Fic: We're off to see the Wizard, part 7/? in Oz
We're off to see the Wizard
4,000 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to zelda_zee, who does what she can with the nonsense I write.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
Dean wakes up slowly, allowing himself to luxuriate in the most gloriously comfortable bed he’s ever slept in. He rolls over onto his stomach and is gratified to realize that even with his arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, the end of the mattress is nowhere within reach. He breathes in the smell of a clean pillowcase filled by down fluffed the perfect amount, and wiggles his toes against the ultra soft sheets.
We’re off to see the wizard
Day 2
Dean wakes up slowly, allowing himself to luxuriate in the most gloriously comfortable bed he’s ever slept in. He rolls over onto his stomach and is gratified to realize that even with his arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, the end of the mattress is nowhere within reach. He breathes in the smell of a clean pillowcase filled by down fluffed the perfect amount, and wiggles his toes against the ultra soft sheets.
He could get used to this.
As he dozes, tiny, niggling thoughts start to float into his brain. Dean tries his best to push them away, but they return, seemingly determined to ruin the moment. A few questions swirl up like, where is he? He’s definitely not in a motel room, that’s for damn certain. If he’s not in a motel and not in his car, where could he possibly be, and why? And where is Sam?
It’s the last question that really convinces Dean to open his eyes. After a moment of serious disorientation, the ceiling above him comes into focus and the thoughts come quicker: he’s in a house in a town called Mountaindale with Castiel. They don’t know how they got there, Castiel had a weird, naked meltdown, there was a hot air balloon, and now they need to see the Mayor. Crap.
Dean groans-of course the most wonderful bed in existence is located in a creepy town on the top of a mountain that they need to get the hell out of-and stretches. He throws off the covers (somehow during the night, he made his way under the sheets and out of his shoes) and lands on lush blue carpeting. He takes an experimental step forward in his socks and marvels at walking on a surface this clean.
He heads to the bathroom connected to the bedroom and rifles through the cardboard box resting on the counter labeled ‘Master Bedroom - toiletries’. He finds fresh packages of toothbrushes and toothpaste, and brushes his teeth briskly. While he brushes, he looks around the master bathroom, which is huge. The counters and floor are all grey and black marble, there are two sinks with silver chrome faucets, and there’s a giant bathtub equipped with what look like Jacuzzi jets in addition to the massive, glass enclosed shower. Dean shakes his head and his reflections in all ten mirrors surrounding him shake back. Jimmy can keep the rest of the house, Dean thinks. The master bedroom and bath are where it’s at.
Dean goes back into the master bedroom (which is also huge, but mostly empty and less impressive than the bathroom) and puts on his shoes. Then he walks downstairs to what sounds like an empty house and wonders where Castiel is. He wonders whether Castiel spent the night downstairs, perched like a polo-wearing owl, or whether he took off in the middle of the night and decided to find his own way. If Castiel left, well, that was always his right and Dean wouldn’t be surprised. He’s done it before, after all.
But finding Castiel curled up on the couch (which is too short for him), fast asleep does come as a surprise. Dean stops short in the doorway of the living room and half expects Castiel to leap up to attention. He doesn’t though-merely lies there, breathing steady, eyes closed, almost snoring.
Dean shakes himself, trying to figure out what to do. Wake him? Ask if he’s under some demonic curse? Ask him why he suddenly needs sleep?
Dean’s stomach rumbles and that effectively answers the question of what to do. He walks into the kitchen and thinks, what the hell. Maybe Jimmy bought some food for this place before Castiel took over.
As it turns out, there is food in the pantry. There are some canned goods: beans, soup, and fruit. On the shelf above is a row of various cereals: Shredded Wheatables, Fun Time Smackerdoodles, and O’s of Good Cheer. Dean checks the fridge and there’s even a whole carton of unexpired milk. “Score,” he says quietly to himself as he finds a bowl in one of the cabinets and pours himself some Smackerdoodles, which are sugary rice puffs laced with marshmallows shaped like sailboats, hot air balloons, and motorcycles.
After he’s done eating, Dean leaves the bowl in the sink and returns to the living room. It’s strange to catch Castiel unguarded and unaware like this; he looks not so much innocent as frozen, face set as though it had been carved from a block of granite. Dean leans down and shakes Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey. You alive in there?”
Castiel stirs after a few shakes and comes to rather rapidly afterwards, eyes snapping open and wide. “Dean,” he says, clearly confused. “What-what happened?”
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean says wryly, backing up to give Castiel space to sit up. “Decided to take a little nap?”
“I don’t understand,” Castiel rubs a hand over his eyes. “It was evening. I stood watch by the window. How did I come to be-”
“Out like a light?” Dean says. “Dunno. Was going to ask you the same question.”
“I remember,” Castiel says as he gets to his feet. “I remember this odd fatigue. My legs were tired and I thought I might sit down a moment, to rest, and then-”
“Closed your eyes?” Dean supplies. “Relaxed back in the couch?”
“This is most unusual,” Castiel says. “This place is-is having an odd effect on me.”
“Sure,” Dean agrees. “Must be this place. Which is all the more reason to get the hell out of here as fast as we can.”
“The Mayor,” Castiel says. “We should speak with him as soon as possible.”
“You want some breakfast before we hit the road?” Dean offers, even if he knows already what the answer will be. “Fun Time Smackerdoodles aren’t bad.”
“No,” Castiel says, taking a deep breath. “No, we should leave immediately.”
Dean shrugs. If this was Sam, Dean would force his ass down to eat if he had to. But Castiel’s not Sam, so Dean lets him do what he wants. “Let’s go then.”
They hop in the Ford Focus again and Dean grimaces as it putters out of the driveway at painfully modest speeds. Castiel gives Dean the directions to City Hall (hang a right off Main Street onto Yomi Road) and they make their way across town in less than half an hour. Yomi Road is a winding, tree-lined street which ends at the foot of a white, two storey, rectangular building. There are four Corinthian columns in front, windows that span the two storeys, and a gold cup dome on top mounted with an American flag waving in the breeze. Surrounding the building on three sides is a pristine blue lake, filled with lily pads, ducks, and a few graceful white swans. There are even a few park benches underneath the willow trees growing at the edge of the lake.
“This place is too perfect,” Dean says as he parks the car in front of the building. “Everything in this place is too perfect.”
“I agree,” Castiel says. “It is unnatural.”
The building’s interior is as grand as the exterior: the main lobby features a white marble floor with what looks like the United States seal inlaid in the center, an outstretched eagle with a gilded circle surrounding it. The ceiling soars above them, painted white wood inset with square coffers. There’s a door directly in front of them, which has a printed gold sign that says, ‘Mayor John Chin’, and a desk to the side of the door with an older black woman typing furiously at a computer.
She looks up as they approach and smiles, “Welcome. You must be James Novak and his guest.”
“Dean Hardy,” Dean says and she inclines her head to the side in acknowledgment.
“Alana Wells,” she says. “I trust you’re here to see the Mayor?”
“We were told he’s the guy to go to if you needs answers,” Dean says. “And we’ve got a hell of a lot of questions.”
She presses a button on the intercom, “James Novak and his guest, Dean Hardy, are here to see you.”
A man’s voice crackles back, “Send them in.”
Alana gestures to the door, “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I was born ready,” Dean says to Castiel as they walk through the door.
The Mayor’s office is spacious, with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the lake. The floor is covered in hunter green carpet with a lighter green diamond pattern embossed on it, and heavy mahogany furniture with a deep varnish lines the walls. But the ceiling is what's most impressive; it’s painted to resemble the heavens, complete with winged cherubs frolicking amidst pink edged clouds. The cherubs play on harps, laugh, and peer down like they’re watching the office below with great interest.
The man sitting at the massive desk in the center of the room stands. He’s Asian, mid to late thirties, with a smooth round face and flecks of gray already streaking his short black hair. He smiles, “James Novak, Dean Hardy. My name is John Chin. Welcome to Mountaindale.” As they approach he waves at the high backed leather chairs on their side of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Dean settles into his chair with an uneasy creak and beside him, Castiel does the same. “So this is where the magic happens,” Dean says for no particular reason.
The Mayor’s eyes are sharp and intelligent, and make Dean feel a little like he’s been caught doing something bad and been sent to the principal’s office for it. “If you mean the magic of the US government, sure.” He turns to Castiel. “I assume you’re here to receive your assignment?”
“Assignment?” Castiel repeats uncertainly. “You have an assignment for me?”
“Of course,” the Mayor says. “You didn’t think you could live in this community without contributing to it in some way?”
“You mean like a job?” Dean says. “Or you mean like picking trash off the side of the highway?”
“It’s not community service, Dean,” the Mayor chuckles. “I guess it’s a job, but I like to think of it as more as a calling.” Dean and Castiel exchange a look while the Mayor flips open a file on his desk. “Congratulations, James, you have been assigned to be a third grade math teacher.”
Castiel blinks. “Third grade math?”
“You have a problem with third grade?” the Mayor smiles. “I preferred fourth grade myself, but that’s just me.”
“No, I,” Castiel hesitates and Dean jumps in.
“Jimmy’s just nervous that he’s forgotten all his third grade math skills. It’s been a while.” Dean grins. “Right, Jimmy?”
“Yes,” Castiel says.
“Oh, well that’s no problem at all,” the Mayor says. “Alana will have all the textbooks you’ll be teaching out of and relevant review materials prepared for you.”
“Listen, Mayor,” Dean says, sitting forward in his chair. “I know Jimmy here’s all up to speed on how this whole, uh, town and assignments thing goes but I’m afraid I’m still a little confused about. Everything, really.”
“I see,” the Mayor says, leaning back in his chair. “James didn’t explain the situation to you?”
“We have been preoccupied by the move,” Castiel says.
The Mayor shrugs. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”
“For starters,” Dean says. “Where are we? I mean, I know Mountaindale, but what state, exactly?”
“To tell the truth,” the Mayor says. “I don’t know. It’s classified information above my security clearance.”
“Classified?” Dean says. “Our current location is classified? By who? And why?”
“You don’t know what this place is, do you?” the Mayor says, his attention flicking over to Castiel briefly before returning to Dean. “James really didn’t tell you anything?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Dean says. “So why don’t we start with the basics?”
The Mayor rubs his chin thoughtfully and then reaches for a new, thicker file on his desk. He passes it across the desk to Dean. “This might make more sense if you read it.”
The file is labeled across the top ‘Government enclave No. 847298A6 - Mountaindale’. Beneath that, ‘CLASSIFIED’ is stamped in big red letters. “What is this?”
“Mountaindale’s one of over a hundred sites for a government directive code named The Garden of Eden Project,” the Mayor says. “That’s why the information about where we are is classified-every location is meant to be top secret.”
“The Garden of Eden Project?” Dean says, not sure whether Mayor Chin is joking or serious. The file seems pretty serious.
“Nice name, right?” The Mayor lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “A little dramatic for my taste, but it gets the point across.”
“The point being…?” Dean says.
“Why, preservation of the union, of course. And possibly the human race,” the Mayor adds as an afterthought.
“Something’s threatening the union?” Dean says. “If the South’s trying to secede again, you know they don’t mean it. Give ‘em some space and they’ll come around.”
The Mayor huffs out a laugh. “It’s good you can maintain a sense of humor in these difficult times, Dean. That’s what we’re fighting to save.”
“You’re fighting to save my smart mouth?” Dean asks.
“Fighting to save the right for you to have a smart mouth,” the Mayor replies. “If those rogue terrorist governments have their way and get their hands on more nukes, who knows what will happen to the American way of life.”
Dean goes still. “Nukes?”
“I know,” the Mayor says. “I still can’t believe they really dropped them myself. Doesn’t feel like it’s been a year since they bombed New York and LA right out of existence but I guess it has.”
Dean glances over at Castiel, who looks blank as always. “A year, huh? What’s today’s date again?”
“June 2, 2020,” the Mayor says. “A year, almost to the day.”
Dean starts flipping through the file in his lap in earnest, hoping for the first time that this is all an elaborate joke or hoax, because the alternative (fucking nukes, Christ) is too horrible to contemplate. He flips past a map of Mountaindale, blueprints for buildings, a detailed residents list (he notes James Novak on the list but no Dean Winchester or Hardy), and then finally finds a series of photocopied newspaper clippings. All the headlines announce some variation of, ‘NY and LA Attacked!’ and list gruesome casualty numbers and fallout radiuses. Everything is dated June 3, 2019. “It’s like the apocalypse,” Dean says finally.
Castiel jerks at the word but the Mayor doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees. “All those innocent people dead with one push of a button. And thousands more sick with radiation, some of them worse off than those who died. It’s not safe anymore, not in the cities, not in the suburbs. People are fleeing for the countryside, but that just makes new cities, new targets.”
“That’s why there are these, uh, government enclaves, right?” Dean says, thinking he might be finally catching on. “To keep people safe and away from the bombs.”
“The theory is that there are certain territories of the United States unlikely to be hit by a nuclear bomb: deserts, mountainous regions, some small islands. The Garden of Eden Project was established to give US citizens a refuge from nuclear holocaust,” the Mayor says. “The federal government dug up plans for these model communities somewhere in the archives. They were originally drawn up during the last era of nuclear war paranoia, so if the references seem a little dated, that would be why.”
Dean’s still not sure he believes all this, seeing as he’s pretty sure he would remember witnessing the destruction of New York and LA, not to mention the passage of nearly a decade. On other hand, Castiel did make time travel backwards once, and as far as Dean knows, there’s no reason why that can’t work forward too. Dean tries to get a read on what Castiel’s thinking, whether he knows anything about this, but he’s inscrutable as always.
Even if all of this is nothing but an outlandish crapload of lies, the mere possibility of any of this being true makes Dean’s heart seize up a little. If he’s up here, safe and sound, where the hell is Sam? “I heard we’re completely cut off from the world. No phone, no internet, no courier pigeons. That true?”
“I’m afraid so,” the Mayor says. “Secrecy at all costs. If our enemies become aware of major population centers in remote regions, it spoils the game a little.”
“If these are to be safe communities,” Castiel says, “wouldn’t everyone wish to join one? How are the residents selected?”
“There’s a signup sheet online for every state. The Federal Relocation Oversight Committee is given the population specifications of a town and then culls the volunteer lists,” the Mayor says. “75% of a town is made up of citizens selected for their training or skills, obvious ones being medical training or engineering. The remaining 25% is randomly chosen from the lists to provide a chance for citizens with training that is less... in demand. When those citizens arrive, there is an attempt to match skills with an assignment here.”
“I was part of the 25%” Castiel says slowly. “I was an ad salesman back home, not a teacher. And I had a family.”
“The FROC doesn’t split apart families,” the Mayor says as he skims Jimmy’s file. “You are listed as a single resident.”
“There is nothing about my wife, Amelia, or my daughter, Claire?” Castiel says, voice burning low with urgency. “Nothing at all?”
“I’m sorry,” the Mayor says. “There’s nothing in your file about any family whatsoever.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to come,” Dean murmurs, but Castiel doesn’t seem convinced. To Mayor Chin, Dean says, “And what about you? You a 75% or 25% kind of guy?”
“Me?” the Mayor says. “75%. Seems government officials are a necessary evil wherever you go. I was mayor of a city in Massachusetts before I signed up with my family to come here.”
“And what about me?” Dean asks. “Oversight Committee commit an oversight?”
“I thought you would answer that question for me, Dean,” the Mayor says. “Did you sneak onto the airlift that brought James here?”
“Something like that,” Dean says. “But I was expecting only an overnight visit, not a permanent residency. I was hoping you could help me get back to Kansas.”
“Kansas is lovely this time of year,” the Mayor says without a trace of irony. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, however, much as I would like to.”
“What do you mean?” Dean says. “Call that airlift that brought us here and tell them to come on back.”
“That’s not how it works, Dean,” the Mayor says. “I don’t have the authority to bring anyone in or out of here-can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if I did? Everyone in the whole town would be banging on my door, trying to convince me to let their aunt or uncle in, or asking me for a ten day vacation to the Bahamas.”
“But I’m an exception,” Dean says. “I’m not on your list. I’m not even supposed to be here. You gotta let me out.”
“I’m sorry,” the Mayor says, and he seems truly contrite. “But this is a directive that comes straight from the top: once someone comes in, no one gets out without permission. And not from me-from someone way above my paygrade.”
“Like Jenny?” Dean says as he feels his heart sink into his shoes. “Did she have permission to take off in a balloon?”
“Hole in one,” the Mayor replies. “Permission from a guy so far up the food chain I’ve never even heard his name or met him before.”
“Can’t you ask for permission?” Dean says, scrabbling for anything, anything at all. “Ask your superiors for an exception? Explain what happened?”
The Mayor sighs. “Dean-”
“All I’m asking is that you try,” Dean says. “Just ask, okay?”
The Mayor stares at Dean for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. “All right. I’ll ask. Stay at James’ house in the meantime and I will give you a call once I hear back.”
“Great,” Dean says, standing up with a surge of relief. “Thank you, Mayor Chin. That’s all I’m asking for .”
The Mayor shakes his head warningly. “Prepare to be disappointed, Dean. I’m not kidding when I say I’m 99% certain they’re going to say no.”
“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Dean says. “Nice meeting you, Mayor.”
“And you, both of you,” the Mayor says. “James, please see Alana on your way out. She’ll give you the details of your assignment along with the textbook I mentioned and the keys to your car. Although I noticed you found your way here just fine without them.”
Dean studies the paintings on the wall while Castiel does his best not to look too guilty on the way out of the office. They stop by Alana’s desk, as instructed, and she gives Castiel a staggering amount of books, several stacks of paper, two sets of car keys, and an envelope full of money. In response to Dean and Castiel’s visible surprise, she explains, “That money includes the first of your weekly stipend payments, James, as well as a bonus to help pay for groceries and whatever miscellaneous items you need to start off in Mountaindale.”
“Weekly stipend?” Castiel says before Dean gets the chance to elbow him into staying quiet.
“Well, school doesn’t start until September, so obviously you can’t work,” Alana says. “But that doesn’t mean you should starve for three months.”
“Obviously,” Dean agrees as he counts the money: $500 in varying 20, 10, and 5 dollar bills. “Booya,” he says quietly to Castiel as they make their way outside. After depositing the books in the backseat of the car, Dean stops to stare up at the flag flying on top of the building.
“Do you think any of this is real, Cas?” Dean says. “You think your angel bosses time jumped us to the future?”
“I do not know, Dean,” Castiel says, leaning an arm against the hood of the car. “I was never privy to any information about what the actual apocalypse would be like.”
“I thought it’d be more rains of hellfire and rivers of blood,” Dean says. “But I guess a few nukes will get the job done too.”
“If this is true, and my vessel volunteered to join this community alone,” Castiel bows his head, not quite low enough for Dean to miss the shame and regret cascading over his features, “it means I have failed him and his family.”
“You don’t know that they’re-” Dean can’t bring himself to say it. Two more casualties in a war with millions, but he can’t say it. “They might have gone somewhere else.”
“My vessel would never leave his family behind,” Castiel says with absolute certainty. “Never voluntarily.”
Sam, Dean thinks, but he doesn’t say that, either. “If this cracked out story is true, and I’m not saying that I believe it is, but if it is-why do you think your bosses sent us here, to this place, in the future? They trying to show us something? Are we supposed to be doing something?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Dean,” Castiel says. “I understand little about the intentions of my superiors.”
Dean takes in the picturesque scene in front of him once more: the beautiful white building, the gentle breeze rustling the emerald green grass, skimming the surface of the azure blue lake-all still so creepily perfect. If he’s learned anything in his life, it’s that anything this good is usually a trick, the dangerous kind that lulls you into submission before sinking the teeth in. He catches a glimpse of a manual titled, ‘The A-Bomb and You!’ in the backseat of the car amongst Castiel’s textbooks, and chuckles. “Third grade math teacher, huh? Someone out there definitely still has a sense of humor.”
Onto the next chapter: Though my tail would lash
4,000 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to zelda_zee, who does what she can with the nonsense I write.
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
Dean wakes up slowly, allowing himself to luxuriate in the most gloriously comfortable bed he’s ever slept in. He rolls over onto his stomach and is gratified to realize that even with his arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, the end of the mattress is nowhere within reach. He breathes in the smell of a clean pillowcase filled by down fluffed the perfect amount, and wiggles his toes against the ultra soft sheets.
We’re off to see the wizard
Day 2
Dean wakes up slowly, allowing himself to luxuriate in the most gloriously comfortable bed he’s ever slept in. He rolls over onto his stomach and is gratified to realize that even with his arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, the end of the mattress is nowhere within reach. He breathes in the smell of a clean pillowcase filled by down fluffed the perfect amount, and wiggles his toes against the ultra soft sheets.
He could get used to this.
As he dozes, tiny, niggling thoughts start to float into his brain. Dean tries his best to push them away, but they return, seemingly determined to ruin the moment. A few questions swirl up like, where is he? He’s definitely not in a motel room, that’s for damn certain. If he’s not in a motel and not in his car, where could he possibly be, and why? And where is Sam?
It’s the last question that really convinces Dean to open his eyes. After a moment of serious disorientation, the ceiling above him comes into focus and the thoughts come quicker: he’s in a house in a town called Mountaindale with Castiel. They don’t know how they got there, Castiel had a weird, naked meltdown, there was a hot air balloon, and now they need to see the Mayor. Crap.
Dean groans-of course the most wonderful bed in existence is located in a creepy town on the top of a mountain that they need to get the hell out of-and stretches. He throws off the covers (somehow during the night, he made his way under the sheets and out of his shoes) and lands on lush blue carpeting. He takes an experimental step forward in his socks and marvels at walking on a surface this clean.
He heads to the bathroom connected to the bedroom and rifles through the cardboard box resting on the counter labeled ‘Master Bedroom - toiletries’. He finds fresh packages of toothbrushes and toothpaste, and brushes his teeth briskly. While he brushes, he looks around the master bathroom, which is huge. The counters and floor are all grey and black marble, there are two sinks with silver chrome faucets, and there’s a giant bathtub equipped with what look like Jacuzzi jets in addition to the massive, glass enclosed shower. Dean shakes his head and his reflections in all ten mirrors surrounding him shake back. Jimmy can keep the rest of the house, Dean thinks. The master bedroom and bath are where it’s at.
Dean goes back into the master bedroom (which is also huge, but mostly empty and less impressive than the bathroom) and puts on his shoes. Then he walks downstairs to what sounds like an empty house and wonders where Castiel is. He wonders whether Castiel spent the night downstairs, perched like a polo-wearing owl, or whether he took off in the middle of the night and decided to find his own way. If Castiel left, well, that was always his right and Dean wouldn’t be surprised. He’s done it before, after all.
But finding Castiel curled up on the couch (which is too short for him), fast asleep does come as a surprise. Dean stops short in the doorway of the living room and half expects Castiel to leap up to attention. He doesn’t though-merely lies there, breathing steady, eyes closed, almost snoring.
Dean shakes himself, trying to figure out what to do. Wake him? Ask if he’s under some demonic curse? Ask him why he suddenly needs sleep?
Dean’s stomach rumbles and that effectively answers the question of what to do. He walks into the kitchen and thinks, what the hell. Maybe Jimmy bought some food for this place before Castiel took over.
As it turns out, there is food in the pantry. There are some canned goods: beans, soup, and fruit. On the shelf above is a row of various cereals: Shredded Wheatables, Fun Time Smackerdoodles, and O’s of Good Cheer. Dean checks the fridge and there’s even a whole carton of unexpired milk. “Score,” he says quietly to himself as he finds a bowl in one of the cabinets and pours himself some Smackerdoodles, which are sugary rice puffs laced with marshmallows shaped like sailboats, hot air balloons, and motorcycles.
After he’s done eating, Dean leaves the bowl in the sink and returns to the living room. It’s strange to catch Castiel unguarded and unaware like this; he looks not so much innocent as frozen, face set as though it had been carved from a block of granite. Dean leans down and shakes Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey. You alive in there?”
Castiel stirs after a few shakes and comes to rather rapidly afterwards, eyes snapping open and wide. “Dean,” he says, clearly confused. “What-what happened?”
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean says wryly, backing up to give Castiel space to sit up. “Decided to take a little nap?”
“I don’t understand,” Castiel rubs a hand over his eyes. “It was evening. I stood watch by the window. How did I come to be-”
“Out like a light?” Dean says. “Dunno. Was going to ask you the same question.”
“I remember,” Castiel says as he gets to his feet. “I remember this odd fatigue. My legs were tired and I thought I might sit down a moment, to rest, and then-”
“Closed your eyes?” Dean supplies. “Relaxed back in the couch?”
“This is most unusual,” Castiel says. “This place is-is having an odd effect on me.”
“Sure,” Dean agrees. “Must be this place. Which is all the more reason to get the hell out of here as fast as we can.”
“The Mayor,” Castiel says. “We should speak with him as soon as possible.”
“You want some breakfast before we hit the road?” Dean offers, even if he knows already what the answer will be. “Fun Time Smackerdoodles aren’t bad.”
“No,” Castiel says, taking a deep breath. “No, we should leave immediately.”
Dean shrugs. If this was Sam, Dean would force his ass down to eat if he had to. But Castiel’s not Sam, so Dean lets him do what he wants. “Let’s go then.”
They hop in the Ford Focus again and Dean grimaces as it putters out of the driveway at painfully modest speeds. Castiel gives Dean the directions to City Hall (hang a right off Main Street onto Yomi Road) and they make their way across town in less than half an hour. Yomi Road is a winding, tree-lined street which ends at the foot of a white, two storey, rectangular building. There are four Corinthian columns in front, windows that span the two storeys, and a gold cup dome on top mounted with an American flag waving in the breeze. Surrounding the building on three sides is a pristine blue lake, filled with lily pads, ducks, and a few graceful white swans. There are even a few park benches underneath the willow trees growing at the edge of the lake.
“This place is too perfect,” Dean says as he parks the car in front of the building. “Everything in this place is too perfect.”
“I agree,” Castiel says. “It is unnatural.”
The building’s interior is as grand as the exterior: the main lobby features a white marble floor with what looks like the United States seal inlaid in the center, an outstretched eagle with a gilded circle surrounding it. The ceiling soars above them, painted white wood inset with square coffers. There’s a door directly in front of them, which has a printed gold sign that says, ‘Mayor John Chin’, and a desk to the side of the door with an older black woman typing furiously at a computer.
She looks up as they approach and smiles, “Welcome. You must be James Novak and his guest.”
“Dean Hardy,” Dean says and she inclines her head to the side in acknowledgment.
“Alana Wells,” she says. “I trust you’re here to see the Mayor?”
“We were told he’s the guy to go to if you needs answers,” Dean says. “And we’ve got a hell of a lot of questions.”
She presses a button on the intercom, “James Novak and his guest, Dean Hardy, are here to see you.”
A man’s voice crackles back, “Send them in.”
Alana gestures to the door, “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I was born ready,” Dean says to Castiel as they walk through the door.
The Mayor’s office is spacious, with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the lake. The floor is covered in hunter green carpet with a lighter green diamond pattern embossed on it, and heavy mahogany furniture with a deep varnish lines the walls. But the ceiling is what's most impressive; it’s painted to resemble the heavens, complete with winged cherubs frolicking amidst pink edged clouds. The cherubs play on harps, laugh, and peer down like they’re watching the office below with great interest.
The man sitting at the massive desk in the center of the room stands. He’s Asian, mid to late thirties, with a smooth round face and flecks of gray already streaking his short black hair. He smiles, “James Novak, Dean Hardy. My name is John Chin. Welcome to Mountaindale.” As they approach he waves at the high backed leather chairs on their side of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Dean settles into his chair with an uneasy creak and beside him, Castiel does the same. “So this is where the magic happens,” Dean says for no particular reason.
The Mayor’s eyes are sharp and intelligent, and make Dean feel a little like he’s been caught doing something bad and been sent to the principal’s office for it. “If you mean the magic of the US government, sure.” He turns to Castiel. “I assume you’re here to receive your assignment?”
“Assignment?” Castiel repeats uncertainly. “You have an assignment for me?”
“Of course,” the Mayor says. “You didn’t think you could live in this community without contributing to it in some way?”
“You mean like a job?” Dean says. “Or you mean like picking trash off the side of the highway?”
“It’s not community service, Dean,” the Mayor chuckles. “I guess it’s a job, but I like to think of it as more as a calling.” Dean and Castiel exchange a look while the Mayor flips open a file on his desk. “Congratulations, James, you have been assigned to be a third grade math teacher.”
Castiel blinks. “Third grade math?”
“You have a problem with third grade?” the Mayor smiles. “I preferred fourth grade myself, but that’s just me.”
“No, I,” Castiel hesitates and Dean jumps in.
“Jimmy’s just nervous that he’s forgotten all his third grade math skills. It’s been a while.” Dean grins. “Right, Jimmy?”
“Yes,” Castiel says.
“Oh, well that’s no problem at all,” the Mayor says. “Alana will have all the textbooks you’ll be teaching out of and relevant review materials prepared for you.”
“Listen, Mayor,” Dean says, sitting forward in his chair. “I know Jimmy here’s all up to speed on how this whole, uh, town and assignments thing goes but I’m afraid I’m still a little confused about. Everything, really.”
“I see,” the Mayor says, leaning back in his chair. “James didn’t explain the situation to you?”
“We have been preoccupied by the move,” Castiel says.
The Mayor shrugs. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”
“For starters,” Dean says. “Where are we? I mean, I know Mountaindale, but what state, exactly?”
“To tell the truth,” the Mayor says. “I don’t know. It’s classified information above my security clearance.”
“Classified?” Dean says. “Our current location is classified? By who? And why?”
“You don’t know what this place is, do you?” the Mayor says, his attention flicking over to Castiel briefly before returning to Dean. “James really didn’t tell you anything?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Dean says. “So why don’t we start with the basics?”
The Mayor rubs his chin thoughtfully and then reaches for a new, thicker file on his desk. He passes it across the desk to Dean. “This might make more sense if you read it.”
The file is labeled across the top ‘Government enclave No. 847298A6 - Mountaindale’. Beneath that, ‘CLASSIFIED’ is stamped in big red letters. “What is this?”
“Mountaindale’s one of over a hundred sites for a government directive code named The Garden of Eden Project,” the Mayor says. “That’s why the information about where we are is classified-every location is meant to be top secret.”
“The Garden of Eden Project?” Dean says, not sure whether Mayor Chin is joking or serious. The file seems pretty serious.
“Nice name, right?” The Mayor lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “A little dramatic for my taste, but it gets the point across.”
“The point being…?” Dean says.
“Why, preservation of the union, of course. And possibly the human race,” the Mayor adds as an afterthought.
“Something’s threatening the union?” Dean says. “If the South’s trying to secede again, you know they don’t mean it. Give ‘em some space and they’ll come around.”
The Mayor huffs out a laugh. “It’s good you can maintain a sense of humor in these difficult times, Dean. That’s what we’re fighting to save.”
“You’re fighting to save my smart mouth?” Dean asks.
“Fighting to save the right for you to have a smart mouth,” the Mayor replies. “If those rogue terrorist governments have their way and get their hands on more nukes, who knows what will happen to the American way of life.”
Dean goes still. “Nukes?”
“I know,” the Mayor says. “I still can’t believe they really dropped them myself. Doesn’t feel like it’s been a year since they bombed New York and LA right out of existence but I guess it has.”
Dean glances over at Castiel, who looks blank as always. “A year, huh? What’s today’s date again?”
“June 2, 2020,” the Mayor says. “A year, almost to the day.”
Dean starts flipping through the file in his lap in earnest, hoping for the first time that this is all an elaborate joke or hoax, because the alternative (fucking nukes, Christ) is too horrible to contemplate. He flips past a map of Mountaindale, blueprints for buildings, a detailed residents list (he notes James Novak on the list but no Dean Winchester or Hardy), and then finally finds a series of photocopied newspaper clippings. All the headlines announce some variation of, ‘NY and LA Attacked!’ and list gruesome casualty numbers and fallout radiuses. Everything is dated June 3, 2019. “It’s like the apocalypse,” Dean says finally.
Castiel jerks at the word but the Mayor doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees. “All those innocent people dead with one push of a button. And thousands more sick with radiation, some of them worse off than those who died. It’s not safe anymore, not in the cities, not in the suburbs. People are fleeing for the countryside, but that just makes new cities, new targets.”
“That’s why there are these, uh, government enclaves, right?” Dean says, thinking he might be finally catching on. “To keep people safe and away from the bombs.”
“The theory is that there are certain territories of the United States unlikely to be hit by a nuclear bomb: deserts, mountainous regions, some small islands. The Garden of Eden Project was established to give US citizens a refuge from nuclear holocaust,” the Mayor says. “The federal government dug up plans for these model communities somewhere in the archives. They were originally drawn up during the last era of nuclear war paranoia, so if the references seem a little dated, that would be why.”
Dean’s still not sure he believes all this, seeing as he’s pretty sure he would remember witnessing the destruction of New York and LA, not to mention the passage of nearly a decade. On other hand, Castiel did make time travel backwards once, and as far as Dean knows, there’s no reason why that can’t work forward too. Dean tries to get a read on what Castiel’s thinking, whether he knows anything about this, but he’s inscrutable as always.
Even if all of this is nothing but an outlandish crapload of lies, the mere possibility of any of this being true makes Dean’s heart seize up a little. If he’s up here, safe and sound, where the hell is Sam? “I heard we’re completely cut off from the world. No phone, no internet, no courier pigeons. That true?”
“I’m afraid so,” the Mayor says. “Secrecy at all costs. If our enemies become aware of major population centers in remote regions, it spoils the game a little.”
“If these are to be safe communities,” Castiel says, “wouldn’t everyone wish to join one? How are the residents selected?”
“There’s a signup sheet online for every state. The Federal Relocation Oversight Committee is given the population specifications of a town and then culls the volunteer lists,” the Mayor says. “75% of a town is made up of citizens selected for their training or skills, obvious ones being medical training or engineering. The remaining 25% is randomly chosen from the lists to provide a chance for citizens with training that is less... in demand. When those citizens arrive, there is an attempt to match skills with an assignment here.”
“I was part of the 25%” Castiel says slowly. “I was an ad salesman back home, not a teacher. And I had a family.”
“The FROC doesn’t split apart families,” the Mayor says as he skims Jimmy’s file. “You are listed as a single resident.”
“There is nothing about my wife, Amelia, or my daughter, Claire?” Castiel says, voice burning low with urgency. “Nothing at all?”
“I’m sorry,” the Mayor says. “There’s nothing in your file about any family whatsoever.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to come,” Dean murmurs, but Castiel doesn’t seem convinced. To Mayor Chin, Dean says, “And what about you? You a 75% or 25% kind of guy?”
“Me?” the Mayor says. “75%. Seems government officials are a necessary evil wherever you go. I was mayor of a city in Massachusetts before I signed up with my family to come here.”
“And what about me?” Dean asks. “Oversight Committee commit an oversight?”
“I thought you would answer that question for me, Dean,” the Mayor says. “Did you sneak onto the airlift that brought James here?”
“Something like that,” Dean says. “But I was expecting only an overnight visit, not a permanent residency. I was hoping you could help me get back to Kansas.”
“Kansas is lovely this time of year,” the Mayor says without a trace of irony. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, however, much as I would like to.”
“What do you mean?” Dean says. “Call that airlift that brought us here and tell them to come on back.”
“That’s not how it works, Dean,” the Mayor says. “I don’t have the authority to bring anyone in or out of here-can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if I did? Everyone in the whole town would be banging on my door, trying to convince me to let their aunt or uncle in, or asking me for a ten day vacation to the Bahamas.”
“But I’m an exception,” Dean says. “I’m not on your list. I’m not even supposed to be here. You gotta let me out.”
“I’m sorry,” the Mayor says, and he seems truly contrite. “But this is a directive that comes straight from the top: once someone comes in, no one gets out without permission. And not from me-from someone way above my paygrade.”
“Like Jenny?” Dean says as he feels his heart sink into his shoes. “Did she have permission to take off in a balloon?”
“Hole in one,” the Mayor replies. “Permission from a guy so far up the food chain I’ve never even heard his name or met him before.”
“Can’t you ask for permission?” Dean says, scrabbling for anything, anything at all. “Ask your superiors for an exception? Explain what happened?”
The Mayor sighs. “Dean-”
“All I’m asking is that you try,” Dean says. “Just ask, okay?”
The Mayor stares at Dean for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. “All right. I’ll ask. Stay at James’ house in the meantime and I will give you a call once I hear back.”
“Great,” Dean says, standing up with a surge of relief. “Thank you, Mayor Chin. That’s all I’m asking for .”
The Mayor shakes his head warningly. “Prepare to be disappointed, Dean. I’m not kidding when I say I’m 99% certain they’re going to say no.”
“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Dean says. “Nice meeting you, Mayor.”
“And you, both of you,” the Mayor says. “James, please see Alana on your way out. She’ll give you the details of your assignment along with the textbook I mentioned and the keys to your car. Although I noticed you found your way here just fine without them.”
Dean studies the paintings on the wall while Castiel does his best not to look too guilty on the way out of the office. They stop by Alana’s desk, as instructed, and she gives Castiel a staggering amount of books, several stacks of paper, two sets of car keys, and an envelope full of money. In response to Dean and Castiel’s visible surprise, she explains, “That money includes the first of your weekly stipend payments, James, as well as a bonus to help pay for groceries and whatever miscellaneous items you need to start off in Mountaindale.”
“Weekly stipend?” Castiel says before Dean gets the chance to elbow him into staying quiet.
“Well, school doesn’t start until September, so obviously you can’t work,” Alana says. “But that doesn’t mean you should starve for three months.”
“Obviously,” Dean agrees as he counts the money: $500 in varying 20, 10, and 5 dollar bills. “Booya,” he says quietly to Castiel as they make their way outside. After depositing the books in the backseat of the car, Dean stops to stare up at the flag flying on top of the building.
“Do you think any of this is real, Cas?” Dean says. “You think your angel bosses time jumped us to the future?”
“I do not know, Dean,” Castiel says, leaning an arm against the hood of the car. “I was never privy to any information about what the actual apocalypse would be like.”
“I thought it’d be more rains of hellfire and rivers of blood,” Dean says. “But I guess a few nukes will get the job done too.”
“If this is true, and my vessel volunteered to join this community alone,” Castiel bows his head, not quite low enough for Dean to miss the shame and regret cascading over his features, “it means I have failed him and his family.”
“You don’t know that they’re-” Dean can’t bring himself to say it. Two more casualties in a war with millions, but he can’t say it. “They might have gone somewhere else.”
“My vessel would never leave his family behind,” Castiel says with absolute certainty. “Never voluntarily.”
Sam, Dean thinks, but he doesn’t say that, either. “If this cracked out story is true, and I’m not saying that I believe it is, but if it is-why do you think your bosses sent us here, to this place, in the future? They trying to show us something? Are we supposed to be doing something?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Dean,” Castiel says. “I understand little about the intentions of my superiors.”
Dean takes in the picturesque scene in front of him once more: the beautiful white building, the gentle breeze rustling the emerald green grass, skimming the surface of the azure blue lake-all still so creepily perfect. If he’s learned anything in his life, it’s that anything this good is usually a trick, the dangerous kind that lulls you into submission before sinking the teeth in. He catches a glimpse of a manual titled, ‘The A-Bomb and You!’ in the backseat of the car amongst Castiel’s textbooks, and chuckles. “Third grade math teacher, huh? Someone out there definitely still has a sense of humor.”
Onto the next chapter: Though my tail would lash