Dark Angel Big Bang - "Apocalypse Now and Later" - Chapter 3
Chapter Three
There were numerous ways to hold long distance communication. There had always been letter writing, which in recent years had been replaced by email. Telegraphs had been replaced by radios. And then there had been the evolution of the telephone, allowing instant conversations with the cellphones allowing even more ease than before possible. And there was always the version of telepathy that angels used, manipulating sound waves in a manner that most human minds would not contemplate for many generations yet. The method that Dean had dubbed ‘Angel Radio’.
But when communication on a different plane - from Earth to Heaven, or Earth to Hell, there were more physical and spell bound methods. The Goblet of Blood was incredibly effective, even while communicating between alternate realities, if the brother’s accounts of what had happened with Virgil were accurate. While Castiel had never tried the method himself, he knew of it and its effectiveness. But while he had stooped to levels he had never considered before - he was working with Crowley, afterall - he wasn’t willing to bleed an innocent to fill a cup in order to speak to someone in another plane of reality.
There were other methods.
So Castiel stood in an abandoned house somewhere in Wyoming. There were only a few ingredients that he needed, and he found them all without a struggle. He set the bowl of water down on the counter and blew a soft breath across the surface. The small ripples across the surface stilled immediately. With his fingers just above the water, he chanted out the Latin spell, memorized but never used before. Soft rays of silver blue light fell from his fingertips to the water as he channeled a minute amount of his grace into the spell to create the connection. The water turned as silver as a mirror, wavered, and then stilled again. The surface took on a rather amber hue. He shifted his hands to the sides of the bowl.
And got a rather unflattering view of the interior of Crowley’s nostrils from below.
“Crowley, we have to talk,” he said sharply.
The demon jumped and the mirror shook and wavered before Crowley settled and peered down, squinting. “Castiel. Either I’ve managed to get drunk enough that I’m seeing things, or you’re scrying through my Craig.”
“I did manage to create a connection through the water in this plane, and the nearest water related source to you. It would seem that your whisky was that.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Water of life, and all that,” he agreed. “But what did you want, Feathers?”
“There are demons in this plane. You said you’d keep a tight rein on your forces and not allow them here.” Castiel forced himself to remain still and not shake the bowl and ruin the connection.
All he got was a shrug. “What can I say, there are some very determined supporters of Lucifer out there. And their current general is that little bitch Meg.”
“You said you’d keep demons out of this reality,” he repeated, voice rising in frustration. “How did she even open the hellgate?”
“Ask your angel buddies. They are the ones with that kind mojo. You know demons - manipulative, clever, resourceful, and good looking. Now, if you’re done, I do have business to conduct. My investigations into Purgatory are still moving, and as King of Hell, my calendar is full. Ta-ta, chum.”
“You’re not going to be King of Hell much longer if the Apocalypse starts again and Lucifer gets free!”
“Yes, yes, we’ve discussed this, that’s why you’re there doing your thing. So get back to work.” The image in the water wavered and disappeared as Crowley lifted the glass to his mouth.
“Crowley!” Castiel bellowed, but it was too late. The connection was broken, and he was staring down at a bowl of water once again.
He took a deep breath and refrained from hurling the bowl across the room. His self-control had to rise above his anger and frustration. And besides which, he needed to contact Balthazar. If a spell to open hellgates had been leaked to the demons, there would be very little to stop them from gaining the upper hand this reality’s Apocalypse.
Fingers over the water again, he started chanting.
*
Road trips promised a freedom and relaxation that TC could have never offered. Where the problem arose was that while the car may be flying down the blacktop, all free and fast, the passengers weren’t. Technically they were, but they were also locked inside a little steel box with very few entertainment sources.
Alec was sure he was going to go insane.
Dean’s music was hardly something he would have ever listened to by choice - though he couldn’t have actually named any bands or genres in particular that he liked - and the older man demanded on playing it as loud as possible. If the music wasn’t cranked all the way up to where it rattled the windows and threatened to ruin Alec’s sensitive hearing, he was arguing with Sam.
First he had complained about the whole situation they were in. He raged about the fact that it should have only taken five hours to get to their destination, but thanks to check points in every town, it was pushing a full day’s driving. Then he disagreed with Sam’s navigation skills, and only relented when Sam demanded a trade in tasks. That was when Alec started to question the idea that they were even speaking English. Even when they weren’t discussing hunting monsters, they spoke in code. It became obvious they had spent the vast majority of their lives together, and were brothers, coworkers and comrades in arms all wrapped in one. Hunting terminology mingled with mythology and military jargon. It was confusing as all hell at first, but after almost a day in the car with them, he was sure he had the code mostly cracked.
Nevertheless, he was mostly content to stay in the background and not interrupt them. For the most part. There was only so much entertainment to be had in the back seat of a car, after all. It was also a good position to toss the occasional barb at them without fear of much retribution.
“Yeah, no way Sam and Joshua are related, despite the obvious similarities. Not with Sam eating that much salad - Josh’s favorite food is macaroni and little hot dogs. And how the hell did you get so big on that diet?”
“Protein shakes,” Sam replied, not even bothering to turn his head, attention focused on the collections of maps he’d acquired at various gas stops.
He didn’t rise to the bait as easily as Dean, so Alec turned his attention that way. “Hey old man, how’s the gas gauge looking? Told you the bike was a better idea - way more efficient.”
Dean didn’t turn and look, but Alec could hear the snarl. He smirked a little and decided to see how far he could push the issue. Max had been pretty crazy about her Ninja, from stories Original Cindy had told, and still was despite the fact that she was fighting to save the world in her own way. Dean was the only person he’d ever met with more of an emotional connection to a machine that wasn’t a part of his body, and he was going run that until he couldn’t
“And how do you manage not to go insane on all these road trips. You just sit and drive and are surrounded by steel, trapped in, can’t properly move. And this boat is so big, you probably don’t even bother to move when smaller things come at you, you just crush them.” Dean wasn’t visibly reacting further, so he kept going, the words pouring out of his mouth. “And honestly, there is no reason for a car like this. It sticks out - you can’t tell me it doesn’t stick out even where and when you’re from - and that can’t be helpful when you’re keeping a low profile. It’s insanity. And asinine. You’re looking to cause trouble, to create failure for yourself. Just like this whole trip. This whole plan to stop the world from ending. You did it once, sure, but who says it’s going to work again? You are just humans.”
He said the words, but there was also a part of him that knew he hadn’t said the words. A sharp ache filled his head until his eyes blurred. He blinked and saw both brothers turned and looking at him. The car wasn’t moving any longer, though the engine still rumbled; Dean had pulled over.
“Sorry,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know where that came from.”
Dean flicked an eyebrow up. “I can guess. Must be doing something right, if Michael’s getting pissed.” He turned back around and glanced at the fuel gauge. “I’m going to top off the tank at the next town, and we should be good to get to Angela’s place and still have some for a getaway if we need it.”
“Cool,” Alec said, slumping back in his seat. He desperately wanted to return to the issue of boredom; he’d almost forgotten about the whole angel problem for a few hours.
Sam remained half turned, so he could keep an eye on both his brother and Alec. “Do you think we should put together a hex bag for him? Might help keep angels and demons away.”
Dean shrugged with one shoulder. “He’s got the rib scribbles, that’ll keep the angels away. Wouldn’t hurt for the demons though.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Alec, who was looking despondently out of the window. “Not sure what to do about the dream and brain invasion stuff; you still saw Lucifer with them.”
Sam shook his head and frowned. “I’m still surprised at Michael doing it this way; it seems out of his MO.”
“Dude was the VIP of Heaven last time. Now he’s stuck in the Cage and desperate. And did you meet him? Dude’s a dick. And he’s probably racing with Luci to get a meat suit and get out again.”
“Can you please stop referring to me as a meat suit or some other inanimate object?” Alec’s voice was thin and cold.
The brother’s glanced back at him, but he resolutely stared out the window at the Canadian landscape.
“I’m sorry, Alec,” Sam said. “It’s a bad habit, it’s-”
“What, easier pretending that there aren’t real people involved or something?” He looked away from the window and met Sam’s contrite gaze. “Easier to make those big decisions, send soldiers into the meat grinder if they aren’t real people? Jesus.”
Sam had the grace to look away first, and Alec saw Dean’s shoulders flinch and hunch with guilt. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, guys, I-”
“No, don’t apologize,” Sam replied. “We have lost that sense, that there are real people involved here.”
“Just because I’m not human, doesn’t mean I’m not real,” Alec said quietly.
The brothers glanced at each other, expressions unreadable. “We know that, Alec,” Sam said quietly.
“Yeah, well, don’t forget it. I just got to the point where I could believe it myself.”
The car slowed and Dean pulled into a gas station. “Last stop before we meet Angela. Everybody fuel up.”
While Dean gassed up the car, Sam and Alec went into the small convenience store. Sam wandered down the aisles, looking at the limited selection of protein bars while he grabbed a bag of beef jerky and a few candy bars. Alec snatched up a bag of chocolate covered peanuts and some pork rinds and went up to the counter. A TV was on the back wall, playing some news report on mute. Alec glanced at it - just in case something big had happened in TC and he hadn’t been contacted for some reason - and froze.
The subtitle screamed: MASS MURDER NEAR FLAGSTAFF.
The images flashing across the screen showed people running through the streets, screaming, the bloody aftermath of the dead, broken and bleeding. Sobbing faces of survivors and interviewees appeared and disappeared intercut with images of the scene once again. The scene cut again, and a grainy, black and white clip from a security camera appeared. It showed several people running down the street, when a woman with long dark hair appeared out of now where, and attacked a man in the middle of the small group. She leapt over the other two people, landed on the man’s back like a panther, and drove him to the ground. The angle of the camera made it impossible to see exactly what she was doing, but when she stood and shook back her hair, she turned towards the camera. Her face was stained dark with blood.
“Max,” he whispered, while at the same instant he realized that it couldn’t be her. It had to be Angela.
“Oh shit,” Sam breathed as he came up behind him.
The little bell over the door chimed as Dean walked in and Sam sprang into action. “Pay for the gas, quick. We’re going to Arizona.”
“What? Why?” Dean demanded, but then stopped as the TV caught his attention. “Fuck. That Angela?”
“No one else it could be,” Sam agreed. “But if that news is rolling now, we need to move.”
“To where? She’s gonna be gone by now, and we don’t exactly have an idea where she’s going.”
“My best bet would be a Hellgate. Pop one of those open, get the access to Hell, get a way for Michael and Lucifer to get out…”
“But where?” Dean demanded. “There can’t be that many Hellgates. And we don’t have the Colt anymore to open that one in Wyoming.”
Sam slashed a hand through the air. “We’ll get the details as we go. But we’re not doing any good by staying in fucking Canada.”
Dean’s eyebrows flicked up at his brother’s intensity. “I’ll call Cas on the way,” he said; he pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills at the cashier.
They hurried towards the door, and Dean was already outside before they realized they were missing something.
Sam stopped quickly and turned. “Alec, come on!”
The younger man hadn’t moved, eyes locked on the screen, hand crushing the bags of snacks so the plastic was breaking. He had lost all color in his face. Sam reached out and jogged his elbow and quickly stepped back. Alec flinched and started like a spooked horse. His eyes were wide, breath hitching and uneven.
“Come on, Alec, we need to go.”
He nodded and hurried outside, slipping inside the Impala and cramming himself in a corner, like a small child or an animal seeking shelter against terrors of the world. The brothers hurried after, and the Impala roared to life and flew back down the highway towards America.
The cashier rushed out of the store in time to see the plume of exhaust and burnt rubber as the car flew away. “Hey! This is American money! I can’t take this!”
But the car was already gone.
*
“I sincerely hope I did not catch you at an inopportune time, brother,” Castiel said, though his tone suggested anything but sincerity.
Balthazar looked down at his glass of bourbon. “Well, well, you’re playing with old toys today, aren’t you, Cassie?”
Castiel bit back a sharp retort about the use of nicknames, and took a deep breath through his nose. “Balthazar, there are demons in this timeline now. I need to know what happened.”
“Do I look like someone who consorts with that kind of filth? Granted, they usually know how to have a better time than even a majority of humans, but I still have some sort of standard.”
Castiel restrained a guilty flinch at that, and pressed on. “But you also have access to the weapons cache of Heaven, and that is where such spells would be kept, correct? And you would know if something had happened to that particular supply, and if any demons had been seen in the area.”
Balthazar shrugged. “If by access you mean I used to work there under Virgil, and stole as much of it as I could when I left, but still have a few friends there, then yes.”
“Quit playing with me, and just tell me!” Castiel snapped.
“You have been spending too much time with the Winchesters, it would seem, Cas. You used to be so much more patient.” But before Castiel could respond, he sighed and continued. “You beat me to the punch - I was just going to contact you with the news. Ruth, one of my contacts who has access to the weapons, has gone missing. Along with a version of the spell you used. This one is nasty, though.”
“How so?”
“It requires the blood of an angel as the last component.” Balthazar grimaced and then looked away. “I have strong feeling that whoever took the spell also took Ruth, and that no one will be seeing her again.” He started to lift the glass to his lips, but stopped in time. “Sorry. Was going to drink to her memory, but I’ll wait.”
“Don’t wait too long. I am going to sort this out, and deal with this insanity from this end. You stay there, and make sure nothing else goes missing.”
Balthazar frowned. “Why so snippy, Cas? You do realize that basically everyone in Heaven thinks I am dead or at least MIA, and that I can’t just go around openly? But if you need help, I’ll come over there.”
Castiel shook his head firmly. “No. I can manage here on my own. The Winchesters are obviously working towards the same goal.”
“And you trust the humans over your own brother?” Balthazar scoffed. He rolled his eyes and looked away.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Balthazar-” Castiel began, but he was interrupted.
“It’s what? That you trust the Winchesters more? That you want to take the glory or credit?” He squinted. “Or is it that you don’t trust me?”
“No, none of that, Balthazar, I trust you,” Cas replied. “I just can’t risk any other demons getting through. If they manage to open a Hellgate, the results will be catastrophic.”
“Yes, yes, I understand. But I don’t like you suggesting that you don’t trust me or don’t think I’m doing my part in this endeavor correctly. I came out of hiding in a beautiful, debauchery filled life for you and your cause. Don’t make me regret it. So I will be here, even more diligent about the goings on of both angel and demon as far as I can reach.”
“Thank you Balthazar.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Now can I drink my bourbon?”
Castiel shook the bowl a little, and the image of Balthazar wavered and broke, leaving his own wavering reflection staring back at him. With a frustrated sigh, he tipped the water down the sink and put the bowl back on the counter. But even as he did so, a ripple of power brushed against his Grace. A foul breath followed it, reeking of sulfur and blood.
“No,” he breathed. “How could they have done it this soon?” With a rush of wings he disappeared.
*
Angela woke slowly. Her senses ticked into place one by one. Touch - soft but scratchy and warm surrounded her, enveloped her. Smell- smoke and dust and mildew, coffee, and something sour, pungent. Hearing - the soft noise of traffic outdoors, the rattle of an old air conditioner, someone’s steady breathing on the other side of the room. Taste - a sour tang in her mouth. A coppery taste. Blood.
She gasped and sat up, blinking the rest of the way to awareness. A dingy motel room swam into focus, the strips of light fighting their way through heavy curtains declaring it was well into the day. Meg sat across the room, chair tipped up on two legs, boots on the table. She grinned as Angela met her gaze.
“Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” The chair thumped down on the floor, and she picked up one of the coffee cups on the table and held it out like an offering.
Angela scrubbed a hand through her hair and sat up the rest of the way. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon of tomorrow, from when you fell asleep.” The cup waved even closer.
She frowned and took the coffee. It was very unusual for her to sleep that long. “I don’t really remember anything…” she took a sip of the coffee. It was hot and black and bitter. But it ran straight into her blood system, and she could feel her nerves start to sing with energy. “Wait. I do. I remember the hunt.” A smirk flicked across her face, and she felt her muscles tense and release, ready to spring into action.
Meg’s grin grew a little. “Yeah, that was impressive. Ready for more?”
The coffee burned a little on her tongue and throat, but she couldn’t stop drinking it. She paused long enough to say, “Hell yeah. If it gets me closer to that prince of yours, let’s go hunting.”
“That’s my girl.” Meg stood and stretched.
The last of the coffee disappeared and she looked at the empty cup in frustration. “What’s in this, it’s fantastic.”
“Come on, you did all that hunting, and you’re still asking that question? Want more?” A second cup was offered.
Angela snatched it up and drained the now lukewarm contents in three long gulps. This wasn’t coffee, it was straight demon blood. The world compressed and expanded around her at the same time. Her hearing sharpened to the point where she could hear Meg’s even pulse from across the room, but the sound of a squirrel chewing on a twig in the motel’s only tree was also audible. Every layer of grime and dust became clear to her nose, and she could smell the pungent tang of a dumpster around the corner.
The world was hers for the taking - she had that power. And she would soon would have more.
She slipped out of the bed and stepped into her boots, lacing them up with blurring fingers. It was relatively warm out, especially compared to Canada, so she opted out of her high collared white shirt - which was also stained from her activities of the day before - and went with a dark tank top.
The weight of Meg’s gaze settled on the barcode, but she didn’t say anything about it. She just opened the door and grinned. “Come on, Princess, we have a few hours to drive before any hunting gets done.”
*
They drove until they couldn’t that night. Out of Canada and across the border, and down to Arizona. Tensions ran high. There was no music, and the only conversation revolved around how they could get to the Hellgate faster, and what they would do once they got there.
“I know they’re genetically enhanced, but fuck, did you see how fast she moved?” Dean said at one point.
“We’ve hunted windigos, they move just as fast,” Sam replied, taking the flashlight out of his mouth. There were maps spread across his lap and he focused the light across them again as he marked down possible locations of Hellgates and other spots of potential power.
“Okay, fine, but why the hell was she attacking people that way-”
“Animal DNA,” Alec said, speaking for the first time in hours. “That’s what genetically enhanced means. There’s a lot of feline DNA in the X-5’s.”
Dean flicked his gaze up to the rearview mirror, but Alec was just a vague shadow in the backseat. “Do you guys flip a switch like that often?”
“Of course not!” he snapped in reply. “Just because we have animal DNA doesn’t mean that we’re animals.” He paused. “Though the X-5 females do go into heat, but that’s something else.”
“Whoa,” Dean muttered, his voice suddenly husky.
At the same time, Sam said, “That can’t be fun for them.”
“Anyway,” Alec said loudly. “No, we typically don’t go running around, chomping people’s necks and drinking blood like a vampire or something.”
Sam’s head snapped up. “Oh my God, she’s drinking demon blood. That’s what that was.”
“Since when did demons get over here?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, if the angels could be here, so can the demons. And they got her to start drinking the blood. Maybe it triggered a sort of primal response in her, focused on that part of her power. I mean, it is supposed to strengthen the vessel. And does.” Sam’s voice had become strained, and he cleared his throat before turning to his maps again.
“Personal experience?” Alec wondered.
Sam nodded once and cleared his throat. “It’s not the highest point of my life.”
There were a few beats of silence, with a heavy weight passing through a glance between the brothers. Alec was sure they were mildly telepathic with each other.
“Great. This situation just keeps getting better and better.” Dean’s foot pressed down on the accelerator and the car barreled down the highway.
No one had been able to rest while in the car, so there was no one to take over driving once Dean’s eyes started to cross with exhaustion. When the first motel with vacancy appeared, he pulled over. Despite the fact that it was nearly two in the morning, Sam managed to get a room with two beds and a couch in less than ten minutes, and they were settling down to sleep in less than five.
Alec didn’t even complain about being relegated to the couch by default - the brothers had automatically taken the beds, with Dean closest to the door. He had worn himself out with worry and constructing situations in his head, which was unusual. But he couldn’t help but worry that the news story would spread, and Max’s face would be connected with the killings, and what that would mean for TC.
“Four hours, and then we’re back on the road.” Deans’s muffled voice said. He had his face buried in a pillow, not even bothering to take off his boots or pull down the covers.
Sam rolled his eyes slightly, kicked off his own boots and slid under the blankets. Alec followed Dean’s example, and settled on the lumpy couch, his jacket as a pillow. It wasn’t long before the only sound in the room was quiet breathing.
Three and a half hours into the night, Dean twitched awake to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He blinked and reached for the gun he’d shoved under his pillow, but paused; the voice was Alec’s. The gun stayed where it was, but he sat up. Alec was invisible on the couch except for his feet, which stuck out over the end. However, he was very audible; uneven breaths mingled with whispered pleas. Dean had lived through enough nights of listening to Sam’s nightmare’s to recognize one. He slipped out of bed and made his way across the room.
“D’n?” Sam asked as he sat up, less than half awake.
“Yeah, Sammy, relax. The kid’s having a nightmare.”
He was almost at the couch when Alec screamed. He recoiled in surprise.
“Rachel! No!” Alec sat upright, gasping. Wild eyes darted from Dean to Sam and back before comprehension sank in. But the fear didn’t dissipate. “He can’t do that. Tell me he can’t do that.”
“Do what?” Sam asked.
“Who?” Dean echoed.
The fear in Alec’s eyes was quickly replaced by rage. “Michael, assholes. Tell me he can’t do anything to Rachel.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck. I did enough to that poor girl, tell me he can’t do that to her because of me.”
“What did he say?” Sam asked. He got out of bed and crossed to stand next to Dean, his face creased in concern and empathy.
Alec took a long, shaky breath, head still bowed. After a moment he looked up, face pale and stricken. “I didn’t even believe in an afterlife until now. I as good as killed her once. If someone’s going to do that to her again, I’m out. I’m not going any further.”
In the shocked silence that followed, Alec snatched up his jacket and stormed outside. The door slammed shut, rattled in its frame and settled just slightly ajar.
“Well…” Sam started, sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.
“We may as well hit the road again, we’re all up,” Dean said. “I’ll pack, you go talk to the kid.”
“Why me? He’s your clone.”
“Yeah, but you do all the touchy feely things.” He gestured to the door. “Go on, before he rabbits.”
Sam slipped on his boots and went outside. The dim light of a distant street light showed Alec just outside the door by the Impala, hands braced against the hood, head bowed. Without a word, Sam stepped next to him and leaned against the side panel, facing out towards the highway, close but still respecting Alec’s space; inside the room, he could hear Dean shuffling around, purposely making more noise than needed to collect their few things. After a few moments he asked, “Who’s Rachel?”
Alec sighed quietly and turned around, mimicking Sam’s stance. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” Sam countered. “She’s obviously someone important to you. And even if we’re not from the same world as you, really, you’ve become an honorary Winchester.”
“Which means that the universe wants to screw me over even more than it did before?” When Sam winced a little, Alec continued, “I was listening to you two in the car. Sounds like being a Winchester isn’t that great. You sure you want to comfort me with that?”
“Point taken.” Sam shook his head and looked at nothing on the highway. “It sucks, but it also means you have friends and family on your side.”
A snort was the only reply.
“Rachel…” Alec began, hesitated, and then continued, “One of my missions for Manticore was to gather intel and then eliminate a target. His name was Robert Berrisford. I was under cover as a piano instructor for his seventeen year old daughter.”
“Rachel,” Sam said quietly. He watched Alec out of the corner of his eye.
He nodded. “They told me to exploit her feelings towards me. So I did. Problem was, I stopped pretending. It was real. And then I had to kill both of them.”
His voice quavered and Sam stayed very still. While Dean had been the most vocal about how strange it was to see a younger version of himself, Sam found it equally disconcerting. As he spoke, Alec’s voice echoed the same tones Dean’s voice had when confessing his trials and failures in Hell. It hurt.
“I couldn’t do it.” Alec took a deep breath. “I tried to warn Rachel, I wasn’t going to trigger the bomb on the car, but Manitcore had a backup plan. Robert lived, but Rachel went into a coma. She died recently.”
Inside the motel room, Dean had stopped moving. Sam knew he was listening, and Alec undoubtedly knew as well. But he continued.
“And here, I’d finally moved on, said my goodbyes, and thought she’d be at some sort of peace… and this asshole Michael shows up in my head. Says that yeah, Rachel’s in Heaven. Says that she’s at peace, but that isn’t guaranteed. That he could get to her. To make her Heaven a Hell.” He glanced up at Sam. “I can’t do that to her.”
Sam took a careful breath. The more disarmed Alec became, the more the shields of humor and cockiness were ripped away, until Sam started having flashbacks to moments when Dean’s shields slipped away. It made his head spin and his heart hurt. But Alec was not Dean, so maybe he’d be able to talk him through this more than he’d ever been able to do with his older brother.
“Listen, man, Rachel isn’t your fault. You said that you didn’t pull the trigger; that you weren’t going to.”
Alec snorted and shook his head. “End result is the same.”
“Maybe. But you can’t carry that sort of guilt around. Trust me. My girlfriend died because of me, and not a day goes by where I don’t think of that, but I also know that there’s a hell of a lot that needs to be done in the here and now. People who need you now.” His gaze flicked over to the door. “And you don’t want to let them down, not after everything they’ve done for you.”
“We still talking about me here?”
“Yes.” Sam turned to face Alec. “Everyone in Terminal City. I saw the way everyone was out there saying good bye to you when we left. I saw how much Max trusted you on every level. Hell, did you see how nervous and scared Joshua was for you?”
“You sure he just didn’t tell you that outright? Joshua’s good about vomiting emotions most of the time. Doesn’t have the same filters as everyone.” He turned and squinted at Sam, a half grin starting on his face. “Is that why Dean sent you out here, even if I’m his clone?” At Sam’s frustrated expression, he chuckled and tapped one ear. “Transgenic hearing. It’s a perk.”
“Yeah, fine, whatever. But seriously Alec. I don’t think Michael has the power to swing hurting Rachel. She’s in Heaven and he’s locked in the Cage in Hell. He can get into your brain because you’re linked through the bloodline. He can’t contact anyone else. Yet. If we don’t stop this, Rachel and everyone in TC, everyone you’ve ever cared about or has cared about you, is going to be in a world of hurt. And if you have even the tiniest sliver of what makes my brother who he is, you’re not going to let that happen. Because you don’t let the world mess with your family.”
“That was actually really motivational, not what I expected. Not as much estrogen as I would have guessed.”
Sam groaned. “You two are from the same mold. Christ.”
“Dean, you can stop eavesdropping, let’s hit the road,” Alec called to the slightly open door.
The door opened and Dean stepped out, duffle bags in hand. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he muttered back.
“Don’t lie, it’s not becoming.” Alec clambered into the backseat. “Well? We going? Or do I have to drive?”
Dean threw the duffles in trunk. “No way in hell are you driving my car.”
“Why not? I mean, I’m practically you. DNA, looks, all that. With added abilities, like superior strength, stamina and almost literally cat like reflexes.”
From the passenger seat, Sam cackled.
“Shut up, both of you.”
Several hours, Sam and Alec had both drifted back asleep, leaving Dean with the familiar symphony of his baby’s engine and Sam’s quiet snores. The quiet sounds of Alec’s breath didn’t detract at all, and it was somewhat worrying how normal it sounded. He had a brief moment of wondering if this is what the car had sounded like years ago, when his Dad had been behind the wheel and he and Sam had been asleep between hunts.
Dean’s cellphone rang. Sam twitched awake, and Alec sat up.
“Cas?” Sam wondered, rubbing at his cheek where it had been pressed against the window.
“Has to be, who else would be calling me in this dimension?” Dean muttered, lifting the phone to his ear. “Cas? What’s going on?”
“Am I the only one who finds it amusing that I have angels invading my dreams, but this one has to use a cellphone to call you two?”
“Son of a bitch! And where are they going now? Wait, why don’t we just meet you there? What? Okay, Cas, we’ll do it your way. Cas? Cas! Fuck.” Dean shoved the phone back in his pocket.
“What?” Sam demanded.
“We were right about Angela drinking demon blood. She opened that Hellgate in Phoenix. Cas’s buddies couldn’t keep a lid on some spells, and the demons got through. And guess who’s building a nice little army to welcome Lucifer back? Meg.”
“Meg?” Sam yelped. “She’s back?”
Dean grimaced. “Yeah, uh, she’s been back a while…but I didn’t know she still had a hard on for Lucifer.”
“She’s not the leader type, either, more opportunistic,” Sam argued. “Think she’s possessing Angela?”
“Would make it hard to give her over to Lucifer when he shows up,” Dean replied. “We’ll deal with that when we get closer.”
“Where are we going now?” Alec asked.
“Death Valley.”
Alec huffed a quiet sigh and leaned back again. “How appropriate.”
Chapter 2b
Chapter 4