A Twist of Fate
Part Five (B)
It was just an empty warehouse, nothing special; square, wooden, dry, not particularly clean but not especially dirty either. It hadn’t been boarded up long, but squatters had already started to move in; Dean had persuaded them to leave with his colt. There were a few holes in the building’s façade where the squatters had created their own entrances. Dean boarded these up, boarded up the rear door, and then made a hole of his own. He removed the wooden plank that barred the double front doors of the warehouse and then settled down next to his hole to wait. Castiel now had no choice but to come in the front door. He would come in with the sun right at his back and Dean would get a good look at him, could make sure that he was by himself, before he decided on his next move. If Castiel was by himself and hadn’t come armed to the teeth, Dean would move out to confront him. If Castiel turned up with muscle, or a couple of six shooters, Dean would duck out the hole behind him before Castiel even had a chance to see him.
2.00 o’clock came and 2.00 o’clock went.
‘Sonovabitch,’ Dean muttered, ‘he ain’t comin.’
Just as Dean was giving up hope and figuring that he may as well cut his losses and leave, the front doors creaked and strained and then slowly, began to push open.
Castiel Novak was perhaps a fraction smaller than Dean. He had dark hair but other than that, all Dean could really see from the shadows where he was hidden, was that the man was wearing a long, beige coat and he appeared to be unarmed.
‘Dean?’ Castiel’s voice rang out firm and loud.
Dean stepped out of the darkness and walked steadily towards Castiel.
Castiel raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ he said fervently, before turning back to Dean. ‘I am pleased to see you looking so well. I have been very concerned for your safety.’
His earnest tone took Dean completely by surprise. ‘Who are you?’ he blurted.
Castiel cocked his head to one side and regarded Dean solemnly, with impossibly blue, unblinking eyes. ‘I am the one who freed you from the Hellfire Club,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said Dean, pulling the colt out from behind his back and pointing it at Castiel’s chest, ‘thanks for that.’
Castiel blinked and looked faintly hurt.
‘Why did you free me?’ Dean asked.
Castiel smiled. ‘May I show you something? It is in my inside pocket. May I reach for it?’
Dean nodded. ‘Go on.’ He kept his gun trained on Castiel’s heart.
Castiel reached inside his coat slowly and with exaggerated movements. He withdrew a brown, leather bound book from his inside pocket and held it out towards Dean.
Dean made no move to take it.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘It is the journal of John Winchester,’ Castiel replied.
Whatever Dean had been expecting, that wasn’t it, and he was so shocked that he lowered his gun and staggered back a few steps.
‘Are you alright?’ Castiel reached for him and Dean brought his gun up quickly.
‘Stay where you are.’
Castiel froze.
‘How did you get that?’ Dean waved his gun at the journal.
‘Your father gave it to me.’
Dean lowered his gun. ‘How do you know who I am?’ he whispered, ‘Me and Sam…we ain’t been goin’ by Winchester up here.’
“Perhaps we could sit?’ said Castiel, ‘this is a long tale and I wish you to be comfortable. You are safe with me, Dean. I have no desire to hurt you. Your father was a good friend of mine.’
‘Was?’ Dean’s voice was barely a whisper, but Castiel heard him.
‘I’m sorry, Dean,’ Castiel said softly, his eyes liquid with compassion, ‘we lost John when General Lee attacked us just outside of Petersburgh.’
Dean’s eyes pooled with tears. ‘No,’ he whispered.
‘I am sorry,’ Castiel said again, ‘your father died in April of ’65.’
The gun slipped from Dean’s fingers and he sank to the ground.
‘All this time…he’s been gone practically from the start. Sammy and me, we waited for him, and then we looked for him and…he’s gone. He was always gone.’
Dean gave up trying to stop his tears from falling. He sat and sobbed, rocking backwards and forwards, his chest aching and empty, and he didn’t care if Castiel tried to hurt him now because he was already hurting too much. He’d hoped…it had always been in the back of his mind…that they would find their father one day and then he could go back to being a kid… it wouldn’t all be on him anymore. He’d have somebody to look up to; to go to for advice. Dean lost track of time completely and when he came back to himself and once again began to take in his surroundings, he realized that he wasn’t rocking himself, Castiel was rocking him, holding him and rocking him and…Dean peeled himself away gently and huddled next to the wall. Castiel moved to sit next to him.
‘This has been a shock for you,’ Castiel commented. ‘For what it is worth, I am very sorry to have brought you this news.’
Dean nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’
There was a moment’s silence and then Castiel began to speak:
‘I met John Winchester in January of ’65. He was not an army regular, nor a starry-eyed volunteer wanting to do his bit for his country. John Winchester had been sent from the prison system. At first we all ignored him. We considered ourselves an elite unit; we’d been fighting together for several years, often deep in enemy territory, and we had no use, we thought, for a criminal who’d chosen the army over imprisonment. We’d had contact with such thugs before and they were, without exception, lazy, untrustworthy cowards. John Winchester, though, he proved to be an exception. He kept to himself, kept his weapons well maintained, he fought well and he was brave and self-sacrificing. Slowly, we began to include him in our camaraderie and eventually we learnt his story. John Winchester had been arrested for attempted murder. He did not flinch from that. Indeed he confessed quite openly that it was his intent to kill two men just as soon as he possibly could. These men were Alastair von Damon and another who your father knew only as Azazel. His reasons are laid out in his journal, along with everything he knew about every evil sonovabitch he came across in his journey to avenge your mother’s death. I’ll let you read that in your own time. Let me just say that when he lay dying, your father pressed this journal into the hands of his closest friend in our unit, Bobby Singer, and pleaded with him to find his boys and to look after them. Bobby promised that he would. As soon as the war ended, Bobby and I made our way to Kansas City and enquired after you at the Boarding House where we understood that you were residing. You see, your father had sent letters and a great deal of money to the Boarding House mistress explaining that he had been drafted and asking her to let you stay until he could return. When we arrived to take custody of you we found out the truth; that she had taken John’s money yet tossed you into the poorhouse just as soon as she could. We went there next, Bobby and I, and enquired after you with the master of the poorhouse, one Beadle Zachariah.’ Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s, ‘I may have lost my temper with the Beadle,’ he confessed, ‘he is…no angel, that man. He is everything I abhor most in a human being and when he bragged so joyously about the way he had so frequently ‘disciplined’ you…’ Castiel bit his bottom lip, ‘I may have lost it a little and…severely beaten him with his own cane.’
Dean grinned through his tears. ‘You know somethin’ Cas? I think I like you.’
Castiel ducked his head.
‘We had to leave town rather quickly. But the trail had dried up anyway. We knew that you had been apprenticed to the Undertaker, and we knew that you had run away.’ Castiel looked up at Dean again. ‘We were told that you had mutilated a corpse.’
Dean shook his head.
‘Sammy thought the guy was gonna turn into a…you know what, never mind. That’s not important. So I guess you guys gave up then, huh?’
Castiel shook his head. ‘We tried to pick up your trail for months, to no avail. And then Bobby gave John’s journal to me. His wife, Karen, was waiting at home for him, but I had no-one so I was happy to keep searching for you. Eventually though, I gave up too and sought work with the men from my former unit, work that would give me the opportunity to keep searching for you.’
Dean nodded.
‘So what is it that you do, Cas?’ he asked.
Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver star. He held it up for Dean to see and the light from the doorway reflected off it, casting long jagged shadows on the walls of the warehouse, which looked to Dean’s imagination almost like giant wings.
‘I am an officer of the law.’ Castiel said.
-X-
Sam tied his bedroll firmly and then lashed it to his duffel.
‘A cop, huh?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ Dean nodded. ‘I nearly decked him on principle.’
Sam grinned and shook his head. ‘Kinda cool, though,’ he said, ‘that we’ve got an officer of the law in our corner.’
Dean snorted. ‘He ain’t gonna turn a blind eye, Sammy. We ain’t neither of us gonna mention anything that might cause Cas to arrest us. And we don’t neither of us know anything about how Ruby ended up dead, right?’
Sam’s hands stopped their packing and he froze in place for a minute, before resuming his job nonchalantly.
‘I should feel bad about that,’ he said, ‘and I do, in a way.’ He frowned, ‘I guess a part of me’s mournin’ the girl she could’ve been if Alastair hadn’t pried open the cracks in her soul. But there’s another part of me can’t be anythin’ but glad that the girl who tortured my brother, got me hooked on Laudanum, and killed people for sport is dead.’
Dean pulled a face. ‘How about we don’t mention Ruby to anyone, ever again, period? Especially not Castiel.’
Sam hefted his duffel over his shoulder. ‘Fine by me. You ready to go?’
Dean nodded.
They’d been in the one squat for six days and now that Sam was doing alright, it was time to move on. On his way back from meeting Castiel, Dean had called in at the Horse’s Head to let Ash know how the meeting had gone and he’d learnt that Ruby’s body had been discovered. The police had no leads because if you lived south of Mulberry Bend you didn’t peach, not even on your fiercest enemy. But that didn’t mean people didn’t know who’d done what; and it didn’t mean there would be no retribution. Vengeance was personal in the slum district and Sam and Dean would have to watch their backs.
The Horse’s Head wasn’t the Trinity’s regular watering hole but you did occasionally get Azazel’s boys in there, hustling at the billiard table. Dean told Ash to let Jo know that he and Sam would be moving digs, and then eased out of the place with his head down. He took a long and winding path back to the squat, weaving around the huckster’s and peddler’s carts, stepping over the shoeshine boys, and the old Italian hags who sat hunched on the pavement, selling knots of stale bread, two for a cent. He crossed the street frequently, stopped often to look in windows and stare at the crowds reflected behind him. He doubled back occasionally, walked briskly, then slowly, and sometimes stopped abruptly. When he was sure that no-one was shadowing him he hurried home and told Sam that Ruby’d been found and they needed to start packing.
‘Got a place in mind?’ Sam asked as Dean headed towards the door.
‘There’s a place on Bone Alley, got maybe a dozen kids, no more’n ten years old, squattin’ there.’
Sam stared at him. ‘We’re kickin’ kids to the street now?’
Dean shook his head. ‘Just gonna take our own corner and mind our own business.’
Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘And when they get caught in the cross fire like Jess did?’
‘These are tough kids, Sam. They’ll know when to scram. If it comes to that.’
Sam huffed. ‘Everythin’ that’s gone down? Them killin’ Jess, me goin’ after Azazel, you gettin’ outta the Hellfire Club, Ruby…trust me Dean, the Trinity are layin’ low now but as soon as Alastair gets out on bail-and he will-they’re gonna be gunnin’ for us. We’ve become a liability.’
Dean looked at his little brother’s earnest hazel eyes and thought of the journal in his pocket.
‘I got a lot more to tell you too,’ he said, ‘but I wanna get outta here first.’
The kids-newsboys and pickpockets-responded to the arrival of two big, well-armed guys with uneasy silence.
‘Just need somewhere to crash for a couple days,’ Dean said to the room at large. ‘We ain’t gonna get in your way.’
They set themselves up in the far corner and then sat cross legged on their bedding, their backs leaning against the wall. Dean reached inside his jacket and pulled out a bottle of hooch that Ash had sold him under the counter, and the journal.
‘What’s that?’ Sam asked.
‘Moonshine. Ain’t the best I’ve ever had…Rufus’d be disgusted…but desperate times and all that.’ Dean took a swig and passed the bottle to Sam.
‘Funny, Dean.’ Sam took a swallow, pulled a face and handed the bottle back to his brother, ‘I meant the book.’
Before Dean could answer, a delegation of dirty, ragged kids approached, a scowling boy with straggly blond hair in the lead.
‘Can I help you boys?’ Dean looked up at the blond.
‘What do you want?’ the boy demanded, his voice trembling just a little.
‘Told you. A safe place to sleep for a couple days. That’s all.’
‘You got the law after you?’
Dean laughed easily. ‘Who ain’t got the law after ‘em ‘round here?’
That got a couple of grins from the group.
‘You got the gangs after you?’ the blond asked.
Dean’s grin faded. He could lie, but somehow he thought this kid would be able to tell.
‘Yeah,’ he met the boy’s eyes, not asking for anything, just waiting for his next move.
‘Dead Rabbits or Unholy Trinity?’
‘The Trinity.’
A chill blew through the group, ratcheting up the tension a notch.
For a moment all you could hear was breathing.
‘Well,’ said the blond finally, his tone nonchalant. ‘Ain’t you fucked.’
Dean threw his head back and laughed; heard Sammy chuckling quietly beside him.
‘Six ways from Sunday,’ he agreed.
‘What d’you do?’ one of the other boys asked.
‘Tried to get out,’ Sam said darkly.
‘And that right there,’ said the blond, ‘is why I won’t join no gang. Once you’re in they won’t let you out.’ He squinted at Sam. ‘I know you. You work for that big, black guy. I seen you…’ he trailed off, obviously thinking better of admitting what he’d seen Sam do. ‘Folks say you’re crazy-dangerous cuz the Trinity killed your girl and your brother.’
‘I’m his brother,’ Dean said, ‘and I ain’t dead. Wished I was a few times, but I ain’t.’
The kids all stared at him.
‘Good luck,’ the blond said finally, ‘I hope you make it.’
When the kids had gone Dean turned to his brother.
‘This,’ he tapped the book, ‘is Dad’s journal. Castiel gave it to me.’ He hesitated and then said: ‘I got bad news, Sam.’
He watched the wheels turn in Sam’s head.
‘Dad’s dead isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, Sammy. I’m sorry.’
Sam’s face was carefully blank. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he said, ‘but I barely remember the man.’ He paused to gauge his brother’s reaction, concerned that his admission might have made Dean angry. Dean’s face was as carefully blank as his own, so he asked: ‘Are you okay?’
Dean shrugged. ‘He’s been gone a long time. I guess deep down I always knew it was gonna come to this.’
Dean explained what Castiel had told him about their Dad, and about Castiel’s long search to find them. Sam frowned.
‘But…how did he figure you for John’s son?’
Dean’s face darkened. ‘Seems Alastair knew. The cops had a search and seizure warrant for the Club and Castiel was one of the team packing up the files in Alastair’s office. Others were going from dun-’ Dean bit back the word dungeon; no need to give his brother nightmares, ‘uh, room to room, rounding up all the…staff. My file was labeled Dean Turner…AKA Dean Winchester. As soon as Cas saw the name, he came to find me, convinced his boss I was there under duress, which wasn’t too hard to believe given-’ Dean stopped himself abruptly. ‘Anyway, he got permission to take me back to his place. The doctor who examined me said I’d be unconscious for hours so Cas left me in bed and ducked out to get some food. When he got back I’d gone.’
Sam’s fingers twisted and drummed awkwardly for a moment and then he said tentatively: ‘I’ve seen your back, Dean.’
Dean didn’t know what to say to that so he took a long drink of hooch.
Sam was looking at him, eyes all big and dark and pleading. ‘We can talk about it,’ he offered softly, ‘if you want to.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Dean snapped immediately.
‘Okay,’ Sam said gently, ‘that’s okay; whatever you want. But…it might help if you did…’
Dean shook his head and raised a horrified hand to his face as he felt unbidden tears well up in his eyes and slide down his cheeks.
‘I ain’t gonna talk about it Sammy,’ he said, voice coming out a lot less steady than he would’ve liked. ‘You wouldn’t understand. And I could never make you understand.’
‘Okay,’ Sam nodded, ‘but if you change your mind-’
‘I won’t.’
‘But if you do,’ Sam persisted, ‘then I’m always here for you.’
Dean wiped at his face and took another long drink of moonshine.
‘You didn’t ask the obvious question,’ he said.
Sam frowned.
‘About Alastair,’ Dean hinted.
Sam’s face clouded. ‘What did that bastard do to you?’
Dean sighed. ‘How did he know who I was? We ain’t never used the name Winchester up here.’
Once again, Dean watched the cogs in his brother’s giant brain whirl, and then Sam’s face cleared. ‘He knew Dad; chances are he knew about us; our names at least. And Dean ain’t exactly a common name. When we turned up he did his research; figured out who we were.’ Sam frowned, ‘we weren’t exactly too subtle in the early days, askin’ everyone who’d been in the Tombs if they’d seen ‘John’ and givin’ out his description.’
‘Yeah. Not too hard to put all that together and come up with Winchester.’ Dean waggled the journal. ‘I’m gonna read through this. Apparently everything Dad knew about the people who killed Mom is in here.’
Sam climbed to his feet and stretched. ‘And I’m gonna go get supper for us.’
-X-
The front door of the squat was kicked open forcefully and Dean was on his feet with his colt in his hand before his brain had even fully processed the threat. Or, as it turned out, lack of threat.
‘Sorry,’ said Sam, ‘I didn’t mean to kick it so hard.’
Sam had a dead goat slung across his shoulders and hessian sacks in each hand.
Dean tucked the colt into the back of his trousers and gestured at the goat.
‘What the fuck, Sammy?’
‘Found it lying on the street, up where all the Chinese markets are,’ he winked at the kids who’d gravitated across to stare. ‘Guess it fell off the back of a cart. Their loss, our gain, right?’
Sam put down the sacks and then rolled his shoulders forward, dumping the goat carcass over the top of his head. It hit the floor at his feet, all ungainly splayed legs, its head tilted at an unnatural angle and suddenly, with a harsh intake of breath, Dean is back there; spread legs manacled to the floor, arms crossed at the wrists and chained to the ceiling. He’s not blindfolded, they want him to see, want to see his fear, and he’s trying to keep his expression clear, trying to reassure Mei Lin with his eyes, let her know she’s not alone, that they’ll get through this, but the last twenty minutes she’s been rapidly losing focus, and finally she goes slack, her head lolling forward, and only the chains are keeping her upright. Her lack of response bores the johns so they turn back to him. He already hurts everywhere, so their attentions don’t register too much, it’s just more of the same, but he writhes and moans and cries anyway, gives them their money’s worth because customer satisfaction is guaranteed and Alastair will take it out of his ass if the johns complain. The johns finish with him and leave and Mei Lin still doesn’t rouse. The Quack arrives, finally, frowns, lifts Mei Lin’s head, and curses. He takes her pulse and curses again. He rushes out into the hallway and shouts at the security guys.
‘Stop those men! We’ve got a fucking code blue, in here!’
Dean shouts, as well as he can with a ring gag holding his mouth open, but the Quack ignores him. He unchains Mei Lin’s wrists and she hits the floor at his feet, all ungainly splayed arms and legs, her head tilted at an unnatural angle.
Dean yells again, and yells, and yells, the noise tearing from his throat; wordless, guttural pain. The Quack whirls on him and slaps his face hard.
‘Shut up you worthless whore,’ he hisses, ‘shut up!’ the final word is punctuated by another slap. Dean moans softly and he sees a modicum of understanding flare in the Quack’s eyes. The man spins away abruptly and rummages in his black bag for a moment, before turning back to Dean with a syringe in his hand. He plunges it into Dean’s thigh just as the head of security walks into the dungeon. The last thing Dean hears before unconsciousness mercifully takes him is the Quack saying: ‘Hypovolemic shock. They basically whipped her to death.’
‘Dean? Dean? C’mon, man. Please be alright.’
Dean opened his eyes and stared straight up into his brother’s frightened gaze.
‘You okay?’ Sam asked.
‘Yeah.’ Dean sat up. ‘Why’m I on the floor?’
Sam gave a shaky laugh.
‘You just kinda keeled over.’
‘Huh. Must be hungry or something.’
Sam harrumphed and muttered ‘yeah, or something,’ under his breath.
‘I’m gonna butcher the goat,’ he said out loud.
Dean’s pupils widened and the freckles on his face became noticeably darker.
‘Can you make us a fire place?’ Sam asked, ‘nothing flashy, just figured it’d be good to exhaust the smoke outside so we ain’t all chokin’ on it.’
Dean took care of the fireplace while Sam skinned and chopped the goat, organized the kids to chop vegetables and sent a few of them out to steal a large stew pot. A couple of hours later a large pot of goat and vegetable stew was steaming away in Dean’s new fireplace and Sam had sent all the kids out to scrounge up some bowls.
Sam went and got the moonshine out of Dean’s duffel and then sat down next to him on a makeshift bench the kids had concocted; a plank of wood stretched across two cut down barrels.
‘Good job with the fire place,’ Sam said, taking a swig of hooch and handing the bottle off to his brother, ‘I don’t reckon I ever told you how impressed I was when you fixed up that fire place back in our old rooms. You’re good at makin’ stuff Dean.’
Dean took a long drink and then leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees and his arms hanging forward, the bottle held loosely between his fingers.
‘I ain’t talkin’ about it,’ he said, ‘so you can quit tryin’ to butter me up.’
‘Fair enough. You learn anythin’ from Dad’s journal?’
Dean nodded. ‘A lot. None of it good.’
He passed the moonshine back to Sam and went and retrieved the journal from his bag
‘Listen to this: January 1859 - I went to Missouri and learned the truth.’
Sam scrunched up his face. ‘Dad went to Missouri? A couple months after Mom died?’
‘No, as it turns out. Missouri’s a person. Missouri Moseley. And she had quite a tale to tell,’ Dean stared pensively into the distance. ‘I don’t really remember our grandparents that well, and they died before you were born, Sammy, so you ain’t gonna remember ‘em at all. Seems Grandma and Grandpa Campbell were active abolitionists; knew John Brown real well. Missouri was a runaway slave and she stayed with Grandma and Grandpa for most of ’58. Dad went to see her after Mom died cuz he needed to find out the truth about something that happened that August,’ Dean’s eyes flicked up to Sam’s face and then drifted back off into the distance. ‘Apparently Mom and me were visiting Grandma and Grandpa Campbell one day and while we were there a pro slavery posse came to the door. Grandpa Campbell made Mom and me hide in a secret room behind the pantry, along with Missouri. To cut a long story short, things went south pretty fast and Mom heard a couple guns go off. She left me with Missouri, snuck out of our hiding spot and confronted the posse with a kitchen knife.’
Dean stopped talking and grabbed the hooch from Sam. He took a long drink, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then passed the bottle back to Sam before continuing.
‘It’s, ah…the rest…it ain’t a pretty story.’
‘Go on,’ Sam encouraged.
Dean rubbed a hand across his eyes, swallowed hard and then stared at the floor.
‘The leader of the posse was real impressed by Mom’s spunk,’ Dean said slowly. ‘He sent the others outside to burn our grandparent’s bodies and then…and then…’ Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper, ‘he raped her, Sammy.’ He looked up at his brother. ‘And the bastard who did that, who killed our grandparents and raped our Mom…it was Azazel.’
‘Azazel? I was expectin’ you to say Alastair.’
‘The story ain’t over yet.’
Something occurred to Sam and he frowned. He did some quick math and the bottom dropped out of his world.
‘Am I…Oh God…’ suddenly Sam needed a hit so badly that he ached, ‘I’m not…his…am I?’ His blood was roaring in his ears, his heart was pounding, and he might not remember Dad but that didn’t mean-Dean’s arm was suddenly around his shoulders, holding him firmly, grounding him.
‘No! God no! I wouldn’t’ve told you like this if you were. Mom was already pregnant with you when…it happened.’
‘Sick fuck!’ Sam spat.
‘Yeah. Thing is, Sammy, Azazel spotted Mom in town when you were almost ready to pop out, and he became obsessed; convinced you were his. Mom laughed at him, told him he wasn’t good enough to be a father. She was worried though, so she talked to Missouri; the only one who knew what he’d done to her. To cut a long story short again, it seems Azazel decided that if he couldn’t have you, no-one could. He passed through Lawrence next when you were six months old, him and Alastair, and…well…you know what happened.’
Sam nodded. ‘So all this…everything that happened to us…it’s my fault.’
Dean hugged him tightly. ‘Don’t be stupid. None of it’s your fault! The only person to blame is Azazel.’
Sam grimaced. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I blame him for a lot. Mom, Jess. He tried real hard to turn me into his son too.’
The boys sat in silence, Dean drinking quietly while Sam got his own cravings under control. After a while Sam took the hooch away from his brother, capped it and put it on the floor behind them. ‘While we’re sharin’ good news, I saw Jake while I was out earlier.’
‘Jake? As in Jake Talley, Azazel’s latest ‘special’ boy’?
Sam nodded.
Dean’s face tightened. ‘Fuck. Did he see you?’
‘Yeah. We talked for a while, actually. I told him that I killed Ruby.’
Dean was on his feet before his brain caught on that he’d decided to move.
‘You did what?’ he snarled.
Sam shrugged. ‘They already knew. Figured I may as well get my version out there. I told Jake she was playing games with me, withholding my Laudanum, taunting me with it. I told him I was a desperate mess; that she had it in her hand, but she wouldn’t give it to me and I just snapped.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That I should go and see Azazel. He tried to get me to go with him then and there, but I made out like I was desperate for a hit. Told him I was smokin’ an opium pipe now, that I’d found a supplier out in Chinatown. He asked me if I’d seen you and I played it all confused. He said you were out and I told him I’d go look for you after I got my hit. He seemed pretty convinced I was a total fuck up. Which is good. It means Azazel ain’t gonna be expecting it when you and me go over to his place tomorrow and blow his fuckin’ brains out.’
Part Six (A)
It was just an empty warehouse, nothing special; square, wooden, dry, not particularly clean but not especially dirty either. It hadn’t been boarded up long, but squatters had already started to move in; Dean had persuaded them to leave with his colt. There were a few holes in the building’s façade where the squatters had created their own entrances. Dean boarded these up, boarded up the rear door, and then made a hole of his own. He removed the wooden plank that barred the double front doors of the warehouse and then settled down next to his hole to wait. Castiel now had no choice but to come in the front door. He would come in with the sun right at his back and Dean would get a good look at him, could make sure that he was by himself, before he decided on his next move. If Castiel was by himself and hadn’t come armed to the teeth, Dean would move out to confront him. If Castiel turned up with muscle, or a couple of six shooters, Dean would duck out the hole behind him before Castiel even had a chance to see him.
2.00 o’clock came and 2.00 o’clock went.
‘Sonovabitch,’ Dean muttered, ‘he ain’t comin.’
Just as Dean was giving up hope and figuring that he may as well cut his losses and leave, the front doors creaked and strained and then slowly, began to push open.
Castiel Novak was perhaps a fraction smaller than Dean. He had dark hair but other than that, all Dean could really see from the shadows where he was hidden, was that the man was wearing a long, beige coat and he appeared to be unarmed.
‘Dean?’ Castiel’s voice rang out firm and loud.
Dean stepped out of the darkness and walked steadily towards Castiel.
Castiel raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ he said fervently, before turning back to Dean. ‘I am pleased to see you looking so well. I have been very concerned for your safety.’
His earnest tone took Dean completely by surprise. ‘Who are you?’ he blurted.
Castiel cocked his head to one side and regarded Dean solemnly, with impossibly blue, unblinking eyes. ‘I am the one who freed you from the Hellfire Club,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said Dean, pulling the colt out from behind his back and pointing it at Castiel’s chest, ‘thanks for that.’
Castiel blinked and looked faintly hurt.
‘Why did you free me?’ Dean asked.
Castiel smiled. ‘May I show you something? It is in my inside pocket. May I reach for it?’
Dean nodded. ‘Go on.’ He kept his gun trained on Castiel’s heart.
Castiel reached inside his coat slowly and with exaggerated movements. He withdrew a brown, leather bound book from his inside pocket and held it out towards Dean.
Dean made no move to take it.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘It is the journal of John Winchester,’ Castiel replied.
Whatever Dean had been expecting, that wasn’t it, and he was so shocked that he lowered his gun and staggered back a few steps.
‘Are you alright?’ Castiel reached for him and Dean brought his gun up quickly.
‘Stay where you are.’
Castiel froze.
‘How did you get that?’ Dean waved his gun at the journal.
‘Your father gave it to me.’
Dean lowered his gun. ‘How do you know who I am?’ he whispered, ‘Me and Sam…we ain’t been goin’ by Winchester up here.’
“Perhaps we could sit?’ said Castiel, ‘this is a long tale and I wish you to be comfortable. You are safe with me, Dean. I have no desire to hurt you. Your father was a good friend of mine.’
‘Was?’ Dean’s voice was barely a whisper, but Castiel heard him.
‘I’m sorry, Dean,’ Castiel said softly, his eyes liquid with compassion, ‘we lost John when General Lee attacked us just outside of Petersburgh.’
Dean’s eyes pooled with tears. ‘No,’ he whispered.
‘I am sorry,’ Castiel said again, ‘your father died in April of ’65.’
The gun slipped from Dean’s fingers and he sank to the ground.
‘All this time…he’s been gone practically from the start. Sammy and me, we waited for him, and then we looked for him and…he’s gone. He was always gone.’
Dean gave up trying to stop his tears from falling. He sat and sobbed, rocking backwards and forwards, his chest aching and empty, and he didn’t care if Castiel tried to hurt him now because he was already hurting too much. He’d hoped…it had always been in the back of his mind…that they would find their father one day and then he could go back to being a kid… it wouldn’t all be on him anymore. He’d have somebody to look up to; to go to for advice. Dean lost track of time completely and when he came back to himself and once again began to take in his surroundings, he realized that he wasn’t rocking himself, Castiel was rocking him, holding him and rocking him and…Dean peeled himself away gently and huddled next to the wall. Castiel moved to sit next to him.
‘This has been a shock for you,’ Castiel commented. ‘For what it is worth, I am very sorry to have brought you this news.’
Dean nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’
There was a moment’s silence and then Castiel began to speak:
‘I met John Winchester in January of ’65. He was not an army regular, nor a starry-eyed volunteer wanting to do his bit for his country. John Winchester had been sent from the prison system. At first we all ignored him. We considered ourselves an elite unit; we’d been fighting together for several years, often deep in enemy territory, and we had no use, we thought, for a criminal who’d chosen the army over imprisonment. We’d had contact with such thugs before and they were, without exception, lazy, untrustworthy cowards. John Winchester, though, he proved to be an exception. He kept to himself, kept his weapons well maintained, he fought well and he was brave and self-sacrificing. Slowly, we began to include him in our camaraderie and eventually we learnt his story. John Winchester had been arrested for attempted murder. He did not flinch from that. Indeed he confessed quite openly that it was his intent to kill two men just as soon as he possibly could. These men were Alastair von Damon and another who your father knew only as Azazel. His reasons are laid out in his journal, along with everything he knew about every evil sonovabitch he came across in his journey to avenge your mother’s death. I’ll let you read that in your own time. Let me just say that when he lay dying, your father pressed this journal into the hands of his closest friend in our unit, Bobby Singer, and pleaded with him to find his boys and to look after them. Bobby promised that he would. As soon as the war ended, Bobby and I made our way to Kansas City and enquired after you at the Boarding House where we understood that you were residing. You see, your father had sent letters and a great deal of money to the Boarding House mistress explaining that he had been drafted and asking her to let you stay until he could return. When we arrived to take custody of you we found out the truth; that she had taken John’s money yet tossed you into the poorhouse just as soon as she could. We went there next, Bobby and I, and enquired after you with the master of the poorhouse, one Beadle Zachariah.’ Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s, ‘I may have lost my temper with the Beadle,’ he confessed, ‘he is…no angel, that man. He is everything I abhor most in a human being and when he bragged so joyously about the way he had so frequently ‘disciplined’ you…’ Castiel bit his bottom lip, ‘I may have lost it a little and…severely beaten him with his own cane.’
Dean grinned through his tears. ‘You know somethin’ Cas? I think I like you.’
Castiel ducked his head.
‘We had to leave town rather quickly. But the trail had dried up anyway. We knew that you had been apprenticed to the Undertaker, and we knew that you had run away.’ Castiel looked up at Dean again. ‘We were told that you had mutilated a corpse.’
Dean shook his head.
‘Sammy thought the guy was gonna turn into a…you know what, never mind. That’s not important. So I guess you guys gave up then, huh?’
Castiel shook his head. ‘We tried to pick up your trail for months, to no avail. And then Bobby gave John’s journal to me. His wife, Karen, was waiting at home for him, but I had no-one so I was happy to keep searching for you. Eventually though, I gave up too and sought work with the men from my former unit, work that would give me the opportunity to keep searching for you.’
Dean nodded.
‘So what is it that you do, Cas?’ he asked.
Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver star. He held it up for Dean to see and the light from the doorway reflected off it, casting long jagged shadows on the walls of the warehouse, which looked to Dean’s imagination almost like giant wings.
‘I am an officer of the law.’ Castiel said.
-X-
Sam tied his bedroll firmly and then lashed it to his duffel.
‘A cop, huh?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ Dean nodded. ‘I nearly decked him on principle.’
Sam grinned and shook his head. ‘Kinda cool, though,’ he said, ‘that we’ve got an officer of the law in our corner.’
Dean snorted. ‘He ain’t gonna turn a blind eye, Sammy. We ain’t neither of us gonna mention anything that might cause Cas to arrest us. And we don’t neither of us know anything about how Ruby ended up dead, right?’
Sam’s hands stopped their packing and he froze in place for a minute, before resuming his job nonchalantly.
‘I should feel bad about that,’ he said, ‘and I do, in a way.’ He frowned, ‘I guess a part of me’s mournin’ the girl she could’ve been if Alastair hadn’t pried open the cracks in her soul. But there’s another part of me can’t be anythin’ but glad that the girl who tortured my brother, got me hooked on Laudanum, and killed people for sport is dead.’
Dean pulled a face. ‘How about we don’t mention Ruby to anyone, ever again, period? Especially not Castiel.’
Sam hefted his duffel over his shoulder. ‘Fine by me. You ready to go?’
Dean nodded.
They’d been in the one squat for six days and now that Sam was doing alright, it was time to move on. On his way back from meeting Castiel, Dean had called in at the Horse’s Head to let Ash know how the meeting had gone and he’d learnt that Ruby’s body had been discovered. The police had no leads because if you lived south of Mulberry Bend you didn’t peach, not even on your fiercest enemy. But that didn’t mean people didn’t know who’d done what; and it didn’t mean there would be no retribution. Vengeance was personal in the slum district and Sam and Dean would have to watch their backs.
The Horse’s Head wasn’t the Trinity’s regular watering hole but you did occasionally get Azazel’s boys in there, hustling at the billiard table. Dean told Ash to let Jo know that he and Sam would be moving digs, and then eased out of the place with his head down. He took a long and winding path back to the squat, weaving around the huckster’s and peddler’s carts, stepping over the shoeshine boys, and the old Italian hags who sat hunched on the pavement, selling knots of stale bread, two for a cent. He crossed the street frequently, stopped often to look in windows and stare at the crowds reflected behind him. He doubled back occasionally, walked briskly, then slowly, and sometimes stopped abruptly. When he was sure that no-one was shadowing him he hurried home and told Sam that Ruby’d been found and they needed to start packing.
‘Got a place in mind?’ Sam asked as Dean headed towards the door.
‘There’s a place on Bone Alley, got maybe a dozen kids, no more’n ten years old, squattin’ there.’
Sam stared at him. ‘We’re kickin’ kids to the street now?’
Dean shook his head. ‘Just gonna take our own corner and mind our own business.’
Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘And when they get caught in the cross fire like Jess did?’
‘These are tough kids, Sam. They’ll know when to scram. If it comes to that.’
Sam huffed. ‘Everythin’ that’s gone down? Them killin’ Jess, me goin’ after Azazel, you gettin’ outta the Hellfire Club, Ruby…trust me Dean, the Trinity are layin’ low now but as soon as Alastair gets out on bail-and he will-they’re gonna be gunnin’ for us. We’ve become a liability.’
Dean looked at his little brother’s earnest hazel eyes and thought of the journal in his pocket.
‘I got a lot more to tell you too,’ he said, ‘but I wanna get outta here first.’
The kids-newsboys and pickpockets-responded to the arrival of two big, well-armed guys with uneasy silence.
‘Just need somewhere to crash for a couple days,’ Dean said to the room at large. ‘We ain’t gonna get in your way.’
They set themselves up in the far corner and then sat cross legged on their bedding, their backs leaning against the wall. Dean reached inside his jacket and pulled out a bottle of hooch that Ash had sold him under the counter, and the journal.
‘What’s that?’ Sam asked.
‘Moonshine. Ain’t the best I’ve ever had…Rufus’d be disgusted…but desperate times and all that.’ Dean took a swig and passed the bottle to Sam.
‘Funny, Dean.’ Sam took a swallow, pulled a face and handed the bottle back to his brother, ‘I meant the book.’
Before Dean could answer, a delegation of dirty, ragged kids approached, a scowling boy with straggly blond hair in the lead.
‘Can I help you boys?’ Dean looked up at the blond.
‘What do you want?’ the boy demanded, his voice trembling just a little.
‘Told you. A safe place to sleep for a couple days. That’s all.’
‘You got the law after you?’
Dean laughed easily. ‘Who ain’t got the law after ‘em ‘round here?’
That got a couple of grins from the group.
‘You got the gangs after you?’ the blond asked.
Dean’s grin faded. He could lie, but somehow he thought this kid would be able to tell.
‘Yeah,’ he met the boy’s eyes, not asking for anything, just waiting for his next move.
‘Dead Rabbits or Unholy Trinity?’
‘The Trinity.’
A chill blew through the group, ratcheting up the tension a notch.
For a moment all you could hear was breathing.
‘Well,’ said the blond finally, his tone nonchalant. ‘Ain’t you fucked.’
Dean threw his head back and laughed; heard Sammy chuckling quietly beside him.
‘Six ways from Sunday,’ he agreed.
‘What d’you do?’ one of the other boys asked.
‘Tried to get out,’ Sam said darkly.
‘And that right there,’ said the blond, ‘is why I won’t join no gang. Once you’re in they won’t let you out.’ He squinted at Sam. ‘I know you. You work for that big, black guy. I seen you…’ he trailed off, obviously thinking better of admitting what he’d seen Sam do. ‘Folks say you’re crazy-dangerous cuz the Trinity killed your girl and your brother.’
‘I’m his brother,’ Dean said, ‘and I ain’t dead. Wished I was a few times, but I ain’t.’
The kids all stared at him.
‘Good luck,’ the blond said finally, ‘I hope you make it.’
When the kids had gone Dean turned to his brother.
‘This,’ he tapped the book, ‘is Dad’s journal. Castiel gave it to me.’ He hesitated and then said: ‘I got bad news, Sam.’
He watched the wheels turn in Sam’s head.
‘Dad’s dead isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, Sammy. I’m sorry.’
Sam’s face was carefully blank. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he said, ‘but I barely remember the man.’ He paused to gauge his brother’s reaction, concerned that his admission might have made Dean angry. Dean’s face was as carefully blank as his own, so he asked: ‘Are you okay?’
Dean shrugged. ‘He’s been gone a long time. I guess deep down I always knew it was gonna come to this.’
Dean explained what Castiel had told him about their Dad, and about Castiel’s long search to find them. Sam frowned.
‘But…how did he figure you for John’s son?’
Dean’s face darkened. ‘Seems Alastair knew. The cops had a search and seizure warrant for the Club and Castiel was one of the team packing up the files in Alastair’s office. Others were going from dun-’ Dean bit back the word dungeon; no need to give his brother nightmares, ‘uh, room to room, rounding up all the…staff. My file was labeled Dean Turner…AKA Dean Winchester. As soon as Cas saw the name, he came to find me, convinced his boss I was there under duress, which wasn’t too hard to believe given-’ Dean stopped himself abruptly. ‘Anyway, he got permission to take me back to his place. The doctor who examined me said I’d be unconscious for hours so Cas left me in bed and ducked out to get some food. When he got back I’d gone.’
Sam’s fingers twisted and drummed awkwardly for a moment and then he said tentatively: ‘I’ve seen your back, Dean.’
Dean didn’t know what to say to that so he took a long drink of hooch.
Sam was looking at him, eyes all big and dark and pleading. ‘We can talk about it,’ he offered softly, ‘if you want to.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Dean snapped immediately.
‘Okay,’ Sam said gently, ‘that’s okay; whatever you want. But…it might help if you did…’
Dean shook his head and raised a horrified hand to his face as he felt unbidden tears well up in his eyes and slide down his cheeks.
‘I ain’t gonna talk about it Sammy,’ he said, voice coming out a lot less steady than he would’ve liked. ‘You wouldn’t understand. And I could never make you understand.’
‘Okay,’ Sam nodded, ‘but if you change your mind-’
‘I won’t.’
‘But if you do,’ Sam persisted, ‘then I’m always here for you.’
Dean wiped at his face and took another long drink of moonshine.
‘You didn’t ask the obvious question,’ he said.
Sam frowned.
‘About Alastair,’ Dean hinted.
Sam’s face clouded. ‘What did that bastard do to you?’
Dean sighed. ‘How did he know who I was? We ain’t never used the name Winchester up here.’
Once again, Dean watched the cogs in his brother’s giant brain whirl, and then Sam’s face cleared. ‘He knew Dad; chances are he knew about us; our names at least. And Dean ain’t exactly a common name. When we turned up he did his research; figured out who we were.’ Sam frowned, ‘we weren’t exactly too subtle in the early days, askin’ everyone who’d been in the Tombs if they’d seen ‘John’ and givin’ out his description.’
‘Yeah. Not too hard to put all that together and come up with Winchester.’ Dean waggled the journal. ‘I’m gonna read through this. Apparently everything Dad knew about the people who killed Mom is in here.’
Sam climbed to his feet and stretched. ‘And I’m gonna go get supper for us.’
-X-
The front door of the squat was kicked open forcefully and Dean was on his feet with his colt in his hand before his brain had even fully processed the threat. Or, as it turned out, lack of threat.
‘Sorry,’ said Sam, ‘I didn’t mean to kick it so hard.’
Sam had a dead goat slung across his shoulders and hessian sacks in each hand.
Dean tucked the colt into the back of his trousers and gestured at the goat.
‘What the fuck, Sammy?’
‘Found it lying on the street, up where all the Chinese markets are,’ he winked at the kids who’d gravitated across to stare. ‘Guess it fell off the back of a cart. Their loss, our gain, right?’
Sam put down the sacks and then rolled his shoulders forward, dumping the goat carcass over the top of his head. It hit the floor at his feet, all ungainly splayed legs, its head tilted at an unnatural angle and suddenly, with a harsh intake of breath, Dean is back there; spread legs manacled to the floor, arms crossed at the wrists and chained to the ceiling. He’s not blindfolded, they want him to see, want to see his fear, and he’s trying to keep his expression clear, trying to reassure Mei Lin with his eyes, let her know she’s not alone, that they’ll get through this, but the last twenty minutes she’s been rapidly losing focus, and finally she goes slack, her head lolling forward, and only the chains are keeping her upright. Her lack of response bores the johns so they turn back to him. He already hurts everywhere, so their attentions don’t register too much, it’s just more of the same, but he writhes and moans and cries anyway, gives them their money’s worth because customer satisfaction is guaranteed and Alastair will take it out of his ass if the johns complain. The johns finish with him and leave and Mei Lin still doesn’t rouse. The Quack arrives, finally, frowns, lifts Mei Lin’s head, and curses. He takes her pulse and curses again. He rushes out into the hallway and shouts at the security guys.
‘Stop those men! We’ve got a fucking code blue, in here!’
Dean shouts, as well as he can with a ring gag holding his mouth open, but the Quack ignores him. He unchains Mei Lin’s wrists and she hits the floor at his feet, all ungainly splayed arms and legs, her head tilted at an unnatural angle.
Dean yells again, and yells, and yells, the noise tearing from his throat; wordless, guttural pain. The Quack whirls on him and slaps his face hard.
‘Shut up you worthless whore,’ he hisses, ‘shut up!’ the final word is punctuated by another slap. Dean moans softly and he sees a modicum of understanding flare in the Quack’s eyes. The man spins away abruptly and rummages in his black bag for a moment, before turning back to Dean with a syringe in his hand. He plunges it into Dean’s thigh just as the head of security walks into the dungeon. The last thing Dean hears before unconsciousness mercifully takes him is the Quack saying: ‘Hypovolemic shock. They basically whipped her to death.’
‘Dean? Dean? C’mon, man. Please be alright.’
Dean opened his eyes and stared straight up into his brother’s frightened gaze.
‘You okay?’ Sam asked.
‘Yeah.’ Dean sat up. ‘Why’m I on the floor?’
Sam gave a shaky laugh.
‘You just kinda keeled over.’
‘Huh. Must be hungry or something.’
Sam harrumphed and muttered ‘yeah, or something,’ under his breath.
‘I’m gonna butcher the goat,’ he said out loud.
Dean’s pupils widened and the freckles on his face became noticeably darker.
‘Can you make us a fire place?’ Sam asked, ‘nothing flashy, just figured it’d be good to exhaust the smoke outside so we ain’t all chokin’ on it.’
Dean took care of the fireplace while Sam skinned and chopped the goat, organized the kids to chop vegetables and sent a few of them out to steal a large stew pot. A couple of hours later a large pot of goat and vegetable stew was steaming away in Dean’s new fireplace and Sam had sent all the kids out to scrounge up some bowls.
Sam went and got the moonshine out of Dean’s duffel and then sat down next to him on a makeshift bench the kids had concocted; a plank of wood stretched across two cut down barrels.
‘Good job with the fire place,’ Sam said, taking a swig of hooch and handing the bottle off to his brother, ‘I don’t reckon I ever told you how impressed I was when you fixed up that fire place back in our old rooms. You’re good at makin’ stuff Dean.’
Dean took a long drink and then leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees and his arms hanging forward, the bottle held loosely between his fingers.
‘I ain’t talkin’ about it,’ he said, ‘so you can quit tryin’ to butter me up.’
‘Fair enough. You learn anythin’ from Dad’s journal?’
Dean nodded. ‘A lot. None of it good.’
He passed the moonshine back to Sam and went and retrieved the journal from his bag
‘Listen to this: January 1859 - I went to Missouri and learned the truth.’
Sam scrunched up his face. ‘Dad went to Missouri? A couple months after Mom died?’
‘No, as it turns out. Missouri’s a person. Missouri Moseley. And she had quite a tale to tell,’ Dean stared pensively into the distance. ‘I don’t really remember our grandparents that well, and they died before you were born, Sammy, so you ain’t gonna remember ‘em at all. Seems Grandma and Grandpa Campbell were active abolitionists; knew John Brown real well. Missouri was a runaway slave and she stayed with Grandma and Grandpa for most of ’58. Dad went to see her after Mom died cuz he needed to find out the truth about something that happened that August,’ Dean’s eyes flicked up to Sam’s face and then drifted back off into the distance. ‘Apparently Mom and me were visiting Grandma and Grandpa Campbell one day and while we were there a pro slavery posse came to the door. Grandpa Campbell made Mom and me hide in a secret room behind the pantry, along with Missouri. To cut a long story short, things went south pretty fast and Mom heard a couple guns go off. She left me with Missouri, snuck out of our hiding spot and confronted the posse with a kitchen knife.’
Dean stopped talking and grabbed the hooch from Sam. He took a long drink, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then passed the bottle back to Sam before continuing.
‘It’s, ah…the rest…it ain’t a pretty story.’
‘Go on,’ Sam encouraged.
Dean rubbed a hand across his eyes, swallowed hard and then stared at the floor.
‘The leader of the posse was real impressed by Mom’s spunk,’ Dean said slowly. ‘He sent the others outside to burn our grandparent’s bodies and then…and then…’ Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper, ‘he raped her, Sammy.’ He looked up at his brother. ‘And the bastard who did that, who killed our grandparents and raped our Mom…it was Azazel.’
‘Azazel? I was expectin’ you to say Alastair.’
‘The story ain’t over yet.’
Something occurred to Sam and he frowned. He did some quick math and the bottom dropped out of his world.
‘Am I…Oh God…’ suddenly Sam needed a hit so badly that he ached, ‘I’m not…his…am I?’ His blood was roaring in his ears, his heart was pounding, and he might not remember Dad but that didn’t mean-Dean’s arm was suddenly around his shoulders, holding him firmly, grounding him.
‘No! God no! I wouldn’t’ve told you like this if you were. Mom was already pregnant with you when…it happened.’
‘Sick fuck!’ Sam spat.
‘Yeah. Thing is, Sammy, Azazel spotted Mom in town when you were almost ready to pop out, and he became obsessed; convinced you were his. Mom laughed at him, told him he wasn’t good enough to be a father. She was worried though, so she talked to Missouri; the only one who knew what he’d done to her. To cut a long story short again, it seems Azazel decided that if he couldn’t have you, no-one could. He passed through Lawrence next when you were six months old, him and Alastair, and…well…you know what happened.’
Sam nodded. ‘So all this…everything that happened to us…it’s my fault.’
Dean hugged him tightly. ‘Don’t be stupid. None of it’s your fault! The only person to blame is Azazel.’
Sam grimaced. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I blame him for a lot. Mom, Jess. He tried real hard to turn me into his son too.’
The boys sat in silence, Dean drinking quietly while Sam got his own cravings under control. After a while Sam took the hooch away from his brother, capped it and put it on the floor behind them. ‘While we’re sharin’ good news, I saw Jake while I was out earlier.’
‘Jake? As in Jake Talley, Azazel’s latest ‘special’ boy’?
Sam nodded.
Dean’s face tightened. ‘Fuck. Did he see you?’
‘Yeah. We talked for a while, actually. I told him that I killed Ruby.’
Dean was on his feet before his brain caught on that he’d decided to move.
‘You did what?’ he snarled.
Sam shrugged. ‘They already knew. Figured I may as well get my version out there. I told Jake she was playing games with me, withholding my Laudanum, taunting me with it. I told him I was a desperate mess; that she had it in her hand, but she wouldn’t give it to me and I just snapped.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That I should go and see Azazel. He tried to get me to go with him then and there, but I made out like I was desperate for a hit. Told him I was smokin’ an opium pipe now, that I’d found a supplier out in Chinatown. He asked me if I’d seen you and I played it all confused. He said you were out and I told him I’d go look for you after I got my hit. He seemed pretty convinced I was a total fuck up. Which is good. It means Azazel ain’t gonna be expecting it when you and me go over to his place tomorrow and blow his fuckin’ brains out.’
Part Six (A)