Fic: But Water Is Wider 4/5 (Supernatural/White Collar; R)
Title: But Water Is Wider
Author: misachan
Artist: sgmajorshipper (Link to Art Master Post)
Crossover: Supernatural/White Collar
Word Count: 3971
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Peter/Elizabeth, Neal, Sam, Jones, Diana
Warnings: Hellhound-related violence, some language
Spoilers: Set S5 for SPN, S2 for White Collar
Summary: Dean knows they've had hunts go worse than this, but right now he's having trouble thinking of any. What should have been a simple haunted painting salt-and-burn gets sticky when the head of the theft ring they've conned their way into turns out to be on the FBI payroll. With Sam stuck in custody Dean calls in Castiel, hoping some angel mojo might lead to a quick escape and Cas quickly finds enough bubbling beneath the surface to attract his attention - like hellhounds prowling the halls of FBI headquarters. Sam also finds the day full of surprises: when Agent Burke starts the interrogation the only questions he has involve a thick file all about Sam and Dean, a fire in a Colorado police precinct and how Victor Hendrickson really died.
Neal knows he should have slipped his tracker and run off days ago, when he first heard the howls. Now he's scrambling to keep his old crossroads mistake from bringing everyone down with him, and it's not long before Peter, Dean, Sam, Cas, Jones and Diana all find themselves caught in the web, and Elizabeth finds herself with a choice: rejoin the family she's left behind or save the one she's built.
When hellhounds come baying for blood, even angels have nowhere to hide.
Dean could hear the damn thing coming and he kept waiting for Castiel to go for the dropped sword, kept waiting until Cas gave him quick over his shoulder look and Dean realized he was just going to stand there and take the attack. Dean had never wanted to strangle anyone more in his entire life.
He told himself Cas could do this, he'd killed the last one barehanded but he knew that had been luck.
There was that split second where time slowed down to nothing, the way it always did when something bad was about to happen, then he saw the hellhound hit Castiel like a wave.
He thought Cas must have misjudged either its speed or its angle of attack or both; he didn't have time to catch it like the last and barely managed to get one arm up in time to keep it from ripping out his throat. Dean had told Sam when he'd first started hunting that it was natural to freeze up sometimes, that it was nothing to be ashamed of. He wished Sam was there to remind him of that now; when he heard that growl so close Dean felt all of his joints lock. He was back in that house in Illinois, back feeling teeth drag him to the floor and feeling claws rip him open. Castiel let out a startled grunt as his legs buckled under him; Dean could see he was pinned under the thing, his arm in its jaws, bloodspray outlining the shape of hellhound's muzzle. Cas' eyes were locked on the hound as he tried to pry its jaws open, then Dean saw his eyes go wide and his back arch up. Within a second his right side was soaked red with blood; that had been a claw, Dean felt it like it had scored down his own side. Dean wanted to move, wanted to help but it was like it was all happening far away in a fog.
Dean couldn't see but he didn't need to, he all but felt it when the hellhound shook Cas. His whole body jerked up and Dean heard a sharp crack that sounded like a gong. Castiel let out an ugly sob of pain, almost like he was too surprised to scream; Dean saw him instinctively try to curl up around his broken arm and he heard the hellhound let out a staccato growl, almost like it was laughing.
That broke Dean out of it. He dove for Castiel's sword, grabbing it and getting back to his feet with a quick roll; Cas had lost enough blood now that Dean could almost make out shape of the hellhound's head. Castiel's eyes were glassy but to Dean's relief he was aware enough to realize what Dean was trying to do; he reached out with his good hand and grabbed the thing by what Dean guessed was the scruff of its neck, holding it still even though Dean could tell he wouldn't be able to keep it up for more than a few seconds.
Dean didn't need more than that. He took a deep breath and stabbed down with the sword, right between the thing's shoulder blades. He'd never used a blade this sharp before; he braced for resistance when the sword hit bone but it slid through up to the hilt, so cleanly Dean stumbled down to his knees. Castiel groaned again when the impact jarred through him and Dean twisted his blade, wrenching it as hard as he could. He felt the hound shake under him for a second, then let out a high-pitched whine when he twisted the blade one more time. Within seconds Dean felt the resistance against the sword evaporate and smelled something foul and acrid but he didn't waste any time wondering about it - Castiel was still curled on his side, his eyes squeezed shut, soft moans catching the edge of each breath. "Jesus, Cas. Jesus. Let me see how bad it is." Castiel waved him off, then pushed himself to his feet, cradling his ruined arm against his chest.
"That hurt," Cas snarled.
"You're just fucking lucky you heal."
"No," Castiel said, shaking his head. "It shouldn't. It shouldn't...shouldn't hurt this much." Dean realized he was swaying on his feet; he reached out to steady him and when Cas looked up Dean felt his blood freeze. His irises were blown wide and Dean could see pinpricks of light deep in his pupils. He groped for Dean like he couldn't quite see him, missing completely; Dean rushed forward to grab him when his legs collapsed under him, fear wrapping around his spine when Castiel clutched onto him, trying to hold himself up. "Something's wrong," he said, the words slurring.
"Why aren't you healing, Cas?" Dean said, lowering him down to the ground.
"Like...like to know that myself."
Blood still poured from his arm like someone had turned on a faucet; Dean felt the shakes start to kick in as he unknotted the tie around Cas' neck and cinched it tight around his arm just above the elbow, trying to stop the blood flow. He glanced around as he tried to remember how much blood someone could lose in one shot before their blood pressure dropped to nothing. "Cas? Cas, you gotta look at me."
Castiel's head picked up at the command; the bites on his arm and the claw marks down his side were outlined in light now, too. "What's wrong with me?" he whispered, eyes wide and the tone hazy and distant, like they were talking about someone else bleeding out on the grass.
"Doesn't matter," Dean said, tipping Castiel's chin up to force him to keep looking at him. "You're gonna be fine. You're a big bad angel of the Lord, right? That means you can't get taken out by one mangy hellhound. You hear me?"
He didn't think Castiel did, shock was hitting him too fast and too hard. "Is this what it felt like when you died, Dean?" he whispered.
"Jesus, Cas, don't worry about me right now." Dean could feel the pulse in his neck fluttering and swore; his breathing was bad too, coming in harsh, fast gasps, and Dean had heard people trying to breathe with blood in their lungs too many times to not recognize the sound now. "Keep talking, okay? You gotta stay awake."
Castiel nodded like he didn't understand the question and hoped that was the right answer. "Dean? Why...why would Peter save me a drumstick on Thanksgiving?"
Dean didn't know why that made his chest go tight. Cas asking a Cas question should have been reassuring. "'Cause you did him a favor and that's the best part."
"Is it?" He shivered so hard his teeth chattered.
"Yeah, definitely. And don't ever let Sam tell you otherwise, kid has no taste."
"Do you think they'll invite me?"
"Sure they will," Dean said, desperate to keep him talking. "You're family, right? That's what family does."
"That's not been...my experience." His eyelids fluttered, panicking Dean so much he shook him awake. He smothered down the spiral of guilt when Castiel whimpered and opened his eyes with a betrayed, why did you do that? look.
"Told you, Cas, you gotta stay awake or you won't make that dinner."
"What...part will you have?"
Dean didn't know how Castiel was dredging up enough energy to humor him, especially since he seemed to be going out of his way to be obvious about it. "Me and Sam'll do our own thing, like we always do."
"Oh." He seemed to need a second to grasp that. "I wouldn't be welcome?"
"Hey. Of course you are. What kind of stupid question is that?"
"Family...you said."
"You ditch me on Thanksgiving I will be so fucking pissed off, Cas."
"Would...would never...." His brows drew together in confusion. "I don't understand what we're talking about anymore."
"That's okay. That's okay, just keep talking."
Instead Castiel leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, like he'd forgotten how to hold it up. "I still don't.... Battled hellhounds many times." That was what tied Dean up in knots; it wasn't even the pain ripping each word apart, it was that he was so surprised about it. He shivered against Dean, another choked moan shaking out of him and Jesus, he was really glowing now, light pouring from the wounds like it was blood.
A shadow fell across them; Dean looked up, ready to go to war with anything that would come after Cas now but that rage fell away when he saw Elizabeth standing over them. For a second Dean was back in that barn in Illinois; lightning cracked from the blue sky and there was a split second where he could see past the the human mask to all that power coiled in on itself like a building storm. Wings of shadow spread behind her on grass, the temperature of the air dropping ten degrees.
Castiel looked up like he'd felt her approach; Dean saw his lips move but he couldn't make any sound come out. "Shh, little brother," she whispered, and Dean recognized the way Cas was looking at her now. It was the way Sam looked at him when hunts went bad, the way Sam had looked to him since he'd been a little kid, the perfect confidence of Oh good, you're here now. You'll fix this. She pressed two fingers against Castiel's temple, the same way Cas always did to Dean. "Rest now."
The glow faded and for one second the pain was wiped from his face, then his eyelids fluttered closed. Dean caught him as he went limp.
Elizabeth straightened up and stared down at them for a second, the gentleness in her voice when she'd soothed Cas an absolute contrast to her eyes now. Dean had seen Castiel mad plenty of times, but this was different. This was wrath.
She touched Dean's forehead, pressing her other hand back against Cas' temple. "Hold on to him," she said, an apology in her voice. "It's been a while since I've done this."
Dean had just enough time to grab Castiel and hold on tight before the world warped around him.
***
Sam was just on the verge of falling asleep again when he heard the growl. He bolted back upright in the chair, one hand going instinctively to the knife in his belt.
The next time he heard the growl if came from on top of the interrogation table, inches from his face. Sam threw himself backwards, tipping the chair over as he pulled out the knife; he felt suffocating weight settle on his chest and cringed at the sound of jaws clacking shut in the empty air. Noxious, hot breath his face but Sam pushed that aside, gritting his teeth as he stabbed up with the knife. He heard a high-pitched whimper and felt claws rake into his shoulder in a single spasm, then he saw a shimmer of light as the thing...Sam didn't know, dissolved.
Burke's two lieutenants chose then to burst into the room, guns drawn. "What the hell was that?" asked the female agent, taking the whole scene in a glance.
Sam raised his hands, letting the black stained knife fall to the floor. He let the other agent haul him up and drop him in the chair. "You won't believe me if I told you."
He saw them share a look; they holstered the guns and the guy picked the knife up from the floor with a cloth as the female agent sat across from him. "Where did you get that?" she said, her voice sliding into interrogation mode. "And what's...what's that all over it?"
"It smells like sulfur in here," the other one said, and Sam saw his jaw go tight.
"Well?"
Sam just sighed. "I told you, you guys won't believe me."
"You're bleeding," she said, nodding toward his shoulder, "and you didn't do it yourself, there's no blood on that knife. As long as you're in our custody, that means you're our responsibility. Who attacked you?"
"It wasn't a who." He sighed again. "Fine. It was a hellhound."
Her eyebrows went up to her hairline. "A hellhound."
"Yeah. They're trackers from hell, your buddy Caffrey's got a bunch of them after him. I don't know why they're lurking around here, maybe they can't find him and they're trying to draw him out."
"A hellhound," she said again, as if she couldn't quite believe she'd heard Sam right.
"I said you wouldn't believe me."
The other agent was still staring at the black gore on the knife. "You're saying these things are from hell? That makes them demons, right?"
She sighed. "Jones, don't indulge him."
"Yeah, that's right," Sam said, turning around to give him a curious look.
Jones nodded. "That means we need salt, right? Salt's what keeps out demons?"
Sam felt his mouth drop open. "Yeah. Yeah, it does. How did you...?"
The other agent looked like she wanted to ask the same question. "Jones, what the hell?"
"My uncle Rufus gets some Johnnie Walker in him, he can tell some stories." He straightened up, handing the knife back to Sam over his partner's obvious objections. "That knife's special, right?"
Sam nodded, taking it back and making sure lay it between him and the other agent on the table. "It can kill demons," he said. Sam tapped his fingers against table. "Actually met your uncle," he admitted. "He's a character, man."
"Am I the only one who hasn't lost my mind?" She looked up at Jones. "You're saying you believe him?"
Sam felt Jones give him a hard, steady look. "Yeah. I think I do."
She rubbed her forehead, seeming to need a second to let that sink in. "Diana," she said after some obvious thought. "If we're fighting...I don't believe I'm saying this, demons, I guess we should be on a first name basis."
"Sam Winchester," Sam said.
Her lips quirked up. "We know."
"Diana, there's more of those things out there. I don't know if they're going to attack, but we have to be ready."
"And we do that how?"
"Get everyone out. The hellhound attacked me, I don't know why, but if it's after me then people need to get as far away as they can."
Diana shook her head. "We have people in custody, we can't clear the building." She leaned back in the chair. "We could fake a bomb threat. Something like that, get the nonessentials out and set the whole building on lockdown."
"Then we do that. Get as many people out and barricade as best we can."
"I got a bag of salt in my car," Jones said. When all the eyes turned to him, he shrugged. "Look, that's the kind of birthday present my uncle sends."
She nodded and he left the room, closing the door behind him. She turned back to Sam with a venomous glare. "If you're making all this up...."
"If I was making all this up don't you think I'd come up with a better story?" She crossed her arms, seeming to accept that with a sigh. "Can I call my brother?"
She shook her head as she slid her own phone against the table. "Make it quick."
He nodded, making sure to talk right in front of her to show he wasn't hiding anything. He frowned as the call went to voicemail twice, letting out a sigh of relief when someone finally picked up on the third try. "Sammy?" he heard, after a long, uneasy pause.
The tone in Dean's voice raised the hair on the back of Sam's neck. "Dean, everything okay? You didn't pick up."
"Didn't recognize the number." Sam heard his brother let out a shaking breath. "You get sprung?"
"Not yet. You were right about the hellhounds, one jumped me right in the interrogation room."
Another pause. "You okay?"
Sam didn't like Dean's voice at all. "Yeah, thanks to the knife. The agents here are being...surprisingly cool about everything. We're working on barricading the building now." He leaned over the table. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Dean actually laughed at that, a short, jagged sound. "I'm fine. Not a scratch on me."
"Dean...."
"Everyone's breathing, Sam, that's what matters. You keep yourself safe, this should all be wrapped up soon." The call ended and Sam stared at the number blinking on the screen, his stomach in knots.
"Everything okay?" Diana asked, taking her phone back.
Sam let out a deep breath. "Ask me that again when this is over."
***
Neal stumbled into the abandoned warehouse, one hand clamped over his bloody arm. When he'd had Mozzie burn through a perfectly good fake identity to buy the place he hoped he'd never have to use it. He muttered a word in a language he had absolutely no business knowing and the space illuminated, revealing a sigil carved into the floor and words in yet another language no one on Earth should know and felt his heart finally start to slow down. A hound had almost gotten him on the subway getting here; he'd had to dive onto the platform just as the doors closed and counted himself lucky the car had been empty. He liked to think he wouldn't trap someone innocent with a hellhound just to save his own skin but he really didn't want to put that to the test. He still felt the burn of the demon's teeth on his arm; the bite had been barely more than a graze but Neal had never felt pain like that his life. And he was pretty sure he'd dislocated his shoulder getting away, but that shouldn't matter now.
The attack had made him lose the box but he always had a backup plan. He looked around and smiled; it had taken a hell of a lot of talking to more strange "experts" than he could count and a good chunk of his personal treasure trove but if there was one place on Earth that was demon proof, this was it.
"Not exactly how I pictured your taste in safe houses running, Neal." Neal could only stare as Peter strolled out of one of the shadowy corners. "Could use some help with the décor," he said, looking around. "El knows a couple of people."
"What do you have on Mozzie?"
"Apparently a common interest in you being alive."
Neal shook his head. "Great, Peter, you found me, now get out of here. Go home."
"Only if you come with me."
"You know I can't do that."
"Well, I'm certainly not explaining to El how I left you to get eaten alive." He let out a short sigh. "I still can't believe I'm saying things like that."
"I'm fine. There's no safer place on the planet."
"What's your plan, Neal? Stay here forever? Not exactly a lot of amenities."
Okay, so Peter technically had him there. Neal realized he was too tired to bluster any more. "I thought I'd have more time."
"Well, I'm not leaving here without you, so stop arguing with me and let's come up with a plan."
The warehouse doors creaked open and Neal spun around, a bead of cold sweat running down his back. "Is that supposed to happen?" he heard Peter say, far away, like Peter was standing in a well.
Neal swallowed hard. "No."
Two hellhounds padded through the open door; short muzzles sniffing the air. They looked like wolves drawn by someone who didn't understand proportion; long, muscular forelegs made their backs slope like hyenas, sharp shoulder blades moving under bristled fur as they stalked into the room. Their metallic claws gleamed as they clicked on the floor, walking right over sigils and traps a dozen books had promised Neal would keep them out. Neal saw both their heads turn to him as they caught his scent, tongues lolling out like they were excited huskies.
When they snarled Neal felt it in his bones. "Peter, stay back, please."
He all but groaned aloud when instead Peter stepped up beside him and drew his gun. "Don't ask me that again."
"Peter...."
"I'm not going to sit here and watch while your soul gets dragged off to hell, Neal," he snapped, aiming his gun at what to him was empty air. "Can you see them?"
"A gun's not going to do anything."
"Can you see them?"
Neal nodded. "There's two of them. One's at 11 o'clock, one's at 2." They lowered their heads in unison, muscles bunching as they charged. "Here they come."
Peter swung the gun to 11 o'clock and fired twice; the first sailed over the hellhound's head but then he lowered the gun and the second shot caught the creature full in the chest. To Neal's shock the hellhound dropped with a strangled yelp, light flashing all through it as spasmed once before dissolving into smoke and foul-smelling bile. The second hellhound skidded to a stop, turning to look at its packmate, then it turned back to Neal like he had done the shooting. It growled as it launched itself at Neal, slaver dripped from its jaws.
Peter spun around and fired again, hitting the hellhound through the neck with a perfect shot. The hellhound did a somersault through the air, landing hard and lying still for a few seconds before dissolving like the other.
The silence afterward was like a thing Neal could touch. Peter cocked on eyebrow at him, a clear I told you so expression on his face. "What kind of weapons do you guys carry?"
Peter never got the chance to answer. The warehouse shook, like a giant had reached down from the sky to shake it. The open doors flew backwards, cracking off their hinges; lightning crackled over the protection sigils on the walls, creating strange shadows. Neal felt a force tug him forward, forcing him to stumble down to his knees just as a man walked into the warehouse. "There," the man said, lips twisting up into a smirk. "That's a little more respectful, don't you think?"
"You," Neal breathed, recognizing the stranger who had come to him that night to tell him the terms of his contract had changed.
Peter raised the gun and pointed it at the stranger. "Who are you?"
The man sighed, gesturing once; Neal saw Peter sway on his feet and threw himself backward to catch him, grunting as pain spiraled from his injured arm. "What did you do?" he said, panic grabbing him until he found Peter's pulse.
"Put him to sleep. Unless you want him to be involved?"
Neal shook his head. "Don't hurt him. He has nothing to do with this."
The man pursed his lips. "Not precisely true, but I have no real desire to hurt him. Not unless I have to. He is family of a sort, after all."
Neal pulled Peter into his lap so he wasn't lying on the cold floor. "What are you waiting for? You caught me, get on with it."
The man smiled. "Eager to jump into the Pit, aren't you."
"Who are you?"
"I'm surprised you never managed to find out. My name is Xaphan."
"I know that name," Neal said. The longer he kept this thing talking, the longer he had think of a way out. "You're a demon. You set fire to Heaven when Lucifer fell."
The smile went wider. "I did." The lightning flashed again and Neal felt his heart almost stop when he saw enormous, shadowy wings spread across the warehouse wall. "You've been a very useful little pawn, Neal."
"What are you waiting for?"
Xaphan tilted his chin up. "A third party. Don't worry. I'm sure she won't be long."
-Back to Part 3-
-Back to Masterpost-
-On to Part 5-
Author: misachan
Artist: sgmajorshipper (Link to Art Master Post)
Crossover: Supernatural/White Collar
Word Count: 3971
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Peter/Elizabeth, Neal, Sam, Jones, Diana
Warnings: Hellhound-related violence, some language
Spoilers: Set S5 for SPN, S2 for White Collar
Summary: Dean knows they've had hunts go worse than this, but right now he's having trouble thinking of any. What should have been a simple haunted painting salt-and-burn gets sticky when the head of the theft ring they've conned their way into turns out to be on the FBI payroll. With Sam stuck in custody Dean calls in Castiel, hoping some angel mojo might lead to a quick escape and Cas quickly finds enough bubbling beneath the surface to attract his attention - like hellhounds prowling the halls of FBI headquarters. Sam also finds the day full of surprises: when Agent Burke starts the interrogation the only questions he has involve a thick file all about Sam and Dean, a fire in a Colorado police precinct and how Victor Hendrickson really died.
Neal knows he should have slipped his tracker and run off days ago, when he first heard the howls. Now he's scrambling to keep his old crossroads mistake from bringing everyone down with him, and it's not long before Peter, Dean, Sam, Cas, Jones and Diana all find themselves caught in the web, and Elizabeth finds herself with a choice: rejoin the family she's left behind or save the one she's built.
When hellhounds come baying for blood, even angels have nowhere to hide.
Dean could hear the damn thing coming and he kept waiting for Castiel to go for the dropped sword, kept waiting until Cas gave him quick over his shoulder look and Dean realized he was just going to stand there and take the attack. Dean had never wanted to strangle anyone more in his entire life.
He told himself Cas could do this, he'd killed the last one barehanded but he knew that had been luck.
There was that split second where time slowed down to nothing, the way it always did when something bad was about to happen, then he saw the hellhound hit Castiel like a wave.
He thought Cas must have misjudged either its speed or its angle of attack or both; he didn't have time to catch it like the last and barely managed to get one arm up in time to keep it from ripping out his throat. Dean had told Sam when he'd first started hunting that it was natural to freeze up sometimes, that it was nothing to be ashamed of. He wished Sam was there to remind him of that now; when he heard that growl so close Dean felt all of his joints lock. He was back in that house in Illinois, back feeling teeth drag him to the floor and feeling claws rip him open. Castiel let out a startled grunt as his legs buckled under him; Dean could see he was pinned under the thing, his arm in its jaws, bloodspray outlining the shape of hellhound's muzzle. Cas' eyes were locked on the hound as he tried to pry its jaws open, then Dean saw his eyes go wide and his back arch up. Within a second his right side was soaked red with blood; that had been a claw, Dean felt it like it had scored down his own side. Dean wanted to move, wanted to help but it was like it was all happening far away in a fog.
Dean couldn't see but he didn't need to, he all but felt it when the hellhound shook Cas. His whole body jerked up and Dean heard a sharp crack that sounded like a gong. Castiel let out an ugly sob of pain, almost like he was too surprised to scream; Dean saw him instinctively try to curl up around his broken arm and he heard the hellhound let out a staccato growl, almost like it was laughing.
That broke Dean out of it. He dove for Castiel's sword, grabbing it and getting back to his feet with a quick roll; Cas had lost enough blood now that Dean could almost make out shape of the hellhound's head. Castiel's eyes were glassy but to Dean's relief he was aware enough to realize what Dean was trying to do; he reached out with his good hand and grabbed the thing by what Dean guessed was the scruff of its neck, holding it still even though Dean could tell he wouldn't be able to keep it up for more than a few seconds.
Dean didn't need more than that. He took a deep breath and stabbed down with the sword, right between the thing's shoulder blades. He'd never used a blade this sharp before; he braced for resistance when the sword hit bone but it slid through up to the hilt, so cleanly Dean stumbled down to his knees. Castiel groaned again when the impact jarred through him and Dean twisted his blade, wrenching it as hard as he could. He felt the hound shake under him for a second, then let out a high-pitched whine when he twisted the blade one more time. Within seconds Dean felt the resistance against the sword evaporate and smelled something foul and acrid but he didn't waste any time wondering about it - Castiel was still curled on his side, his eyes squeezed shut, soft moans catching the edge of each breath. "Jesus, Cas. Jesus. Let me see how bad it is." Castiel waved him off, then pushed himself to his feet, cradling his ruined arm against his chest.
"That hurt," Cas snarled.
"You're just fucking lucky you heal."
"No," Castiel said, shaking his head. "It shouldn't. It shouldn't...shouldn't hurt this much." Dean realized he was swaying on his feet; he reached out to steady him and when Cas looked up Dean felt his blood freeze. His irises were blown wide and Dean could see pinpricks of light deep in his pupils. He groped for Dean like he couldn't quite see him, missing completely; Dean rushed forward to grab him when his legs collapsed under him, fear wrapping around his spine when Castiel clutched onto him, trying to hold himself up. "Something's wrong," he said, the words slurring.
"Why aren't you healing, Cas?" Dean said, lowering him down to the ground.
"Like...like to know that myself."
Blood still poured from his arm like someone had turned on a faucet; Dean felt the shakes start to kick in as he unknotted the tie around Cas' neck and cinched it tight around his arm just above the elbow, trying to stop the blood flow. He glanced around as he tried to remember how much blood someone could lose in one shot before their blood pressure dropped to nothing. "Cas? Cas, you gotta look at me."
Castiel's head picked up at the command; the bites on his arm and the claw marks down his side were outlined in light now, too. "What's wrong with me?" he whispered, eyes wide and the tone hazy and distant, like they were talking about someone else bleeding out on the grass.
"Doesn't matter," Dean said, tipping Castiel's chin up to force him to keep looking at him. "You're gonna be fine. You're a big bad angel of the Lord, right? That means you can't get taken out by one mangy hellhound. You hear me?"
He didn't think Castiel did, shock was hitting him too fast and too hard. "Is this what it felt like when you died, Dean?" he whispered.
"Jesus, Cas, don't worry about me right now." Dean could feel the pulse in his neck fluttering and swore; his breathing was bad too, coming in harsh, fast gasps, and Dean had heard people trying to breathe with blood in their lungs too many times to not recognize the sound now. "Keep talking, okay? You gotta stay awake."
Castiel nodded like he didn't understand the question and hoped that was the right answer. "Dean? Why...why would Peter save me a drumstick on Thanksgiving?"
Dean didn't know why that made his chest go tight. Cas asking a Cas question should have been reassuring. "'Cause you did him a favor and that's the best part."
"Is it?" He shivered so hard his teeth chattered.
"Yeah, definitely. And don't ever let Sam tell you otherwise, kid has no taste."
"Do you think they'll invite me?"
"Sure they will," Dean said, desperate to keep him talking. "You're family, right? That's what family does."
"That's not been...my experience." His eyelids fluttered, panicking Dean so much he shook him awake. He smothered down the spiral of guilt when Castiel whimpered and opened his eyes with a betrayed, why did you do that? look.
"Told you, Cas, you gotta stay awake or you won't make that dinner."
"What...part will you have?"
Dean didn't know how Castiel was dredging up enough energy to humor him, especially since he seemed to be going out of his way to be obvious about it. "Me and Sam'll do our own thing, like we always do."
"Oh." He seemed to need a second to grasp that. "I wouldn't be welcome?"
"Hey. Of course you are. What kind of stupid question is that?"
"Family...you said."
"You ditch me on Thanksgiving I will be so fucking pissed off, Cas."
"Would...would never...." His brows drew together in confusion. "I don't understand what we're talking about anymore."
"That's okay. That's okay, just keep talking."
Instead Castiel leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, like he'd forgotten how to hold it up. "I still don't.... Battled hellhounds many times." That was what tied Dean up in knots; it wasn't even the pain ripping each word apart, it was that he was so surprised about it. He shivered against Dean, another choked moan shaking out of him and Jesus, he was really glowing now, light pouring from the wounds like it was blood.
A shadow fell across them; Dean looked up, ready to go to war with anything that would come after Cas now but that rage fell away when he saw Elizabeth standing over them. For a second Dean was back in that barn in Illinois; lightning cracked from the blue sky and there was a split second where he could see past the the human mask to all that power coiled in on itself like a building storm. Wings of shadow spread behind her on grass, the temperature of the air dropping ten degrees.
Castiel looked up like he'd felt her approach; Dean saw his lips move but he couldn't make any sound come out. "Shh, little brother," she whispered, and Dean recognized the way Cas was looking at her now. It was the way Sam looked at him when hunts went bad, the way Sam had looked to him since he'd been a little kid, the perfect confidence of Oh good, you're here now. You'll fix this. She pressed two fingers against Castiel's temple, the same way Cas always did to Dean. "Rest now."
The glow faded and for one second the pain was wiped from his face, then his eyelids fluttered closed. Dean caught him as he went limp.
Elizabeth straightened up and stared down at them for a second, the gentleness in her voice when she'd soothed Cas an absolute contrast to her eyes now. Dean had seen Castiel mad plenty of times, but this was different. This was wrath.
She touched Dean's forehead, pressing her other hand back against Cas' temple. "Hold on to him," she said, an apology in her voice. "It's been a while since I've done this."
Dean had just enough time to grab Castiel and hold on tight before the world warped around him.
***
Sam was just on the verge of falling asleep again when he heard the growl. He bolted back upright in the chair, one hand going instinctively to the knife in his belt.
The next time he heard the growl if came from on top of the interrogation table, inches from his face. Sam threw himself backwards, tipping the chair over as he pulled out the knife; he felt suffocating weight settle on his chest and cringed at the sound of jaws clacking shut in the empty air. Noxious, hot breath his face but Sam pushed that aside, gritting his teeth as he stabbed up with the knife. He heard a high-pitched whimper and felt claws rake into his shoulder in a single spasm, then he saw a shimmer of light as the thing...Sam didn't know, dissolved.
Burke's two lieutenants chose then to burst into the room, guns drawn. "What the hell was that?" asked the female agent, taking the whole scene in a glance.
Sam raised his hands, letting the black stained knife fall to the floor. He let the other agent haul him up and drop him in the chair. "You won't believe me if I told you."
He saw them share a look; they holstered the guns and the guy picked the knife up from the floor with a cloth as the female agent sat across from him. "Where did you get that?" she said, her voice sliding into interrogation mode. "And what's...what's that all over it?"
"It smells like sulfur in here," the other one said, and Sam saw his jaw go tight.
"Well?"
Sam just sighed. "I told you, you guys won't believe me."
"You're bleeding," she said, nodding toward his shoulder, "and you didn't do it yourself, there's no blood on that knife. As long as you're in our custody, that means you're our responsibility. Who attacked you?"
"It wasn't a who." He sighed again. "Fine. It was a hellhound."
Her eyebrows went up to her hairline. "A hellhound."
"Yeah. They're trackers from hell, your buddy Caffrey's got a bunch of them after him. I don't know why they're lurking around here, maybe they can't find him and they're trying to draw him out."
"A hellhound," she said again, as if she couldn't quite believe she'd heard Sam right.
"I said you wouldn't believe me."
The other agent was still staring at the black gore on the knife. "You're saying these things are from hell? That makes them demons, right?"
She sighed. "Jones, don't indulge him."
"Yeah, that's right," Sam said, turning around to give him a curious look.
Jones nodded. "That means we need salt, right? Salt's what keeps out demons?"
Sam felt his mouth drop open. "Yeah. Yeah, it does. How did you...?"
The other agent looked like she wanted to ask the same question. "Jones, what the hell?"
"My uncle Rufus gets some Johnnie Walker in him, he can tell some stories." He straightened up, handing the knife back to Sam over his partner's obvious objections. "That knife's special, right?"
Sam nodded, taking it back and making sure lay it between him and the other agent on the table. "It can kill demons," he said. Sam tapped his fingers against table. "Actually met your uncle," he admitted. "He's a character, man."
"Am I the only one who hasn't lost my mind?" She looked up at Jones. "You're saying you believe him?"
Sam felt Jones give him a hard, steady look. "Yeah. I think I do."
She rubbed her forehead, seeming to need a second to let that sink in. "Diana," she said after some obvious thought. "If we're fighting...I don't believe I'm saying this, demons, I guess we should be on a first name basis."
"Sam Winchester," Sam said.
Her lips quirked up. "We know."
"Diana, there's more of those things out there. I don't know if they're going to attack, but we have to be ready."
"And we do that how?"
"Get everyone out. The hellhound attacked me, I don't know why, but if it's after me then people need to get as far away as they can."
Diana shook her head. "We have people in custody, we can't clear the building." She leaned back in the chair. "We could fake a bomb threat. Something like that, get the nonessentials out and set the whole building on lockdown."
"Then we do that. Get as many people out and barricade as best we can."
"I got a bag of salt in my car," Jones said. When all the eyes turned to him, he shrugged. "Look, that's the kind of birthday present my uncle sends."
She nodded and he left the room, closing the door behind him. She turned back to Sam with a venomous glare. "If you're making all this up...."
"If I was making all this up don't you think I'd come up with a better story?" She crossed her arms, seeming to accept that with a sigh. "Can I call my brother?"
She shook her head as she slid her own phone against the table. "Make it quick."
He nodded, making sure to talk right in front of her to show he wasn't hiding anything. He frowned as the call went to voicemail twice, letting out a sigh of relief when someone finally picked up on the third try. "Sammy?" he heard, after a long, uneasy pause.
The tone in Dean's voice raised the hair on the back of Sam's neck. "Dean, everything okay? You didn't pick up."
"Didn't recognize the number." Sam heard his brother let out a shaking breath. "You get sprung?"
"Not yet. You were right about the hellhounds, one jumped me right in the interrogation room."
Another pause. "You okay?"
Sam didn't like Dean's voice at all. "Yeah, thanks to the knife. The agents here are being...surprisingly cool about everything. We're working on barricading the building now." He leaned over the table. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Dean actually laughed at that, a short, jagged sound. "I'm fine. Not a scratch on me."
"Dean...."
"Everyone's breathing, Sam, that's what matters. You keep yourself safe, this should all be wrapped up soon." The call ended and Sam stared at the number blinking on the screen, his stomach in knots.
"Everything okay?" Diana asked, taking her phone back.
Sam let out a deep breath. "Ask me that again when this is over."
***
Neal stumbled into the abandoned warehouse, one hand clamped over his bloody arm. When he'd had Mozzie burn through a perfectly good fake identity to buy the place he hoped he'd never have to use it. He muttered a word in a language he had absolutely no business knowing and the space illuminated, revealing a sigil carved into the floor and words in yet another language no one on Earth should know and felt his heart finally start to slow down. A hound had almost gotten him on the subway getting here; he'd had to dive onto the platform just as the doors closed and counted himself lucky the car had been empty. He liked to think he wouldn't trap someone innocent with a hellhound just to save his own skin but he really didn't want to put that to the test. He still felt the burn of the demon's teeth on his arm; the bite had been barely more than a graze but Neal had never felt pain like that his life. And he was pretty sure he'd dislocated his shoulder getting away, but that shouldn't matter now.
The attack had made him lose the box but he always had a backup plan. He looked around and smiled; it had taken a hell of a lot of talking to more strange "experts" than he could count and a good chunk of his personal treasure trove but if there was one place on Earth that was demon proof, this was it.
"Not exactly how I pictured your taste in safe houses running, Neal." Neal could only stare as Peter strolled out of one of the shadowy corners. "Could use some help with the décor," he said, looking around. "El knows a couple of people."
"What do you have on Mozzie?"
"Apparently a common interest in you being alive."
Neal shook his head. "Great, Peter, you found me, now get out of here. Go home."
"Only if you come with me."
"You know I can't do that."
"Well, I'm certainly not explaining to El how I left you to get eaten alive." He let out a short sigh. "I still can't believe I'm saying things like that."
"I'm fine. There's no safer place on the planet."
"What's your plan, Neal? Stay here forever? Not exactly a lot of amenities."
Okay, so Peter technically had him there. Neal realized he was too tired to bluster any more. "I thought I'd have more time."
"Well, I'm not leaving here without you, so stop arguing with me and let's come up with a plan."
The warehouse doors creaked open and Neal spun around, a bead of cold sweat running down his back. "Is that supposed to happen?" he heard Peter say, far away, like Peter was standing in a well.
Neal swallowed hard. "No."
Two hellhounds padded through the open door; short muzzles sniffing the air. They looked like wolves drawn by someone who didn't understand proportion; long, muscular forelegs made their backs slope like hyenas, sharp shoulder blades moving under bristled fur as they stalked into the room. Their metallic claws gleamed as they clicked on the floor, walking right over sigils and traps a dozen books had promised Neal would keep them out. Neal saw both their heads turn to him as they caught his scent, tongues lolling out like they were excited huskies.
When they snarled Neal felt it in his bones. "Peter, stay back, please."
He all but groaned aloud when instead Peter stepped up beside him and drew his gun. "Don't ask me that again."
"Peter...."
"I'm not going to sit here and watch while your soul gets dragged off to hell, Neal," he snapped, aiming his gun at what to him was empty air. "Can you see them?"
"A gun's not going to do anything."
"Can you see them?"
Neal nodded. "There's two of them. One's at 11 o'clock, one's at 2." They lowered their heads in unison, muscles bunching as they charged. "Here they come."
Peter swung the gun to 11 o'clock and fired twice; the first sailed over the hellhound's head but then he lowered the gun and the second shot caught the creature full in the chest. To Neal's shock the hellhound dropped with a strangled yelp, light flashing all through it as spasmed once before dissolving into smoke and foul-smelling bile. The second hellhound skidded to a stop, turning to look at its packmate, then it turned back to Neal like he had done the shooting. It growled as it launched itself at Neal, slaver dripped from its jaws.
Peter spun around and fired again, hitting the hellhound through the neck with a perfect shot. The hellhound did a somersault through the air, landing hard and lying still for a few seconds before dissolving like the other.
The silence afterward was like a thing Neal could touch. Peter cocked on eyebrow at him, a clear I told you so expression on his face. "What kind of weapons do you guys carry?"
Peter never got the chance to answer. The warehouse shook, like a giant had reached down from the sky to shake it. The open doors flew backwards, cracking off their hinges; lightning crackled over the protection sigils on the walls, creating strange shadows. Neal felt a force tug him forward, forcing him to stumble down to his knees just as a man walked into the warehouse. "There," the man said, lips twisting up into a smirk. "That's a little more respectful, don't you think?"
"You," Neal breathed, recognizing the stranger who had come to him that night to tell him the terms of his contract had changed.
Peter raised the gun and pointed it at the stranger. "Who are you?"
The man sighed, gesturing once; Neal saw Peter sway on his feet and threw himself backward to catch him, grunting as pain spiraled from his injured arm. "What did you do?" he said, panic grabbing him until he found Peter's pulse.
"Put him to sleep. Unless you want him to be involved?"
Neal shook his head. "Don't hurt him. He has nothing to do with this."
The man pursed his lips. "Not precisely true, but I have no real desire to hurt him. Not unless I have to. He is family of a sort, after all."
Neal pulled Peter into his lap so he wasn't lying on the cold floor. "What are you waiting for? You caught me, get on with it."
The man smiled. "Eager to jump into the Pit, aren't you."
"Who are you?"
"I'm surprised you never managed to find out. My name is Xaphan."
"I know that name," Neal said. The longer he kept this thing talking, the longer he had think of a way out. "You're a demon. You set fire to Heaven when Lucifer fell."
The smile went wider. "I did." The lightning flashed again and Neal felt his heart almost stop when he saw enormous, shadowy wings spread across the warehouse wall. "You've been a very useful little pawn, Neal."
"What are you waiting for?"
Xaphan tilted his chin up. "A third party. Don't worry. I'm sure she won't be long."
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