This Ominous Bird of Yore (Dean/Sam NC-17) - Continued
Sam took off for the library almost the second they got back into the building, leaving Dean to see that Suzanne Spencer found her way to Lieutenant Masterson and was able to describe to him what had happened. Dean watched Marli suspiciously as she listened to Suzanne talk, trying to figure out if she seemed like a witch or not. Vengeful spirit ravens seemed highly unlikely - Dean didn't claim to be an animal expert, but something told him that when animals died, they weren't aware enough to hold grudges against people for cutting down the trees or whatever. If they were being controlled or summoned, though, that he was willing to believe, and even though he couldn't find a hex bag, a witch was seeming more likely each minute. It was possible it was the entire town, not just the Spencers, that was being targeted. Doctor Austin was certainly the only person benefiting from these circumstances.
After Mrs. Spencer got settled, Dean went to see if his brother was interested in dinner, but he was buried nose deep in books. He went and ate on his own, bringing back some food for Sam but, feeling useless and brushed aside, found an empty classroom to disassemble and clean the shotgun and inventory what was in the duffle bag that would be able to help. He pushed some of the desks aside to clear some space on the floor, sat everything down, and got to work. Dean hadn't been there for too long when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on ends, turning to see Castiel sitting on one of the desks, fingers intertwined in his lap.
“Need to get you a bell,” Dean muttered. “Then one of you gets their wings, right?”
The angel didn't even blink. “You are wasting your efforts here. Lilith is elsewhere, getting closer to loosing Lucifer upon Earth. This town won't matter, won't exist, if she succeeds.”
Dean returned to the task at hand, his back to Castiel. “You wanna tell that to these people? I bet they'd be thrilled to hear that God thinks there's something more important going on.”
“The fate of the entire world is more important than that of this town. Do you want to tell these people that the apocalypse is upon them because you lost sight of what was happening and came to help them from a remnant curse instead?”
Rising violently and throwing the shotgun to the floor, Dean spun on his heel to face the angel, exasperated with how he was expected to follow God's orders when he hadn't heard from Him since the Back to the Future trip Castiel had taken him on. “Just because God has taken a sudden interest in my life doesn't me that me and Sam are going to change what we do. These people need our help, and even if it has nothing to do with Lilith or the seals, it's still evil and needs to be taken care of. We're not going to just sit around with our thumbs up our asses until we're told what to do. This is what we do, this is normal for us, and considering everything else that has gone on in the last five months, we could use some normal in our lives. So I'm sorry if it doesn't fit in with God's plan, but He's going to have to deal with it until we're done here.”
He had been hoping to get a rise out of Castiel, to get some sort of reaction out of him as Dean had found himself mere inches from the angel, but Cas seemed as collected as he always did. He leveled his gaze, somehow managing to make Dean feel very small. “It is good of you to show initiative in the fight against the armies of Hell. Stopping any evil acts, no matter how insignificant they may seem, is a victory for Heaven.”
“So what's with the mixed messages?” Dean scoffed, throwing his hands in the air and then scratching the back of his head. “I don't appreciate getting jerked around.”
“Your frustration is understandable. Just know that you are being tested, but it is all to prepare you for what's to come.” Castiel rose, forcing Dean to take a step backwards. The intensity in his eyes made Dean's shoulder burn, stronger than the twinge he usually felt when the angel was near. “There will be difficult decisions ahead. You must be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Castiel looked away, walking over to the doorway and looking out through the narrow pane of glass that ran vertically down its length. “Ready for what?” Dean repeated, wondering what really could be left for him to face that he hadn't seen before.
“Keep an eye on your brother,” Cas replied, startling Dean with words that he had grown used to hearing from his father. “Things will be easier if he maintains the right path.”
Dean brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and then rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What do you...” he began but stopped abruptly when he looked around the classroom, seeing that the angel was gone. “So helpful, as always,” Dean mumbled, walking to where the shotgun had landed and bringing it back to where the gear was spread out on the floor, crouching down to reassemble everything and put it all back in the bags. Hefting the duffles onto a shoulder and heading out the door with the intention of distracting Sam from the books, Dean paused, recalling something Castiel had said: remnant curse. It was a start.
Running to the library and apologizing hastily to the people he almost knocked over along the way, Dean found his brother in more or less the same position he had last seen him in. “Do you know what they call a group of ravens?” Sam asked, not even looking up from the dusty encyclopedia he was perusing.
“No idea.” Dean responded, putting the bags on the floor and pulling out the chair next to Sam, turning it around to straddle it backwards. He felt like he was about to burst holding in the clue Cas had given that could give them a better direction to start looking in.
Sam looked up, smiling wryly. “An unkindness.”
“Well that's appropriate. Did you learn anything else?” When Sam shook his head, Dean leaned in more closely. “What if we have a remnant curse on our hands?”
Dean's face fell when he could tell that Sam wasn't impressed. Sure, he hadn't thought of it on his own, or at all for that matter, but still. “You're kidding, right? I'll believe a curse, but one that has been withheld until now? Someone would have to know that curses can't be stopped and try to contain it.”
Looking around the library, Dean's eyes settled on a glass box with a rock in it. He rose, walking over to read the plaque, able to feel Sam's puzzled gaze on his back.
EDGAR ALLEN POE HIGH SCHOOL
GROUNDBREAKING CEREMONY
APRIL 19, 2008
“When did the birds start showing up?” Dean asked, having an idea but wanting to make sure he wasn't inventing details.
“Harry said mid-April. Why?” When Dean just pointed at the sign, Sam got up to read it. “I'm not allowed to take it as just a coincidence, am I?”
“It's gotta have to do with the school. I think we need to find out how it got that name.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, “Unless you got any better ideas.” He didn't mean to be seem so confrontational, but he could tell that Sam didn't have any better ideas. He wasn't used to his brother questioning him, and Dean had to remind himself that Sam had hunted perfectly fine for the four months Dean was in Hell on his own. Perfectly fine meaning that while Sam was off gallivanting with a demon and using his powers, at least he didn't get himself killed. Part of Dean wanted to shake his brother while the other part wanted to throw him onto the table. Anything to get him to react.
Sam walked away, disappearing into the stacks and returning with a stack of books that he shoved at Dean. Three were biographies on Poe while the other two were on the history of the region and Reynolds itself. “If you think it's connected, put your money where your mouth is.” Dean was taken by surprise when Sam leaned into him, crushing his lips in a kiss that left Dean feeling flushed. “Now stop being an ass,” Sam said, leaving his brother standing by the display case as he returned to the books, tossing aside the one he had previously been going through and starting on the next one in the pile.
Glancing up at the clock, Dean noticed that it had just passed midnight. With a sigh he sat down at the table and started going through the first book, bracing himself for a long night.
+
It took a few hours, but eventually Sam found in the town annals that Edgar Allen Poe actually had a home in Reynolds, Maine. The town had been a bustling center of economy, the largest city in the state back in the 1840s because of the logging industry. It all fell apart in 1848, though, moving the populace to Bangor which developed quickly while Reynolds stayed much as it was now and didn't change until construction on the high school finished this year.
Sam went through old maps of the town until he found one that proved his suspicions. “So guess where Poe's house once stood.”
“I'm going to guess that we're sitting on it give or take a few dozen yards.” Dean leaned back in his chair, intently focused on the end of one of the biographies. “Listen to this: Poe is said to have repeatedly called out the name 'Reynolds' on the night before his death, but it is unclear to whom he was referring. According to many sources, Poe's final words were, 'Lord help my poor soul.' There's no mention of him ever living here.” He looked up, meeting Sam's gaze. “Sounds like he made a deal with a demon.”
Going back to the town annals, Sam grabbed another one of the biographies from the pile, flipping to the end. “He died in Baltimore on October 7, 1849 when he was forty years old. It was sudden and the cause was uncertain. There's a whole list here of what different experts suspected - alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, suicide, tuberculosis, rabies... Hey wasn't it the seventh when the soccer teams were attacked after practice?”
“I think that's what they said. Still think it's all a coincidence?”
Sam went backwards through the biography, trying to find something that would likely trigger Poe to make a deal with a demon. There was nothing in 1839, though, that stuck out. Poe got a position as an assistant editor of a magazine and published a collection of stories that didn't make a lot of money. His work did become successful all of a sudden but that wasn't until 1845. The only think that stuck out was when his wife died of tuberculosis early in 1847. His wife who was thirteen and half Poe's age when they got married, not to mention that she was also his cousin. Although, Sam scoffed, being in love with his older brother left him with no room to judge.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam tried to remember anything he could about remnant curses. Curses in general could be set by demons, but there'd be no reason for such a delay between when it was cast, which Sam assumed was around Poe's death, and now. But demons weren't the only ones that could perform curses. Dean had suspected witchcraft earlier, and Sam was starting to think that might be right. He tossed the biography aside, looking for the town records. He wanted to know what had happened to Poe's property - then he might be able to say something for sure.
“How come none of these say anything about Poe living here?” Dean was skimming through each of the books, scratching the back of his head. “Towns normally get obsessive over these things. The newest of these biographies is twenty years old. If it weren't for the school, we wouldn't have even thought of the connection. Do you think they were trying to cover it up?”
“I don't know, maybe, but if they were hiding it, what changed?”
“Stephen Caldwell died. It sounds like Poe gave the property to Caldwell's great grandfather just before he left Reynolds. When he died three years ago, the house, which was really just a small cottage, went to the town.” Sam could tell that his brother felt like he was on the verge of breaking the case by how he suddenly perked up, eagerly reading through the records. “Get this - it was used as a maintenance shed until it was demolished to build the school over. They stored rock salt in the thing for deicing the roads.”
Well, Sam thought, that explained what happened to the property, which completely destroyed his witchcraft theory. Witches had to place curses on a physical item, leading him to think it was something in the house if not the house itself. But if it had been demolished a year or two ago when they cleared the grounds to start building the high school, the curse would've been activated then not now. Not unless... Sam went back to the display case, looking at the rock from the groundbreaking ceremony. He caught eye of a bulletin board behind the main desk - it featured newspaper clippings about the milestones in the building of the school, including an article on the ceremony back in April. The article made particular note about how the school sign with the bronze raven statue was erected that day. It was made of reused granite, taken from the foundation of Edgar Allen Poe's original home in Reynolds.
“The sign was made using the foundation of the house.” Returning to the table, Sam dug out the notes he had been scribbling down, Dean watching him with interest. “Poe's wife died of tuberculosis on January 30, 1847. She would've been sick for a long time, dying slowly and painfully. What if he resorted to witchcraft to try and save her, but it didn't work and backfired? A spell like that would need a...a counterweight, so the entire town is cursed to be killed, but either he didn't do it correctly or he backed out before it was completed.”
Dean nodded, catching on. “The curse was to destroy the town. It started when the logging industry moved, so the town lost a lot of money. Poe left town, leaving the house to Stephen Caldwell's great grandfather who was probably told how to keep the curse at bay, but it followed Poe to Baltimore, haunting him and eventually killing him.”
“Reynolds was safe until Stephen Caldwell died in 2005, not having anyone to leave the property to so the town took it. Sheer luck with storing the rock salt in the house kept the curse from kicking in sooner, but when they put the sign up, Reynolds wasn't protected anymore.” Sam couldn't think of ever having a case this convoluted before, but nothing ever seemed to surprise him anymore, either.
“And we know from that case in Oklahoma what a bitch curses are, but that one was an annual event; this one's been waiting for a hundred and sixty years. This is the same as Oasis Plains - there's nothing we can do besides get the hell out of the way.” Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don't think we can help here.”
“So what are we going to do? Leave!?” Sam rose, pacing, trying to think. His brother did have a point, but that didn't mean they were just going to give up. He had another thought - that maybe it didn't haunt Poe until he died, but it killed him because he left. Trying to get the entire population out of Reynolds could kill them just the same as leaving them all here. At least if they stayed it would be quicker.
“We can't exactly salt and burn our way out of this one, Sam.” Dean was becoming just as frustrated. “Have you ever heard of someone succeeding in breaking a curse?”
“Uh, the rabbit's foot? Or did you really forget losing forty six Gs, Batman?”
“Can't say that bitch didn't deserve what she got,” Dean grumbled bitterly. “There's no way we can get that sign to a cemetery to burn with bone ash and cayenne pepper. There's a reason why in house fires the granite counters are the only thing left. And for some reason I doubt even if we search every building in this town we won't find a curse box large enough. Don't exactly have time to call Bobby and get one custom ordered.”
Something clicked in Sam's head. “Wait, that's it.”
“What's it?”
“The rabbit's foot only needed to be destroyed in a cemetery because that's where it was created; the rock never even left the original grounds. I don't think the cursed object needs to physically burn itself, either, but if it's all done correctly, the curse will be burned out of the stone.”
Dean was studying him, and Sam could almost see him working the idea over in his mind. “I'll go down to the cafeteria, dig up some pepper. You head over to the biology room - schools usually have a human skeleton, right?” Dean looked at his watch, causing Sam to glance over at the clock on the other side of the room only to remember that the power was out. “Sunrise is in an hour. We'll meet at the front doors ready to burn.”
“You think it will work?”
“Kinda have to, Sammy. It's the only plan we got.”
+
Dean kept his eyes up above as his brother mixed together the bone ash and cayenne pepper in a canvas bag they took and then started tossing it over the sign. His gaze kept landing on the bronze raven perched on top of the sign, not liking how it seemed to be staring at them like it wanted to rip the skin from their bodies. “Come on, Sam, want to hurry this up a bit? You're not dressing a Thanksgiving turkey here.”
He now wasn't liking how Sam was patting at all his pockets, and he definitely didn't like the “uh oh” that escaped his brother's mouth. “Do you have a lighter on you?”
“You had one yesterday when we got Mrs. Spencer. What happened to it?”
“I dropped it when I went to try my gun.” Both of them were looking around, trying to spot it lying in the empty parking lot, but Dean saw nothing. He felt his pockets and swore, able to picture the lighter sitting at the bottom of the duffel bag back inside the high school.
A breeze caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, and Dean knew that there would be no way for one of them to hold off the incoming birds as the other went to get the lighter. He also knew, as the sound of flapping wings got louder and louder, that if the both of them went back inside, the ravens wouldn't leave the sign unguarded. These things always had a tendency to protect their weak spot. He saw Sam bend at the knees to pick up the rifle that he'd left sitting on the ground, their eyes locking briefly before returning to the sky. It got noticeably darker as the ravens crossed overhead, a swirling vortex of black feathers and sharp nails and bills, so many birds that the sound of them flying was thunderous and their cries almost made Dean clap his hands over his ears.
“Shit,” Dean cursed as he saw the door to the school open, Marli and Henry coming outside. The lieutenant was wielding a shotgun that Dean knew would be useless; Marli was completely unarmed, which was even more so. “Get back inside!” He yelled, but he could barely hear his own voice over the ravens.
“You really shouldn't be out here,” Sam said when they got closer, but Masterson seemed determined. Marli had an odd expression on her face, almost like awe. “Birdshot won't stop them, and their numbers are too great.”
“Didn't think you boys should be out here without backup,” Henry said, but Dean was barely listening. He was too focused on Henry's hands and his stained fingernails. “Marli wanted to come out and see them one last time before they were taken care of.”
The lady's nuts, Dean thought. “Lieutenant, could I trouble you for a light?”
Masterson looked confused. “This hardly seems like a good time for a smoke, but I understand how it is when a craving hits.” His hand went into his front pocket, pulling out a blue plastic lighter.
Dean moved forward to take it from his proffered hand, the birds' cries becoming louder, more shrill, and then he heard Sam cry out, “Dean, it's her!” A force hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks, sending him flying backwards through the air until he landed tens of feet away on the pavement, tensing his body just in time so he didn't slam the back of his head into the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, but Dean forced himself to try and sit up, looking around for Sam who had been thrown to the edge of the parking lot, back against the trunk of a tree. Lieutenant Masterson was still standing where he had been, next to Marli, looking completely stunned with his arm still outstretched, like he was waiting for Dean to take the lighter from him.
Marli had a dark expression on her face as she lowered her hand, Dean cursing himself for ignoring his first instinct. She took the lighter, looking at the birds forming a giant black ring in the sky and then at Henry. “Kill him.”
The ravens dropped simultaneously, Dean registering his brother yell in protest as they swarmed Henry like a school of piranha, pecking and scratching, their feathers muffling any agonized cries and then the birds stopped, going higher in the air to land on tree branches and power lines, Lieutenant Masterson's body slowly pitching forward and landing on the ground, shredded to a bloody pulp.
Dean managed to pull himself to his feet only for Marli to raise him into the air, tossing him with magic like a rag doll so he landed next to his brother. “Why are you doing this?” Sam asked, Dean able to see the hair on the back of his head matted with blood and his eyes seemed dazed. He had to fight every instinct to stay put, not wanting to become the focus of those birds.
“A little witchcraft always helps to get ahead in the world.” Marli was playing with the lighter, watching the flame dance next to her thumb. “If the town had actually listened to my advice, no one would have needed to die.”
“You were worried about hunters coming after you.” Dean pulled himself up until he was sitting. “That's why the Spencers were targeted and Eric was killed the instant he stepped outside his home.”
“The university was threatening to revoke my degree. They claimed my doctoral thesis was plagiarized, that I just changed a few numbers on someone else's work and put my name on it. I needed something big for them to consider not discrediting me. Schools always want flashy studies to draw attention to them. Summoning and controlling a gathering of a few thousand dead ravens, a population that's never been recorded before taking on unusual behavior, that was a guarantee to save my credibility.” She stopped flicking at the lighter, looking at the ravens. “They should have listened, but they didn't, so four lives will be lost. That blood is on the people of Reynolds's hands.”
“Four? Think you need to check your math.” Dean looked over at Sam, then down at himself. “Oh, I get it.” He couldn't tell if Sam still had his gun tucked into the back of his pants or not, but Dean knew Sam never drew it and doubted Marli knew he had it, too focused when she'd sent him flying to rip the rifle out of his grasp as she'd done to the shotgun with Dean. He had to distract her attention away from Sam and hope he caught on to what needed to happen. “Come on, Marli, you can still stop this. No one knows you have anything to do with it besides us and you. Make the birds go away, we'll leave, that's it. I know how it is, looking for the easy way out, and I'm sure the magic is addictive or some bullshit like that, but you don't want this on your conscience.” Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam's hand behind his back, moving slowly, deliberately, trying to keep his shoulder still as he worked his wrist. Dean hoped his brother didn't slam his head too hard against the tree since he knew Sam would only have one shot.
“It's too late for my conscience. What's two more when I already have two lives on my hands?”
“So Poe had nothing to do with any of this?”
“His connection to this town was, shall we say, my inspiration for it all. I didn't know you were hunters until I had them attack when you were bringing Suzanne Spencer to the school. I'd hoped Poe would serve as a believable scapegoat, but I'd underestimated the two of you. I didn't think you'd know how to break a curse, but I saw you, Dean, in the cafeteria at breakfast asking about cayenne pepper, and I knew my hard work was about to be destroyed. I needed to stop you, but that foolish old man wouldn't let me out here by myself. He wanted to make sure I was protected from the ravens, only he didn't know that they're mine.” She glanced up at the birds assembled, watching her every move, waiting for her cue, and that was the opportunity Sam needed.
Dean watched as, in one swift motion, his brother pulled out the gun, leveled it at Marli, and fired twice. The first shot missed, but the second hit her hand, causing her to yell in pain as Henry's lighter went flying into the air. Dean rose, diving for the pavement towards the lighter as he felt around his jacket pockets, trying to find something to ignite. He pulled out a gas station receipt, crawling on his elbows until the lighter was within reach, snagging it, and setting the receipt on fire. He pulled himself to his feet then, running for the sign. He could hear Marli shouting and then the sound of thousands of wings flapping against the air, descending towards him and Sam. Dean dropped the receipt at the base of the sign, feeling feathers against his face and talons grazing against his clothes as the grass around the stone burned, the flames racing around until reaching the rock itself at which point their was an explosion, sending Dean flying backwards, the fire blazing bright green before disappearing.
Once the fire extinguished, the birds backed off, landing on the ground all around them in the parking lot. Dean startled when he felt something clench as his shoulder only to realize it was Sam. He let his brother helping up, watching the birds warily. One of them took off, launching itself straight at Marli who was standing in complete disbelief. She shrieked as the bird neared, falling backwards and putting her hands over her face. The rest of the birds followed, a thick cloud of them descending on her, attacking viciously and killing her before the entire flock vanished altogether.
“Dude, you look like shit,” Dean said, taking in Sam's ripped clothing and the scratches on his face.
Sam laughed. “You look exactly the same.”
“Yeah, whatever. How's the head?”
“Was just a scratch,” Sam replied, reaching back and then looking at his fingers, relieved that the wound had stopped bleeding. “Think we should go inside and let these people know it's all over?”
“Sounds fan-freakin'-tastic.”
+
They were driven in a police car to where they'd left the Impala only two days earlier. There was a lot of tears and a lot of hugging when they'd gotten back inside and told everyone that it was safe now, so the mayor thought it would be best to treat them like heroes and give them a proper ride back. Forget the fact that they had to sit in the back of the car, and Sam didn't have a lot of fond memories of the times they'd been arrested.
The ride in the Impala was silent except for Dean putting in an AC/DC cassette and half-heartedly singing along. Sam really wanted to get him warmed up to the idea of having the iPod, but he figured he needed to work that in slowly. And probably after his brother was over the fact that Sam had broken his promise about using his abilities. Sam just stared out the window with his hands in his pockets, not surprised that the feather he had found next to Eric Spencer's body was no longer there.
After a few hours they hit New Hampshire, and Dean pulled into the parking lot of the first motel they passed that had “vacancy” lit up on the sign. Everything in the room was decorated with deer, but Dean commented that at least it wasn't birds. Only then did Sam realize they hadn't slept in nearly two days, and the last time they did sleep it was on a cold, tiled floor, so the sleep they had gotten last wasn't even that great. Exhaustion hit Sam like he'd run into a wall, but they each had injuries that needed tending to before he could even entertain the notion of passing out for the next day or so. Sam jumped in the shower first thing, wanting to wash his own blood out of his hair. He rinsed off quickly, putting back on his T-shirt and boxers before exiting the bathroom to see Dean sitting on the corner of his bed with his shirt off, alternating between drinking from a bottle of vodka and pouring some of it onto a larger scratch on his forearm. Sam had to force himself to not look at the pink handprint that stood out the strongest on his brother's body.
“Do you want me to stitch that up?” Sam asked, knowing there was no way Dean could take care of his right arm by himself.
“It's not that deep,” he replied, taking another sip from the bottle. “Had some gravel in it, is all. Looks like I get to start a new scar collection.” Dean wrapped gauze around his arm and then took off his pants, getting to work on the cuts on his legs.
Sam grabbed the roll and sat down on the other bed, working the length of it under his left armpit and around his shoulder to cover where he'd been bit by one of the ravens. He suspected it had happened when he stood and started to run for the rifle as his brother was diving for the lighter. The birds had been all over him, so there was no way to be sure. Sam had considered just killing Marli with his pistol, but he had known it wouldn't stop the curse and it might have just pissed off the ravens even more. The gun didn't have salt rounds in it like the rifle and shotgun did, so if breaking the curse didn't work, they'd need something to try and at least hold off the birds. Luckily for them Marli had been serious about using Edgar Allen Poe as a scapegoat because if she had cursed a different object, neither of them would be alive any longer and Reynolds still would've been in trouble.
Taking the vodka from his brother, Sam downed a few sips before handing it back. He remembered how much easier the job was without Dean since he was just his life that was being put on the line, and Sam hadn't cared if he'd lived or died. He almost immediately regretted that thought. It was anything but easier - after losing so much, Dean was all that he had left. Not having his brother was the hardest thing in the world.
After one final sip Dean screwed the cap back onto the bottle and put it down on the floor, studying Sam like he was assessing his injuries and trying to figure out what was going on in his little brother's head. He sidled over a bit, patting a spot next to him on the bed. “C'mere, Sam.”
He obeyed wordlessly, sitting down but then overwhelmed by the proximity of his brother and the knowledge that they were alone again. Sam couldn't help himself when he leaned forward, kissing Dean slowly and pulling him down so they were both lying on the bed.
They kissed lazily, in no hurry to do anything else. Sam found himself enjoying this careful exploration of familiar territory, figuring Dean was to since a light tug on his lips with Sam's teeth made his brother make a pleasured sound deep in his throat. This almost reminded Sam of that first time, before he'd left for Stanford, but with less resistance and no trying to explain it away in his head. It was hundreds of miles away from the times between Dean making the deal for his life and then getting sent to Hell for it. Their physical relationship had taken on a desperate, clinging air that grew more and more hopeless the closer to the deadline they became. This was different, new, like the two of them had all the time in the world. Dean had been saved. Sam would be saved as long as he kept his powers locked away.
Dean made a sound that caused Sam to pull away, holding back a laugh when he realized that it was a snore and his brother had actually fallen asleep. Sam wasn't going to hold it against him; they were both sleep-deprived and then on top of that Dean had driven them here.
Sam climbed off the bed, grabbing the blankets off the other one and putting them on top of Dean before rejoining him. Sam laid on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling. He knew Dean had nightmares about Hell despite claiming he didn't remember anything. Sam, while he hadn't confessed to it yet, was similarly haunted, but the memories were still so sharp and clear when he'd rather they weren't. A month after Heaven returned his brother to him, Sam still had nightmares of his life during those four months where he had no hope and thought Dean was gone forever. Dean hadn't questioned the stash of alcohol in the trunk alongside the weapons, but Sam was certain that he didn't need to.
He kept thinking it would be like Florida but this time in reverse - that Sam would wake up one morning after dreaming that Dean was still in Hell only to find out that it really wasn't a dream. That everything for the last month had merely been the Trickster again, and when the illusion dissolved, Sam would be back to being alone. He knew that it was ridiculous, that, demigod or not, there were details about Dean that even he couldn't have known, but the fear still plagued him.
Promise or not, Sam would do anything so he didn't have to lose his brother again, whatever it took.
Moving close enough to Dean so he could feel the heat radiating off his body, Sam gradually lost the battle to sleep, his brother's proximity keeping the unpleasant dreams at bay as much as Sam's closeness was for Dean.
+
Dean was surprised the next morning to find that he had woken up before Sam. He was even more surprised when he looked at the clock on the nightstand between the two beds and discovered that it was actually four o'clock in the evening. Carefully climbing out of bed to not wake up his brother, Dean got dressed quickly, grabbing his wallet and keys and going out in search of breakfast despite the fact that dinner was more appropriate based on the time, which wasn't too difficult considering how popular doughnut chains seemed to be in New England, making breakfast sandwiches and coffee weren't easy to find.
When he got back to the motel room, Sam still wasn't awake, so Dean found the laptop and sat down at the table next to the window, figuring he could at least get a head start on searching for the next hunt. If he could avoid it, Dean didn't think either of them should have to do a job involving demons for a while. Unless Castiel decided to show up and tell them about a lead that they had to follow in order to stop Lilith and the impending end of the world. Dean looked around the motel room, waiting for the angel to just appear sitting or leaning on something, but he wasn't there. He'd shown up with Sam around but never the same room.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean grinned when Sam finally stirred, sitting up and looking extremely groggy with his hair sticking up every which way. “If you were out any longer I would've gotten concerned and looked for a stick to poke you with.”
Sam blinked blearily, seeming especially confused by the fact that it was nearly completely dark out. “What time is it?”
“5:46. That would be PM. I got coffee and food if you're interested, but I can't promise that it's still hot or even warm.” He chuckled as Sam slid off the bed, making his way to the bathroom in a way that looked very Night of the Living Dead. He came back into the main room a few minutes later, grabbing his breakfast from next to the television and situating himself in the chair opposite Dean at the table.
They were quiet for a moment as Sam downed his coffee and finished the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich like he hadn't eaten in a week. Dean was pretending to be interested in something he was reading online instead of periodically sneaking glances as his brother. He'd actually found a possible hunt about half an hour ago and wanted to wait until Sam was more conscious to run it by him.
Dean realized he wasn't being as smooth as he thought he was when Sam met his eyes the next time Dean tried to look at him out of the corner of his eye and hadn't particularly been expecting the question that came next although he probably should have. “Are we going to be okay?”
“Were we ever okay?” Dean asked, wondering if Sam was back on a wishing to be normal kick. He thought of their family, their childhood, their relationship, and the fact that in the last year and a half or so both of them have died and come back to life. “You're going to have to be more specific.”
“I mean because I lied to you about using my powers. About Ruby. I promised I wouldn't and then did anyway, and you're going to have to believe me when I tell you that I was going to tell you eventually. I was just waiting for the right time.”
Dean was trying his best to ignore the puppy eyes Sam was sending his way, but they got him every time. “And when was that right time going to be, Sam?” He opened his mouth to respond, but Dean held up his hand, cutting him off. “No, forget it. We're okay as long as it's done. Just tell me it's done, Sammy.”
He didn't like the hesitance, that it was taking so long to get a response, and Dean almost led out an audible sigh of relief when Sam finally responded. “It's done.”
Sam still seemed to be twitching in his seat, though, like he didn't believe it. “Do you want me to hit you some more? Or yell at you a few more times? I call Bobby, and we could stage an intervention for you if you'd like that. I mean, damn it, Sam, if you want it to be okay just drop it. You said you were done and you can't exactly change what's already happened. In order for us to be okay, you need to be okay as well. You said you were stopping for yourself, anyway, so it shouldn't even matter what I think.”
“And that's it?”
“That's it.”
“Okay then.” Dean kept waiting for his brother to say more, but instead he was staring as his own hands clasped around the styrofoam cup on the table. He had hopefully dropped it since Sam didn't say anything further on the subject. “So... Did you find any leads for our next job?”
Spinning the computer around so Sam could look at it, Dean had the web article already pulled up as well as other open pages covering the same story, each one including an interesting detail that the others seemed to have missed. “Check this out - dead girl in Pennsylvania.”
“Bit by a yet to be identified animal,” Sam read, seeming interested. “The only injury sustained was to the neck with no other marks. The town's annual Oktoberfest celebration will not be affected... Sounds like a vampire to me. Where there's one there's usually a nest. We're not too far from Pennsylvania; do you want to follow up on this one?”
“Do you really have to ask?” Dean said, a glint in his eye. “Vampires to be killed and beer to be drunk - what more could a guy wish for?”
After Mrs. Spencer got settled, Dean went to see if his brother was interested in dinner, but he was buried nose deep in books. He went and ate on his own, bringing back some food for Sam but, feeling useless and brushed aside, found an empty classroom to disassemble and clean the shotgun and inventory what was in the duffle bag that would be able to help. He pushed some of the desks aside to clear some space on the floor, sat everything down, and got to work. Dean hadn't been there for too long when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on ends, turning to see Castiel sitting on one of the desks, fingers intertwined in his lap.
“Need to get you a bell,” Dean muttered. “Then one of you gets their wings, right?”
The angel didn't even blink. “You are wasting your efforts here. Lilith is elsewhere, getting closer to loosing Lucifer upon Earth. This town won't matter, won't exist, if she succeeds.”
Dean returned to the task at hand, his back to Castiel. “You wanna tell that to these people? I bet they'd be thrilled to hear that God thinks there's something more important going on.”
“The fate of the entire world is more important than that of this town. Do you want to tell these people that the apocalypse is upon them because you lost sight of what was happening and came to help them from a remnant curse instead?”
Rising violently and throwing the shotgun to the floor, Dean spun on his heel to face the angel, exasperated with how he was expected to follow God's orders when he hadn't heard from Him since the Back to the Future trip Castiel had taken him on. “Just because God has taken a sudden interest in my life doesn't me that me and Sam are going to change what we do. These people need our help, and even if it has nothing to do with Lilith or the seals, it's still evil and needs to be taken care of. We're not going to just sit around with our thumbs up our asses until we're told what to do. This is what we do, this is normal for us, and considering everything else that has gone on in the last five months, we could use some normal in our lives. So I'm sorry if it doesn't fit in with God's plan, but He's going to have to deal with it until we're done here.”
He had been hoping to get a rise out of Castiel, to get some sort of reaction out of him as Dean had found himself mere inches from the angel, but Cas seemed as collected as he always did. He leveled his gaze, somehow managing to make Dean feel very small. “It is good of you to show initiative in the fight against the armies of Hell. Stopping any evil acts, no matter how insignificant they may seem, is a victory for Heaven.”
“So what's with the mixed messages?” Dean scoffed, throwing his hands in the air and then scratching the back of his head. “I don't appreciate getting jerked around.”
“Your frustration is understandable. Just know that you are being tested, but it is all to prepare you for what's to come.” Castiel rose, forcing Dean to take a step backwards. The intensity in his eyes made Dean's shoulder burn, stronger than the twinge he usually felt when the angel was near. “There will be difficult decisions ahead. You must be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Castiel looked away, walking over to the doorway and looking out through the narrow pane of glass that ran vertically down its length. “Ready for what?” Dean repeated, wondering what really could be left for him to face that he hadn't seen before.
“Keep an eye on your brother,” Cas replied, startling Dean with words that he had grown used to hearing from his father. “Things will be easier if he maintains the right path.”
Dean brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and then rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What do you...” he began but stopped abruptly when he looked around the classroom, seeing that the angel was gone. “So helpful, as always,” Dean mumbled, walking to where the shotgun had landed and bringing it back to where the gear was spread out on the floor, crouching down to reassemble everything and put it all back in the bags. Hefting the duffles onto a shoulder and heading out the door with the intention of distracting Sam from the books, Dean paused, recalling something Castiel had said: remnant curse. It was a start.
Running to the library and apologizing hastily to the people he almost knocked over along the way, Dean found his brother in more or less the same position he had last seen him in. “Do you know what they call a group of ravens?” Sam asked, not even looking up from the dusty encyclopedia he was perusing.
“No idea.” Dean responded, putting the bags on the floor and pulling out the chair next to Sam, turning it around to straddle it backwards. He felt like he was about to burst holding in the clue Cas had given that could give them a better direction to start looking in.
Sam looked up, smiling wryly. “An unkindness.”
“Well that's appropriate. Did you learn anything else?” When Sam shook his head, Dean leaned in more closely. “What if we have a remnant curse on our hands?”
Dean's face fell when he could tell that Sam wasn't impressed. Sure, he hadn't thought of it on his own, or at all for that matter, but still. “You're kidding, right? I'll believe a curse, but one that has been withheld until now? Someone would have to know that curses can't be stopped and try to contain it.”
Looking around the library, Dean's eyes settled on a glass box with a rock in it. He rose, walking over to read the plaque, able to feel Sam's puzzled gaze on his back.
EDGAR ALLEN POE HIGH SCHOOL
GROUNDBREAKING CEREMONY
APRIL 19, 2008
“When did the birds start showing up?” Dean asked, having an idea but wanting to make sure he wasn't inventing details.
“Harry said mid-April. Why?” When Dean just pointed at the sign, Sam got up to read it. “I'm not allowed to take it as just a coincidence, am I?”
“It's gotta have to do with the school. I think we need to find out how it got that name.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, “Unless you got any better ideas.” He didn't mean to be seem so confrontational, but he could tell that Sam didn't have any better ideas. He wasn't used to his brother questioning him, and Dean had to remind himself that Sam had hunted perfectly fine for the four months Dean was in Hell on his own. Perfectly fine meaning that while Sam was off gallivanting with a demon and using his powers, at least he didn't get himself killed. Part of Dean wanted to shake his brother while the other part wanted to throw him onto the table. Anything to get him to react.
Sam walked away, disappearing into the stacks and returning with a stack of books that he shoved at Dean. Three were biographies on Poe while the other two were on the history of the region and Reynolds itself. “If you think it's connected, put your money where your mouth is.” Dean was taken by surprise when Sam leaned into him, crushing his lips in a kiss that left Dean feeling flushed. “Now stop being an ass,” Sam said, leaving his brother standing by the display case as he returned to the books, tossing aside the one he had previously been going through and starting on the next one in the pile.
Glancing up at the clock, Dean noticed that it had just passed midnight. With a sigh he sat down at the table and started going through the first book, bracing himself for a long night.
+
It took a few hours, but eventually Sam found in the town annals that Edgar Allen Poe actually had a home in Reynolds, Maine. The town had been a bustling center of economy, the largest city in the state back in the 1840s because of the logging industry. It all fell apart in 1848, though, moving the populace to Bangor which developed quickly while Reynolds stayed much as it was now and didn't change until construction on the high school finished this year.
Sam went through old maps of the town until he found one that proved his suspicions. “So guess where Poe's house once stood.”
“I'm going to guess that we're sitting on it give or take a few dozen yards.” Dean leaned back in his chair, intently focused on the end of one of the biographies. “Listen to this: Poe is said to have repeatedly called out the name 'Reynolds' on the night before his death, but it is unclear to whom he was referring. According to many sources, Poe's final words were, 'Lord help my poor soul.' There's no mention of him ever living here.” He looked up, meeting Sam's gaze. “Sounds like he made a deal with a demon.”
Going back to the town annals, Sam grabbed another one of the biographies from the pile, flipping to the end. “He died in Baltimore on October 7, 1849 when he was forty years old. It was sudden and the cause was uncertain. There's a whole list here of what different experts suspected - alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, suicide, tuberculosis, rabies... Hey wasn't it the seventh when the soccer teams were attacked after practice?”
“I think that's what they said. Still think it's all a coincidence?”
Sam went backwards through the biography, trying to find something that would likely trigger Poe to make a deal with a demon. There was nothing in 1839, though, that stuck out. Poe got a position as an assistant editor of a magazine and published a collection of stories that didn't make a lot of money. His work did become successful all of a sudden but that wasn't until 1845. The only think that stuck out was when his wife died of tuberculosis early in 1847. His wife who was thirteen and half Poe's age when they got married, not to mention that she was also his cousin. Although, Sam scoffed, being in love with his older brother left him with no room to judge.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam tried to remember anything he could about remnant curses. Curses in general could be set by demons, but there'd be no reason for such a delay between when it was cast, which Sam assumed was around Poe's death, and now. But demons weren't the only ones that could perform curses. Dean had suspected witchcraft earlier, and Sam was starting to think that might be right. He tossed the biography aside, looking for the town records. He wanted to know what had happened to Poe's property - then he might be able to say something for sure.
“How come none of these say anything about Poe living here?” Dean was skimming through each of the books, scratching the back of his head. “Towns normally get obsessive over these things. The newest of these biographies is twenty years old. If it weren't for the school, we wouldn't have even thought of the connection. Do you think they were trying to cover it up?”
“I don't know, maybe, but if they were hiding it, what changed?”
“Stephen Caldwell died. It sounds like Poe gave the property to Caldwell's great grandfather just before he left Reynolds. When he died three years ago, the house, which was really just a small cottage, went to the town.” Sam could tell that his brother felt like he was on the verge of breaking the case by how he suddenly perked up, eagerly reading through the records. “Get this - it was used as a maintenance shed until it was demolished to build the school over. They stored rock salt in the thing for deicing the roads.”
Well, Sam thought, that explained what happened to the property, which completely destroyed his witchcraft theory. Witches had to place curses on a physical item, leading him to think it was something in the house if not the house itself. But if it had been demolished a year or two ago when they cleared the grounds to start building the high school, the curse would've been activated then not now. Not unless... Sam went back to the display case, looking at the rock from the groundbreaking ceremony. He caught eye of a bulletin board behind the main desk - it featured newspaper clippings about the milestones in the building of the school, including an article on the ceremony back in April. The article made particular note about how the school sign with the bronze raven statue was erected that day. It was made of reused granite, taken from the foundation of Edgar Allen Poe's original home in Reynolds.
“The sign was made using the foundation of the house.” Returning to the table, Sam dug out the notes he had been scribbling down, Dean watching him with interest. “Poe's wife died of tuberculosis on January 30, 1847. She would've been sick for a long time, dying slowly and painfully. What if he resorted to witchcraft to try and save her, but it didn't work and backfired? A spell like that would need a...a counterweight, so the entire town is cursed to be killed, but either he didn't do it correctly or he backed out before it was completed.”
Dean nodded, catching on. “The curse was to destroy the town. It started when the logging industry moved, so the town lost a lot of money. Poe left town, leaving the house to Stephen Caldwell's great grandfather who was probably told how to keep the curse at bay, but it followed Poe to Baltimore, haunting him and eventually killing him.”
“Reynolds was safe until Stephen Caldwell died in 2005, not having anyone to leave the property to so the town took it. Sheer luck with storing the rock salt in the house kept the curse from kicking in sooner, but when they put the sign up, Reynolds wasn't protected anymore.” Sam couldn't think of ever having a case this convoluted before, but nothing ever seemed to surprise him anymore, either.
“And we know from that case in Oklahoma what a bitch curses are, but that one was an annual event; this one's been waiting for a hundred and sixty years. This is the same as Oasis Plains - there's nothing we can do besides get the hell out of the way.” Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don't think we can help here.”
“So what are we going to do? Leave!?” Sam rose, pacing, trying to think. His brother did have a point, but that didn't mean they were just going to give up. He had another thought - that maybe it didn't haunt Poe until he died, but it killed him because he left. Trying to get the entire population out of Reynolds could kill them just the same as leaving them all here. At least if they stayed it would be quicker.
“We can't exactly salt and burn our way out of this one, Sam.” Dean was becoming just as frustrated. “Have you ever heard of someone succeeding in breaking a curse?”
“Uh, the rabbit's foot? Or did you really forget losing forty six Gs, Batman?”
“Can't say that bitch didn't deserve what she got,” Dean grumbled bitterly. “There's no way we can get that sign to a cemetery to burn with bone ash and cayenne pepper. There's a reason why in house fires the granite counters are the only thing left. And for some reason I doubt even if we search every building in this town we won't find a curse box large enough. Don't exactly have time to call Bobby and get one custom ordered.”
Something clicked in Sam's head. “Wait, that's it.”
“What's it?”
“The rabbit's foot only needed to be destroyed in a cemetery because that's where it was created; the rock never even left the original grounds. I don't think the cursed object needs to physically burn itself, either, but if it's all done correctly, the curse will be burned out of the stone.”
Dean was studying him, and Sam could almost see him working the idea over in his mind. “I'll go down to the cafeteria, dig up some pepper. You head over to the biology room - schools usually have a human skeleton, right?” Dean looked at his watch, causing Sam to glance over at the clock on the other side of the room only to remember that the power was out. “Sunrise is in an hour. We'll meet at the front doors ready to burn.”
“You think it will work?”
“Kinda have to, Sammy. It's the only plan we got.”
+
Dean kept his eyes up above as his brother mixed together the bone ash and cayenne pepper in a canvas bag they took and then started tossing it over the sign. His gaze kept landing on the bronze raven perched on top of the sign, not liking how it seemed to be staring at them like it wanted to rip the skin from their bodies. “Come on, Sam, want to hurry this up a bit? You're not dressing a Thanksgiving turkey here.”
He now wasn't liking how Sam was patting at all his pockets, and he definitely didn't like the “uh oh” that escaped his brother's mouth. “Do you have a lighter on you?”
“You had one yesterday when we got Mrs. Spencer. What happened to it?”
“I dropped it when I went to try my gun.” Both of them were looking around, trying to spot it lying in the empty parking lot, but Dean saw nothing. He felt his pockets and swore, able to picture the lighter sitting at the bottom of the duffel bag back inside the high school.
A breeze caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, and Dean knew that there would be no way for one of them to hold off the incoming birds as the other went to get the lighter. He also knew, as the sound of flapping wings got louder and louder, that if the both of them went back inside, the ravens wouldn't leave the sign unguarded. These things always had a tendency to protect their weak spot. He saw Sam bend at the knees to pick up the rifle that he'd left sitting on the ground, their eyes locking briefly before returning to the sky. It got noticeably darker as the ravens crossed overhead, a swirling vortex of black feathers and sharp nails and bills, so many birds that the sound of them flying was thunderous and their cries almost made Dean clap his hands over his ears.
“Shit,” Dean cursed as he saw the door to the school open, Marli and Henry coming outside. The lieutenant was wielding a shotgun that Dean knew would be useless; Marli was completely unarmed, which was even more so. “Get back inside!” He yelled, but he could barely hear his own voice over the ravens.
“You really shouldn't be out here,” Sam said when they got closer, but Masterson seemed determined. Marli had an odd expression on her face, almost like awe. “Birdshot won't stop them, and their numbers are too great.”
“Didn't think you boys should be out here without backup,” Henry said, but Dean was barely listening. He was too focused on Henry's hands and his stained fingernails. “Marli wanted to come out and see them one last time before they were taken care of.”
The lady's nuts, Dean thought. “Lieutenant, could I trouble you for a light?”
Masterson looked confused. “This hardly seems like a good time for a smoke, but I understand how it is when a craving hits.” His hand went into his front pocket, pulling out a blue plastic lighter.
Dean moved forward to take it from his proffered hand, the birds' cries becoming louder, more shrill, and then he heard Sam cry out, “Dean, it's her!” A force hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks, sending him flying backwards through the air until he landed tens of feet away on the pavement, tensing his body just in time so he didn't slam the back of his head into the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, but Dean forced himself to try and sit up, looking around for Sam who had been thrown to the edge of the parking lot, back against the trunk of a tree. Lieutenant Masterson was still standing where he had been, next to Marli, looking completely stunned with his arm still outstretched, like he was waiting for Dean to take the lighter from him.
Marli had a dark expression on her face as she lowered her hand, Dean cursing himself for ignoring his first instinct. She took the lighter, looking at the birds forming a giant black ring in the sky and then at Henry. “Kill him.”
The ravens dropped simultaneously, Dean registering his brother yell in protest as they swarmed Henry like a school of piranha, pecking and scratching, their feathers muffling any agonized cries and then the birds stopped, going higher in the air to land on tree branches and power lines, Lieutenant Masterson's body slowly pitching forward and landing on the ground, shredded to a bloody pulp.
Dean managed to pull himself to his feet only for Marli to raise him into the air, tossing him with magic like a rag doll so he landed next to his brother. “Why are you doing this?” Sam asked, Dean able to see the hair on the back of his head matted with blood and his eyes seemed dazed. He had to fight every instinct to stay put, not wanting to become the focus of those birds.
“A little witchcraft always helps to get ahead in the world.” Marli was playing with the lighter, watching the flame dance next to her thumb. “If the town had actually listened to my advice, no one would have needed to die.”
“You were worried about hunters coming after you.” Dean pulled himself up until he was sitting. “That's why the Spencers were targeted and Eric was killed the instant he stepped outside his home.”
“The university was threatening to revoke my degree. They claimed my doctoral thesis was plagiarized, that I just changed a few numbers on someone else's work and put my name on it. I needed something big for them to consider not discrediting me. Schools always want flashy studies to draw attention to them. Summoning and controlling a gathering of a few thousand dead ravens, a population that's never been recorded before taking on unusual behavior, that was a guarantee to save my credibility.” She stopped flicking at the lighter, looking at the ravens. “They should have listened, but they didn't, so four lives will be lost. That blood is on the people of Reynolds's hands.”
“Four? Think you need to check your math.” Dean looked over at Sam, then down at himself. “Oh, I get it.” He couldn't tell if Sam still had his gun tucked into the back of his pants or not, but Dean knew Sam never drew it and doubted Marli knew he had it, too focused when she'd sent him flying to rip the rifle out of his grasp as she'd done to the shotgun with Dean. He had to distract her attention away from Sam and hope he caught on to what needed to happen. “Come on, Marli, you can still stop this. No one knows you have anything to do with it besides us and you. Make the birds go away, we'll leave, that's it. I know how it is, looking for the easy way out, and I'm sure the magic is addictive or some bullshit like that, but you don't want this on your conscience.” Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam's hand behind his back, moving slowly, deliberately, trying to keep his shoulder still as he worked his wrist. Dean hoped his brother didn't slam his head too hard against the tree since he knew Sam would only have one shot.
“It's too late for my conscience. What's two more when I already have two lives on my hands?”
“So Poe had nothing to do with any of this?”
“His connection to this town was, shall we say, my inspiration for it all. I didn't know you were hunters until I had them attack when you were bringing Suzanne Spencer to the school. I'd hoped Poe would serve as a believable scapegoat, but I'd underestimated the two of you. I didn't think you'd know how to break a curse, but I saw you, Dean, in the cafeteria at breakfast asking about cayenne pepper, and I knew my hard work was about to be destroyed. I needed to stop you, but that foolish old man wouldn't let me out here by myself. He wanted to make sure I was protected from the ravens, only he didn't know that they're mine.” She glanced up at the birds assembled, watching her every move, waiting for her cue, and that was the opportunity Sam needed.
Dean watched as, in one swift motion, his brother pulled out the gun, leveled it at Marli, and fired twice. The first shot missed, but the second hit her hand, causing her to yell in pain as Henry's lighter went flying into the air. Dean rose, diving for the pavement towards the lighter as he felt around his jacket pockets, trying to find something to ignite. He pulled out a gas station receipt, crawling on his elbows until the lighter was within reach, snagging it, and setting the receipt on fire. He pulled himself to his feet then, running for the sign. He could hear Marli shouting and then the sound of thousands of wings flapping against the air, descending towards him and Sam. Dean dropped the receipt at the base of the sign, feeling feathers against his face and talons grazing against his clothes as the grass around the stone burned, the flames racing around until reaching the rock itself at which point their was an explosion, sending Dean flying backwards, the fire blazing bright green before disappearing.
Once the fire extinguished, the birds backed off, landing on the ground all around them in the parking lot. Dean startled when he felt something clench as his shoulder only to realize it was Sam. He let his brother helping up, watching the birds warily. One of them took off, launching itself straight at Marli who was standing in complete disbelief. She shrieked as the bird neared, falling backwards and putting her hands over her face. The rest of the birds followed, a thick cloud of them descending on her, attacking viciously and killing her before the entire flock vanished altogether.
“Dude, you look like shit,” Dean said, taking in Sam's ripped clothing and the scratches on his face.
Sam laughed. “You look exactly the same.”
“Yeah, whatever. How's the head?”
“Was just a scratch,” Sam replied, reaching back and then looking at his fingers, relieved that the wound had stopped bleeding. “Think we should go inside and let these people know it's all over?”
“Sounds fan-freakin'-tastic.”
+
They were driven in a police car to where they'd left the Impala only two days earlier. There was a lot of tears and a lot of hugging when they'd gotten back inside and told everyone that it was safe now, so the mayor thought it would be best to treat them like heroes and give them a proper ride back. Forget the fact that they had to sit in the back of the car, and Sam didn't have a lot of fond memories of the times they'd been arrested.
The ride in the Impala was silent except for Dean putting in an AC/DC cassette and half-heartedly singing along. Sam really wanted to get him warmed up to the idea of having the iPod, but he figured he needed to work that in slowly. And probably after his brother was over the fact that Sam had broken his promise about using his abilities. Sam just stared out the window with his hands in his pockets, not surprised that the feather he had found next to Eric Spencer's body was no longer there.
After a few hours they hit New Hampshire, and Dean pulled into the parking lot of the first motel they passed that had “vacancy” lit up on the sign. Everything in the room was decorated with deer, but Dean commented that at least it wasn't birds. Only then did Sam realize they hadn't slept in nearly two days, and the last time they did sleep it was on a cold, tiled floor, so the sleep they had gotten last wasn't even that great. Exhaustion hit Sam like he'd run into a wall, but they each had injuries that needed tending to before he could even entertain the notion of passing out for the next day or so. Sam jumped in the shower first thing, wanting to wash his own blood out of his hair. He rinsed off quickly, putting back on his T-shirt and boxers before exiting the bathroom to see Dean sitting on the corner of his bed with his shirt off, alternating between drinking from a bottle of vodka and pouring some of it onto a larger scratch on his forearm. Sam had to force himself to not look at the pink handprint that stood out the strongest on his brother's body.
“Do you want me to stitch that up?” Sam asked, knowing there was no way Dean could take care of his right arm by himself.
“It's not that deep,” he replied, taking another sip from the bottle. “Had some gravel in it, is all. Looks like I get to start a new scar collection.” Dean wrapped gauze around his arm and then took off his pants, getting to work on the cuts on his legs.
Sam grabbed the roll and sat down on the other bed, working the length of it under his left armpit and around his shoulder to cover where he'd been bit by one of the ravens. He suspected it had happened when he stood and started to run for the rifle as his brother was diving for the lighter. The birds had been all over him, so there was no way to be sure. Sam had considered just killing Marli with his pistol, but he had known it wouldn't stop the curse and it might have just pissed off the ravens even more. The gun didn't have salt rounds in it like the rifle and shotgun did, so if breaking the curse didn't work, they'd need something to try and at least hold off the birds. Luckily for them Marli had been serious about using Edgar Allen Poe as a scapegoat because if she had cursed a different object, neither of them would be alive any longer and Reynolds still would've been in trouble.
Taking the vodka from his brother, Sam downed a few sips before handing it back. He remembered how much easier the job was without Dean since he was just his life that was being put on the line, and Sam hadn't cared if he'd lived or died. He almost immediately regretted that thought. It was anything but easier - after losing so much, Dean was all that he had left. Not having his brother was the hardest thing in the world.
After one final sip Dean screwed the cap back onto the bottle and put it down on the floor, studying Sam like he was assessing his injuries and trying to figure out what was going on in his little brother's head. He sidled over a bit, patting a spot next to him on the bed. “C'mere, Sam.”
He obeyed wordlessly, sitting down but then overwhelmed by the proximity of his brother and the knowledge that they were alone again. Sam couldn't help himself when he leaned forward, kissing Dean slowly and pulling him down so they were both lying on the bed.
They kissed lazily, in no hurry to do anything else. Sam found himself enjoying this careful exploration of familiar territory, figuring Dean was to since a light tug on his lips with Sam's teeth made his brother make a pleasured sound deep in his throat. This almost reminded Sam of that first time, before he'd left for Stanford, but with less resistance and no trying to explain it away in his head. It was hundreds of miles away from the times between Dean making the deal for his life and then getting sent to Hell for it. Their physical relationship had taken on a desperate, clinging air that grew more and more hopeless the closer to the deadline they became. This was different, new, like the two of them had all the time in the world. Dean had been saved. Sam would be saved as long as he kept his powers locked away.
Dean made a sound that caused Sam to pull away, holding back a laugh when he realized that it was a snore and his brother had actually fallen asleep. Sam wasn't going to hold it against him; they were both sleep-deprived and then on top of that Dean had driven them here.
Sam climbed off the bed, grabbing the blankets off the other one and putting them on top of Dean before rejoining him. Sam laid on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling. He knew Dean had nightmares about Hell despite claiming he didn't remember anything. Sam, while he hadn't confessed to it yet, was similarly haunted, but the memories were still so sharp and clear when he'd rather they weren't. A month after Heaven returned his brother to him, Sam still had nightmares of his life during those four months where he had no hope and thought Dean was gone forever. Dean hadn't questioned the stash of alcohol in the trunk alongside the weapons, but Sam was certain that he didn't need to.
He kept thinking it would be like Florida but this time in reverse - that Sam would wake up one morning after dreaming that Dean was still in Hell only to find out that it really wasn't a dream. That everything for the last month had merely been the Trickster again, and when the illusion dissolved, Sam would be back to being alone. He knew that it was ridiculous, that, demigod or not, there were details about Dean that even he couldn't have known, but the fear still plagued him.
Promise or not, Sam would do anything so he didn't have to lose his brother again, whatever it took.
Moving close enough to Dean so he could feel the heat radiating off his body, Sam gradually lost the battle to sleep, his brother's proximity keeping the unpleasant dreams at bay as much as Sam's closeness was for Dean.
+
Dean was surprised the next morning to find that he had woken up before Sam. He was even more surprised when he looked at the clock on the nightstand between the two beds and discovered that it was actually four o'clock in the evening. Carefully climbing out of bed to not wake up his brother, Dean got dressed quickly, grabbing his wallet and keys and going out in search of breakfast despite the fact that dinner was more appropriate based on the time, which wasn't too difficult considering how popular doughnut chains seemed to be in New England, making breakfast sandwiches and coffee weren't easy to find.
When he got back to the motel room, Sam still wasn't awake, so Dean found the laptop and sat down at the table next to the window, figuring he could at least get a head start on searching for the next hunt. If he could avoid it, Dean didn't think either of them should have to do a job involving demons for a while. Unless Castiel decided to show up and tell them about a lead that they had to follow in order to stop Lilith and the impending end of the world. Dean looked around the motel room, waiting for the angel to just appear sitting or leaning on something, but he wasn't there. He'd shown up with Sam around but never the same room.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean grinned when Sam finally stirred, sitting up and looking extremely groggy with his hair sticking up every which way. “If you were out any longer I would've gotten concerned and looked for a stick to poke you with.”
Sam blinked blearily, seeming especially confused by the fact that it was nearly completely dark out. “What time is it?”
“5:46. That would be PM. I got coffee and food if you're interested, but I can't promise that it's still hot or even warm.” He chuckled as Sam slid off the bed, making his way to the bathroom in a way that looked very Night of the Living Dead. He came back into the main room a few minutes later, grabbing his breakfast from next to the television and situating himself in the chair opposite Dean at the table.
They were quiet for a moment as Sam downed his coffee and finished the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich like he hadn't eaten in a week. Dean was pretending to be interested in something he was reading online instead of periodically sneaking glances as his brother. He'd actually found a possible hunt about half an hour ago and wanted to wait until Sam was more conscious to run it by him.
Dean realized he wasn't being as smooth as he thought he was when Sam met his eyes the next time Dean tried to look at him out of the corner of his eye and hadn't particularly been expecting the question that came next although he probably should have. “Are we going to be okay?”
“Were we ever okay?” Dean asked, wondering if Sam was back on a wishing to be normal kick. He thought of their family, their childhood, their relationship, and the fact that in the last year and a half or so both of them have died and come back to life. “You're going to have to be more specific.”
“I mean because I lied to you about using my powers. About Ruby. I promised I wouldn't and then did anyway, and you're going to have to believe me when I tell you that I was going to tell you eventually. I was just waiting for the right time.”
Dean was trying his best to ignore the puppy eyes Sam was sending his way, but they got him every time. “And when was that right time going to be, Sam?” He opened his mouth to respond, but Dean held up his hand, cutting him off. “No, forget it. We're okay as long as it's done. Just tell me it's done, Sammy.”
He didn't like the hesitance, that it was taking so long to get a response, and Dean almost led out an audible sigh of relief when Sam finally responded. “It's done.”
Sam still seemed to be twitching in his seat, though, like he didn't believe it. “Do you want me to hit you some more? Or yell at you a few more times? I call Bobby, and we could stage an intervention for you if you'd like that. I mean, damn it, Sam, if you want it to be okay just drop it. You said you were done and you can't exactly change what's already happened. In order for us to be okay, you need to be okay as well. You said you were stopping for yourself, anyway, so it shouldn't even matter what I think.”
“And that's it?”
“That's it.”
“Okay then.” Dean kept waiting for his brother to say more, but instead he was staring as his own hands clasped around the styrofoam cup on the table. He had hopefully dropped it since Sam didn't say anything further on the subject. “So... Did you find any leads for our next job?”
Spinning the computer around so Sam could look at it, Dean had the web article already pulled up as well as other open pages covering the same story, each one including an interesting detail that the others seemed to have missed. “Check this out - dead girl in Pennsylvania.”
“Bit by a yet to be identified animal,” Sam read, seeming interested. “The only injury sustained was to the neck with no other marks. The town's annual Oktoberfest celebration will not be affected... Sounds like a vampire to me. Where there's one there's usually a nest. We're not too far from Pennsylvania; do you want to follow up on this one?”
“Do you really have to ask?” Dean said, a glint in his eye. “Vampires to be killed and beer to be drunk - what more could a guy wish for?”