SPN [SPN Reverse Bang]: Spoils of War
Title: Spoils of War
Fandom/Genre: SPN, case!fic
Pairing(s): Gen
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4335
Warnings: Language
Summary: A town full of people losing memories and a ritual gone wrong. All in a day’s work for the Winchesters. Though maybe this time they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.
AN: Set in Season 5, after Hammer of the Gods, but Gabriel lives because he and the Winchesters got out of the Elysium Fields Hotel before Lucifer showed up for a spot of carnage. As a result, Loki’s other identity was not revealed to the other, still surviving Pagan gods.
AN2: Pinch-hit for the spn_reversebang 2013-2014. Double thanks go to spnreversemod. Not just for hosting the party, but also for being a very supportive last-minute beta.
Disclaimer: The series Supernatural and all its characters belong to Erik Kripke /CW and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended and no money will be made from this fanfiction.
Go look at chef_geekier's lovely art, which was the inspiration for this fic: HERE
Fic also available on AO3
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‘In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore,’ - The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe
“That was a total bust,” Dean grumped, as he tossed his tie and suit jacket carelessly on the motel bedspread. It made for an improvement of the décor, as certain stains just never washed out of the cheap sheets. Disgruntled as he felt, Dean called dibbs on the shower and left Sam to contemplate their next move in what was supposed to be an easy in-and-out-again case.
Knowing Dean needed to vent some frustration, Sam commented over the sound of spraying water. “You can’t blame a hysterical little girl for not having much useful information.”
Of course Dean didn’t blame the child. No civilian six-year-old girl with blond pigtails, violent pink clothes and a My Little Pony plushie squashed in her arms should ever look that terrified. Dean was just spitting mad at her parents, who had refused to cooperate before Sam and Dean had gotten more than two words out of the girl. Masterfully forged badges or not, not even Sam’s placating routine could make the parents see reason.
Taking Sam’s offer, Dean snarled back on cue. “If her stupid parents would get their heads out of their asses and cooperate, we could help that kid.”
Swapping his own suit for something more comfortable, Sam booted his laptop to continue their research. “At least the nursing home gives us some clues. I’m thinking we might need to get more dream root for this job.”
The Winchesters were on a hunt in Glendrive, Montana, needing a short break from all things apocalyptic. The local community was being plagued by a spreading amount of acute depression and hysteria. The first cases had been reported from a nursing home for veterans and no one had questioned the bouts of depression. Not until the veterans’ visiting children and even a few grandchildren started to suffer from the same affliction not long afterwards.
From what little the Winchesters had gleaned by questioning staff and relatives, the victims would just wake up one day in a fit of hysteria, claiming their lives were worthless. The closest they’d come to uncovering a clue was when one of the elderly ladies in the home made a comment of about one the victim’s grandchildren.
“Such a lively little thing she used to be,” the woman had sighed. “Then one day she just woke up without a single happy memory in her head.” The child’s parents, however, had refused to cooperate with Sam and Dean’s - or rather Public Health Inspectors Mason and Wright - investigation, effectively blocking their progress on catching the bad thing.
Dean came out of the shower as Sam put together a list of suspects and raised his eyebrows. “An aboleth? How very D&D of you, Sammy.” Dean cocked his head to get the last drops of water out of his ear and read along over Sam’s shoulder.
“Notice that that creature is at the bottom of the list,” Sam said dryly. “The nursing home is not near any large lake and I doubt the Yellowstone River counts, so that lowers the probability a lot.”
Dean dug two beers out of the mini-fridge and passed one to his brother. “Good, I like my creepy crawlers to be land bound.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair and pulled up records from the town archive. “If we were further south, I’d think it was one of those neurotoxic lizard monsters.” He shrugged. “This town has quite some Scandinavian roots, though.” Sam pulled up some more obscure websites and swatted at a fly that had found a way into their room through the cracks in the windowsill. “I’m really hoping I’m wrong about this one.”
Dean frowned. “Why’s that?”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this sounds like something Munin would do, if pissed off enough.” Seeing his brother’s confused look, Sam elaborated. “One of the Norse god Odin’s companions and the keeper of memories. Though a lot of Germanic mythology has different variations on their gods origins and lives. If even half of it holds some truth, this pantheon has more intrigue than Gossip Girl. Most lore agrees that Munin’s function is to report what happens in the world to Odin.”
“The old guy at Elysium who rambled about wolves?” Dean queried. “I wonder if they still took a stand against the Devil.”
Sam nodded. “That’s the one. And I reckon Cas would have given us a call if a bunch of Pagan gods succeeded in destroying Lucifer. Anyway, my guess is that a lot of migrated believers settled in this area. Maybe with the spreading of Christianity, some of the old gods kept a close eye on what believers they had left.” With a shrug, Sam raised his bottle to his lips.
Dean started to see his brother’s line of thought. “Could be that something set him off on a vengeful streak. Those Pagans didn’t seem like a peace-loving hippy bunch. If that Odin dude really croaked…”
“We could have an angry raven-god of unknown abilities going through an existentiality crisis on our hands.” Sam finished the circle of logic.
“Good thing we have the calling card of someone who might have some insight on that party of gods,” Dean quipped.
The Winchesters decided to conjure up a summoning spell after dinner. No need to handle the epitome of unpredictability on an empty stomach, after all.
***
The sun had disappeared below the horizon by the time Sam and Dean had cleaned up the leftover trash from their Asian takeout and cleared space in the middle of the small motel room.
The wax that dribbled from the lit candles would be a bitch to scrub out of the worn grey carpet and the whole room stank of the burning mix of sandalwood, wormwood, white flower and dandelion root. The mixture flared when Sam completed his recital of the summoning incantation and both brothers held their breath.
They didn’t need to wait long before the familiar form of the Trickster appeared, looking the exact same as the last time they’d seen him, if a bit more harried and disheveled.
“Boys, boys, I was in the middle of a delightful orgy. This had better be good.”
“Gabriel-” Sam started, but was cut off as the Trickster cum archangel wiggled a finger at him.
“Ah, ah, Sam. You should have enough experience by now to know that’s not how these things work. You summoned Loki.” Gabriel paused to let that sink in. “And you’d better have gotten the rite in order or I’ll have to take a sacrifice. Old school rules. A real pain in the behind, if you ask me.”
Dean didn’t feel like playing along, especially with innocent people’s lives on the line. “Cut the crap about a pound of meat, Gabe.”
Gabriel’s golden eyes shone with tightly coiled power. “You nitwits summoned Loki. There is a reason why you are supposed to follow a ritual to the letter and can only successfully summon a being when you’ve spelled out its true name. I am not playing around.” The flame on the lit candles in the room flared higher with the Trickster’s ire. “Now get with the program, unless you want to end up dead or worse. Again.”
Sam shot an uncertain glance at Dean. Maybe they should have thought this move through. Then again, they were starting to get used to dealing with the Trickster or archangel. Or so they’d assumed, based on previous encounters.
“Tick tock, boys. I’m on a busy schedule here. Get down to business and stick to the rules.”
“Not another lecture on rules, roles and destiny,” Dean bemoaned. “We could offer him a beer?” He suggested doubtfully.
Sam shook his head before Gabriel-or the part of Gabriel that was Loki, or however the being operated-could snark at the proposal. “Odin’s bunch is more oriented towards human sacrifice, Dean.” His overprotective big brother sobered up immediately and took a stand between the pretend Pagan and Sam.
“You’re not laying a hand on Sam, you hear me?”
Sam moved too, but the Trickster answered with what clearly looked like some internal struggle to keep cool. The candle flames steadily inched higher nonetheless. “Consider first. The Devil can’t claim what already belongs to someone else.”
Sam looked contemplative at that tidbit of info, and fear for his sibling made Dean brash. “Not Sam! You can have me instead.”
The air gained a static quality as Loki snapped an agreement, then moved out of the summoning circle and plunged his hand into Dean’s chest. Sam cried out in alarm and outrage as Dean collapsed to his knees in agony.
Glowing golden scripture briefly shone through Dean’s skin as Loki pulled his hand back. “You belong to me now, Dean Winchester.”
The flames finally ebbed, then snuffed out as the Trickster heaved a calming breath. “Now that we’ve settled the matter of down payment and I’m here anyway,” Gabriel finally looked more relaxed, as if nothing of significance had transpired, “what was so urgent that Caine and Delko felt the need to summon me with a suicidal incomplete ritual?”
***
The sun was nearing its zenith by the time the deep rumble of her engine preceded the Impala easing into the nursing houses parking lot. Sam had been stonewalling Dean over his reckless decision in regards to his soul. Still, they would resume that argument after the case was solved and Sam would be damned if he took the backseat on this one.
Dressed up to the nines in their black suits, mostly pristine shirts and polished shoes, the Winchesters entered the veterans’ home, under the guise of ‘follow-up interviews to exclude certain risks to the general populace’.
The elderly Thomas Farish, who had been locked up under restraint at their latest visit, had apparently passed into a state of hopelessness that was nonaggressive to others. It gave the brothers the perfect excuse to pay him a visit and should coax out the deity plaguing him at the same time.
Sam moved to give the still skittish Mr. Farish a friendly pat on the hand, when Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist. “I’m the one with the insurance policy, Sammy, so I’m doing this.” Reading Sam’s growing agitation in the bitchface thrown his way, Dean placated. “I’m counting on you to save my bacon, if this goes south, okay?”
“Screw that.” Sam argued. “You already bartered your soul again. I’m playing the bait on this case.” With that, he gave the trembling, hunched form of the old man a firm but gentle few pats on the arm and left him to it. Just to be sure his trap sprung, Sam repeated the same action with some of the other victims. They’d made their move, the hunt was on in earnest now.
Back in their shabby motel room Sam prepared for the restless night to come, while Dean bitched at him for taking an unnecessary risk-the hypocrite. When Dean ran out of steam, he finally did pitch in his help, though.
If Sam was so hell-bent on facing off against a deity, then Dean would provide some solid backup. And just to be sure he has an ace up his sleeve, Dean slipped out of the room to make a speed dial phone call.
***
Sam inhaled the light floral scent of Jessica’s perfume as the summer breeze played with her wavy blond locks. He was haltingly asking her on what would be their first date. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam realized that the scene looked familiar. He knew she would say yes before she even opened her mouth. But then her smile turned sad and she gently let him down as she turned to walk away with the most popular football player on campus. Sam frowned in confusing, even as his heart ached with the missed opportunity. He knew, he felt with absolute certainty that he and Jessica could have been happy as a couple. Then the scene blurred and Sam was too focused on his dinner date with Sarah to find the abrupt skip in time odd.
In this manner six good memories were slowly twisted into either a sad moment or something downright horrendous, before Sam even realized he was dreaming. It took another three memories in which he fruitlessly struggled to recall the original happy occasion, for him to remember the hunt this was supposed to be.
Turning his back on the perverted parody of his memories being altered, he barked out a challenge. “Come out and face me, you weak coward.”
With a rustle of wings, similar to an angel’s appearance, the shadowy form of the Norse raven-god answered his call. It scoffed at Sam. “Act though while you can, damned soul. Soon I will feast upon your most precious memories. Then I’ll leave you to stew in your own misery. When I finally return to eat your heart and finish your pathetic existence, you will be grateful to perish and rid the earth of the imbalance you threaten to cause.”
“I don’t care for your riddles, Munin,” Sam retorted. “That is, you are Odin’s pet parakeet, right?”
It made a sound that closely resembled a squawk. “I and my brother serve the great Odin. We are his eyes on the world. We see all, he knows all.” For a moment Sam thought the dark form looked like a massive bird, ruffling its feathers. “But Odin is no longer in this world or any of the eight others. There is much feud between our strongest gods and we need to stand united against that castaway of Christianity.”
Sam scoffed, but at least Munin was forthcoming with the intel. The hunter slowly advanced on the being, reaching in his jacket pocket for a weapon. “I don’t care if petty, diminished gods are having a snipefest. Why are you screwing with innocent people’s heads, if you’re just supposed to do recon, be a messenger?”
In retaliation, the minor deity tore with renewed ferocity through more of Sam’s memories. Yet his physical representation stayed in place and faced the hunter down, dark wings flared in a span of many feet. The air suddenly saturated with the buzz of suppressed power. “Impudent mortal! Odin was the All Father. He must be avenged. We will seek retribution by destroying the impurity that walks and will walk the earth. But such a quest is taxing, it takes great power.”
Sam became incredulous the longer this went on. “A minor godling like you, not even much remembered in passed down tradition, wants to have a pissing contest with Lucifer? And good memories are your Wheaties to accomplish that?”
Having - barely - survived close encounters with Pagan gods before, Sam was not so easily intimidated when Munin looked down on him and took offense at Sam’s needling barbs. “Powerful memories are inscribed into the soul,” the god rasped out. Dark feathers rustled as he puffed them up. “They hold much power. One need only claim them and replace the emptiness with something else.”
“You want to put an end to the Devil, be my guest. But you don’t mess with innocent people’s lives to do it.”
Sam’s calm facade stretched into a grimace as Munin attacked his memories with renewed gusto. The raven-god seemed to be searching his memories as he distorted them. He seemed to focus on memories related to the Devil. Well, at least Sam didn’t have many pleasant memories to lose over those encounters.
***
The upside of having an archangel watch his back should have meant Dean didn’t need to down the foul-tasting African Dream Root, which left the taste of dirt and bitter herb clinging to the back of his throat. Of course, collaborating with Gabriel never was easy. And as the douche was not going to make Dean’s life easier whatsoever, he only stood guard to protect his property, should the need arise when both Winchesters tried to take down a deity gone Valravn.
Dean’s body and mind settled into deep slumber. Gabriel was just about to plunge into the hunter’s subconscious to guide him over to Sam’s mind when he noticed an intrusion into the human’s mind. He gave a low whistle. “Looks like someone’s eager to make you their new playground. Too bad for them that right now, you’re mine.” Mind made up, Gabriel moved his awareness into Dean’s sleeping mind.
The surrounding he landed in was a dank, badly illuminated crypt; unholy things crawled through its shadows. The foul reek of unearthed rotten things that should have stayed buried assaulted Gabriel’s senses, but he ignored it. The angel’s keen sight honed in on Dean, who paced the creepy burial place, armed with nothing more than his gun and a flickering flashlight.
“Quite the funhouse you keep in here,” Gabriel commented.
Startled, Dean spun to face the perceived threat. Gabriel didn’t bat an eyelid. “No need to point that thing at me. It wouldn’t do you a lick of good and I’m not the one hunting you.”
Dean gave a short grunt of incomprehension, but was stopped by the flutter of wings. The newcomer wasn’t who they expected.
“Dean, I couldn’t come any sooner. You need to stop this hunt. You and Sam are in danger.” At least the most helpful angel in the garrison didn’t waste time on pleasantries. And sure enough, those were the magic words to distract Dean from their current mission. If Gabriel believed such things might work, he would have slammed his head against the wall of the tomb.
“Hi to you too, Cas. If you hadn’t noticed, we’re always in danger. Besides, Sammy’s ass is already on the line right now and I need to save him.”
Gabriel groaned at Castiel’s unplanned appearance. “Your sense of timing is seriously out of whack, bro.”
Castiel chose to ignore the archangel’s quip, a clear sign of the urgency that compelled his actions. “The Host has caught wind of some Pagans planning to annihilate Sam’s very existence, so that Lucifer may never possess him. If they’re thorough enough it would prevent the Devil from taking Sam as his vessel and unleashing the full destruction of the Apocalypse on earth.”
Message of imminent doom delivered, Castiel redirected his attention, his spotless trench coat rustling as he turned. “Gabriel, why are you here? Dean didn’t mention you.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? I bet he didn’t tell you a thing about our current arrangement.”
Castiel honed his assessing gaze back in on Dean, while Gabriel surreptitiously scanned their surroundings.
Castiel’s tone flickered with what passed for downright alarm for the angel. “Why does Gabriel’s Pagan cover have a legit claim written into your soul, Dean?”
Dean shrugged ruefully. “Doesn’t matter right now. Look, Cas, we need to focus on Sam right now.”
Before Dean could explain further, the shadows around the crypt solidified into a grand dark shape, which lunged itself at him with a screech. Gabriel had been prepared for an assault, but Castiel stood first in the line of fire between hunter and deity. On a good day, the lower class angel could have stood his ground for a while. But falling and weakening as the disfavored angel was, he was ill prepared to take the brunt of the violent attack. The angel struggled up to his knees, panting, from where he had been struck flat to the ground. With a cry, Dean emptied the clip of his gun at the being, without any effect.
The next instant the short form of Gabriel had the looming raven-god in a stranglehold as he stood protectively in front of both Castiel and Dean. “Keep your filthy claws off of what’s mine, Hugin.”
“Loki,” the creature croaked. Eying the angel blade Gabriel pressed unconcerned to its neck, and the shadow Gabriel’s many wings threw in the flickering flashlight, Hugin reassessed. “What a shame that our finest Trickster has turned out to be a common traitor. The others will hear of this.”
“No, they won’t,” Gabriel denied calmly.
***
Munin was so intent on capitalizing on Sam’s psychological torture that he only had the briefest of moments to cry out in anguish as he felt his twin’s demise. Then Sam’s mental landscape was bathed in burning bright light and his ears rang with a high-pitched tone that bordered on pain.
Forfeiting his progress with the Winchester for the moment, the lone raven deity tried to escape the archangel’s judgment. He couldn’t even properly fight back before he was wiped from existence.
***
The local rags would call the halt and turnabout of the depression pandemic a miracle. Dean was just glad the little girl was regaining her good memories and that Sam was safe for the moment.
Gabriel loitered expectantly in the empty space next to the Impala as Dean stalled their conversation by dumping his duffel bag into the trunk of the car with more care than he normally would. At last Dean cleared his throat. “That ‘get out of jail free’-card was decent of you.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Of course a ‘thank you’ would kill a Winchester. Keep in mind that next time you screw the pooch, finders keepers.”
Dean checked over his shoulder to see Sam handling their checkout of the motel. “Right. Tell me something. Not that it wasn’t effective, but don’t you think that last smiting was overkill? Seems like a big waste of energy on a small parasite.”
Gabriel grunted his discontent and paced. For an archangel or even a Pagan god, the guy sure as hell blended in with humanity better than any other winged douche Dean had ever had the misfortune of meeting.
“Dean, I like you and you might even have a valid point about screwed up relationships once in a blue moon.” It clearly cost Gabriel some pride to make that last statement, so Dean bit back a wisecrack for the moment. “In the end you’re still only human. One of these days I’m going to drill it through your thick skull that you can’t compare our experiences with family.”
Gabriel took a breath he didn’t need to work up an extra scrap of patience. Even now the Winchester’s attention was divided, wiping an imaginary stain of the roof of his car. “You think you humans are hardwired for instinctual response, try this on for size. My dad created me as the second most powerful being in existence since the dawn of time. I’m not just a hallmark postcard with fluffy wings informing knocked-up chicks they forgot their protection.”
Gabriel cast about for comparative reference the bullheaded man might grasp if even a little, and alighted on the most recent movie night the Winchesters had forced on a recovering Castiel. “If the world was Jurassic Park, you seem to believe I’m the T-Rex to your raptor. Now here’s the thing, Dr. Malcolm.” Gabriel ignored Dean’s scoff to bulldoze on. “If I were in fact to be the T-Rex, you humans wouldn’t even be that tiniest of bacteria living in the water where dinosaurs drank.”
Dean bristled and gestured expressively. “So you have a crapload of mojo, that’s hardly a newsflash.”
In annoyance, Gabriel snapped Dean’s voice to mute. “That’s just my point. All that cosmic power is just the beginning! When I tell you Loki is my witness protection identity, I don’t just mean the handsome mug of this meatsuit.” Gabriel twirled a finger around his face in demonstration.
“All that lore whole cultures have amassed about Loki? Sure, most facts you humans got skewered. You have a knack for never getting the script right, you know? I think a lot of intel is lost in inter-species translation, because you just fail to grasp all the finer aspects of gods and godlike beings. Your prophets’ tiny braincells just can’t handle the enormity.”
Gabriel didn’t doubt for a moment that Dean was mouthing insults at him for the perceived slur against his race. “Now, we’re doing math here, try to keep up. Add the powers-more importantly the instincts-of a Pagan god and A-class Trickster to those of an archangel. In short, I’m the cocktail that’ll give you the mother of all hangovers.” Gabriel shrugged. “You think you’ve ever seen me truly pissed off? Half the planet would be ashes and dust if that were the case. Just because I’m the cute one, doesn’t mean I can’t throw a temper tantrum just as epic as Lucy. Worse, even, because of the whole Loki thing. Is any of this getting through to you?”
Dean glared and gave a half-hearted shrug. Gabriel wasn’t quite ready to dial the volume on his larynx back up though. “To me, Castiel is like the cute, naïve and wobbly toddler using the slide on the playground for the first time. Seeing as, for some utterly idiotic reason, I kinda like Team Freewill, that makes me rather protective of him. Now, as Loki, I technically have no strings attached whatsoever. But the archangel hidden beneath the cover of Loki recognizes Castiel as kin and a decent angel. The Loki part of me picks up on those feelings of distant kinship and makes them his own. As most Norse gods aren’t known for their snuggly cuddles, that makes me possessive of him.”
Finally Gabriel returned the man’s voice and Dean cleared his throat. “So basically, you’re like an angry little girl with a pet rabbit. And when you had a claim on my soul,” Dean grimaced at the way that came out way too chickflick. “I was one of your favorite toys?”
The archangel sighed. “If that’s the only way you’ll understand it. Fine, yes. I’ll be looking after Castiel for a bit, until he’s back up on his feet, so to speak. You try to be a bit more appreciative, you hear me?”
Instead of getting angry, Dean grinned, ducked into the car and honked for Sam to hurry up as he joked. “Yes, Mommy.”
THE END
Fandom/Genre: SPN, case!fic
Pairing(s): Gen
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4335
Warnings: Language
Summary: A town full of people losing memories and a ritual gone wrong. All in a day’s work for the Winchesters. Though maybe this time they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.
AN: Set in Season 5, after Hammer of the Gods, but Gabriel lives because he and the Winchesters got out of the Elysium Fields Hotel before Lucifer showed up for a spot of carnage. As a result, Loki’s other identity was not revealed to the other, still surviving Pagan gods.
AN2: Pinch-hit for the spn_reversebang 2013-2014. Double thanks go to spnreversemod. Not just for hosting the party, but also for being a very supportive last-minute beta.
Disclaimer: The series Supernatural and all its characters belong to Erik Kripke /CW and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended and no money will be made from this fanfiction.
Go look at chef_geekier's lovely art, which was the inspiration for this fic: HERE
Fic also available on AO3
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‘In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore,’ - The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe
“That was a total bust,” Dean grumped, as he tossed his tie and suit jacket carelessly on the motel bedspread. It made for an improvement of the décor, as certain stains just never washed out of the cheap sheets. Disgruntled as he felt, Dean called dibbs on the shower and left Sam to contemplate their next move in what was supposed to be an easy in-and-out-again case.
Knowing Dean needed to vent some frustration, Sam commented over the sound of spraying water. “You can’t blame a hysterical little girl for not having much useful information.”
Of course Dean didn’t blame the child. No civilian six-year-old girl with blond pigtails, violent pink clothes and a My Little Pony plushie squashed in her arms should ever look that terrified. Dean was just spitting mad at her parents, who had refused to cooperate before Sam and Dean had gotten more than two words out of the girl. Masterfully forged badges or not, not even Sam’s placating routine could make the parents see reason.
Taking Sam’s offer, Dean snarled back on cue. “If her stupid parents would get their heads out of their asses and cooperate, we could help that kid.”
Swapping his own suit for something more comfortable, Sam booted his laptop to continue their research. “At least the nursing home gives us some clues. I’m thinking we might need to get more dream root for this job.”
The Winchesters were on a hunt in Glendrive, Montana, needing a short break from all things apocalyptic. The local community was being plagued by a spreading amount of acute depression and hysteria. The first cases had been reported from a nursing home for veterans and no one had questioned the bouts of depression. Not until the veterans’ visiting children and even a few grandchildren started to suffer from the same affliction not long afterwards.
From what little the Winchesters had gleaned by questioning staff and relatives, the victims would just wake up one day in a fit of hysteria, claiming their lives were worthless. The closest they’d come to uncovering a clue was when one of the elderly ladies in the home made a comment of about one the victim’s grandchildren.
“Such a lively little thing she used to be,” the woman had sighed. “Then one day she just woke up without a single happy memory in her head.” The child’s parents, however, had refused to cooperate with Sam and Dean’s - or rather Public Health Inspectors Mason and Wright - investigation, effectively blocking their progress on catching the bad thing.
Dean came out of the shower as Sam put together a list of suspects and raised his eyebrows. “An aboleth? How very D&D of you, Sammy.” Dean cocked his head to get the last drops of water out of his ear and read along over Sam’s shoulder.
“Notice that that creature is at the bottom of the list,” Sam said dryly. “The nursing home is not near any large lake and I doubt the Yellowstone River counts, so that lowers the probability a lot.”
Dean dug two beers out of the mini-fridge and passed one to his brother. “Good, I like my creepy crawlers to be land bound.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair and pulled up records from the town archive. “If we were further south, I’d think it was one of those neurotoxic lizard monsters.” He shrugged. “This town has quite some Scandinavian roots, though.” Sam pulled up some more obscure websites and swatted at a fly that had found a way into their room through the cracks in the windowsill. “I’m really hoping I’m wrong about this one.”
Dean frowned. “Why’s that?”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this sounds like something Munin would do, if pissed off enough.” Seeing his brother’s confused look, Sam elaborated. “One of the Norse god Odin’s companions and the keeper of memories. Though a lot of Germanic mythology has different variations on their gods origins and lives. If even half of it holds some truth, this pantheon has more intrigue than Gossip Girl. Most lore agrees that Munin’s function is to report what happens in the world to Odin.”
“The old guy at Elysium who rambled about wolves?” Dean queried. “I wonder if they still took a stand against the Devil.”
Sam nodded. “That’s the one. And I reckon Cas would have given us a call if a bunch of Pagan gods succeeded in destroying Lucifer. Anyway, my guess is that a lot of migrated believers settled in this area. Maybe with the spreading of Christianity, some of the old gods kept a close eye on what believers they had left.” With a shrug, Sam raised his bottle to his lips.
Dean started to see his brother’s line of thought. “Could be that something set him off on a vengeful streak. Those Pagans didn’t seem like a peace-loving hippy bunch. If that Odin dude really croaked…”
“We could have an angry raven-god of unknown abilities going through an existentiality crisis on our hands.” Sam finished the circle of logic.
“Good thing we have the calling card of someone who might have some insight on that party of gods,” Dean quipped.
The Winchesters decided to conjure up a summoning spell after dinner. No need to handle the epitome of unpredictability on an empty stomach, after all.
***
The sun had disappeared below the horizon by the time Sam and Dean had cleaned up the leftover trash from their Asian takeout and cleared space in the middle of the small motel room.
The wax that dribbled from the lit candles would be a bitch to scrub out of the worn grey carpet and the whole room stank of the burning mix of sandalwood, wormwood, white flower and dandelion root. The mixture flared when Sam completed his recital of the summoning incantation and both brothers held their breath.
They didn’t need to wait long before the familiar form of the Trickster appeared, looking the exact same as the last time they’d seen him, if a bit more harried and disheveled.
“Boys, boys, I was in the middle of a delightful orgy. This had better be good.”
“Gabriel-” Sam started, but was cut off as the Trickster cum archangel wiggled a finger at him.
“Ah, ah, Sam. You should have enough experience by now to know that’s not how these things work. You summoned Loki.” Gabriel paused to let that sink in. “And you’d better have gotten the rite in order or I’ll have to take a sacrifice. Old school rules. A real pain in the behind, if you ask me.”
Dean didn’t feel like playing along, especially with innocent people’s lives on the line. “Cut the crap about a pound of meat, Gabe.”
Gabriel’s golden eyes shone with tightly coiled power. “You nitwits summoned Loki. There is a reason why you are supposed to follow a ritual to the letter and can only successfully summon a being when you’ve spelled out its true name. I am not playing around.” The flame on the lit candles in the room flared higher with the Trickster’s ire. “Now get with the program, unless you want to end up dead or worse. Again.”
Sam shot an uncertain glance at Dean. Maybe they should have thought this move through. Then again, they were starting to get used to dealing with the Trickster or archangel. Or so they’d assumed, based on previous encounters.
“Tick tock, boys. I’m on a busy schedule here. Get down to business and stick to the rules.”
“Not another lecture on rules, roles and destiny,” Dean bemoaned. “We could offer him a beer?” He suggested doubtfully.
Sam shook his head before Gabriel-or the part of Gabriel that was Loki, or however the being operated-could snark at the proposal. “Odin’s bunch is more oriented towards human sacrifice, Dean.” His overprotective big brother sobered up immediately and took a stand between the pretend Pagan and Sam.
“You’re not laying a hand on Sam, you hear me?”
Sam moved too, but the Trickster answered with what clearly looked like some internal struggle to keep cool. The candle flames steadily inched higher nonetheless. “Consider first. The Devil can’t claim what already belongs to someone else.”
Sam looked contemplative at that tidbit of info, and fear for his sibling made Dean brash. “Not Sam! You can have me instead.”
The air gained a static quality as Loki snapped an agreement, then moved out of the summoning circle and plunged his hand into Dean’s chest. Sam cried out in alarm and outrage as Dean collapsed to his knees in agony.
Glowing golden scripture briefly shone through Dean’s skin as Loki pulled his hand back. “You belong to me now, Dean Winchester.”
The flames finally ebbed, then snuffed out as the Trickster heaved a calming breath. “Now that we’ve settled the matter of down payment and I’m here anyway,” Gabriel finally looked more relaxed, as if nothing of significance had transpired, “what was so urgent that Caine and Delko felt the need to summon me with a suicidal incomplete ritual?”
***
The sun was nearing its zenith by the time the deep rumble of her engine preceded the Impala easing into the nursing houses parking lot. Sam had been stonewalling Dean over his reckless decision in regards to his soul. Still, they would resume that argument after the case was solved and Sam would be damned if he took the backseat on this one.
Dressed up to the nines in their black suits, mostly pristine shirts and polished shoes, the Winchesters entered the veterans’ home, under the guise of ‘follow-up interviews to exclude certain risks to the general populace’.
The elderly Thomas Farish, who had been locked up under restraint at their latest visit, had apparently passed into a state of hopelessness that was nonaggressive to others. It gave the brothers the perfect excuse to pay him a visit and should coax out the deity plaguing him at the same time.
Sam moved to give the still skittish Mr. Farish a friendly pat on the hand, when Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist. “I’m the one with the insurance policy, Sammy, so I’m doing this.” Reading Sam’s growing agitation in the bitchface thrown his way, Dean placated. “I’m counting on you to save my bacon, if this goes south, okay?”
“Screw that.” Sam argued. “You already bartered your soul again. I’m playing the bait on this case.” With that, he gave the trembling, hunched form of the old man a firm but gentle few pats on the arm and left him to it. Just to be sure his trap sprung, Sam repeated the same action with some of the other victims. They’d made their move, the hunt was on in earnest now.
Back in their shabby motel room Sam prepared for the restless night to come, while Dean bitched at him for taking an unnecessary risk-the hypocrite. When Dean ran out of steam, he finally did pitch in his help, though.
If Sam was so hell-bent on facing off against a deity, then Dean would provide some solid backup. And just to be sure he has an ace up his sleeve, Dean slipped out of the room to make a speed dial phone call.
***
Sam inhaled the light floral scent of Jessica’s perfume as the summer breeze played with her wavy blond locks. He was haltingly asking her on what would be their first date. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam realized that the scene looked familiar. He knew she would say yes before she even opened her mouth. But then her smile turned sad and she gently let him down as she turned to walk away with the most popular football player on campus. Sam frowned in confusing, even as his heart ached with the missed opportunity. He knew, he felt with absolute certainty that he and Jessica could have been happy as a couple. Then the scene blurred and Sam was too focused on his dinner date with Sarah to find the abrupt skip in time odd.
In this manner six good memories were slowly twisted into either a sad moment or something downright horrendous, before Sam even realized he was dreaming. It took another three memories in which he fruitlessly struggled to recall the original happy occasion, for him to remember the hunt this was supposed to be.
Turning his back on the perverted parody of his memories being altered, he barked out a challenge. “Come out and face me, you weak coward.”
With a rustle of wings, similar to an angel’s appearance, the shadowy form of the Norse raven-god answered his call. It scoffed at Sam. “Act though while you can, damned soul. Soon I will feast upon your most precious memories. Then I’ll leave you to stew in your own misery. When I finally return to eat your heart and finish your pathetic existence, you will be grateful to perish and rid the earth of the imbalance you threaten to cause.”
“I don’t care for your riddles, Munin,” Sam retorted. “That is, you are Odin’s pet parakeet, right?”
It made a sound that closely resembled a squawk. “I and my brother serve the great Odin. We are his eyes on the world. We see all, he knows all.” For a moment Sam thought the dark form looked like a massive bird, ruffling its feathers. “But Odin is no longer in this world or any of the eight others. There is much feud between our strongest gods and we need to stand united against that castaway of Christianity.”
Sam scoffed, but at least Munin was forthcoming with the intel. The hunter slowly advanced on the being, reaching in his jacket pocket for a weapon. “I don’t care if petty, diminished gods are having a snipefest. Why are you screwing with innocent people’s heads, if you’re just supposed to do recon, be a messenger?”
In retaliation, the minor deity tore with renewed ferocity through more of Sam’s memories. Yet his physical representation stayed in place and faced the hunter down, dark wings flared in a span of many feet. The air suddenly saturated with the buzz of suppressed power. “Impudent mortal! Odin was the All Father. He must be avenged. We will seek retribution by destroying the impurity that walks and will walk the earth. But such a quest is taxing, it takes great power.”
Sam became incredulous the longer this went on. “A minor godling like you, not even much remembered in passed down tradition, wants to have a pissing contest with Lucifer? And good memories are your Wheaties to accomplish that?”
Having - barely - survived close encounters with Pagan gods before, Sam was not so easily intimidated when Munin looked down on him and took offense at Sam’s needling barbs. “Powerful memories are inscribed into the soul,” the god rasped out. Dark feathers rustled as he puffed them up. “They hold much power. One need only claim them and replace the emptiness with something else.”
“You want to put an end to the Devil, be my guest. But you don’t mess with innocent people’s lives to do it.”
Sam’s calm facade stretched into a grimace as Munin attacked his memories with renewed gusto. The raven-god seemed to be searching his memories as he distorted them. He seemed to focus on memories related to the Devil. Well, at least Sam didn’t have many pleasant memories to lose over those encounters.
***
The upside of having an archangel watch his back should have meant Dean didn’t need to down the foul-tasting African Dream Root, which left the taste of dirt and bitter herb clinging to the back of his throat. Of course, collaborating with Gabriel never was easy. And as the douche was not going to make Dean’s life easier whatsoever, he only stood guard to protect his property, should the need arise when both Winchesters tried to take down a deity gone Valravn.
Dean’s body and mind settled into deep slumber. Gabriel was just about to plunge into the hunter’s subconscious to guide him over to Sam’s mind when he noticed an intrusion into the human’s mind. He gave a low whistle. “Looks like someone’s eager to make you their new playground. Too bad for them that right now, you’re mine.” Mind made up, Gabriel moved his awareness into Dean’s sleeping mind.
The surrounding he landed in was a dank, badly illuminated crypt; unholy things crawled through its shadows. The foul reek of unearthed rotten things that should have stayed buried assaulted Gabriel’s senses, but he ignored it. The angel’s keen sight honed in on Dean, who paced the creepy burial place, armed with nothing more than his gun and a flickering flashlight.
“Quite the funhouse you keep in here,” Gabriel commented.
Startled, Dean spun to face the perceived threat. Gabriel didn’t bat an eyelid. “No need to point that thing at me. It wouldn’t do you a lick of good and I’m not the one hunting you.”
Dean gave a short grunt of incomprehension, but was stopped by the flutter of wings. The newcomer wasn’t who they expected.
“Dean, I couldn’t come any sooner. You need to stop this hunt. You and Sam are in danger.” At least the most helpful angel in the garrison didn’t waste time on pleasantries. And sure enough, those were the magic words to distract Dean from their current mission. If Gabriel believed such things might work, he would have slammed his head against the wall of the tomb.
“Hi to you too, Cas. If you hadn’t noticed, we’re always in danger. Besides, Sammy’s ass is already on the line right now and I need to save him.”
Gabriel groaned at Castiel’s unplanned appearance. “Your sense of timing is seriously out of whack, bro.”
Castiel chose to ignore the archangel’s quip, a clear sign of the urgency that compelled his actions. “The Host has caught wind of some Pagans planning to annihilate Sam’s very existence, so that Lucifer may never possess him. If they’re thorough enough it would prevent the Devil from taking Sam as his vessel and unleashing the full destruction of the Apocalypse on earth.”
Message of imminent doom delivered, Castiel redirected his attention, his spotless trench coat rustling as he turned. “Gabriel, why are you here? Dean didn’t mention you.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? I bet he didn’t tell you a thing about our current arrangement.”
Castiel honed his assessing gaze back in on Dean, while Gabriel surreptitiously scanned their surroundings.
Castiel’s tone flickered with what passed for downright alarm for the angel. “Why does Gabriel’s Pagan cover have a legit claim written into your soul, Dean?”
Dean shrugged ruefully. “Doesn’t matter right now. Look, Cas, we need to focus on Sam right now.”
Before Dean could explain further, the shadows around the crypt solidified into a grand dark shape, which lunged itself at him with a screech. Gabriel had been prepared for an assault, but Castiel stood first in the line of fire between hunter and deity. On a good day, the lower class angel could have stood his ground for a while. But falling and weakening as the disfavored angel was, he was ill prepared to take the brunt of the violent attack. The angel struggled up to his knees, panting, from where he had been struck flat to the ground. With a cry, Dean emptied the clip of his gun at the being, without any effect.
The next instant the short form of Gabriel had the looming raven-god in a stranglehold as he stood protectively in front of both Castiel and Dean. “Keep your filthy claws off of what’s mine, Hugin.”
“Loki,” the creature croaked. Eying the angel blade Gabriel pressed unconcerned to its neck, and the shadow Gabriel’s many wings threw in the flickering flashlight, Hugin reassessed. “What a shame that our finest Trickster has turned out to be a common traitor. The others will hear of this.”
“No, they won’t,” Gabriel denied calmly.
***
Munin was so intent on capitalizing on Sam’s psychological torture that he only had the briefest of moments to cry out in anguish as he felt his twin’s demise. Then Sam’s mental landscape was bathed in burning bright light and his ears rang with a high-pitched tone that bordered on pain.
Forfeiting his progress with the Winchester for the moment, the lone raven deity tried to escape the archangel’s judgment. He couldn’t even properly fight back before he was wiped from existence.
***
The local rags would call the halt and turnabout of the depression pandemic a miracle. Dean was just glad the little girl was regaining her good memories and that Sam was safe for the moment.
Gabriel loitered expectantly in the empty space next to the Impala as Dean stalled their conversation by dumping his duffel bag into the trunk of the car with more care than he normally would. At last Dean cleared his throat. “That ‘get out of jail free’-card was decent of you.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Of course a ‘thank you’ would kill a Winchester. Keep in mind that next time you screw the pooch, finders keepers.”
Dean checked over his shoulder to see Sam handling their checkout of the motel. “Right. Tell me something. Not that it wasn’t effective, but don’t you think that last smiting was overkill? Seems like a big waste of energy on a small parasite.”
Gabriel grunted his discontent and paced. For an archangel or even a Pagan god, the guy sure as hell blended in with humanity better than any other winged douche Dean had ever had the misfortune of meeting.
“Dean, I like you and you might even have a valid point about screwed up relationships once in a blue moon.” It clearly cost Gabriel some pride to make that last statement, so Dean bit back a wisecrack for the moment. “In the end you’re still only human. One of these days I’m going to drill it through your thick skull that you can’t compare our experiences with family.”
Gabriel took a breath he didn’t need to work up an extra scrap of patience. Even now the Winchester’s attention was divided, wiping an imaginary stain of the roof of his car. “You think you humans are hardwired for instinctual response, try this on for size. My dad created me as the second most powerful being in existence since the dawn of time. I’m not just a hallmark postcard with fluffy wings informing knocked-up chicks they forgot their protection.”
Gabriel cast about for comparative reference the bullheaded man might grasp if even a little, and alighted on the most recent movie night the Winchesters had forced on a recovering Castiel. “If the world was Jurassic Park, you seem to believe I’m the T-Rex to your raptor. Now here’s the thing, Dr. Malcolm.” Gabriel ignored Dean’s scoff to bulldoze on. “If I were in fact to be the T-Rex, you humans wouldn’t even be that tiniest of bacteria living in the water where dinosaurs drank.”
Dean bristled and gestured expressively. “So you have a crapload of mojo, that’s hardly a newsflash.”
In annoyance, Gabriel snapped Dean’s voice to mute. “That’s just my point. All that cosmic power is just the beginning! When I tell you Loki is my witness protection identity, I don’t just mean the handsome mug of this meatsuit.” Gabriel twirled a finger around his face in demonstration.
“All that lore whole cultures have amassed about Loki? Sure, most facts you humans got skewered. You have a knack for never getting the script right, you know? I think a lot of intel is lost in inter-species translation, because you just fail to grasp all the finer aspects of gods and godlike beings. Your prophets’ tiny braincells just can’t handle the enormity.”
Gabriel didn’t doubt for a moment that Dean was mouthing insults at him for the perceived slur against his race. “Now, we’re doing math here, try to keep up. Add the powers-more importantly the instincts-of a Pagan god and A-class Trickster to those of an archangel. In short, I’m the cocktail that’ll give you the mother of all hangovers.” Gabriel shrugged. “You think you’ve ever seen me truly pissed off? Half the planet would be ashes and dust if that were the case. Just because I’m the cute one, doesn’t mean I can’t throw a temper tantrum just as epic as Lucy. Worse, even, because of the whole Loki thing. Is any of this getting through to you?”
Dean glared and gave a half-hearted shrug. Gabriel wasn’t quite ready to dial the volume on his larynx back up though. “To me, Castiel is like the cute, naïve and wobbly toddler using the slide on the playground for the first time. Seeing as, for some utterly idiotic reason, I kinda like Team Freewill, that makes me rather protective of him. Now, as Loki, I technically have no strings attached whatsoever. But the archangel hidden beneath the cover of Loki recognizes Castiel as kin and a decent angel. The Loki part of me picks up on those feelings of distant kinship and makes them his own. As most Norse gods aren’t known for their snuggly cuddles, that makes me possessive of him.”
Finally Gabriel returned the man’s voice and Dean cleared his throat. “So basically, you’re like an angry little girl with a pet rabbit. And when you had a claim on my soul,” Dean grimaced at the way that came out way too chickflick. “I was one of your favorite toys?”
The archangel sighed. “If that’s the only way you’ll understand it. Fine, yes. I’ll be looking after Castiel for a bit, until he’s back up on his feet, so to speak. You try to be a bit more appreciative, you hear me?”
Instead of getting angry, Dean grinned, ducked into the car and honked for Sam to hurry up as he joked. “Yes, Mommy.”
THE END