"The Apostle of Tarsus Chapters 1-2," Supernatural/Miracles, Rated R
Title: The Apostle of Tarsus
Author: sailorhathor
Fandoms: Supernatural/Miracles crossover
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Theresa Callan
Rating: Adult (R)
Word Count: 31,721 total
Warnings: A few Het sex scenes that are graphic in an R-rated way. Language. Spoilers for a few episodes of "Miracles." Takes places mid-season 5 of SPN.
Summary: Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.
Author's Notes: This story has a sequel that will be released in a few weeks, so please don't kill me for the mega cliffhanger. :D Chapters 1-4 were betaed by Sammie. wine_into_water and tvsgrady gave it a good readthrough and provided some helpful impressions. Thanks to them, and to Nicky for providing the German and French.
reapertownusa has begun some great art for this story, but a painful injury to her index finger has prevented her from finishing the drawings as of yet. They'll be done at some point and will be showcased when they are. In the meantime, I made myself a simple title card. (The art she's done is incredibly spoilery for the story anyway, and most of it couldn't be used for a title card, or you'd know too much already!)
The idea for this story came to me about November of 2010. I've been working on it ever since then. It may be one of my favorite crossover ideas ever.
For the record, Theresa Callan is not an OC. Many aspects of her personality and character makeup come right out of the "Miracles" series. Her name is on Paul's dosier from "The Friendly Skies." We got a brief glimpse of her when Paul dreamed about her death in "Mother's Daughter." We know she was a devout Catholic who attended Father Calero's church. We know she died of cancer one week before Paul's fifth birthday, and that she had arranged with Father Calero for Paul to live under his care at the orphanage after she died. An online friend of mine purchased the original script for "Hand of God" off Ebay, which provides several facts about Theresa that were cut out of the final version - Paul says she loved roses and tuna casserole, and that she had told him his father was a very bad man who lived far, far away from them, which was for the better. The rest, I made up.
Told from Sam's first person POV. Takes place in a completely different universe from any other SPN/Miracles 'verse I've created.
Chapter 1: Chasing Destiny
Words: 4,218
Angels lie.
I bet you didn't know that. Probably didn't even think it was possible, not after all the TV you've seen of Michael Landon and Roma Downey playing perfect little angels, the most moral creatures ever created, right? They save people who aren't meant to die and set things right.
Heck, you probably didn't even know they actually exist. It's not like everyone hangs around with them, has been pushed around and beaten up by them, has had their existence shoved down their throats.
I probably shouldn't get so mad at Castiel. He only did what he thought was right. But sometimes, I can't help it.
I should explain about myself. My name is Sam Winchester, and practically since my birth, my family has been hunting down dangerous and evil supernatural creatures. A lot more of them exist than you would ever want to admit to yourself, trust me. It may just be easier for you to keep your head in the sand if you can - you'll sleep easier at night. If you knew everything that I know, you'd be up all night, patrolling your house with a shotgun and checking on your kids every five minutes. No, it's probably better if you don't know what lurks out there in the dark.
I had no choice in the matter.
Angels cannot move around on Earth without the benefit of a human host; otherwise, they'd be too-bright balls of light flying around, burning out the eyes of the populace. Seriously, looking upon them in their natural form burns your eyes out of your head - I've seen it happen. Castiel is one of these angels who came to Earth to act as some sort of advisor to my brother and me. He took a host, or a "vessel" as they call them, a man named Jimmy Novak. This will be important later.
It's a really long story how the Apocalypse began, but it did, in the year 2009. You're probably thinking I've totally flipped, believing in a real Apocalypse, but if you look at the events of that time, you'll see there were a lot of strange things going on. Fire raining from the sky, entire towns wiped out overnight...
My brother and I - my brother's name is Dean - found out we were vessels as well; it runs in the bloodline down from Biblical times. The angels said it was destiny. In many ways, for us, it was Hell.
Dean. How can you express how much you love a person, how important they are in your life, with mere words? He's always been there for me. Always had my back. Has taken more shit from me than he ever deserved, more than anyone else ever has. And still, Dean's there, ready to forgive. I love him so much. I hope we never get separated by the hunting life again.
Anyway, we found out we were vessels, destined to act out the end of the Apocalypse together. Dean, it turned out, was the vessel of Michael the Archangel. Yes, the Michael. And I was lucky enough to be the vessel of Lucifer. Yeah, that Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. If that blows your mind, think of how I felt. The man who is destined to be the vessel of a creature like that must be a horrible man, you're probably thinking.
Right?
You may not believe me, but it is possible for that man to be a good person. Someone who would never want to act as the devil's meat suit, but was fated to do so by a destiny he didn't want. Dean and I were supposed to act our parts and accept the warring brother angels into our bodies, and be puppeted into a war they had been preparing to fight for over two thousand years. The very idea perverted everything we had built over our lives. Two brothers who fought to save the world, being forced to destroy it. Dean and I had no intention of doing that.
There came a day in early 2010 that Castiel came to us and said that he knew of a man, a very important man, who had been fated to help save the world. I brought up the fact that the angels had said that Dean would be the one to do this, the one who put Lucifer back in Hell, that prophecy had said it would be Dean, but Cas responded that Dean would do it with help. It seemed that Chuck the Prophet had received a new vision.
Yeah, I know. The Prophet Chuck? It's kinda funny.
We all set out for Boston the next day, where this man would be found. Castiel said his name was Paul Callan, and he worked for a paranormal investigation group called Sodalitas Quaerito. Say that three times fast! Or, just say SQ, like we do. The group consisted of Alva Keel, Evelyn Santos, and Paul. Castiel said that Paul had been having psychic visions of the coming Apocalypse, so he wouldn't be that surprised when we walked in.
Even so, I didn't expect Paul's overdramatic reaction when we entered that office. His eyes got big, and he backed away, looking like he was about to throw up. "You," he said. "It's you."
"You've been having dreams about the vessels," Castiel stated matter-of-factly, almost like he didn't even have to guess at any of the coming events.
"Yes," Paul replied. He pointed at Dean and I with a shaking finger. "You're the vessel of Michael the Archangel," Paul said when he indicated Dean. Then he looked at me. I don't think I've ever seen him so afraid. "And you're..." was all he said, and turned and ducked away into another room, where he stayed for nearly twenty minutes.
We all gave Paul some time to recover. Truthfully, I needed the time myself as well. It was never easy to have people react to you that way, when they found out who you were. But it was to be expected, with Paul being raised as a Christian in the Catholic faith.
Dean and I told Alva Keel everything we knew about the Apocalypse. The woman, whom they called Evie, stood by and listened, not saying much. She seemed to defer to Mr. Keel a great deal. It was obvious he was the major brains of the operation, but that didn't mean the other two didn't have strong opinions of their own. It just meant that Mr. Keel had a great deal of knowledge on the supernatural, and his associates knew it.
His looks were quite striking. I don't mean that in a drooly sort of way, just that the man had piercing blue eyes and a strong chin, with a slight European accent which turned out to be Scottish. He made a definite impression on me.
"When Paul began having these dreams, I knew they were serious," he said. "It's still quite a shock to have you all walk right into the office one day."
Dean and I nodded. "I can imagine," I added.
Evie couldn't stop looking at Castiel, a little uneasy. She too had a striking appearance, but more for how pretty she was, one of those people you think could have been a model if they had that ambition. Long, curly black hair and a very attractive face. When there was a lull in our conversation, she spoke up. "Are you really an angel?" she asked Cas.
Castiel nodded. "Yes, I am an angel of the Lord. Paul told you that?"
"Yes." She looked him up and down. "Said you dressed like Columbo. I couldn't believe it, but..."
Castiel glanced from one person to another. "Columbo?" he said.
Leaning over to him, Dean whispered, "TV character. He wears a trench coat too."
"Oh."
Paul came out of the office then. He still gave me those looks, like it was too overwhelming to even lay eyes upon me. But we tried to have a civilized conversation.
Paul's appearance is a bit soft, with deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. Very boyish, very youthful. He has his mother's smile. I trusted him in an instant, and I couldn't have even told you why, not then. I did everything I could to set him at ease.
"Mr. Callan, have you ever been put in a situation where people kept telling you things were going to happen one way, but you knew that way was wrong?" I asked him.
He thought about it a second, and then leaned back against a desk and let out a small laugh. Some memory, a bitter one it seemed by his expression, came to him then. "Yeah."
"Did people ever tell you you were destined to become something you never imagined for yourself?"
Again, he took a short time to think about that, tapping lightly at his bottom lip with two fingers. He looked up at me and replied, "Yes. There was this boy, and he said that..." The memories flooded his mind and got him all choked up; Paul took a moment to swallow down the emotion that constricted his throat. "Never mind, it's a very long story."
"I'd be willing to listen if you want to tell me."
"No, no, it's too much to tell. Just know that once, I was involved in a bad situation where certain individuals tried to get me to believe I was destined to kill a whole group of people simply because they had experienced a rare paranormal event. That it would be for the best of all humanity that they die. For a time, I... I started to believe that these individuals were right.
"You might think that would make a man feel good, knowing he was chosen to save the world, but... not me. I didn't want that job. There was so much left up to chance, so much to question. Would I be doing the right thing? What if these individuals were wrong, what if the message didn't mean what it seemed to mean, would I be damning myself to Hell if I killed these people? And could I even do it?" He looked me in the eyes then, very seriously. "It's one thing to tell a man to kill others because they are evil. It's another thing to actually do it."
I nodded in complete understanding. "It's a very hard choice to make."
Now Paul nodded.
I added, "Imagine being one of those people who experienced the rare paranormal event. Someone thinks you're evil, and you know you're not. You're just a pawn in someone else's game. Nothing you can help. You just want to be good. But they keep telling you you're not."
To that, Paul sat back against the desk again, his arms crossed, and thought about my problem. It didn't take long for him to look up at me with a sorrowful expression upon his face. "That must be very tough for you."
Finally, he understood my point of view. "It most definitely is."
Shortly after, the mood was lightened by Paul and Castiel having a bowing contest. Paul wanted to bow to the holy angel, and Castiel said it was he who should praise God while in Paul's presence. First, Paul got down on one knee and lowered his head, then Castiel did the same. It was quite comical. But it did lead to Paul asking why Cas would even want to praise God and all that just for being in the same room with him.
"You are a very important man, Paul Callan," Castiel replied.
"People have been saying that for years. What does it mean, Castiel?" He looked so desperate and lost at that moment; it tears my heart out to think about it. "Why am I different? Please tell me."
Cas looked at Dean and I, and then back at Paul. He seemed to be unsure that he should tell him anything about his destiny. The angel chose his words carefully. "It's possible... very possible... that you are one of the most crucial vessels who ever lived. The fate of the world may rest with you, Dean, and Sam."
Paul reeled. Putting a hand over his mouth, he began to laugh, his eyes glistening with overwhelmed tears. "What? What kind of vessel am I?"
"I shouldn't tell you."
"Castiel, please, I'm begging you - "
Suddenly, Cas became very serious; it was obvious he was going to be immovable on this issue. "No. No, I'm sorry Paul, but I shouldn't have even told you that. It can be dangerous to know too much about your own destiny. Just know that when the time comes, you'll know to say yes."
"Say yes to who?"
Castiel only repeated himself. "When the time comes, you'll know."
Paul couldn't help it, and began to cry at that moment. I wished I could comfort the guy. Evie put an arm around him and ushered him out of the room where he could weep in peace for a little while.
I understood. I knew what my destiny was. Paul didn't. It's a lot of pressure, to be told something like that, and not even know who it is you are supposed to say yes to.
Later, Paul came back. He wanted to know why Dean and I had gotten into our line of business. I suppose it was a way of changing the subject. Dean told most of the story, about how our mother had been burned alive on the ceiling of my nursery back in 1983 by a demon named Azazel. Paul recognized the name from some extra books of the Bible that had not been accepted as canonical. That made his eyes get big again. Apparently, those books were real. Dean explained how the event had sent our father on a quest to find that demon, and kill him, and how we had gone along for the ride. Our entire lives had been about fighting evil, Dean, since he was four, and me, practically since birth.
Something about that made Alva speak up, telling us his own story. "When I was in school at Cambridge, my minor was Linguistics. I was analyzing patterns of bird song. Field ravens. The easiest way to do that was to sit in a field and record their chattering... listen to it back and make note of the patterns... and find meaning in those patterns. An ambitious project. I had no idea how it would change my life.
"My mother had passed away in 1984. When I was a child, she read to me from a storybook about a bloodhound named Mango. I loved that book." Mr. Keel laughed a little; his eyes were far away, remembering. "On November 21, 1985, the sounds on my tapes changed. Among the raven song were voices. Human voices."
"EVP?" Dean asked.
"Yes. Among those voices, I heard the voice of my dead mother. She kept saying, 'Mango.' That's all, just, 'Mango.' This is why I became a paranormal researcher. The strength of one word. I'm still searching for an explanation."
"Yeah." The story seemed to touch my brother on a level he wasn't used to acknowledging. "I would think you would. Your mother, calling to you... and she doesn't tell you why."
"It must be hard," I said. "But maybe she just wanted to say hello, and nothing more. Maybe it doesn't mean anything bad."
"It's hard to believe that, wouldn't you say? I mean, your mother calls to you from the grave, she must need something." Mr. Keel said it so matter-of-factly, and the look on his face... it tugged at my heart. I wished I had answers for him, just to calm those troubled eyes. To finally bring him the peace for which he'd searched for so long.
Paul spoke up then. "Huh. I never really thought about this, but my mother's death is fairly mundane when compared with both of yours. There was no demon to chase or voice from the grave. Just a regular human disease that kills millions." He wasn't trivializing her death, only reflecting over the differences.
"What happened?" I asked.
He took a deep breath. "My mother got a brain tumor in early 1978. She was gone within a matter of months. I went to live at the orphanage after that; I mean, I was barely five. Couldn't take care of myself."
"Where was your father?" Dean questioned.
Paul got a troubled, angry look in his eyes in reaction to that; his eyebrows dipped in the middle and he crossed his arms across his chest. "I don't know. He was never there. I remember seeing the other kids playing with their dads and asking my mother why didn't I have a daddy? Where had my father gone? And she said that he didn't want to have anything to do with us, that he had gone far, far away, and that was how it should be, because he was a very bad man. She said we were safer with him far away from us. When she talked about him, she would start to cry, and that was enough of a convincer for me that he must be a very bad person, because he had broken her heart."
Both Dean and I got a little twinge in our chests when we heard that story; obviously, Paul was still hurting badly, never having known his father and growing up without much of his parents' love to go on. At least we had had our father.
"I was almost five when my mom died too," Dean remarked.
Everyone was quiet for several long moments, brooding, thinking about our mothers and how they weren't there anymore.
Castiel was the one to break the silence. "Sam, may I speak with you in the other room?"
Everyone watched us go, wondering what Cas wanted to tell me. I wouldn't see any of them again for several months. Several months for me, anyway.
"What is it, Cas?"
"Sam, I'm certain now. Paul Callan is the man I've been looking for. He's crucial to the survival of the human race." The angel raised his hand. "I must send you back to 1978."
Angels have the power to send people backwards and forwards in time. They do this by touching you on the space between your eyes. When I saw Castiel bringing those first two fingers toward my forehead, I grabbed them and pushed them away. "Cas, what? Send me back to 1978?"
"Yes. Didn't you hear Paul? His mother died in 1978." He brought the fingers up again.
Once more, I batted them down. "Cas, explain this to me before you just zap me back in time more than thirty years, okay?"
"Alright," Castiel replied, sounding a bit put out. "There was an incident in 1978 that put Paul's life in danger, and if I send you back, you, and only you, can ensure that he's around to grow into the man you see before you now."
"Why just me? Dean can't come too?"
"No, his presence there would upset the balance. Just know that it has to be you, and that Paul's mother needs your help."
I sighed. "First Paul needs my help, now his mother? Cas, what else happens in 1978 besides Paul's mom passing away?"
"Sam... this man will never be ready to help save the world if his mother dies. Her loss affected him so profoundly that Paul does not currently have the will to act as the vessel we need him to be. His acceptance of the highest order will only cause his body to explode on contact."
"The highest order?" I asked.
Castiel waved the question away as irrelevant. "You must go back and save Paul's mother, for his sake. For the sake of us all."
"How am I supposed to save Paul's mom? She died of cancer."
Shaking his head, the angel explained, "Theresa Callan did not die of cancer."
That was the first time I heard her name.
Castiel continued, "She died from a spell, cast on her by demons to make it look like she had a brain tumor. The spell was slow-acting, and ate up her life force. But she can be saved from this spell."
"How?"
"There's a holy rosary, kept by a priest known to Theresa. Father Calero. We don't know where he's keeping it. If you can get that rosary, and convince her to wear it, the spell can be broken within a few weeks."
That seemed easy enough. Or, at least doable. "That's all I have to do?"
"Yes."
"And Paul Callan will get to grow up with his mother?"
"Yes, Sam, he will."
I wanted that very much for Paul. Not even I knew how much I would want it for him before this was all over. "Okay," I began, "I'll go back and find this rosary, and save Paul's mom."
Castiel seemed very relieved. "Thank you, Sam."
"I still don't understand why Dean can't come along, but I guess you know what you're doing." I took a deep breath and held it, bending my knees. When Cas didn't do anything, I said, "Well come on, let's go."
"Actually, I should give you some instructions first. I have forgotten to explain to you the circumstances under which Theresa Callan is living when you will encounter her." He looked at me very seriously. "She knows the demons are around her. She knows they want her son. And she thinks they may be the ones who have made her ill. But, she can't talk about these things with anyone. Theresa sent Paul away to live with a powerful congregation of nuns for his own safety."
"I thought Paul grew up in an orphanage?" I questioned.
"He did. Upon Theresa's death, Paul was able to return to Boston. The demons could see that her death had broken the little boy's soul, so they no longer had any need of him. As things are now, the nuns have prayer circles going 'round the clock to keep Paul's location secret, but even the mere mention of the child's name in Theresa's presence would upset the balance of the protective energy surrounding her. They want to claim Paul now, in case their death spell somehow doesn't work on his mother.
"Do you understand me, Sam? You must not ask where Paul is. You must not even say his name. It will only bring the demons straight to her. They are watching, waiting for that barrier to be weakened. If they think Theresa knows where Paul is, they will torture her until she's dead to get that information out of her. As far as you're concerned, Theresa doesn't even have a child. Do you understand how serious I am about this?"
My mind was reeling from the responsibility Castiel was placing on my shoulders. He was right; I just had to put it out of my mind that Theresa Callan even had a child, because otherwise, I would be tempted to ask her questions about her son, and to try to get her to talk about him. "Yes, Castiel, I understand," I said.
"Once Theresa's life has been saved, we can find a safe place for her to go with Paul, where the demons can't find them. If you successfully complete the task set before you, he can return to his mother's arms, safe and warm."
That sounded perfect to me. "You'll tell Dean where I went?"
"That won't be necessary. When I return you to 2010, you'll arrive at the exact second you left," explained Castiel. "Dean won't even know you were gone."
"Okay. Let's go then."
Before we left, the angel waved his hand before my eyes and said some words in Enochian. It was something he'd never done before. "Why'd you do that?" I asked.
"Protection," he said.
A split second after Castiel touched me between the eyes, I found myself standing on a street corner at mid-day, looking up at a billboard on the side of a building. It was an advertisement for an upcoming movie.
Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House, it said. I thought of how disappointed Dean would be that he couldn't have come along with me. Animal House was one of his favorite films.
"We should go to the hotel where Theresa works," Cas instructed.
"So I can meet her?" I asked. If I was going to get her to wear this rosary, it followed that I'd have to gain her trust.
"Yes, and..." Castiel swayed on his feet. "...so I can lie down for a while."
Sometimes, Dean and I both forget how it could weaken Cas to do these trips through time. "Oh, certainly," I said, and put an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.
"Don't worry, Sam. This shouldn't be at all complicated as long as you do as I have instructed," was the last thing he said to me before we got to the hotel.
It's as I said. Angels lie.
Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.
*****
Chapter 2: That's How it Happens
Words: 5,652
Castiel pointed her out, behind the hotel front desk. "That's Theresa."
The first time I saw Theresa Callan, she had a purple and yellow scarf wrapped around her head, a sheer thing that allowed her dark brown hair to spill out and cascade down over her shoulders. I know that sounds cornball, hair cascading, but that's really what it did, in waves. She had this spunky sort of look to her, with a little button nose and a smirky grin - you know how some women have that look that tells you they take no shit? Theresa totally had that look. She was wearing the standard dress shirt, blazer, and skirt of a hotel front desk clerk, but her takes-no-shit face really made her stand out for me. The scarf couldn't be part of her standard uniform, though. I asked Castiel, "Why's she wearing the headscarf?"
"To hold on the wig."
"Wig? She's wearing a wig?"
"Yes. The radiation treatments... the chemo..."
So the cascading hair wasn't her own.
Cas added, "That's her natural hair color, though."
Confused, I asked, "Why is she having chemo and radiation treatments, Cas? You said she didn't really have cancer."
He wobbled on his feet a little, eyelids fluttering.
"Oh, gosh... should I get the hotel room?"
The angel recovered, holding onto a post for balance. "Not just yet. I'm... I'm okay."
"Well, give me the short explanation so we can check in already."
"Theresa doesn't know for sure that she's been made sick by a demonic spell. There are bad feelings, half-glanced shadows on the wall... the average person suspects they are being stalked by demons and that to think such a thing, they must be crazy. But then the priest of her church comes to her and says he thinks her child is in danger from evil forces. Theresa takes his advice, she sends Paul away for protection, and she doesn't discuss what may be happening to her. Perhaps it's for the best that someone look after her child for a while anyway, as she's been feeling very, very ill for months now.
"Imagine you are Theresa. You go to your doctor, and he says it's a brain tumor. You should start treatment right away. But you are unsure. What if your bad feeling about being besieged by demons is correct? What if the doctor is correct?"
I had begun to nod before he finished his sentence. "I'd cover all my bases, just to be safe," I replied.
"Yes. Like her son, Theresa is a devout Catholic, so she prays every day, and she has her cancer treatments. To, as you say, 'cover all' her 'bases.'"
"That poor woman," I said. "She's just doing damage to her body to fight tumors she doesn't even have. Cas, can't we tell her? Theresa could stop having the treatments and concentrate on the praying if we - "
He cut me off. "No, Sam. Any mention of what's really happening to her will bring the demons right to her. You must remember that."
I nodded my head in understanding. "Okay," I said with a sigh. It really bothered me, the thought of someone going through a tough thing like chemotherapy and radiation when they didn't have to. That's such a hard thing, to keep your mouth shut for someone's own good when you know telling them the truth could be in their best interest as well.
We watched her from across the lobby for a bit. After a short time, I noticed that Castiel was now leaning his upper body against the post, eyes closed, looking very out of it. I insisted I just check in already. "Okay, Cas, I got this. I'm ready to interact with her."
"Don't blow it," he said, which made me turn back to him for a moment and laugh. He must've gotten that from Dean.
When she smiled up at me, eyes going a little wide for a second, my mind wouldn't make words. Theresa was so beautiful to me. Not an obvious beauty like a model, but a quiet one, like a regular girl you'd meet on the street, at the mall, in high school. I felt such sympathy and desire for her at the same time. To be dealing with all she was dealing with... she had to be strong. That strength only made her more attractive.
"Hello, sir, and welcome to The Millstone," she said. "Would you like to check in?"
"Uh..." My mind, words, not happening at first. Castiel's warning played through my head. "Don't blow it." It seemed to snap me out of it. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'd love to check in. Or, I want to check in, to get a room. Yes. Ahem." That's about how I sounded. Ugh.
I could hear Dean in my head, going, "Smooth, Sammy. Smooth."
Theresa grinned like she was amused with me and asked, "A single?"
For a second, I looked around for her computer, but of course, she was working from a ledger. It was going to be tough to get used to the 1970's lack of technology. "No, I'm staying with my friend there." I hooked a thumb behind me at Cas, still leaning on the post.
She looked at Cas, and then back at her ledger. "Then you'll want two beds?"
"No, just one. Queen size is fine." Hey, angels don't sleep. And guys named Sammy sometimes need a brain transplant.
One eyebrow raised, Theresa looked at me quizzically, and said, "Okay," like she found my choice of sleeping arrangements to be questionable.
What she must be thinking... it hit me then. "Oh, uh, my friend there, he, he won't be there much. Just a business associate... always in and out. We don't even sleep at the same time."
"Oh," she said, writing in her ledger. Then she gave me a coy look and we both started snickering.
That's how it happens, you know. How you realize you're attracted to someone, that you have chemistry.
I rolled my eyes. "It saves money. I'd really like to get him up to the room right now - "
"Oh?" Theresa said again, putting a lot of comical emphasis into it.
Giving her a scolding look, I said, "You didn't let me finish."
She chuckled and waited for my full reply, smirking at me.
"My friend there has been drinking a little too much. He needs to go to bed." Then I added, "Alone."
"Oh, did he have a few too many martinis with lunch?"
"You could say that."
Grinning, Theresa put the ledger on the counter in front of me. "You'll be in room 208. Just sign here and pay $20 up front."
I didn't see any reason not to sign my real name. Once I'd handed over the money, she gave me two keys, and took back the ledger, reading it. "Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Winchester."
I mirrored the smile that she gave me. "Thank you, Theresa. You can call me Sam, if you want." Just hoping that didn't sound all lecherous. It always bothers me at times when I work an honest living that people will read my name tag and use my first name just because it's right there before their eyes. Too personal.
Didn't seem to bother her, though. "Alright, Sam. I'll see you around."
We kept looking at each other as I walked away, continuing to smile like idiots and chuckle giddily. I draped one of Cas's arms over my shoulders and walked him to the elevator. In my head, I was wondering if she ever liked to be called Terry, or if it was always Theresa. By the time we got to the room, Cas was bleeding from the mouth.
He was unconscious when I laid him out on the bed. First, I got a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned off his mouth. Then I took Cas under the arms and dragged him up the mattress until his head was on the pillow, and removed his shoes so he'd be more comfortable. If angels even need to be comfortable. While my mind began scheming over how I was going to accomplish my task, I rolled Castiel on his side and started to take off the trench coat and suit coat with it.
"Didjou meet 'er?" he slurred.
Oh, he was slightly awake. "Yeah. I think she likes me already."
"Good." Cas didn't react much to me taking off his coats; he was pretty out of it.
I offered an explanation anyway. "I thought you'd be more comfortable without all these coats on."
"Okay," he said, and seemed to pass out again.
Once the two coats were laid out over the back of a chair, I sat down to catch my breath. Castiel's vessel isn't a large man, but rolling him around on the bed to get a coat off of him isn't the easiest work either. Especially when he's like a rag doll. First, I should make a chart of what I know, I thought. That's what we usually did, chart out everything we knew about a case. Then -
Castiel interrupted my thoughts with one more remark. "Don't buy anything," he said. "Not yet."
That made my heart skip a beat. "Buy anything?"
Cas was out again. I got up and leaned over him, putting my hand on his chest and giving it a little shake.
He wouldn't respond.
Then it hit me. I went into my wallet and started looking at the bills.
Series 2006. Series 2006. Series 2006. They all had a recent year on them. "Oh, crap," I said out loud.
Surely, the bill I had given Theresa had a recent year on it too. Only for her, it would be a year in the future.
As I brooded in my chair for a while, I hoped she wouldn't look at the twenty too closely. It could ruin everything.
*****
Castiel woke up around dinner time. He found me studying my chart, which I'd made out of several sheets of hotel stationary, taped together on the wall. "Was I out long?"
Looking at him, I said, "About four hours."
He sat up. "That long?" Cas stood and crossed to where I was standing. "What have you made here?"
"A chart. It's what we know about Theresa and her son so far."
"Hm." Castiel read over my chart.
Paul Callan, born to Theresa Callan and Deadbeat Dad, 1973.
Theresa dies, early 1978
Paul is 5
Theresa - Catholic, attends church with Father Calero
Calero has the healing rosary
Do NOT mention Paul or true cause of illness!
There were a few other minor details about Theresa written there, things I wanted to remember to make it easier for me to work my way into her life. Of course, it would be a lot more pleasant a task if she actually liked me, and I liked her. At the time, I wasn't thinking at all what would happen once this was over if we had developed real feelings for each other. All I could think about was how spunky and cute she was. "And I can hide it behind the curtain. See?" I had put the chart between two narrow windows; the drapes went across both windows and the wall between them, so they hid my chart nicely.
"Very good. Anything new we learn, we add it to the chart. Now, let me see all the bills in your wallet."
"Oh, you're worried about the year on them, aren't you?"
"Yes..." Castiel took the dollar bills I handed him.
"I already paid with a twenty from 2006. Do you think it will cause a problem? Because I bet they'd believe the bill was misprinted."
"Or they'll think you're a counterfeiter." Waving his hand over each bill, Castiel whispered something in Enochian. When he handed them back to me, they all said Series 1968 on them.
"Well, at least it was just one bill. I can probably con my way out of one misprinted bill," I assured him.
Castiel nodded and gave me a slight smile. "If you have to."
"Yeah. Maybe they didn't notice it." I checked my watch. "It's about dinner time. Maybe I can catch Theresa before she leaves for the night, invite her out to eat."
"Sam, there's something else you need to know about her."
"What?"
"Do you know what an empath is?" he asked.
I knew a little about it. "That's a person who can sense how other people are feeling just by being near them, or by forging a psychic link with them."
"Yes." Although I should have followed his line of thinking, what Cas said next still came as a surprise to me. "Theresa Callan is an empath."
"Oh... okay."
"You must be careful around her, Sam. If you're not, she may sense that you have an ulterior motive. Make yourself believe that you're not acting here, that you really want to spend time with Theresa, or she may never trust you." He noticed that I was smiling down at my feet. "What?"
"Uh... that won't be a problem, because I really do want to spend time with her," I admitted sheepishly. "She's pretty cute."
Cas furrowed his brow. "Tread lightly here, Sam. Her empathy is projective as well."
"Projective?"
"We don't know how strong she is, but we do know that she has some projective ability. It's like being around someone who is in a very good mood, and you start to feel happy too. But a projective empath is much better at it than that. Theresa may be able to affect your emotions quite strongly. In fact, some projective empaths can attack you on a psychic level, forcing emotions on you that you had no intention of feeling."
That was troubling. "Is that something she could do without me knowing?"
"You? No. You would know, because you have latent psychic ability as well. The average person would have no idea, but you... that's part of the reason why you're perfect for this job," Cas explained.
Ah, it seemed the pieces were falling into place. "So she couldn't have made me feel attracted to her without my knowledge."
Castiel shook his head. "No. But Theresa's abilities could enhance your general mood."
Maybe that explained why we'd both become so giddy in each other's presence. Her attraction, my attraction, all reverberating between us like sound off acoustical tile. "I understand."
"Then let's get going."
On my way down to the lobby, I wondered if her being an empath had anything to do with her son becoming so important to the world. I concluded that it probably did. Theresa was special; she produced a special child.
And of course, as I would find out, Paul's father had something to do with that as well.
The hotel had a theme. It was called The Millstone; there were millstones everywhere, in the lobby, out front, all engraved with the name of the hotel. They were sort of like statues, made of tan and white speckled marble. I stood and looked at the one near the front desk, in the middle of a large fountain with plants and flowers around it, and thought how much more attractive the whole scene would be if it wasn't surrounded by a lobby done in those horrible 1970's colors. I mean, avocado green chairs? Burnt orange and brown diamonds painted on the walls in between typical hotel lobby paintings? Who decided on this decorating scheme, demons? They must've possessed a bunch of interior decorators and had a good laugh at our expense once it caught on. Absolutely hideous.
There was a different clerk behind the front desk. I hoped Theresa hadn't left already.
In a decorative window leading into the lounge and bar, I saw a sign that read BUSBOY WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. If I could get that job, it'd be perfect - not only would I have spending money, but I'd be working close to Theresa. Sometimes, we had to put more time into a case than usual. Some cases only took a few days. Others, a few months. I figured this would be one of those cases that could take a while. I mean, if I had been raised in a normal environment, and some guy came out of nowhere and tried to tell me that wearing a rosary would cure my cancer, I'd probably think he was crazy. But if I trusted that man when he said it to me, if I knew that man... I might feel differently about it.
I would apply for the job.
Between trying to figure out what my new birth year was for the application and getting used to the taste of Tab soda, the bartender asked me, "Are you Sam?"
Looking at him with what must've been a bewildered expression, I replied, "Yeah?"
"Ah, I knew it," he laughed. "Theresa was talking about you."
My face must've lit up with recognition, because he grinned widely at me. "Theresa was in here?"
"Yeah. Said she met the tallest guy she'd ever seen today, named Sam. If that's not you, I'm scared to see who else is gonna walk in here."
We both had a good laugh over that one. I'm a Sasquatch; I'm used to it. "Yeah, that's me. Where is she now?"
"Uh, I think she's sitting out by the pool, at Slade's Tiki Hut," he said. "She was feeling kind of bad."
I played dumb. "Is she sick?"
He got a grave look on his face. "Going through chemo. Poor kid's got cancer."
"Ohhh." My face reflected the appropriate amount of shock at hearing something awful that I wasn't supposed to already know. "That's horrible."
"Why don't you go out there and see if you can cheer her up?" The bartender grinned again, like he knew something. "I think she kinda likes you."
I grinned back. "That sounds like a great idea. But first, I gotta finish my application."
I'm ashamed to say I had to count backwards on my fingers. My new birth year should be 1951.
The bartender, whose name turned out to be Bo, furrowed his brow at my application. "You're younger than you look," he said, and put it under the bar. "You just get into town? You put the hotel's address here."
I explained that yes, I had just gotten into town and had no place to live currently but the hotel; that's why I needed the job so bad. Bo nodded at my story.
"I have to talk to the boss first, but we'll call your room once we make a decision, okay? Stay available. She may want you to come in for an interview real soon."
Grateful, I shook his hand. "Thanks, Bo."
"No problem, kid."
On my way out, a bright pinkish-red advertising sign caught my eye. TaB, it said. Where There's TaB, There's Refreshment. Wow, this crap was popular back then.
Another millstone statue sat atop a large pedestal in the middle of the pool. The sun had gone down, so it was lit up with spotlights, and the lights under the water had come on too. A couple families lounged next to the pool or in the hot tub; some kids were laughing and throwing a beach ball back and forth through the hole in the middle of the millstone. Not all the stones had a hole in the middle, but this one had been designed with one, probably because it framed the hotel nicely behind it.
Theresa was sitting at Slade's Tiki Hut, a little bar next to the pool that had been done up with a Hawaiian motif, complete with that special grass they use for the skirts all over the walls and roof and leis hanging from every corner. She was hunched over on her stool, hands shielding her eyes, some sort of drink in front of her.
She looked miserable.
The man behind the bar, of course, wore a Hawaiian shirt. He was wiping down the bar as I approached, although he seemed to be avoiding Theresa's general area. A little statue of a woman in a Hawaiian skirt sat near the tip jar; she wobbled her hips as I took a seat on the stool two away from Theresa's. "Hey there, you okay?"
She looked over at me from under her hands. Theresa's face lit up considerably. "Hey, you! How'd you find me?"
"Bo said you'd be out here."
She smiled at the man behind the bar. "Does Bo know me or what? Knows I can't resist your special headache remedy."
The man, who just went by his last name, Slade, gave a small smile of acknowledgement. He was a quiet, gruff man, but a good one.
Lowering her arms, Theresa thumped my knee with the back of her hand. "I'm in a little trouble because of that twenty you gave me. My boss thinks it's counterfeit."
Again, I did something I would have to get used to doing: I played dumb. "Counterfeit? Why?"
"Because the year on it is 2006," she laughed.
"2006? That's crazy!"
"I swear on a stack of Bibles, that's what it says! And the Secretary of the Treasury is wrong, and the Treasurer... it's so weird. I feel like such an idiot, I didn't even notice."
"I got it from a gas station. I hope it's not fake. You know, I bet it's some sort of misprint. Here, let me straighten it out. I can give you a new one that I know is good." Getting out my wallet, I pawed through the bills, looking for my new 1968 angel-cloaked twenty.
"Oh, gee, thanks so much, Sam." Laughing, Theresa took the bill. "I'll take this to my boss before I leave."
"Are you okay?" I asked. "When I came up, you looked like you didn't feel well."
"I've got a headache," she replied. "And I'm a little nauseous."
"Um, Bo kinda mentioned that you were going through chemotherapy. I'm really sorry that you're sick."
Theresa seemed almost embarrassed about it. "Yeah, me too," she joked. "Going through radiation also. Can't say it's fun. It's why I'm on half-days right now, and short term disability." Theresa tried to put a positive spin on it. "But I'm going to come back from all this. The doctor says my tumor seems to be shrinking."
"Hey, that's great!" I suddenly wondered if CAT-scans and MRI's had been invented yet. Something told me I shouldn't bring it up just yet, what the doctor was using to monitor her condition. Not until I'd had time to do some research. Some slow, Internet-less research. "When I was a kid, I'd get sick sometimes - you know how childhood can be, always throwing up for some reason, and my brother would go get me 7-Up. Our dad said room temperature 7-Up was great for a nauseous stomach."
She giggled. "Really? I've never tried that."
"He swore by it." I remembered some of those times. Dean was usually the one to take care of me when I was sick, when our dad wasn't around. "Ginger ale is good too." A smile came to my face at another good memory. "A sick kid gets bored really easily, you know, so while Dean was at the store, he'd get me these paper construction books. They were sort of like paper dolls, except they were little miniature buildings or a circus with animals or something. You'd punch them out and match tab A to tab B, and when you were done, you had a little city, or the whole circus with the tent... I loved those things. Entertained me for hours."
I realized Theresa was just looking at me with an amused expression on her face. "That's so sweet," she said. "Dean is your brother?"
"Yeah. He's... not here. He's kinda far away right now."
"I bet you miss 'im."
I nodded. "Yes. But we'll be reunited eventually."
Now she nodded. "I've seen those paper construction books in the dime store. They're great for little kids."
It made me wonder if Paul liked them too. I'd have to get him some, for when he came home, I thought.
"Well, I better go before it gets too late."
"Be careful, Theresa," Slade said. "A guest got mugged a couple blocks from here the other night."
"Really? Oh... I don't like the sound of that."
Jumping up from my stool, I offered her my arm. "I'll walk you home," I said.
Theresa grinned at me. "Okay." She wrapped her arm in mine. "A mugger would have to be insane to try anything with you."
We both laughed over that. It gave me a happy little tingle, to know she had noticed how big I was. It seemed to make her feel safe with me.
Turns out Theresa lived about five blocks from the hotel. Not a bad walk, but she usually took the bus on days when she was "feeling lazy." On our way there, we talked some more, first about music. Theresa said she loved The Eagles.
"They show a lot of promise," she remarked.
It seemed like a strange thing to say for a band that had been around for, what, six years at that time? But maybe she had just discovered them. "My brother likes The Eagles. Especially with Joe Walsh."
"Joe Walsh?" she questioned. I could see her face in the light of a streetlamp we passed, and she looked bewildered. "The guitarist for The James Gang?"
When had Joe Walsh joined The Eagles, anyway? Had I just made a time blunder? I tried to shrug it off. "I guess I was thinking of someone else."
We walked on. Theresa talked about her love for Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, her two favorite bands ever. Oh, would she and Dean ever get along musically.
As we neared her building, I asked, "Does anyone ever call you Terry?"
"Ah... my mom did. But it kind of makes me uncomfortable now."
"Oh." I wanted to ask her where her parents were, but it seemed too soon in our friendship. Obviously, they weren't around at some point, or they would have taken Paul in when Theresa died. "Is it okay if I come up with a nickname for you?"
She looked at me, a little confused. "If you want to, I suppose... but what other nickname is there for Theresa besides Terry?"
I just grinned. I already had one. "Once, on this TV show called 'Unsolved Mysteries,' they had a story on there about a guy who was married to a woman named Theresa. He called her Tress. I always thought it was really pretty." When I glanced down at her, I noticed she was looking up at me, smiling. Then I realized that at some point, she had taken my hand. We were holding hands. "Can I call you that?" I asked.
Her smile widened; she really seemed to like the sound of it. "Tress. That is pretty. Sure. Sure, you can call me that."
We just looked at each other for a moment, walking slowly to draw out our time together. At least, that's what I was doing.
Then she asked me another one of those questions that made me want to smack myself in the forehead. "I've never heard of 'Unsolved Mysteries.' Is it good? What channel does it come on?"
"Oh! Uh..." It doesn't come on any channel, not until 1987. "It's pretty boring most of the time. Comes on one of those UHF channels no one watches. Their signal is so weak, I can hardly get it to come in half the time."
"Oh."
Nice save. Of course, it wouldn't last long.
"I'm always having to miss my favorite shows because of work," Tress remarked. "I work mornings most of the time, and all the good soaps come on in the morning."
"Why don't you just tape them?" I asked. Bonk! in the forehead again.
"Tape them?"
Crap. Had video cassette recorders been invented yet? I thought they had, but maybe she couldn't afford one. Better not to take the chance that I was making another time faux pas. "Um, yeah... with a tape recorder?"
"Well... I guess I could, but it's just not the same without the pictures."
Phew. I was going to have to get better at remembering what year it was.
When we got to the front of her building, I think she was about to say good-bye, but there was a guy standing on the front steps who wouldn't stop staring at us. It seemed to spook her. I wondered if he was one of the demons. "Do you want to come up for a minute?" Tress asked me.
"Sure." Walking her past the man, I gave him a squinty-eyed look.
Her apartment was small and cute, a tidy one-bedroom with crucifixes on the wall. Everywhere I looked, there was a little statue of an angel or Jesus or the Virgin Mary; they didn't overwhelm the space, but there were a lot of them, watching over her place. Dean and I had never been super religious - Dad didn't take us to church regularly - but I did still believe in God and I did still pray every day, no matter what had happened. Dad had definitely taught us the value of a good religious artifact in the fight against evil. Tress was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of... this is going to make me sound like an asshole. She was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of being no fun. Sorry if that's offensive. It's just, some people can be so religious that they let it take all the joy out of their lives. No music, no dancing, no sex, no merry-making, everything's evil. Tress wasn't like that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but...
Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I noticed a small box of children's toys in the corner. It was the only evidence that she had a child at all. It made me feel bad for her, that Paul was far from home, and how it must make her feel to look at those unused toys. There wasn't a single photograph of Paul to be seen; I surmised that it must hurt to look at them right now. The only picture I saw was a black and white one on an end table, a mom and dad with their little daughter.
"You have a cute place here," I said, smiling at her.
Tress put down her purse. "My first home. The Millstone is my second." Suddenly, she cringed and put a hand to her temple.
That was the first time I felt her projective empathy. There was a twinge of pain in my head, but I could clearly tell it wasn't mine. It felt hollow, like an echo off a vast mountain chain. Didn't even really hurt me - it was sort of like a message reverberating through my head, telling me Tress was hurting. "Are you okay?" I asked, putting a hand on her arm to steady her.
Then the pain was gone.
Tress shook it off. "Yeah, I'm alright. My pain medication is wearing off. Time for another dose."
"I should probably go, let you get some rest."
"Yeah. Thanks for walking me home." She looked up at me, and a smirk crossed her lips. I loved that naughty little look every time she gave it to me. "I'm not working tomorrow. Just gonna come to The Millstone and sit out by the pool for a while. You should join me."
The pool? I would have to get a bathing suit. It wasn't like Castiel told me to bring one. "Sounds like a lot of fun." Hey, it was like mid-summer outside; why not? "Will you be there around lunchtime?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, we can have lunch at Slade's. The menu on the wall said he has Hawaiian Burgers there. I'd like to know what a Hawaiian Burger tastes like."
Tress laughed. "You're gonna love it." For a second, we just stared at each other, and it was one of those moments where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Women get a certain look in their eyes. When I leaned over and moved my mouth toward hers, she leaned in too, and our lips came together in a sweet little kiss. I'll never forget that first touch of her lips to mine. The chasteness of it went right to my heart.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and she let me out. We were both grinning like idiots.
Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "What happened?" he asked.
Lying on the bed, I folded my arms under my head and just smiled up at the ceiling. "We've got a lunch date for tomorrow."
"You and Theresa?"
"No, you and me, silly. Yes, me and Theresa."
"Good." Castiel had his coats on again. "Try to get yourself invited to church soon."
"I will." With a contented sigh, I started babbling. "I've got to go get a bathing suit in the morning. She wants to laze around by the pool. I wonder what she looks like in a bathing suit. Hmmmm. I feel bad that she can't have her child with her right now - there wasn't a single picture of Paul anywhere in the - "
I finally realized that Castiel was gone.
Oh well. Before getting ready for bed, I just laid there a while longer and daydreamed of how nice our date was going to be. Just me and Tress, getting to know each other better. How often was a case that enjoyable?
On to Chapters 3-4
Author: sailorhathor
Fandoms: Supernatural/Miracles crossover
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Theresa Callan
Rating: Adult (R)
Word Count: 31,721 total
Warnings: A few Het sex scenes that are graphic in an R-rated way. Language. Spoilers for a few episodes of "Miracles." Takes places mid-season 5 of SPN.
Summary: Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.
Author's Notes: This story has a sequel that will be released in a few weeks, so please don't kill me for the mega cliffhanger. :D Chapters 1-4 were betaed by Sammie. wine_into_water and tvsgrady gave it a good readthrough and provided some helpful impressions. Thanks to them, and to Nicky for providing the German and French.
reapertownusa has begun some great art for this story, but a painful injury to her index finger has prevented her from finishing the drawings as of yet. They'll be done at some point and will be showcased when they are. In the meantime, I made myself a simple title card. (The art she's done is incredibly spoilery for the story anyway, and most of it couldn't be used for a title card, or you'd know too much already!)
The idea for this story came to me about November of 2010. I've been working on it ever since then. It may be one of my favorite crossover ideas ever.
For the record, Theresa Callan is not an OC. Many aspects of her personality and character makeup come right out of the "Miracles" series. Her name is on Paul's dosier from "The Friendly Skies." We got a brief glimpse of her when Paul dreamed about her death in "Mother's Daughter." We know she was a devout Catholic who attended Father Calero's church. We know she died of cancer one week before Paul's fifth birthday, and that she had arranged with Father Calero for Paul to live under his care at the orphanage after she died. An online friend of mine purchased the original script for "Hand of God" off Ebay, which provides several facts about Theresa that were cut out of the final version - Paul says she loved roses and tuna casserole, and that she had told him his father was a very bad man who lived far, far away from them, which was for the better. The rest, I made up.
Told from Sam's first person POV. Takes place in a completely different universe from any other SPN/Miracles 'verse I've created.
Chapter 1: Chasing Destiny
Words: 4,218
Angels lie.
I bet you didn't know that. Probably didn't even think it was possible, not after all the TV you've seen of Michael Landon and Roma Downey playing perfect little angels, the most moral creatures ever created, right? They save people who aren't meant to die and set things right.
Heck, you probably didn't even know they actually exist. It's not like everyone hangs around with them, has been pushed around and beaten up by them, has had their existence shoved down their throats.
I probably shouldn't get so mad at Castiel. He only did what he thought was right. But sometimes, I can't help it.
I should explain about myself. My name is Sam Winchester, and practically since my birth, my family has been hunting down dangerous and evil supernatural creatures. A lot more of them exist than you would ever want to admit to yourself, trust me. It may just be easier for you to keep your head in the sand if you can - you'll sleep easier at night. If you knew everything that I know, you'd be up all night, patrolling your house with a shotgun and checking on your kids every five minutes. No, it's probably better if you don't know what lurks out there in the dark.
I had no choice in the matter.
Angels cannot move around on Earth without the benefit of a human host; otherwise, they'd be too-bright balls of light flying around, burning out the eyes of the populace. Seriously, looking upon them in their natural form burns your eyes out of your head - I've seen it happen. Castiel is one of these angels who came to Earth to act as some sort of advisor to my brother and me. He took a host, or a "vessel" as they call them, a man named Jimmy Novak. This will be important later.
It's a really long story how the Apocalypse began, but it did, in the year 2009. You're probably thinking I've totally flipped, believing in a real Apocalypse, but if you look at the events of that time, you'll see there were a lot of strange things going on. Fire raining from the sky, entire towns wiped out overnight...
My brother and I - my brother's name is Dean - found out we were vessels as well; it runs in the bloodline down from Biblical times. The angels said it was destiny. In many ways, for us, it was Hell.
Dean. How can you express how much you love a person, how important they are in your life, with mere words? He's always been there for me. Always had my back. Has taken more shit from me than he ever deserved, more than anyone else ever has. And still, Dean's there, ready to forgive. I love him so much. I hope we never get separated by the hunting life again.
Anyway, we found out we were vessels, destined to act out the end of the Apocalypse together. Dean, it turned out, was the vessel of Michael the Archangel. Yes, the Michael. And I was lucky enough to be the vessel of Lucifer. Yeah, that Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. If that blows your mind, think of how I felt. The man who is destined to be the vessel of a creature like that must be a horrible man, you're probably thinking.
Right?
You may not believe me, but it is possible for that man to be a good person. Someone who would never want to act as the devil's meat suit, but was fated to do so by a destiny he didn't want. Dean and I were supposed to act our parts and accept the warring brother angels into our bodies, and be puppeted into a war they had been preparing to fight for over two thousand years. The very idea perverted everything we had built over our lives. Two brothers who fought to save the world, being forced to destroy it. Dean and I had no intention of doing that.
There came a day in early 2010 that Castiel came to us and said that he knew of a man, a very important man, who had been fated to help save the world. I brought up the fact that the angels had said that Dean would be the one to do this, the one who put Lucifer back in Hell, that prophecy had said it would be Dean, but Cas responded that Dean would do it with help. It seemed that Chuck the Prophet had received a new vision.
Yeah, I know. The Prophet Chuck? It's kinda funny.
We all set out for Boston the next day, where this man would be found. Castiel said his name was Paul Callan, and he worked for a paranormal investigation group called Sodalitas Quaerito. Say that three times fast! Or, just say SQ, like we do. The group consisted of Alva Keel, Evelyn Santos, and Paul. Castiel said that Paul had been having psychic visions of the coming Apocalypse, so he wouldn't be that surprised when we walked in.
Even so, I didn't expect Paul's overdramatic reaction when we entered that office. His eyes got big, and he backed away, looking like he was about to throw up. "You," he said. "It's you."
"You've been having dreams about the vessels," Castiel stated matter-of-factly, almost like he didn't even have to guess at any of the coming events.
"Yes," Paul replied. He pointed at Dean and I with a shaking finger. "You're the vessel of Michael the Archangel," Paul said when he indicated Dean. Then he looked at me. I don't think I've ever seen him so afraid. "And you're..." was all he said, and turned and ducked away into another room, where he stayed for nearly twenty minutes.
We all gave Paul some time to recover. Truthfully, I needed the time myself as well. It was never easy to have people react to you that way, when they found out who you were. But it was to be expected, with Paul being raised as a Christian in the Catholic faith.
Dean and I told Alva Keel everything we knew about the Apocalypse. The woman, whom they called Evie, stood by and listened, not saying much. She seemed to defer to Mr. Keel a great deal. It was obvious he was the major brains of the operation, but that didn't mean the other two didn't have strong opinions of their own. It just meant that Mr. Keel had a great deal of knowledge on the supernatural, and his associates knew it.
His looks were quite striking. I don't mean that in a drooly sort of way, just that the man had piercing blue eyes and a strong chin, with a slight European accent which turned out to be Scottish. He made a definite impression on me.
"When Paul began having these dreams, I knew they were serious," he said. "It's still quite a shock to have you all walk right into the office one day."
Dean and I nodded. "I can imagine," I added.
Evie couldn't stop looking at Castiel, a little uneasy. She too had a striking appearance, but more for how pretty she was, one of those people you think could have been a model if they had that ambition. Long, curly black hair and a very attractive face. When there was a lull in our conversation, she spoke up. "Are you really an angel?" she asked Cas.
Castiel nodded. "Yes, I am an angel of the Lord. Paul told you that?"
"Yes." She looked him up and down. "Said you dressed like Columbo. I couldn't believe it, but..."
Castiel glanced from one person to another. "Columbo?" he said.
Leaning over to him, Dean whispered, "TV character. He wears a trench coat too."
"Oh."
Paul came out of the office then. He still gave me those looks, like it was too overwhelming to even lay eyes upon me. But we tried to have a civilized conversation.
Paul's appearance is a bit soft, with deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. Very boyish, very youthful. He has his mother's smile. I trusted him in an instant, and I couldn't have even told you why, not then. I did everything I could to set him at ease.
"Mr. Callan, have you ever been put in a situation where people kept telling you things were going to happen one way, but you knew that way was wrong?" I asked him.
He thought about it a second, and then leaned back against a desk and let out a small laugh. Some memory, a bitter one it seemed by his expression, came to him then. "Yeah."
"Did people ever tell you you were destined to become something you never imagined for yourself?"
Again, he took a short time to think about that, tapping lightly at his bottom lip with two fingers. He looked up at me and replied, "Yes. There was this boy, and he said that..." The memories flooded his mind and got him all choked up; Paul took a moment to swallow down the emotion that constricted his throat. "Never mind, it's a very long story."
"I'd be willing to listen if you want to tell me."
"No, no, it's too much to tell. Just know that once, I was involved in a bad situation where certain individuals tried to get me to believe I was destined to kill a whole group of people simply because they had experienced a rare paranormal event. That it would be for the best of all humanity that they die. For a time, I... I started to believe that these individuals were right.
"You might think that would make a man feel good, knowing he was chosen to save the world, but... not me. I didn't want that job. There was so much left up to chance, so much to question. Would I be doing the right thing? What if these individuals were wrong, what if the message didn't mean what it seemed to mean, would I be damning myself to Hell if I killed these people? And could I even do it?" He looked me in the eyes then, very seriously. "It's one thing to tell a man to kill others because they are evil. It's another thing to actually do it."
I nodded in complete understanding. "It's a very hard choice to make."
Now Paul nodded.
I added, "Imagine being one of those people who experienced the rare paranormal event. Someone thinks you're evil, and you know you're not. You're just a pawn in someone else's game. Nothing you can help. You just want to be good. But they keep telling you you're not."
To that, Paul sat back against the desk again, his arms crossed, and thought about my problem. It didn't take long for him to look up at me with a sorrowful expression upon his face. "That must be very tough for you."
Finally, he understood my point of view. "It most definitely is."
Shortly after, the mood was lightened by Paul and Castiel having a bowing contest. Paul wanted to bow to the holy angel, and Castiel said it was he who should praise God while in Paul's presence. First, Paul got down on one knee and lowered his head, then Castiel did the same. It was quite comical. But it did lead to Paul asking why Cas would even want to praise God and all that just for being in the same room with him.
"You are a very important man, Paul Callan," Castiel replied.
"People have been saying that for years. What does it mean, Castiel?" He looked so desperate and lost at that moment; it tears my heart out to think about it. "Why am I different? Please tell me."
Cas looked at Dean and I, and then back at Paul. He seemed to be unsure that he should tell him anything about his destiny. The angel chose his words carefully. "It's possible... very possible... that you are one of the most crucial vessels who ever lived. The fate of the world may rest with you, Dean, and Sam."
Paul reeled. Putting a hand over his mouth, he began to laugh, his eyes glistening with overwhelmed tears. "What? What kind of vessel am I?"
"I shouldn't tell you."
"Castiel, please, I'm begging you - "
Suddenly, Cas became very serious; it was obvious he was going to be immovable on this issue. "No. No, I'm sorry Paul, but I shouldn't have even told you that. It can be dangerous to know too much about your own destiny. Just know that when the time comes, you'll know to say yes."
"Say yes to who?"
Castiel only repeated himself. "When the time comes, you'll know."
Paul couldn't help it, and began to cry at that moment. I wished I could comfort the guy. Evie put an arm around him and ushered him out of the room where he could weep in peace for a little while.
I understood. I knew what my destiny was. Paul didn't. It's a lot of pressure, to be told something like that, and not even know who it is you are supposed to say yes to.
Later, Paul came back. He wanted to know why Dean and I had gotten into our line of business. I suppose it was a way of changing the subject. Dean told most of the story, about how our mother had been burned alive on the ceiling of my nursery back in 1983 by a demon named Azazel. Paul recognized the name from some extra books of the Bible that had not been accepted as canonical. That made his eyes get big again. Apparently, those books were real. Dean explained how the event had sent our father on a quest to find that demon, and kill him, and how we had gone along for the ride. Our entire lives had been about fighting evil, Dean, since he was four, and me, practically since birth.
Something about that made Alva speak up, telling us his own story. "When I was in school at Cambridge, my minor was Linguistics. I was analyzing patterns of bird song. Field ravens. The easiest way to do that was to sit in a field and record their chattering... listen to it back and make note of the patterns... and find meaning in those patterns. An ambitious project. I had no idea how it would change my life.
"My mother had passed away in 1984. When I was a child, she read to me from a storybook about a bloodhound named Mango. I loved that book." Mr. Keel laughed a little; his eyes were far away, remembering. "On November 21, 1985, the sounds on my tapes changed. Among the raven song were voices. Human voices."
"EVP?" Dean asked.
"Yes. Among those voices, I heard the voice of my dead mother. She kept saying, 'Mango.' That's all, just, 'Mango.' This is why I became a paranormal researcher. The strength of one word. I'm still searching for an explanation."
"Yeah." The story seemed to touch my brother on a level he wasn't used to acknowledging. "I would think you would. Your mother, calling to you... and she doesn't tell you why."
"It must be hard," I said. "But maybe she just wanted to say hello, and nothing more. Maybe it doesn't mean anything bad."
"It's hard to believe that, wouldn't you say? I mean, your mother calls to you from the grave, she must need something." Mr. Keel said it so matter-of-factly, and the look on his face... it tugged at my heart. I wished I had answers for him, just to calm those troubled eyes. To finally bring him the peace for which he'd searched for so long.
Paul spoke up then. "Huh. I never really thought about this, but my mother's death is fairly mundane when compared with both of yours. There was no demon to chase or voice from the grave. Just a regular human disease that kills millions." He wasn't trivializing her death, only reflecting over the differences.
"What happened?" I asked.
He took a deep breath. "My mother got a brain tumor in early 1978. She was gone within a matter of months. I went to live at the orphanage after that; I mean, I was barely five. Couldn't take care of myself."
"Where was your father?" Dean questioned.
Paul got a troubled, angry look in his eyes in reaction to that; his eyebrows dipped in the middle and he crossed his arms across his chest. "I don't know. He was never there. I remember seeing the other kids playing with their dads and asking my mother why didn't I have a daddy? Where had my father gone? And she said that he didn't want to have anything to do with us, that he had gone far, far away, and that was how it should be, because he was a very bad man. She said we were safer with him far away from us. When she talked about him, she would start to cry, and that was enough of a convincer for me that he must be a very bad person, because he had broken her heart."
Both Dean and I got a little twinge in our chests when we heard that story; obviously, Paul was still hurting badly, never having known his father and growing up without much of his parents' love to go on. At least we had had our father.
"I was almost five when my mom died too," Dean remarked.
Everyone was quiet for several long moments, brooding, thinking about our mothers and how they weren't there anymore.
Castiel was the one to break the silence. "Sam, may I speak with you in the other room?"
Everyone watched us go, wondering what Cas wanted to tell me. I wouldn't see any of them again for several months. Several months for me, anyway.
"What is it, Cas?"
"Sam, I'm certain now. Paul Callan is the man I've been looking for. He's crucial to the survival of the human race." The angel raised his hand. "I must send you back to 1978."
Angels have the power to send people backwards and forwards in time. They do this by touching you on the space between your eyes. When I saw Castiel bringing those first two fingers toward my forehead, I grabbed them and pushed them away. "Cas, what? Send me back to 1978?"
"Yes. Didn't you hear Paul? His mother died in 1978." He brought the fingers up again.
Once more, I batted them down. "Cas, explain this to me before you just zap me back in time more than thirty years, okay?"
"Alright," Castiel replied, sounding a bit put out. "There was an incident in 1978 that put Paul's life in danger, and if I send you back, you, and only you, can ensure that he's around to grow into the man you see before you now."
"Why just me? Dean can't come too?"
"No, his presence there would upset the balance. Just know that it has to be you, and that Paul's mother needs your help."
I sighed. "First Paul needs my help, now his mother? Cas, what else happens in 1978 besides Paul's mom passing away?"
"Sam... this man will never be ready to help save the world if his mother dies. Her loss affected him so profoundly that Paul does not currently have the will to act as the vessel we need him to be. His acceptance of the highest order will only cause his body to explode on contact."
"The highest order?" I asked.
Castiel waved the question away as irrelevant. "You must go back and save Paul's mother, for his sake. For the sake of us all."
"How am I supposed to save Paul's mom? She died of cancer."
Shaking his head, the angel explained, "Theresa Callan did not die of cancer."
That was the first time I heard her name.
Castiel continued, "She died from a spell, cast on her by demons to make it look like she had a brain tumor. The spell was slow-acting, and ate up her life force. But she can be saved from this spell."
"How?"
"There's a holy rosary, kept by a priest known to Theresa. Father Calero. We don't know where he's keeping it. If you can get that rosary, and convince her to wear it, the spell can be broken within a few weeks."
That seemed easy enough. Or, at least doable. "That's all I have to do?"
"Yes."
"And Paul Callan will get to grow up with his mother?"
"Yes, Sam, he will."
I wanted that very much for Paul. Not even I knew how much I would want it for him before this was all over. "Okay," I began, "I'll go back and find this rosary, and save Paul's mom."
Castiel seemed very relieved. "Thank you, Sam."
"I still don't understand why Dean can't come along, but I guess you know what you're doing." I took a deep breath and held it, bending my knees. When Cas didn't do anything, I said, "Well come on, let's go."
"Actually, I should give you some instructions first. I have forgotten to explain to you the circumstances under which Theresa Callan is living when you will encounter her." He looked at me very seriously. "She knows the demons are around her. She knows they want her son. And she thinks they may be the ones who have made her ill. But, she can't talk about these things with anyone. Theresa sent Paul away to live with a powerful congregation of nuns for his own safety."
"I thought Paul grew up in an orphanage?" I questioned.
"He did. Upon Theresa's death, Paul was able to return to Boston. The demons could see that her death had broken the little boy's soul, so they no longer had any need of him. As things are now, the nuns have prayer circles going 'round the clock to keep Paul's location secret, but even the mere mention of the child's name in Theresa's presence would upset the balance of the protective energy surrounding her. They want to claim Paul now, in case their death spell somehow doesn't work on his mother.
"Do you understand me, Sam? You must not ask where Paul is. You must not even say his name. It will only bring the demons straight to her. They are watching, waiting for that barrier to be weakened. If they think Theresa knows where Paul is, they will torture her until she's dead to get that information out of her. As far as you're concerned, Theresa doesn't even have a child. Do you understand how serious I am about this?"
My mind was reeling from the responsibility Castiel was placing on my shoulders. He was right; I just had to put it out of my mind that Theresa Callan even had a child, because otherwise, I would be tempted to ask her questions about her son, and to try to get her to talk about him. "Yes, Castiel, I understand," I said.
"Once Theresa's life has been saved, we can find a safe place for her to go with Paul, where the demons can't find them. If you successfully complete the task set before you, he can return to his mother's arms, safe and warm."
That sounded perfect to me. "You'll tell Dean where I went?"
"That won't be necessary. When I return you to 2010, you'll arrive at the exact second you left," explained Castiel. "Dean won't even know you were gone."
"Okay. Let's go then."
Before we left, the angel waved his hand before my eyes and said some words in Enochian. It was something he'd never done before. "Why'd you do that?" I asked.
"Protection," he said.
A split second after Castiel touched me between the eyes, I found myself standing on a street corner at mid-day, looking up at a billboard on the side of a building. It was an advertisement for an upcoming movie.
Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House, it said. I thought of how disappointed Dean would be that he couldn't have come along with me. Animal House was one of his favorite films.
"We should go to the hotel where Theresa works," Cas instructed.
"So I can meet her?" I asked. If I was going to get her to wear this rosary, it followed that I'd have to gain her trust.
"Yes, and..." Castiel swayed on his feet. "...so I can lie down for a while."
Sometimes, Dean and I both forget how it could weaken Cas to do these trips through time. "Oh, certainly," I said, and put an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.
"Don't worry, Sam. This shouldn't be at all complicated as long as you do as I have instructed," was the last thing he said to me before we got to the hotel.
It's as I said. Angels lie.
Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.
*****
Chapter 2: That's How it Happens
Words: 5,652
Castiel pointed her out, behind the hotel front desk. "That's Theresa."
The first time I saw Theresa Callan, she had a purple and yellow scarf wrapped around her head, a sheer thing that allowed her dark brown hair to spill out and cascade down over her shoulders. I know that sounds cornball, hair cascading, but that's really what it did, in waves. She had this spunky sort of look to her, with a little button nose and a smirky grin - you know how some women have that look that tells you they take no shit? Theresa totally had that look. She was wearing the standard dress shirt, blazer, and skirt of a hotel front desk clerk, but her takes-no-shit face really made her stand out for me. The scarf couldn't be part of her standard uniform, though. I asked Castiel, "Why's she wearing the headscarf?"
"To hold on the wig."
"Wig? She's wearing a wig?"
"Yes. The radiation treatments... the chemo..."
So the cascading hair wasn't her own.
Cas added, "That's her natural hair color, though."
Confused, I asked, "Why is she having chemo and radiation treatments, Cas? You said she didn't really have cancer."
He wobbled on his feet a little, eyelids fluttering.
"Oh, gosh... should I get the hotel room?"
The angel recovered, holding onto a post for balance. "Not just yet. I'm... I'm okay."
"Well, give me the short explanation so we can check in already."
"Theresa doesn't know for sure that she's been made sick by a demonic spell. There are bad feelings, half-glanced shadows on the wall... the average person suspects they are being stalked by demons and that to think such a thing, they must be crazy. But then the priest of her church comes to her and says he thinks her child is in danger from evil forces. Theresa takes his advice, she sends Paul away for protection, and she doesn't discuss what may be happening to her. Perhaps it's for the best that someone look after her child for a while anyway, as she's been feeling very, very ill for months now.
"Imagine you are Theresa. You go to your doctor, and he says it's a brain tumor. You should start treatment right away. But you are unsure. What if your bad feeling about being besieged by demons is correct? What if the doctor is correct?"
I had begun to nod before he finished his sentence. "I'd cover all my bases, just to be safe," I replied.
"Yes. Like her son, Theresa is a devout Catholic, so she prays every day, and she has her cancer treatments. To, as you say, 'cover all' her 'bases.'"
"That poor woman," I said. "She's just doing damage to her body to fight tumors she doesn't even have. Cas, can't we tell her? Theresa could stop having the treatments and concentrate on the praying if we - "
He cut me off. "No, Sam. Any mention of what's really happening to her will bring the demons right to her. You must remember that."
I nodded my head in understanding. "Okay," I said with a sigh. It really bothered me, the thought of someone going through a tough thing like chemotherapy and radiation when they didn't have to. That's such a hard thing, to keep your mouth shut for someone's own good when you know telling them the truth could be in their best interest as well.
We watched her from across the lobby for a bit. After a short time, I noticed that Castiel was now leaning his upper body against the post, eyes closed, looking very out of it. I insisted I just check in already. "Okay, Cas, I got this. I'm ready to interact with her."
"Don't blow it," he said, which made me turn back to him for a moment and laugh. He must've gotten that from Dean.
When she smiled up at me, eyes going a little wide for a second, my mind wouldn't make words. Theresa was so beautiful to me. Not an obvious beauty like a model, but a quiet one, like a regular girl you'd meet on the street, at the mall, in high school. I felt such sympathy and desire for her at the same time. To be dealing with all she was dealing with... she had to be strong. That strength only made her more attractive.
"Hello, sir, and welcome to The Millstone," she said. "Would you like to check in?"
"Uh..." My mind, words, not happening at first. Castiel's warning played through my head. "Don't blow it." It seemed to snap me out of it. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'd love to check in. Or, I want to check in, to get a room. Yes. Ahem." That's about how I sounded. Ugh.
I could hear Dean in my head, going, "Smooth, Sammy. Smooth."
Theresa grinned like she was amused with me and asked, "A single?"
For a second, I looked around for her computer, but of course, she was working from a ledger. It was going to be tough to get used to the 1970's lack of technology. "No, I'm staying with my friend there." I hooked a thumb behind me at Cas, still leaning on the post.
She looked at Cas, and then back at her ledger. "Then you'll want two beds?"
"No, just one. Queen size is fine." Hey, angels don't sleep. And guys named Sammy sometimes need a brain transplant.
One eyebrow raised, Theresa looked at me quizzically, and said, "Okay," like she found my choice of sleeping arrangements to be questionable.
What she must be thinking... it hit me then. "Oh, uh, my friend there, he, he won't be there much. Just a business associate... always in and out. We don't even sleep at the same time."
"Oh," she said, writing in her ledger. Then she gave me a coy look and we both started snickering.
That's how it happens, you know. How you realize you're attracted to someone, that you have chemistry.
I rolled my eyes. "It saves money. I'd really like to get him up to the room right now - "
"Oh?" Theresa said again, putting a lot of comical emphasis into it.
Giving her a scolding look, I said, "You didn't let me finish."
She chuckled and waited for my full reply, smirking at me.
"My friend there has been drinking a little too much. He needs to go to bed." Then I added, "Alone."
"Oh, did he have a few too many martinis with lunch?"
"You could say that."
Grinning, Theresa put the ledger on the counter in front of me. "You'll be in room 208. Just sign here and pay $20 up front."
I didn't see any reason not to sign my real name. Once I'd handed over the money, she gave me two keys, and took back the ledger, reading it. "Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Winchester."
I mirrored the smile that she gave me. "Thank you, Theresa. You can call me Sam, if you want." Just hoping that didn't sound all lecherous. It always bothers me at times when I work an honest living that people will read my name tag and use my first name just because it's right there before their eyes. Too personal.
Didn't seem to bother her, though. "Alright, Sam. I'll see you around."
We kept looking at each other as I walked away, continuing to smile like idiots and chuckle giddily. I draped one of Cas's arms over my shoulders and walked him to the elevator. In my head, I was wondering if she ever liked to be called Terry, or if it was always Theresa. By the time we got to the room, Cas was bleeding from the mouth.
He was unconscious when I laid him out on the bed. First, I got a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned off his mouth. Then I took Cas under the arms and dragged him up the mattress until his head was on the pillow, and removed his shoes so he'd be more comfortable. If angels even need to be comfortable. While my mind began scheming over how I was going to accomplish my task, I rolled Castiel on his side and started to take off the trench coat and suit coat with it.
"Didjou meet 'er?" he slurred.
Oh, he was slightly awake. "Yeah. I think she likes me already."
"Good." Cas didn't react much to me taking off his coats; he was pretty out of it.
I offered an explanation anyway. "I thought you'd be more comfortable without all these coats on."
"Okay," he said, and seemed to pass out again.
Once the two coats were laid out over the back of a chair, I sat down to catch my breath. Castiel's vessel isn't a large man, but rolling him around on the bed to get a coat off of him isn't the easiest work either. Especially when he's like a rag doll. First, I should make a chart of what I know, I thought. That's what we usually did, chart out everything we knew about a case. Then -
Castiel interrupted my thoughts with one more remark. "Don't buy anything," he said. "Not yet."
That made my heart skip a beat. "Buy anything?"
Cas was out again. I got up and leaned over him, putting my hand on his chest and giving it a little shake.
He wouldn't respond.
Then it hit me. I went into my wallet and started looking at the bills.
Series 2006. Series 2006. Series 2006. They all had a recent year on them. "Oh, crap," I said out loud.
Surely, the bill I had given Theresa had a recent year on it too. Only for her, it would be a year in the future.
As I brooded in my chair for a while, I hoped she wouldn't look at the twenty too closely. It could ruin everything.
*****
Castiel woke up around dinner time. He found me studying my chart, which I'd made out of several sheets of hotel stationary, taped together on the wall. "Was I out long?"
Looking at him, I said, "About four hours."
He sat up. "That long?" Cas stood and crossed to where I was standing. "What have you made here?"
"A chart. It's what we know about Theresa and her son so far."
"Hm." Castiel read over my chart.
Paul Callan, born to Theresa Callan and Deadbeat Dad, 1973.
Theresa dies, early 1978
Paul is 5
Theresa - Catholic, attends church with Father Calero
Calero has the healing rosary
Do NOT mention Paul or true cause of illness!
There were a few other minor details about Theresa written there, things I wanted to remember to make it easier for me to work my way into her life. Of course, it would be a lot more pleasant a task if she actually liked me, and I liked her. At the time, I wasn't thinking at all what would happen once this was over if we had developed real feelings for each other. All I could think about was how spunky and cute she was. "And I can hide it behind the curtain. See?" I had put the chart between two narrow windows; the drapes went across both windows and the wall between them, so they hid my chart nicely.
"Very good. Anything new we learn, we add it to the chart. Now, let me see all the bills in your wallet."
"Oh, you're worried about the year on them, aren't you?"
"Yes..." Castiel took the dollar bills I handed him.
"I already paid with a twenty from 2006. Do you think it will cause a problem? Because I bet they'd believe the bill was misprinted."
"Or they'll think you're a counterfeiter." Waving his hand over each bill, Castiel whispered something in Enochian. When he handed them back to me, they all said Series 1968 on them.
"Well, at least it was just one bill. I can probably con my way out of one misprinted bill," I assured him.
Castiel nodded and gave me a slight smile. "If you have to."
"Yeah. Maybe they didn't notice it." I checked my watch. "It's about dinner time. Maybe I can catch Theresa before she leaves for the night, invite her out to eat."
"Sam, there's something else you need to know about her."
"What?"
"Do you know what an empath is?" he asked.
I knew a little about it. "That's a person who can sense how other people are feeling just by being near them, or by forging a psychic link with them."
"Yes." Although I should have followed his line of thinking, what Cas said next still came as a surprise to me. "Theresa Callan is an empath."
"Oh... okay."
"You must be careful around her, Sam. If you're not, she may sense that you have an ulterior motive. Make yourself believe that you're not acting here, that you really want to spend time with Theresa, or she may never trust you." He noticed that I was smiling down at my feet. "What?"
"Uh... that won't be a problem, because I really do want to spend time with her," I admitted sheepishly. "She's pretty cute."
Cas furrowed his brow. "Tread lightly here, Sam. Her empathy is projective as well."
"Projective?"
"We don't know how strong she is, but we do know that she has some projective ability. It's like being around someone who is in a very good mood, and you start to feel happy too. But a projective empath is much better at it than that. Theresa may be able to affect your emotions quite strongly. In fact, some projective empaths can attack you on a psychic level, forcing emotions on you that you had no intention of feeling."
That was troubling. "Is that something she could do without me knowing?"
"You? No. You would know, because you have latent psychic ability as well. The average person would have no idea, but you... that's part of the reason why you're perfect for this job," Cas explained.
Ah, it seemed the pieces were falling into place. "So she couldn't have made me feel attracted to her without my knowledge."
Castiel shook his head. "No. But Theresa's abilities could enhance your general mood."
Maybe that explained why we'd both become so giddy in each other's presence. Her attraction, my attraction, all reverberating between us like sound off acoustical tile. "I understand."
"Then let's get going."
On my way down to the lobby, I wondered if her being an empath had anything to do with her son becoming so important to the world. I concluded that it probably did. Theresa was special; she produced a special child.
And of course, as I would find out, Paul's father had something to do with that as well.
The hotel had a theme. It was called The Millstone; there were millstones everywhere, in the lobby, out front, all engraved with the name of the hotel. They were sort of like statues, made of tan and white speckled marble. I stood and looked at the one near the front desk, in the middle of a large fountain with plants and flowers around it, and thought how much more attractive the whole scene would be if it wasn't surrounded by a lobby done in those horrible 1970's colors. I mean, avocado green chairs? Burnt orange and brown diamonds painted on the walls in between typical hotel lobby paintings? Who decided on this decorating scheme, demons? They must've possessed a bunch of interior decorators and had a good laugh at our expense once it caught on. Absolutely hideous.
There was a different clerk behind the front desk. I hoped Theresa hadn't left already.
In a decorative window leading into the lounge and bar, I saw a sign that read BUSBOY WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. If I could get that job, it'd be perfect - not only would I have spending money, but I'd be working close to Theresa. Sometimes, we had to put more time into a case than usual. Some cases only took a few days. Others, a few months. I figured this would be one of those cases that could take a while. I mean, if I had been raised in a normal environment, and some guy came out of nowhere and tried to tell me that wearing a rosary would cure my cancer, I'd probably think he was crazy. But if I trusted that man when he said it to me, if I knew that man... I might feel differently about it.
I would apply for the job.
Between trying to figure out what my new birth year was for the application and getting used to the taste of Tab soda, the bartender asked me, "Are you Sam?"
Looking at him with what must've been a bewildered expression, I replied, "Yeah?"
"Ah, I knew it," he laughed. "Theresa was talking about you."
My face must've lit up with recognition, because he grinned widely at me. "Theresa was in here?"
"Yeah. Said she met the tallest guy she'd ever seen today, named Sam. If that's not you, I'm scared to see who else is gonna walk in here."
We both had a good laugh over that one. I'm a Sasquatch; I'm used to it. "Yeah, that's me. Where is she now?"
"Uh, I think she's sitting out by the pool, at Slade's Tiki Hut," he said. "She was feeling kind of bad."
I played dumb. "Is she sick?"
He got a grave look on his face. "Going through chemo. Poor kid's got cancer."
"Ohhh." My face reflected the appropriate amount of shock at hearing something awful that I wasn't supposed to already know. "That's horrible."
"Why don't you go out there and see if you can cheer her up?" The bartender grinned again, like he knew something. "I think she kinda likes you."
I grinned back. "That sounds like a great idea. But first, I gotta finish my application."
I'm ashamed to say I had to count backwards on my fingers. My new birth year should be 1951.
The bartender, whose name turned out to be Bo, furrowed his brow at my application. "You're younger than you look," he said, and put it under the bar. "You just get into town? You put the hotel's address here."
I explained that yes, I had just gotten into town and had no place to live currently but the hotel; that's why I needed the job so bad. Bo nodded at my story.
"I have to talk to the boss first, but we'll call your room once we make a decision, okay? Stay available. She may want you to come in for an interview real soon."
Grateful, I shook his hand. "Thanks, Bo."
"No problem, kid."
On my way out, a bright pinkish-red advertising sign caught my eye. TaB, it said. Where There's TaB, There's Refreshment. Wow, this crap was popular back then.
Another millstone statue sat atop a large pedestal in the middle of the pool. The sun had gone down, so it was lit up with spotlights, and the lights under the water had come on too. A couple families lounged next to the pool or in the hot tub; some kids were laughing and throwing a beach ball back and forth through the hole in the middle of the millstone. Not all the stones had a hole in the middle, but this one had been designed with one, probably because it framed the hotel nicely behind it.
Theresa was sitting at Slade's Tiki Hut, a little bar next to the pool that had been done up with a Hawaiian motif, complete with that special grass they use for the skirts all over the walls and roof and leis hanging from every corner. She was hunched over on her stool, hands shielding her eyes, some sort of drink in front of her.
She looked miserable.
The man behind the bar, of course, wore a Hawaiian shirt. He was wiping down the bar as I approached, although he seemed to be avoiding Theresa's general area. A little statue of a woman in a Hawaiian skirt sat near the tip jar; she wobbled her hips as I took a seat on the stool two away from Theresa's. "Hey there, you okay?"
She looked over at me from under her hands. Theresa's face lit up considerably. "Hey, you! How'd you find me?"
"Bo said you'd be out here."
She smiled at the man behind the bar. "Does Bo know me or what? Knows I can't resist your special headache remedy."
The man, who just went by his last name, Slade, gave a small smile of acknowledgement. He was a quiet, gruff man, but a good one.
Lowering her arms, Theresa thumped my knee with the back of her hand. "I'm in a little trouble because of that twenty you gave me. My boss thinks it's counterfeit."
Again, I did something I would have to get used to doing: I played dumb. "Counterfeit? Why?"
"Because the year on it is 2006," she laughed.
"2006? That's crazy!"
"I swear on a stack of Bibles, that's what it says! And the Secretary of the Treasury is wrong, and the Treasurer... it's so weird. I feel like such an idiot, I didn't even notice."
"I got it from a gas station. I hope it's not fake. You know, I bet it's some sort of misprint. Here, let me straighten it out. I can give you a new one that I know is good." Getting out my wallet, I pawed through the bills, looking for my new 1968 angel-cloaked twenty.
"Oh, gee, thanks so much, Sam." Laughing, Theresa took the bill. "I'll take this to my boss before I leave."
"Are you okay?" I asked. "When I came up, you looked like you didn't feel well."
"I've got a headache," she replied. "And I'm a little nauseous."
"Um, Bo kinda mentioned that you were going through chemotherapy. I'm really sorry that you're sick."
Theresa seemed almost embarrassed about it. "Yeah, me too," she joked. "Going through radiation also. Can't say it's fun. It's why I'm on half-days right now, and short term disability." Theresa tried to put a positive spin on it. "But I'm going to come back from all this. The doctor says my tumor seems to be shrinking."
"Hey, that's great!" I suddenly wondered if CAT-scans and MRI's had been invented yet. Something told me I shouldn't bring it up just yet, what the doctor was using to monitor her condition. Not until I'd had time to do some research. Some slow, Internet-less research. "When I was a kid, I'd get sick sometimes - you know how childhood can be, always throwing up for some reason, and my brother would go get me 7-Up. Our dad said room temperature 7-Up was great for a nauseous stomach."
She giggled. "Really? I've never tried that."
"He swore by it." I remembered some of those times. Dean was usually the one to take care of me when I was sick, when our dad wasn't around. "Ginger ale is good too." A smile came to my face at another good memory. "A sick kid gets bored really easily, you know, so while Dean was at the store, he'd get me these paper construction books. They were sort of like paper dolls, except they were little miniature buildings or a circus with animals or something. You'd punch them out and match tab A to tab B, and when you were done, you had a little city, or the whole circus with the tent... I loved those things. Entertained me for hours."
I realized Theresa was just looking at me with an amused expression on her face. "That's so sweet," she said. "Dean is your brother?"
"Yeah. He's... not here. He's kinda far away right now."
"I bet you miss 'im."
I nodded. "Yes. But we'll be reunited eventually."
Now she nodded. "I've seen those paper construction books in the dime store. They're great for little kids."
It made me wonder if Paul liked them too. I'd have to get him some, for when he came home, I thought.
"Well, I better go before it gets too late."
"Be careful, Theresa," Slade said. "A guest got mugged a couple blocks from here the other night."
"Really? Oh... I don't like the sound of that."
Jumping up from my stool, I offered her my arm. "I'll walk you home," I said.
Theresa grinned at me. "Okay." She wrapped her arm in mine. "A mugger would have to be insane to try anything with you."
We both laughed over that. It gave me a happy little tingle, to know she had noticed how big I was. It seemed to make her feel safe with me.
Turns out Theresa lived about five blocks from the hotel. Not a bad walk, but she usually took the bus on days when she was "feeling lazy." On our way there, we talked some more, first about music. Theresa said she loved The Eagles.
"They show a lot of promise," she remarked.
It seemed like a strange thing to say for a band that had been around for, what, six years at that time? But maybe she had just discovered them. "My brother likes The Eagles. Especially with Joe Walsh."
"Joe Walsh?" she questioned. I could see her face in the light of a streetlamp we passed, and she looked bewildered. "The guitarist for The James Gang?"
When had Joe Walsh joined The Eagles, anyway? Had I just made a time blunder? I tried to shrug it off. "I guess I was thinking of someone else."
We walked on. Theresa talked about her love for Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, her two favorite bands ever. Oh, would she and Dean ever get along musically.
As we neared her building, I asked, "Does anyone ever call you Terry?"
"Ah... my mom did. But it kind of makes me uncomfortable now."
"Oh." I wanted to ask her where her parents were, but it seemed too soon in our friendship. Obviously, they weren't around at some point, or they would have taken Paul in when Theresa died. "Is it okay if I come up with a nickname for you?"
She looked at me, a little confused. "If you want to, I suppose... but what other nickname is there for Theresa besides Terry?"
I just grinned. I already had one. "Once, on this TV show called 'Unsolved Mysteries,' they had a story on there about a guy who was married to a woman named Theresa. He called her Tress. I always thought it was really pretty." When I glanced down at her, I noticed she was looking up at me, smiling. Then I realized that at some point, she had taken my hand. We were holding hands. "Can I call you that?" I asked.
Her smile widened; she really seemed to like the sound of it. "Tress. That is pretty. Sure. Sure, you can call me that."
We just looked at each other for a moment, walking slowly to draw out our time together. At least, that's what I was doing.
Then she asked me another one of those questions that made me want to smack myself in the forehead. "I've never heard of 'Unsolved Mysteries.' Is it good? What channel does it come on?"
"Oh! Uh..." It doesn't come on any channel, not until 1987. "It's pretty boring most of the time. Comes on one of those UHF channels no one watches. Their signal is so weak, I can hardly get it to come in half the time."
"Oh."
Nice save. Of course, it wouldn't last long.
"I'm always having to miss my favorite shows because of work," Tress remarked. "I work mornings most of the time, and all the good soaps come on in the morning."
"Why don't you just tape them?" I asked. Bonk! in the forehead again.
"Tape them?"
Crap. Had video cassette recorders been invented yet? I thought they had, but maybe she couldn't afford one. Better not to take the chance that I was making another time faux pas. "Um, yeah... with a tape recorder?"
"Well... I guess I could, but it's just not the same without the pictures."
Phew. I was going to have to get better at remembering what year it was.
When we got to the front of her building, I think she was about to say good-bye, but there was a guy standing on the front steps who wouldn't stop staring at us. It seemed to spook her. I wondered if he was one of the demons. "Do you want to come up for a minute?" Tress asked me.
"Sure." Walking her past the man, I gave him a squinty-eyed look.
Her apartment was small and cute, a tidy one-bedroom with crucifixes on the wall. Everywhere I looked, there was a little statue of an angel or Jesus or the Virgin Mary; they didn't overwhelm the space, but there were a lot of them, watching over her place. Dean and I had never been super religious - Dad didn't take us to church regularly - but I did still believe in God and I did still pray every day, no matter what had happened. Dad had definitely taught us the value of a good religious artifact in the fight against evil. Tress was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of... this is going to make me sound like an asshole. She was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of being no fun. Sorry if that's offensive. It's just, some people can be so religious that they let it take all the joy out of their lives. No music, no dancing, no sex, no merry-making, everything's evil. Tress wasn't like that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but...
Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I noticed a small box of children's toys in the corner. It was the only evidence that she had a child at all. It made me feel bad for her, that Paul was far from home, and how it must make her feel to look at those unused toys. There wasn't a single photograph of Paul to be seen; I surmised that it must hurt to look at them right now. The only picture I saw was a black and white one on an end table, a mom and dad with their little daughter.
"You have a cute place here," I said, smiling at her.
Tress put down her purse. "My first home. The Millstone is my second." Suddenly, she cringed and put a hand to her temple.
That was the first time I felt her projective empathy. There was a twinge of pain in my head, but I could clearly tell it wasn't mine. It felt hollow, like an echo off a vast mountain chain. Didn't even really hurt me - it was sort of like a message reverberating through my head, telling me Tress was hurting. "Are you okay?" I asked, putting a hand on her arm to steady her.
Then the pain was gone.
Tress shook it off. "Yeah, I'm alright. My pain medication is wearing off. Time for another dose."
"I should probably go, let you get some rest."
"Yeah. Thanks for walking me home." She looked up at me, and a smirk crossed her lips. I loved that naughty little look every time she gave it to me. "I'm not working tomorrow. Just gonna come to The Millstone and sit out by the pool for a while. You should join me."
The pool? I would have to get a bathing suit. It wasn't like Castiel told me to bring one. "Sounds like a lot of fun." Hey, it was like mid-summer outside; why not? "Will you be there around lunchtime?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, we can have lunch at Slade's. The menu on the wall said he has Hawaiian Burgers there. I'd like to know what a Hawaiian Burger tastes like."
Tress laughed. "You're gonna love it." For a second, we just stared at each other, and it was one of those moments where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Women get a certain look in their eyes. When I leaned over and moved my mouth toward hers, she leaned in too, and our lips came together in a sweet little kiss. I'll never forget that first touch of her lips to mine. The chasteness of it went right to my heart.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and she let me out. We were both grinning like idiots.
Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "What happened?" he asked.
Lying on the bed, I folded my arms under my head and just smiled up at the ceiling. "We've got a lunch date for tomorrow."
"You and Theresa?"
"No, you and me, silly. Yes, me and Theresa."
"Good." Castiel had his coats on again. "Try to get yourself invited to church soon."
"I will." With a contented sigh, I started babbling. "I've got to go get a bathing suit in the morning. She wants to laze around by the pool. I wonder what she looks like in a bathing suit. Hmmmm. I feel bad that she can't have her child with her right now - there wasn't a single picture of Paul anywhere in the - "
I finally realized that Castiel was gone.
Oh well. Before getting ready for bed, I just laid there a while longer and daydreamed of how nice our date was going to be. Just me and Tress, getting to know each other better. How often was a case that enjoyable?
On to Chapters 3-4