerds for the day, so I decided to go out, use one of my three last sweet poison. I took my time to smoke it, taking short puffs. The Sun had set, so I guessed I had slept at least two to three hours. That much wouldn’t arrange my already f*cked-up sleep schedule, for sure.
That had been a very empty and ordinary day, I thought as I finished my cigarette. Some would say it’s karma, but less than a minute after that reflection, the weirdness actually started for me. When I tried to get back in the hotel, the door was closed. I heard some pounding on the other side. Someone was trying to get out.
“Dean?!”
“Liv?” I heard my name, a bit muffled, but I recognized my man’s voice.
“What’s goin-” I started, before I grabbed my phone and called him. He picked up immediately. “What’s going on?”
“We’re locked inside.”
“Well, I’m locked outside. I thought you guys took care of that ghost.”
“We did! It doesn’t make sense. Unless-”
“Unless there’s another ghost.” I suddenly wanted a second smoke. I sat on one of the steps of the porch instead and sighed. “Tell me about the case.”
“Well, the governess of the orphanage blew a fuse, killed four kids, including her own. Scalped the poor boy. But we found her body, toasted her crispy. They should be at peace.”
“They? The kids’ ghost manifested as well?”
“Yeah, the two guys we had to drag around saw one. We did too, in the attic, just like the manager said.”
“You say she was their governess?”
“Yeah.”
“The other kids, were they scalped?”
“No.”
I took a moment to try and see who had unfinished business here. “Dean, I think it wasn’t her. I don’t think any mother would kill her own kid, or at least not that violently.” It only was a theory and but it seemed like the most rational explanation. “Sounds like the other kids wanted to play comboy and natives a little too close to LARPing, if you see what I mean. The governess son was certainly bullied.”
“She killed the brats to avenge her son. And- Son of a bitch, now she’s out of the picture-”
“You and Sam got Lock, Shock and Barrel, free to do their mischief.”
We obviously had to split to finish the job. Dean and Sam got everyone safe in the panel room, while they tried to keep the three little evil spirits busy as I took the direction of the cemetery he indicated me. Once I finally found the right path leading to the back of the property, I remembered I had no salt or shovel with me, which are hunter-101-required tool, and these were in the Impala's trunk. I sent Dean a text, and despite he and Sam being pretty busy, he came up with a solution, that forced to retrace my steps back. The Winchesters’ idea was to get the actress dressed as a ghost to pretend being the governess and scare the little evil spirits, just enough to get the front door opened. Sadly, it didn’t work as good as they planned, with only their two temporary apprentice hunters sneaking out in time, but Dean gave them two very easy orders to follow.
“To get you this.” The tall slender one recited as he handed me the keys to Baby.
“And to do exactly as you say.” His broad boyfriend added.
Now that we had retrieved the gear we needed, we all got to the cemetery where I had them dig the graves. “You guys wanted to know what it’s like to be hunters? Here’s your first lesson. Consider yourself lucky. I got taken in a sewer by the ghost of a serial killer on my first job.”
Since it’s been a long and busy day for them, I took pity on the newbies and dug the third hole, a bit quickier than they did theirs.
“So, we sprayed the salt. Damian, you got a lighter?” The tall one asked.
“No I don’t, I thought you did.”
I let them have a little catfight for an instant, but I knew my man and his little brother had been in there keeping the heinous ghosts at bay for long enough, so I snapped my fingers and lit the three small remains at the same time. The two nerds looked at me, mystified.
“Who the hell are you?” The one named Damian asked.
“Not a villain.” I replied, grabbing my second-to-last cigarette.
“So what happened with you today?” Dean asked me, a few hours later, as the case was finally cleared and we were finally cuddling on what was indeed a very comfortable bed.
“Hm?”
“Well, you seemed kinda off, you know. Not really here.”
I sighed. “Yeah, cause we got trapped in Nerdtopia when we have bigger things to do.”
He snickered, grabbing me by the waist to get me lying on him, my back upon his chest. “Yeah, true that, but- Come on, I’m starting to know you. I could see you weren’t well. What is it?”
I wrapped my arms around his, and started to fiddle with his bracelets. “You know what it is. I told you I didn’t want to come when Sammy got that text.”
“Come on, love, we talked about that, Chuck’s a loser. We don’t care what he put in his stupid books.” My dearest said, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.
“Well, I kinda do, cause- Ruuuh.” I grunted. I damn well knew why, I just didn’t like to talk about it. I had hoped Dean would guess, so I wouldn’t have to dig into the subject. But he made it clear he wanted us to be a little more transparent towards one another, so I took that kind of deep breath that both fold and undo a knot in the stomach and ventured into vulnerability-land. “It’s just- This con, with these books everywhere, from which I’ve been- blotted out, it’s-” I passed my tongue along my teeth, slowly breathing through my nose to hold any uncontrolled sharp inhaling. “I thought I was finally doing something for myself, you know, when I ran from my Coven. Always been mediocre there, invisible. Pushed aside. Like it didn’t matter if I was there or not, so I ran. And I got on the road with you, in the hunting life and- These stupid books just get to me because, they got your name on it and I’m not in there.” I felt Dean grabbing one of my hands with his, but he didn’t interrupt me. “And I feel ridiculous, when I think of how I’m reacting to these, how I reacted after we first met with Chuck, I mean- You’re right, the guy’s a loser. And his books are, Heaven-ordered or not- not real. They’re not depicting what’s really happening, and I know I should not care. And it makes me angry, that I care that much, because… Because I know my Mother would be very disappointed, to see that I cling that much, to be in a man’s footsteps.” I immediately had a thought to my sisters. “She raised us to stand up for ourselves, not to get our spirit demolished by some random dude’s poor piece of writing.” I paused a second. I wasn’t feeling like crying, even if I took pity on myself. I felt like a failure. “It’s just- like whatever direction I take, it’s the wrong one. Anyway, sorry it got that deep.” I scoffed, turning around to lay on him. “Welcome to my mind.” I concluded with a sad grin.
“Hey, don’t apologize.” Dean said, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Screw all that. What Chuck’s saying, what your mother would think. Let’s just do our own thing, alright?”
It was the first time in a while, but I got another nightmare that night. Still the same vision, the fire, the absurd screaming. I don’t remember waking up from it though. Still, maybe I twitched through it, cause the next morning, I opened my eyes to see Dean had one arm around me, his hand almost in mine. After a real nice breakfast in bed - not talking about room-service delivered toasts here - it was finally time to put Pineview Hotel and its Supernatural convention in our rear view mirror. As Dean was saying goodbye to Damian and Barnes, I was getting my moto gear from Baby’s trunk while Sam was being dumped by Becky… for Chuck. I’d seen bizarre sh*t in my life, but you never know when bizarre turns into grotesque. Despite her questionable taste in men, there’s one thing I had to give to Becky, it’s that she had a really, really good memory. She told Sam about a chapter in the Supernatural books where the readers are informed that the Colt was actually never given to Lilith, by the burglar the boys had looked for, for months, during Dean’s deal, but to another demon, whose name was… Crowley. That f*cker again. Happy to know Barbatos was already on his trail. I thought it was time that demon and I finally met.
It was finally happening. Not finding Crowley just yet, but another event that actually was the closest thing I could have had if I happened to celebrate Thanksgiving. It started when the boys and I drove back to Bobby’s house, as a meeting point with both our angel and demon allies. I thought Mr. Trench-coat would be as punctual as he got us used to, but Barbatos was actually the one that showed up first. I was there when he met with Dean, and I knew he and Sam had also crossed path once, but seeing my friend the Duke of Hell sipping on his cold soda with a straw, sitting on Bobby’s sofa, his top-hat carefully put next to him on the armrest, while the old man was staring at him from his wheelchair in the corner of the library, and the Winchesters, posted at each exit of the room? There are vaudeville plays which setup is not as funny as that picture.
“Has Cas told anyone when he’ll fly here?” I asked, as I was leaning on Bobby’s desk. I only got a slight no from Dean as an answer, and the room got heavily quiet again as we were all waiting for the rogue angel.
“This is a charming house you have here, Mr. Singer.” Barb politely said to make the conversation.
“Yeah? Well, I like it better without scratches on my ceiling.” Bobby grunted. I had the Key of Solomon he had drawn in the library as a devil’s trap neutralised when Barb arrived, and my mentor wasn’t too happy about it.
“It’s only temporary, Bobby, we’ll fix that later.” Sam said, giving me a glimpse.
“Naturally.” I agreed, escaping the discomfort that laid upon the room to get something to drink. As I finished pouring myself a large cup of coffee, I recognized the characteristic brush of angel wings.
“Hello.” I heard Castiel greeting everyone. Making sure my bitter drink was hot enough, I took a second to look outside. It was raining cats and dogs, from clouds so thick it looked like it was night already, despite being right after noon.
“Mr Collins!” I greeted the angel as I stepped back in.
The team was complete. Time to get to work.
“So you said you’ve found our demon-of-interest, Cas?” Dean started, giving me a wink as he saw me coming in with my mug - he had made the coffee, right as I like it, as always.
“Yes, I tracked him down. He went all the way to Seattle, to conclude a deal himself.” Castiel started, standing in the middle of the room. “I found a mansion where he is staying, but it’s heavily warded, I can’t get in there.”
“Do we know what he’s up to, to barricade himself with the Colt like that?” Sam asked.
“Asserting his positions.” Barbatos replied, putting his glass on a pedestal table, and crossing his legs, one hand resting on his sword cane. “I dug a little more since I called you, Liv, Crowley had a little sorting out among his cross-road demons.”
“Sorting out?” Dean frowned.
“Yes, it appears he has killed a fair amount of them. Kept only the most loyal to him.”
“That can’t be a good sign.” Bobby noted.
“Have you heard anything about the last Princes? They can’t be happy about that happening.” I asked my fellow demon, over my cup of coffee.
“I’m afraid I can’t report any of Asmodeus and Dagon’s activities. I haven’t set foot downstairs in a long time.” Barb continued with a pouty face. “But if they’re still stationed down there, we can assume Lucifer has found a temporary vessel.”
“He has.” Sam confirmed, his arms crossed. “I- I’ve seen him already, once, when he- told me I was his true vessel.”
“So we know for sure Hell’s temp-administrators stayed in the Pit, getting everything ready for the rest of the Apocalypse.”
“Which gives Crowley free reins up here. Good work, Barbie.” I said.
“Thank you. Ken.” He smirked.
“Crowley is straightening his powers. He’s preparing for a war.” The angel said in his deep voice, rapidly catching up with the information we exposed.
“Which explains why he’s got the Colt, if he’s planning on going after some other Princes of Hell.” Dean sighed, rubbing his temples - I had told him about my meeting with Ramiel, and passed the congratulations on taking Azazel down. “For f*ck’s sake, and I thought we had enough on our plates with the archangels. No, there's gotta be more demons.
“We need to get the Colt back.” Sam stated. “It’s our only shot against Lucifer.”
“So we’re gonna have to sneak into that manor you’ve found, Cas.” His elder brother said.
“How?” Bobby pointed out. “You two are the big stars of the Apocalypse show, that Gabriel made it pretty clear. Stealth is out of your skillset, boys.”
“We could use a diversion, to get Sammy and I in.” Dean turned to me.
“Liv is just as neatly-identified as you two are by the troops of Hell.” Barbatos intervened. Of course, my hellish knight wouldn’t let me take any unnecessary risks. “We’re going to need someone else.”
Again, I had never celebrated Thanksgiving, but having Ellen and Jo joining us in time for dinner definitely felt with how I pictured it. The mother definitely wasn’t reassured when we warned the Harvelles about having a demon over, but Jo said she would never run for her life from that, laughing at Barbatos outfit. My fancy friend didn’t even comment, he just stayed in a corner, watching everyone. Cas, on the other end, looked a bit lost among all the large cast that had now invaded Bobby’s house. The old man was cranky, always asking people to let him make his way with his wheelchair when he was so used to move freely in his usually deserted place. Castiel indicated the mansion was a few states over and the team of hunters started elaborating a plan, that we all decided to set in motion the very next day. Jo would be the diversion, the boys were to get rid of any potential guards, and Ellen would stay close as back-up. The angel couldn’t stay, he wanted to go and keep doing his own research to find his Deus ex miracle maker of a dad. As far as I was concerned, well, I still had to figure out how to step in in a way that’d agree with my demon’s concerns.
I was outside, having a cig, when everyone was in the library elaborating that plan. I heard the front door open and from the knock on the wood floor, I knew it was Barbatos.
“I’m thinking-” I said, clearing my throat and turning to face him. “I get it, that Crowley has most certainly heard about me, given how many demons I went after-”
“And the fact I betrayed Lilith for you.” Barb said, climbing down the stairs.
“Also that. So, yeah, I can’t get in that mansion half-co*cked. Getting the Colt back, we’re doing it the smart way.”
“It appears we are.” He confirmed as he started to do tricks with his sword cane as if he was baton twirling.
“But there’s one thing that’s bugging me. They’re all in there, focused, but no one has even mentioned one detail - certainly because they don’t trust you. Castiel can’t get pass the warding, but you can. You’re a demon.”
“Absolutely I can.”
I chuckled. “You’re gonna wait until the Winchesters are in, for them to clear the path, and zap us both in there to have Crowley surprised, surrounded and, hopefully with our offensive, surrender.”
“Dear Lord, young lady, you’re getting good with words.” My top-hat friend smiled and we laughed together. “And yes, I intend to do something in that vein.”
“You’re not gonna let me take any risk, even to go retrieve a mere pistol.”
“Of course I won’t, Liv.” Barb confirmed, tucking his circus weapon under his arm. “Imagine then, the things I would do if your life was in danger against all the powers of the Apocalypse.”
“You’re a lunatic.” I snickered, exhaling some smoke.
“Yes, but you may wonder who’s the craziest of our pair: the mad man, or his companion following him?” He smirked, fixing his bow tie.
The plan started perfectly. In the end, Barb and I sneaked in as a reconnaissance team, while Jo had done her part and the boys were getting in by the front door. I sent a text to Dean, giving him directions to where could be the best room to set a trap to Crowley, for him and Sam to prepare a devil’s trap. When they were ready, Barb and I cut the power, and the crispiest part of the plan was in motion. I ran to get to where the Winchesters should have the Crossroads manager captured, and right as I arrived behind them, I heard a shot. The boys were held by two of Crowley’s minions, so I got scared for a second one of the brothers was hurt. Instead, I distinctly saw the demon holding Sam trying to escape his host as his smoke form, and snapped him dead before he even completely escaped his meatsuit. I then quickly made my way in the room.
“You guys okay?” I asked, checking on Dean first. His brother looked at me, pretty panicked about the body that dropped at his feet, still fuming from my special trick. The other one was dead too. Shot, by Crowley.
“Aaaah, and here comes the Wicked Witch of the west.”
I turned to him, pulling my hair away from my face. “Actually, I’m east-coast, sweetie.”
I noticed the demon didn’t get fooled by the sigil trap under the rug. He chuckled, unimpressed. “We need to talk, privately.”
The suave demon in a black suit took us to what appeared to be his office. The very dark room - and not only because we shut the power down - was heavily decorated with gothic-style elements, candelabrums, antique engraved wall-decor panels and more expensive rugs. Upon the chimney stood a very large gloomy painting of an abstract creature with eight legs that I imagined represented what a Hellhound looks like - but Dean didn’t react, so it must have pictured another beast of Hell horror zoo. The chair by his large mahogany desk was gilded and almost looked like a throne. Clear depiction of our host very humble personality.
“What the hell is this?” My man asked, perplexed.
“Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?” Crowley said, holding the Colt, with what sounded like a slightly faded British accent. I fought the urge to make an arse joke. The demon slammed the door behind us with his powers, and it made me wonder where my companion had disappeared again. “There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists, except that I told you.”
“You told us?” The youngest Winchester asked.
“Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine.”
“Why? Why tell us anything?” Smart Sam wasn’t convinced.
Crowley pointed the gun to Dean, and I held my breath, getting ready to literally have him hold his fire. “I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face.” He revealed, with no intention to harm the hunter.
I was relieved, but started to laugh. “Really?” You won’t have me believe you’re actually gonna let us leave with that gun out of the goodness of your heart. Let me guess, we fit in your agenda, don’t we?”
Crowley planted his eyes on me with a grin I very much disliked. “Blimey, clever witches are the worsts.” He ticked his tongue and continued. “We’re at war, and war is about survival. Lucifer isn't a demon, remember? He's an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just filthy bags of pus. If that's the way he feels about you, what can he think about us?”
Dean chuckled, catching up with what I meant. “Yeah, sure. We kill the devil for you, so you keep your hands clean, and we take the double backlash.”
Crowley’s confession got me to burst in laughter. “You have some nerve, demon!”
“And I don’t like your attitude, witch.” Crowley replied.
“Oh, trust me, you haven’t seen sh*t. Tell us: why should we wait until, somewhere, somehow, somef*ck, you reappear and steal the Colt back?”
“I beg your pardon?”
I took out my Ruger and pointed it to his smug face. “Gimme one reason I shouldn’t just shoot you, right here, right now, before your make your way up the red carpet to Hell’s actual throne? And we get to keep the Colt.”
“Liv!” Dean exclaimed. Sam didn’t look any less concerned.
“I take back what I said, you’re actually a twat.” Crowley grinned. He went around his desk and leaned on it, putting the Colt back into a fancy black box he surely had made for it. “I could snap your neck in half with a snap of my finger.”
“And I could set your ass on fire with a snap of mine, my handgun is actually more of an accessory.” I saw Dean facepalmed in the corner of my eyes, but I kept staring at our adversary of the day.
“Your mother should have taught you better manners.” Crowley humored.
“And yours should have-”
“Come on, maybe we can cut short on the mama sh*t-talk!” Dean cut us off, clearly annoyed by Crowley and I pointless verbal jousting. “And no one’s snapping anyone’s neck, for God’s sake!”
“There’s one thing I don’t get.” Sam got the conversation back to something a bit more civil. “Lucifer created demons. Why would he turn on you?”
Crowley sighed and turned to the giant hunter. “To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we're next.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.” I grumbled.
“Yeah, but we do have a problem with Lucifer.” Sam said, giving me a side-eye.
“Yes, so, help me, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times, back to when we could all follow our natures. I'm in sales, dammit! So what do you say if I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?” The boys exchanged one of these silent look to agree and accepted Crowley’s request. The King of the Crossroads gave Sammy the gun we came here to retrieve, and told us Lucifer was supposed to be in the town of Carthage, Missouri, next Thursday. He called all three of us morons this time, after Dean pointed out he would certainly be Lucifer’s next target if we were to fail. “By the way, witch.” Crowley said after he gave Dean a set of ammunition. “You’ll give my sympathies to your lackey, and a round of applause. His life work seems to be going just fine.” He dropped, before disappearing away.
