This Is It (The Apocalypse) 1/?
Jun. 4th, 2013 12:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: This Is It (The Apocalypse) 1/?
Wordcount: 6,275
Rating: NC--17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, OFC/Gabriel
Beta(s): The unstoppable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sammichgirl, without whom this wouldn't even exist.
Notes: This is the first chapter in the sequel to "Lost Time". This story isn't completed yet, so posting won't be the same as last time. I guess I needed a kickstart to work harder, and this seemed like a good way. If you haven't read the first one this won't make much sense. Title comes from Imagine Dragons "Radioactive".
Summary: The Winchester brothers have been reunited after many years, thrust into the Apocalypse, and now must fight to survive.
Dean’s plush, pink lips were sticky, mouth stretched and cheeks bulging. His eyes smoldered half-lidded and warm, the green pronounced through lashes as he caught Sam’s gaze, and the ecstasy there was plain and simple. He moaned around his mouthful and fingers wiped at the sticky white excess on his chin. His tongue slid out and licked the tips of them even as Sam felt his cock getting harder and his heartbeat starting to race.
The loud slam against the table drew Sam out of his haze, and he looked over to see Ophelia glaring at both of them with a handful of insurance papers and a cigarette clenched in her teeth.
“Shut the fuck up Dean. It’s just pie, not a goddamn blowjob!”
“Ah sweetheart, somebody a little deprived?”
“Aaaand, go fuck yourself.” She signed one last paper and then stuffed them into an envelope. “In the meantime though, seriously, let’s talk about what we’re supposed to do. So far this Apocalypse thing is pretty fucking lame.”
Sam felt his own eyebrow rising as Dean leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“There’s been no Rapture, no signs, and no angels coming from on high. Shit we haven’t even seen Lucifer. What the fuck is going on? The last Seal breaks and then the only thing that happens is we sit around filling out forms and twiddling our fucking thumbs for three months. Isn’t this supposed to be a big thing? Maybe they gave up.”
“I assure you, that is not the case.” Dean jumped a foot when Castiel suddenly spoke behind him, and then swiveled to face the angel.
“Dude. Warning. We talked about this.” His brother narrowed both eyes and took in the extra rumpled appearance of Castiel’s trench coat. “What’s going on anyway?”
The angel shifted once, eyes roaming over the room before they landed on Dean again. “Lucifer is beginning his moves. Heaven has been fairly quiet since my Father resurrected you, but I am unsure if that is them simply planning on their next move or something else. Soon both sides will be actively attempting to recruit both of you, and you need to have a plan if you wish to deny them.”
Sam felt his own eyes narrow. “We don’t need a plan to say no. We’re just going to say no. If we don’t let them in they can’t have the final fight right?”
He would almost say the look he got in response was pitying. “You require a plan Sam. They will go after everything you care about in an attempt to talk you into being their vessels. The destruction they will wreak in the process will be legendary.”
Ophelia stood then, back cracking loudly as she stretched and held up the envelope. “Ok. I send these fucking things out and then we start planning. Step one? Kill the devil. Step two? Never make Dean pie again.”
Dean let out a cry as Ophelia swiped his last bite on the way out the door and shoved it into her mouth.
“Hey! There’s a line you don’t cross sweetheart!”
Sam watched Castiel’s look of perplexed exasperation as Dean sat fuming and Ope disappeared out the
door. He let that go on for a few seconds, Dean mumbling the whole time, and then cleared his throat.
“She’s got a point. We need a plan for killing Lucifer. If we can do that before the final fight then it’s over right? No battle royale and no world ending?”
The angel’s lips pursed for a second and then his head nodded. “That is true. The problem is I cannot conceive of a way to do it. Michael and Lucifer are perfectly matched for each other. They are both archangels, and they both have an archangel’s blade.”
His brother’s head tilted and a glint came into his green eyes. “Archangel’s blade? Could we get our hands on one of those? Maybe steal it, or bargain for it? I mean there have to be archangels that don’t want the end right?”
Sam knew instantly where Dean was going and was already shaking his head. “He won’t give us anything. It’d be seen as getting involved. And we’re not asking Ope to put herself through that trying to change his mind.”
“Sam, I understand that Ophelia made a very personal and emotional connection to Gabriel, but that may be our best chance. It is known all over Heaven now that he is not dead, and that he is responsible for her resurrection. They will begin to search for him if they have not already. If she could emotionally manipulate him into giving over his weapon we would be able to face Lucifer on a slightly more balanced battlefield. I know of no other weapon capable of killing anything it comes up against.”
Dean made a strangled noise and jerked in his chair. “The gun.”
His brother’s face was dark, a perfect balance between anger and grief, and Sam knew he was thinking about his father. Their father. “What gun Dean?” He tried to keep his voice neutral and then jerked when Dean slapped the table.
“The stupid thing dad was so eager to get to kill Azazel. The Colt. It worked on him, and it worked permanently. It was supposed to be able to kill anything.”
Castiel raised one eyebrow and considered the two of them. “Where is this gun?”
“That’s the thing Cas. When the truck hit us they took it. I have no idea where the Colt is.”
The door opened and Ope stepped through kicking snow off her boots. “Do we have a plan?”
“Yeah, we got a plan sweetheart. It starts with eating more pie.” Dean’s affectionate glare set off Sam’s laughter, and eventually Ophelia joined.
Castiel simply stared at them.
-----
“No you don’t really have a fucking choice. I’m going to be looking too. Why is this a problem?” Ope’s eyes were narrowed, and Dean watched Sam bristle and draw up for the fight.
“Because you’re not supposed to be Ope. You know that. There’s a reason you don’t hunt, and that reason hasn’t changed. You’re staying here and dealing with insurance stuff.” Sam waved a hand. “You need to be safe.”
“It’s the end of the goddamn world Sam. I’m no safer than anybody else on this fucking planet. I’m not suggesting rolling into the middle of Hell central and pushing buttons, but I have contacts. There’s a chance I could find it.”
Sam threw his hands up and looked to Dean, face desperate and hopeful. “Tell her Dean. Tell her this is stupid.”
And he wanted to. Mostly because he knew more about her reality than Sam did, and everything he knew added up to her needing to stay out of the limelight. If Lucifer or Michael were looking for someone not slated to be a vessel to use against them Ope was at the top of a very short list. On the other hand she had a point. They didn’t even know where to start looking for the Colt, and that made this a needle in a haystack search. Any help they could get was needed, and if she kept her head down she should be alright.
“Sammy, she’s kinda right. It’s all hands on deck time now. As long as she promises not to start any fights she’ll be ok.” He turned away from Sam’s look of betrayal and focused on her victorious smile. “And I bet we could talk Bobby into making sure she stays out of the fighting part.”
The smile wiped off her face. “Bobby? I’m not a little girl who needs her daddy to watch her. I’m fucking responsible.” She waved her cigarette as punctuation and then put it out. “Plus, Bobby is busy. He and Rufus have been answering distress calls all over the place. The community is picking up that something big is going down, and it’s only a matter of time until everybody knows.”
Dean winced at that and rubbed his face. “Shit. How little a time is a matter of time?”
She shrugged once, face grim now. “Who knows? A psychic spills the beans or some demon drops a hint during an exorcism and everybody’ll know. Hunters gossip more than little old ladies when it’s shit like that. Could be a week, could be a month, but it won’t be fucking long.”
Sam rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. “You gotta promise me Ope. No life threatening heroics and no mad dashes for the prize. You have to be careful, because I couldn’t handle you dying. Not again.”
It was a point in her favor that the grimness and the anger went away instantly, and she softened before laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy, I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m just going to ride around and hit up Jeff’s old contacts. See if I can’t shake something loose. “
“Fine. But I demand one last family dinner before we split up. I’ll make something special.” Sam’s eyes swept across his face, and whatever he saw it resurrected the smile that Dean loved so much. “A lot of something special, because you two eat like pigs.”
“At least we don’t eat like little girls.” He took the punch to his shoulder, Sam looking at him petulantly as Ope laughed and shook her head.
“Sounds good. Let me go call Tommy and the shark. Then we’ll try to get through all this fucking snow and to the grocery store.”
There was a time, Dean mused as they made their slow progression through the aisles, that there was nothing in life more satisfying than his father’s approving smile. Dean lived for it, longed for it, and the rare occasions when he saw it were all listed carefully in his memory. He had preserved them for so many years that it seemed foolish to get rid of them now. The feelings attached to them may have become convoluted and difficult, but there was still that strong sense of love and need buried underneath all of Dean’s anger and grief.
Now he had Sam and Ope, the two of them bantering easily and arguing over the value of health versus taste, and that was everything. Knowing that Sam was safe, happy, and that at any time Dean could simply reach out and touch his brother changed everything. They went through the checkout, Sam chatting amiably with the young male clerk, and then they were in the car with Ope fiddling with the radio and driving.
It was so normal, so easy, that Dean almost expected it to blow up on them right then. Expected the universe to decide that tomorrow was too far away to end their good thing. Except it didn’t, and they ended up in the kitchen as Sam chopped chicken breasts and Ope pan-seared them under his very tight watch. She sipped her beer and mocked his concern, Sam fluttered his hands, and Dean just soaked it all in. This was his family now. This was the reason he was going to find a way to kill the devil, to save the world, and that was worth it. That was ok. Dean was allowed to be selfish every now and then.
-----
The spread in front of them was wide, and Sam watched Dean pile garlic bread into his mouth on top of the rich alfredo sauce. His brother ate like a man facing death, and it took Sam half of the meal to realize that’s exactly what they were. That this may be the last time the group of them ate together like this. Like a family.
Ope’s fork clattered to the table and she rubbed her stomach once before looking up from the empty plate. “Sammy this is fucking excellent. I’m stuffed.” Her grin was broad, warm, and Sam wondered if there was a way to preserve it. To keep it there forever.
He wasn’t stupid. Sam knew she wasn’t any safer here than she would be anywhere else. Knew for a fact that there was a good chance even if they hid her something would get its hands on her. That she’d die, again, and that wasn’t really something he was prepared to deal with. Ever. It only helped a little that there was almost as good a chance that he would die before she did.
Which brought Sam to his other issue. Dean, mouth covered in sauce and fingers cracking another slice of garlic bread in half before consuming it too, was in just as much danger. There was no telling how much safety being a vessel afforded them, or what one side would do to compromise the other. The only assurance Sam really had was that Heaven had done so much to insure this whole thing happening it seemed unlikely they would let Dean die before the big day. Which only added to his concern really.
Suddenly the idea of having a last meal together as a family was morbid, and every second only served as a reminder of how unstable and endangered their little unit was. He choked on the next sip of his water, the unnatural burn of the liquid bringing tears to his eyes and clogging his nose as Dean slapped his back and Ope laughed so hard she fell out of her chair.
“What-Jesus-what the hell?” He couldn’t get his breath for a second, and then when he finally found it he picked his glass back up and sniffed it before realizing that the smell was entirely too alcoholic to be the water he originally poured himself.
Ope’s eyes were slitted against tears as she tried to stop laughing. “I told you he wouldn’t notice!”
Which was when Sam figured it out, and he could have hugged her even as he waved his hands about. “Ope! Vodka in my glass? What the fuck!”
His brother’s hand rubbed gentle circles in the center of his back. “Easy there Sammy. Easy. I’ll beat her up for you.” Which was when Dean started openly snickering, and Sam thought about killing both of them. Why the hell did he want to spend a last dinner with either of them anyway?
-----
Tommy had promised to stop by and check on the house on a regular basis, to run the water through the pipes, but mostly to make sure nobody burned the place down. Her lawyer, who owed her thousands of dollars in referral fees, agreed to handle all of the insurance bullshit. Which left her with finding a good way to disconnect Sam from her arms.
They’d been standing in the windy yard for fifteen minutes, Dean trying to look busy as he loaded and reloaded the Impala. Sam spent the whole time listing the many, many things he thought she needed to be reminded about.
“Sam. Stop dude, I’m gonna be fine. I got this.” His eyes narrow and she knows he thinks he’s being blown off. Which isn’t really true. They’ve just got to break this up before she starts crying. “I’ll be so fucking careful. I promise. But this has to be done, and we’re gonna be fine. Just fine.” She stroked his cheek once and then gave him a smile. “We’ll find the magic gun, kill the devil, and everything will be cool. Big fucking heroes, so just give me a hug and tell me how awesome I am.”
At that Sam’s eyes close, his face getting pensive before he pulls her into another crushing hug. “Ok. Ok Ope, but you gotta promise to call every night, and to check yourself over, and to be careful. You have to live. You promise me, because I can’t do this without you.”
But he can. She knows that now from personal experience. Her death hadn’t pushed him over the edge; he’d only shown extreme intelligence and focus. She was so proud of him honestly it hurt to think about it. He did just fine without her, because he had Dean. Which is what she always wanted. “I promise. Now have a little faith. Go Team Burton!”
“Winchester!” Dean shouts it over his shoulder as he throws the last duffel into the trunk and slams it shut. She just gives him the finger before reaching up to plant a kiss on Sam’s jaw.
She gives Dean a hug before they part, and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head before growling out his own insistence on her care. She just lets him. It’s easier that way.
It’s only a little over four hours to get to Rafi’s house in Quebec, and she crosses the border easily and makes it all the way there before sliding out of the Jeep and heading up his carefully manicured lawn. She hasn’t seen the old man in years, but his face lights up and he flashes her a toothy grin before pulling her into his wizened grip. “Girl you be a sight for sore old eyes.”
Ope doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. “You too you old fart. Gonna let me in or do I have to freeze my ass off out here?”
He leads her through the maze of books and artifacts, chattering happily and switching seamlessly between English and his Creole Patois. It’s the third language she ever learned, and the only one taught to her by rapping knuckles and harsh sighs.
When they get settled, tea in a cup in front of her with a splash of bourbon, added slyly by Rafi, he finally settles rheumy brown eyes on her and waits for her to sip before asking. “What you be doing here? Rafi knows you ain’t s’posed to be huntin’.” He knows the answer. Knew all of it the minute they hugged, and she’s fully aware but she sips her tea anyway and pretends that he doesn’t. It’s a test he’s been giving her since she was a little girl. How honest is she willing to be?
“So you remember Sam?” Rafi nods once and licks his lips before drinking his own tea. “Well, it turns out Sammy is the dead Winchester kid, and a lot of shit happened, and the world is ending. Unless we can find a gun and stop it. So I need you to help me find a gun Rafi.” At his raised eyebrow she spills the story in detail, leaving out nothing and taking in his admonishing looks when she mentions the two summonings and her temporary blindness.
He grins at her broadly, and she feels her muscles loosen. “Your uncle gone skin me alive he knows I helped you do this thing. But you ain’t be carin’ about poor old Rafi and his wrinkly old skin. You got your eye on the prize just like always.” The cup is set down carefully, and then he leans forward and one gnarled hand takes hers. She can feel the way his grip has lessened in old age, and the thickening of his knuckles that announces arthritis. “But you left out a part. You in love girl, and you don’t think that matters but it do.”
That’s not what she was expecting , and her cup hits the saucer a little too hard. “That is not a fucking issue Rafi. It’s over. Now can we focus on-“
“Girl you don’t be tellin’ me what matters and what don’t. You know better. Now tell Rafi ‘bout this thing you fell for and what it done to you. I be makin’ my decision off your honesty jus’ like always.”
She closes her eyes, unable to meet his direct gaze as she thinks of everything she could say, and everything she can’t make pass her lips. “The pagan god Loki. I fell in love with the Trickster Loki. He orchestrated Sam’s disappearance, he watched us to see whether we’d fall back into Destiny’s plan, and he resurrected me when angels cut my heart out. Then he refused to help us and I let him leave.”
Rafi is silent for a long time, skin making a rasping sound as it drags across the wood of the old table. Then he raps her knuckles swiftly so that her eyes open. His face says he knows what she’s leaving out and that he won’t penalize her for that. With Rafi, there’s no telling who’s listening. “You be marked. You don’t know ‘bout that?” At her head shaking he smiles again, and Ophelia isn’t sure if she should get up and leave or simply wait for the pain he’s about to serve her. “Got pagan god and angel stink all over you. Be smelling it the minute you came in. Lucky none of the Loa got displeased, ‘cause your lover be upsettin’ them on a regular basis. What you gone do ‘bout that? You can’t get rid o’ it.” His knuckles tap her sternum.
“What are you talking about?” Her lips feel numb, and she almost reaches up to feel if they’re still there.
“He buried it deep inside you. Put it down where you can’t remove it and live, and that makes you marked. It makes you owned. Anyone with the sight or the sense can see you belong to ‘dat little god, and they be knowin’ what that means. So what you gone do?”
“Let me think about it old man. In the meantime, what do you know about a gun that can kill anything?”
-----
Gabriel is in Haiti, sipping the biggest and fruitiest cocktails they’re legally allowed to make when a gorgeous blonde plops down beside him and lights a cigar. He knows she’s being ridden, knows it’s Baron Samedi himself, and he waits to see what this is going to mean.
“Your little slut showed herself. If you wanted her to stay hidden you should have leashed her better Loki.”
The drink turns to ashes in his mouth, but he sips it anyway and peers at the sun burning brightly overhead. “This island has some of your best followers doesn’t it? Certainly some of your juiciest offerings. What would happen if I leveled it?” He doesn’t look over, but he hears the sharp indrawn breath. Good.
“Word around the campfire is she’s working with the Winchester brats to stop the apocalypse. Is this your doing?”
He puts the drink down then and stretches once, muscles in his vessel’s body singing at the relaxation and warmth. “Absolutely not. That freak show can play out on its own. I have bigger fish to fry. Now if you’ll excuse me-“
“Does Kali know?”
Everything stops, the two lovers running across the beach freeze in place, and the waves cut off crashing as his power slams through the area without his control. It’s not his Grace, he’s better controlled than that, but not by much right now. “What?”
There was a time when Gabriel spoke with the voice of his Father, before he left and that Metatron douche took over his old duties. He still has the ability to use that control, but it’s rare that he does. Shows too much in his experience. When he turns his eyes the Loa riding the girl is almost visible, but he sinks back down inside her and bubblegum pinks lips turn upwards into a smile.
“Kali. Does she know that your human fucktoy is planning to do what she’s been longing for all these centuries? I wonder, because it seems that she would be against such a thing. Take away some of her bloody glory.”
He has to be controlled here. Can’t show his cards or give up his inner thoughts. “She knows what she knows. My offer to level your island still stands, and I could go to New Orleans next. Just make a tour of it. I used to love that sort of wide-scale chaos.”
The Baron stands, the woman’s breasts bouncing enticingly in the little bikini top as he leans in and strokes his jaw. “It wasn’t a threat Loki, just a simple question. You’re so testy these days. You should work out some of that aggression before someone starts to think this girl is a weakness for you.” The fingers are gone, and the Loa’s eyes sparkle wickedly as he taps the ashes from his cigar. “Take care Trickster.”
With that he’s gone, and Gabe lets the scene go as the pretty blonde stumbles in confusion and drops the cigar. She makes her way across the sand without giving Gabriel a second look, and he leaves the drink in favor of getting the hell out of there before he makes another mistake.
Gabriel ends up in Moscow for some reason, the air around him full of snow, white-out conditions, and he pushes the door of the bar open and plops down before ordering as much vodka as they can hand him. Around him men mutter in Russian as they hunker down into heavy coats and stare at nothing.
He should check on her. Just for a second, he could peek his head in and make sure she’s not doing something incredibly stupid, as is her tradition.
Instead he slips into the motel room currently occupied by Dean and Sam. He watches as Dean sings along to Living Color’s “Cult of Personality”, husky voice dead on as one hand clenches an invisible microphone. Gabriel’s glad he can’t be heard laughing, and just to make sure there’s no cosmic misunderstanding as to why he’s here he muffles the sound of Sam coming in.
His laughter only increases when Sam stares at his brother, dancing through the living area in his boxers and nothing else as he sings loudly, and then Sam starts laughing and Gabriel laughs with him. After the fallout of Sam’s mockery Gabriel sits in as they discuss plans and approaches. No one mentions a certain tattooed lunatic, and that’s comforting enough he can go about his own business.
-----
They end up at a rather nice house in Kansas, waiting on the doorstep of a woman that their father knew, but never took Dean to meet. Dean’s fairly nervous, because the woman is supposed to be some kind of awesome psychic, but he thinks he’s hiding it fairly well. Until Sam brushes his lower back once and whispers, “Calm down Dean.”
When the door finally opens the psychic standing on the other side stares at them critically. She’s heavy, older, but her face is young and pretty. The scowl on it doesn’t put him at ease, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes that suggests kindness and mischief.
“Took you boys long enough. I swear I’ve been waiting for weeks. Well, come in, dinner is getting cold while you stand on my steps and waste my time.”
Dean shoots his brother an incredulous look, but Sam only raises his eyebrows and shrugs. They follow in slowly, Dean’s eyes roaming over the incredibly normal and simple looking home. He expected more, most of the psychics he’s ever met with have a good deal of pageantry laid out for their customers, but Missouri Moseley appears to not care much for that sort of thing.
The kitchen is homey and simple, and when she lays a plate piled high with fried chicken and mashed potatoes Dean moans without thinking about it. She slaps his knuckles when he lifts the first breast, and he drops the chicken abruptly and looks up in wonder.
“You need to wash your hands boy, and then we say grace. I know you’ve got manners, so use them.” Sam’s lips are quirked, eyes bright , and Missouri looks over at him. “You too Samuel. This is an equal opportunity household.”
So they wash their hands, and then they take the places she indicated before and Dean begrudgingly lets her take his hand as she starts to pray.
“Father, I know these are hard times, and we’re coming to the end of things now. If you, in your infinite wisdom, would allow these two boys to do their work and maybe buy us some time we’d be eternally grateful. If you deem it our time though, we’ll go graciously into your light and love. Amen.”
Dean’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s sure there’s blood, but he manages to not say anything smart or sarcastic.
“Now eat boys. I didn’t cook this for my health. And Dean you finish all your vegetables, you aren’t too old to be spanked or not need your greens.”
He shoots Sam that disbelieving look again, but his brother is too busy tasting the mashed potatoes and grinning around them to be of any help.
It’s been a long time since Dean had home-cooked Southern fare. Which is why Dean eats everything on his plate, and tries his hardest to keep up with Missouri’s bright and gentle voice. She tells them about herself, what she does, and how happy she is to finally see them together again. Dean manages to only choke a little when she adds, “And don’t bother lyin’ to me ‘bout what you two been up to. I know good and well what you are, and I ain’t the judging type. Although Dean you could be more honest with your brother. Lying hurts everyone involved.”
When the meal is finally over they sit in the kitchen, glasses of iced tea at every place and Missouri levels them both with her gaze before turning her eyes on Sam. Dean watches as she studies his little brother, her mouth twitching thoughtfully, before it finally resolves into a big smile. Her eyes are wet and wide, still sparkling gorgeously.
“I know what your father put you through and I’m mighty sorry ‘bout that Samuel. I wish he would’ve consulted me before he made that decision, but I’m afraid he didn’t have much interest in my opinion. Your daddy was bull-headed beyond all reason. You couldn’t tell that man anything once he made up his mind.”
Dean was torn between nodding his head in sympathy and arguing with her on the principles of loyalty. He chose to keep his mouth shut, because in the end she was right. John Winchester had been bull-headed, and there’d been no arguing with him. Dean knew that from long experience.
“I appreciate that.” Sam’s face clearly stated how uncomfortable he was. He didn’t like to call their father dad, and he didn’t like to be reminded about what had happened and who had done it. Missouri seemed to get that because she changed topics pretty quickly.
“So you boys are going to need a bed to sleep in. I’m afraid my guest bed isn’t big enough for two, but the pull-out couch might do it. It’ll kill your backs though. In the meantime, can I suggest that after a good night’s sleep we sit down and see what we can figure out about your devil killing problem?”
“How do you know what we came for?” Sam shot him a look, but Dean refused to feel stupid. He’d met a lot of psychics, and none of them had known this much without at least getting a good look at his palm, or a spread in front of them.
Missouri’s eyes were twinkling, and she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands together. “I’m better than those other tinkerers you saw, and I’ve dreamed about all of this before. I don’t know if I can tell you everything you need to know, but I can certainly help. I think you boys could use a little help these days, don’t you?”
And that? Dean definitely couldn’t argue with that.
----
In the morning Sam woke to Dean’s elbow cracking his jaw as his brother tried to find a comfortable position on the creaky old couch mattress. In lieu of hitting Dean back Sam slipped out of the pull-out bed and made his way to the bathroom as he rubbed his jaw. Missouri’s bathroom was as pretty and well-kept as the rest of the place. He was kind of in awe of the way everything matched, and a brutal sweep of homesickness came over him at the sight.
He’d been away before, in fact as of recently he’d been away more than there, but that didn’t change how hard it was to be in this kind of place. The run-down old motel rooms reminded him more of the house on the hill than this picturesque little home. There was a worn-in quality there that he associated with home. He wondered briefly if that’s how Jeff had picked his decorating scheme.
All thoughts of home and mismatched curtains fled when Sam rounded the corner into the kitchen and found the psychic humming happily as she mixed something in a bowl. She caught him staring and simply smiled brightly.
“I’m making blueberry muffins. I thought you might like them with breakfast.”
He had to swallow, and then he took a spot at the kitchen table and watched her work. “I would. I love blueberry muffins.”
“I know.” She shot him a mischievous smile before she started to drop paper cups into the muffin pan. “Want to tell me what’s put that lost puppy look on your face baby?”
Sam licked his lips once, leaned back in the chair, and then figured lying to a psychic was sort of pointless. “I’m worried about my sister, and I’m really out of my element here. People don’t bake for me.”
“Well I can’t say much to the second thing, but I’m sorry for the first. I’ve never met her, but I met her uncle once. Good man, little wild though. Came here with that prickly old Bobby Singer. I miss those men something fierce. Nobody could get my car purring as well as Bobby Singer.”
Sam felt a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah he’s good. You know, Dean’s a really good mechanic. I bet he could help you. It would let us re-“
“You say repay me and I’m a whack you with a spoon.” She pointed said spoon at him before dipping it back in the mix and going back to filling up the cups. “I don’t need repayment for helping you boys. Consider it my atonement.”
“Atonement for what?”
Missouri’s eyes dropped to the bowl, and she stirred once before scooping up the next load. “There’s a lot of things that can be seen, but not much can be done about them. I wanted so badly to do something when I saw what you were going through, but I just didn’t have the clout or the ability.”
Sam felt all the breath punched out of him, and then she was there and stroking his hair. “You-you know what-“
Her arms went around him, and Sam was pulled into her soft embrace as she stroked his hair gently and cooed at him. She smelled like blueberries and fresh linen, and something in Sam went soft and pliant at her touch. “Shh baby, it’s ok. You don’t have to worry about that. You were a little boy, and you deserved a real life. If I can I’m gonna make sure you get one now. Soon as this end of the world business is over. In the meantime you go easy on yourself, and just let me spoil you a bit.”
Several minutes passed that way, and Sam was almost completely slack in her arms when he heard Dean clear his throat. Missouri pulled back and finished her work before sliding the muffins into the oven and pulling out two skillets. “How do you boys like your eggs?”
Sam met Dean’s questioning gaze and gave a tentative nod to tell him he was alright. Dean cleared his throat before bee lining for the coffee maker. “Over easy. We appreciate this a lot ma’am.”
“I ain’t no old lady. You call me Missouri boy.” But her eyes were sparkling now, and she brandished her spoon one last time before dropping it in the sink and opening the fridge. “Plus, don’t thank me yet. You’re gonna be doing the dishes.”
Dean groaned piteously and slumped into the seat beside Sam as he sipped his coffee.
“So Missouri, you know why we’re here. Do you have any idea how we’ll find the Colt?”
She didn’t turn from the skillet as she cracked eggs into it. Instead she simply spoke over her shoulder. “I know a few avenues, but none of them are going to be easy. I can’t see clearly where it is, but there are faces attached to it that I think would be able to help you. One or two of them are people you already got helping you, and that’s good. On the other hand I think at least one of them is new. The problem is I can get her face, but I can’t see her name.”
That had Dean leaning forward, and he watched his brother’s elbows land on the table as he dropped his chin into his hands. “What does she look like? Why wouldn’t you be able to get her name?”
“She’s blocking me. I think she might be aware people are looking for her. Pretty little thing, brunette with blue-grey eyes. British I believe. Also, you don’t get those elbows off my table and I’ll be over there to teach you better manners. You’re strong enough to hold yourself up.”
Dean pulled back quickly but stuck his tongue out. Sam was overcome with laughter when Missouri responded without turning around, “And put your tongue back in your mouth boy! You ain’t no dog!”
Wordcount: 6,275
Rating: NC--17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, OFC/Gabriel
Beta(s): The unstoppable
sammichgirl, without whom this wouldn't even exist.Notes: This is the first chapter in the sequel to "Lost Time". This story isn't completed yet, so posting won't be the same as last time. I guess I needed a kickstart to work harder, and this seemed like a good way. If you haven't read the first one this won't make much sense. Title comes from Imagine Dragons "Radioactive".
Summary: The Winchester brothers have been reunited after many years, thrust into the Apocalypse, and now must fight to survive.
Dean’s plush, pink lips were sticky, mouth stretched and cheeks bulging. His eyes smoldered half-lidded and warm, the green pronounced through lashes as he caught Sam’s gaze, and the ecstasy there was plain and simple. He moaned around his mouthful and fingers wiped at the sticky white excess on his chin. His tongue slid out and licked the tips of them even as Sam felt his cock getting harder and his heartbeat starting to race.
The loud slam against the table drew Sam out of his haze, and he looked over to see Ophelia glaring at both of them with a handful of insurance papers and a cigarette clenched in her teeth.
“Shut the fuck up Dean. It’s just pie, not a goddamn blowjob!”
“Ah sweetheart, somebody a little deprived?”
“Aaaand, go fuck yourself.” She signed one last paper and then stuffed them into an envelope. “In the meantime though, seriously, let’s talk about what we’re supposed to do. So far this Apocalypse thing is pretty fucking lame.”
Sam felt his own eyebrow rising as Dean leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“There’s been no Rapture, no signs, and no angels coming from on high. Shit we haven’t even seen Lucifer. What the fuck is going on? The last Seal breaks and then the only thing that happens is we sit around filling out forms and twiddling our fucking thumbs for three months. Isn’t this supposed to be a big thing? Maybe they gave up.”
“I assure you, that is not the case.” Dean jumped a foot when Castiel suddenly spoke behind him, and then swiveled to face the angel.
“Dude. Warning. We talked about this.” His brother narrowed both eyes and took in the extra rumpled appearance of Castiel’s trench coat. “What’s going on anyway?”
The angel shifted once, eyes roaming over the room before they landed on Dean again. “Lucifer is beginning his moves. Heaven has been fairly quiet since my Father resurrected you, but I am unsure if that is them simply planning on their next move or something else. Soon both sides will be actively attempting to recruit both of you, and you need to have a plan if you wish to deny them.”
Sam felt his own eyes narrow. “We don’t need a plan to say no. We’re just going to say no. If we don’t let them in they can’t have the final fight right?”
He would almost say the look he got in response was pitying. “You require a plan Sam. They will go after everything you care about in an attempt to talk you into being their vessels. The destruction they will wreak in the process will be legendary.”
Ophelia stood then, back cracking loudly as she stretched and held up the envelope. “Ok. I send these fucking things out and then we start planning. Step one? Kill the devil. Step two? Never make Dean pie again.”
Dean let out a cry as Ophelia swiped his last bite on the way out the door and shoved it into her mouth.
“Hey! There’s a line you don’t cross sweetheart!”
Sam watched Castiel’s look of perplexed exasperation as Dean sat fuming and Ope disappeared out the
door. He let that go on for a few seconds, Dean mumbling the whole time, and then cleared his throat.
“She’s got a point. We need a plan for killing Lucifer. If we can do that before the final fight then it’s over right? No battle royale and no world ending?”
The angel’s lips pursed for a second and then his head nodded. “That is true. The problem is I cannot conceive of a way to do it. Michael and Lucifer are perfectly matched for each other. They are both archangels, and they both have an archangel’s blade.”
His brother’s head tilted and a glint came into his green eyes. “Archangel’s blade? Could we get our hands on one of those? Maybe steal it, or bargain for it? I mean there have to be archangels that don’t want the end right?”
Sam knew instantly where Dean was going and was already shaking his head. “He won’t give us anything. It’d be seen as getting involved. And we’re not asking Ope to put herself through that trying to change his mind.”
“Sam, I understand that Ophelia made a very personal and emotional connection to Gabriel, but that may be our best chance. It is known all over Heaven now that he is not dead, and that he is responsible for her resurrection. They will begin to search for him if they have not already. If she could emotionally manipulate him into giving over his weapon we would be able to face Lucifer on a slightly more balanced battlefield. I know of no other weapon capable of killing anything it comes up against.”
Dean made a strangled noise and jerked in his chair. “The gun.”
His brother’s face was dark, a perfect balance between anger and grief, and Sam knew he was thinking about his father. Their father. “What gun Dean?” He tried to keep his voice neutral and then jerked when Dean slapped the table.
“The stupid thing dad was so eager to get to kill Azazel. The Colt. It worked on him, and it worked permanently. It was supposed to be able to kill anything.”
Castiel raised one eyebrow and considered the two of them. “Where is this gun?”
“That’s the thing Cas. When the truck hit us they took it. I have no idea where the Colt is.”
The door opened and Ope stepped through kicking snow off her boots. “Do we have a plan?”
“Yeah, we got a plan sweetheart. It starts with eating more pie.” Dean’s affectionate glare set off Sam’s laughter, and eventually Ophelia joined.
Castiel simply stared at them.
-----
“No you don’t really have a fucking choice. I’m going to be looking too. Why is this a problem?” Ope’s eyes were narrowed, and Dean watched Sam bristle and draw up for the fight.
“Because you’re not supposed to be Ope. You know that. There’s a reason you don’t hunt, and that reason hasn’t changed. You’re staying here and dealing with insurance stuff.” Sam waved a hand. “You need to be safe.”
“It’s the end of the goddamn world Sam. I’m no safer than anybody else on this fucking planet. I’m not suggesting rolling into the middle of Hell central and pushing buttons, but I have contacts. There’s a chance I could find it.”
Sam threw his hands up and looked to Dean, face desperate and hopeful. “Tell her Dean. Tell her this is stupid.”
And he wanted to. Mostly because he knew more about her reality than Sam did, and everything he knew added up to her needing to stay out of the limelight. If Lucifer or Michael were looking for someone not slated to be a vessel to use against them Ope was at the top of a very short list. On the other hand she had a point. They didn’t even know where to start looking for the Colt, and that made this a needle in a haystack search. Any help they could get was needed, and if she kept her head down she should be alright.
“Sammy, she’s kinda right. It’s all hands on deck time now. As long as she promises not to start any fights she’ll be ok.” He turned away from Sam’s look of betrayal and focused on her victorious smile. “And I bet we could talk Bobby into making sure she stays out of the fighting part.”
The smile wiped off her face. “Bobby? I’m not a little girl who needs her daddy to watch her. I’m fucking responsible.” She waved her cigarette as punctuation and then put it out. “Plus, Bobby is busy. He and Rufus have been answering distress calls all over the place. The community is picking up that something big is going down, and it’s only a matter of time until everybody knows.”
Dean winced at that and rubbed his face. “Shit. How little a time is a matter of time?”
She shrugged once, face grim now. “Who knows? A psychic spills the beans or some demon drops a hint during an exorcism and everybody’ll know. Hunters gossip more than little old ladies when it’s shit like that. Could be a week, could be a month, but it won’t be fucking long.”
Sam rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. “You gotta promise me Ope. No life threatening heroics and no mad dashes for the prize. You have to be careful, because I couldn’t handle you dying. Not again.”
It was a point in her favor that the grimness and the anger went away instantly, and she softened before laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy, I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m just going to ride around and hit up Jeff’s old contacts. See if I can’t shake something loose. “
“Fine. But I demand one last family dinner before we split up. I’ll make something special.” Sam’s eyes swept across his face, and whatever he saw it resurrected the smile that Dean loved so much. “A lot of something special, because you two eat like pigs.”
“At least we don’t eat like little girls.” He took the punch to his shoulder, Sam looking at him petulantly as Ope laughed and shook her head.
“Sounds good. Let me go call Tommy and the shark. Then we’ll try to get through all this fucking snow and to the grocery store.”
There was a time, Dean mused as they made their slow progression through the aisles, that there was nothing in life more satisfying than his father’s approving smile. Dean lived for it, longed for it, and the rare occasions when he saw it were all listed carefully in his memory. He had preserved them for so many years that it seemed foolish to get rid of them now. The feelings attached to them may have become convoluted and difficult, but there was still that strong sense of love and need buried underneath all of Dean’s anger and grief.
Now he had Sam and Ope, the two of them bantering easily and arguing over the value of health versus taste, and that was everything. Knowing that Sam was safe, happy, and that at any time Dean could simply reach out and touch his brother changed everything. They went through the checkout, Sam chatting amiably with the young male clerk, and then they were in the car with Ope fiddling with the radio and driving.
It was so normal, so easy, that Dean almost expected it to blow up on them right then. Expected the universe to decide that tomorrow was too far away to end their good thing. Except it didn’t, and they ended up in the kitchen as Sam chopped chicken breasts and Ope pan-seared them under his very tight watch. She sipped her beer and mocked his concern, Sam fluttered his hands, and Dean just soaked it all in. This was his family now. This was the reason he was going to find a way to kill the devil, to save the world, and that was worth it. That was ok. Dean was allowed to be selfish every now and then.
-----
The spread in front of them was wide, and Sam watched Dean pile garlic bread into his mouth on top of the rich alfredo sauce. His brother ate like a man facing death, and it took Sam half of the meal to realize that’s exactly what they were. That this may be the last time the group of them ate together like this. Like a family.
Ope’s fork clattered to the table and she rubbed her stomach once before looking up from the empty plate. “Sammy this is fucking excellent. I’m stuffed.” Her grin was broad, warm, and Sam wondered if there was a way to preserve it. To keep it there forever.
He wasn’t stupid. Sam knew she wasn’t any safer here than she would be anywhere else. Knew for a fact that there was a good chance even if they hid her something would get its hands on her. That she’d die, again, and that wasn’t really something he was prepared to deal with. Ever. It only helped a little that there was almost as good a chance that he would die before she did.
Which brought Sam to his other issue. Dean, mouth covered in sauce and fingers cracking another slice of garlic bread in half before consuming it too, was in just as much danger. There was no telling how much safety being a vessel afforded them, or what one side would do to compromise the other. The only assurance Sam really had was that Heaven had done so much to insure this whole thing happening it seemed unlikely they would let Dean die before the big day. Which only added to his concern really.
Suddenly the idea of having a last meal together as a family was morbid, and every second only served as a reminder of how unstable and endangered their little unit was. He choked on the next sip of his water, the unnatural burn of the liquid bringing tears to his eyes and clogging his nose as Dean slapped his back and Ope laughed so hard she fell out of her chair.
“What-Jesus-what the hell?” He couldn’t get his breath for a second, and then when he finally found it he picked his glass back up and sniffed it before realizing that the smell was entirely too alcoholic to be the water he originally poured himself.
Ope’s eyes were slitted against tears as she tried to stop laughing. “I told you he wouldn’t notice!”
Which was when Sam figured it out, and he could have hugged her even as he waved his hands about. “Ope! Vodka in my glass? What the fuck!”
His brother’s hand rubbed gentle circles in the center of his back. “Easy there Sammy. Easy. I’ll beat her up for you.” Which was when Dean started openly snickering, and Sam thought about killing both of them. Why the hell did he want to spend a last dinner with either of them anyway?
-----
Tommy had promised to stop by and check on the house on a regular basis, to run the water through the pipes, but mostly to make sure nobody burned the place down. Her lawyer, who owed her thousands of dollars in referral fees, agreed to handle all of the insurance bullshit. Which left her with finding a good way to disconnect Sam from her arms.
They’d been standing in the windy yard for fifteen minutes, Dean trying to look busy as he loaded and reloaded the Impala. Sam spent the whole time listing the many, many things he thought she needed to be reminded about.
“Sam. Stop dude, I’m gonna be fine. I got this.” His eyes narrow and she knows he thinks he’s being blown off. Which isn’t really true. They’ve just got to break this up before she starts crying. “I’ll be so fucking careful. I promise. But this has to be done, and we’re gonna be fine. Just fine.” She stroked his cheek once and then gave him a smile. “We’ll find the magic gun, kill the devil, and everything will be cool. Big fucking heroes, so just give me a hug and tell me how awesome I am.”
At that Sam’s eyes close, his face getting pensive before he pulls her into another crushing hug. “Ok. Ok Ope, but you gotta promise to call every night, and to check yourself over, and to be careful. You have to live. You promise me, because I can’t do this without you.”
But he can. She knows that now from personal experience. Her death hadn’t pushed him over the edge; he’d only shown extreme intelligence and focus. She was so proud of him honestly it hurt to think about it. He did just fine without her, because he had Dean. Which is what she always wanted. “I promise. Now have a little faith. Go Team Burton!”
“Winchester!” Dean shouts it over his shoulder as he throws the last duffel into the trunk and slams it shut. She just gives him the finger before reaching up to plant a kiss on Sam’s jaw.
She gives Dean a hug before they part, and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head before growling out his own insistence on her care. She just lets him. It’s easier that way.
It’s only a little over four hours to get to Rafi’s house in Quebec, and she crosses the border easily and makes it all the way there before sliding out of the Jeep and heading up his carefully manicured lawn. She hasn’t seen the old man in years, but his face lights up and he flashes her a toothy grin before pulling her into his wizened grip. “Girl you be a sight for sore old eyes.”
Ope doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. “You too you old fart. Gonna let me in or do I have to freeze my ass off out here?”
He leads her through the maze of books and artifacts, chattering happily and switching seamlessly between English and his Creole Patois. It’s the third language she ever learned, and the only one taught to her by rapping knuckles and harsh sighs.
When they get settled, tea in a cup in front of her with a splash of bourbon, added slyly by Rafi, he finally settles rheumy brown eyes on her and waits for her to sip before asking. “What you be doing here? Rafi knows you ain’t s’posed to be huntin’.” He knows the answer. Knew all of it the minute they hugged, and she’s fully aware but she sips her tea anyway and pretends that he doesn’t. It’s a test he’s been giving her since she was a little girl. How honest is she willing to be?
“So you remember Sam?” Rafi nods once and licks his lips before drinking his own tea. “Well, it turns out Sammy is the dead Winchester kid, and a lot of shit happened, and the world is ending. Unless we can find a gun and stop it. So I need you to help me find a gun Rafi.” At his raised eyebrow she spills the story in detail, leaving out nothing and taking in his admonishing looks when she mentions the two summonings and her temporary blindness.
He grins at her broadly, and she feels her muscles loosen. “Your uncle gone skin me alive he knows I helped you do this thing. But you ain’t be carin’ about poor old Rafi and his wrinkly old skin. You got your eye on the prize just like always.” The cup is set down carefully, and then he leans forward and one gnarled hand takes hers. She can feel the way his grip has lessened in old age, and the thickening of his knuckles that announces arthritis. “But you left out a part. You in love girl, and you don’t think that matters but it do.”
That’s not what she was expecting , and her cup hits the saucer a little too hard. “That is not a fucking issue Rafi. It’s over. Now can we focus on-“
“Girl you don’t be tellin’ me what matters and what don’t. You know better. Now tell Rafi ‘bout this thing you fell for and what it done to you. I be makin’ my decision off your honesty jus’ like always.”
She closes her eyes, unable to meet his direct gaze as she thinks of everything she could say, and everything she can’t make pass her lips. “The pagan god Loki. I fell in love with the Trickster Loki. He orchestrated Sam’s disappearance, he watched us to see whether we’d fall back into Destiny’s plan, and he resurrected me when angels cut my heart out. Then he refused to help us and I let him leave.”
Rafi is silent for a long time, skin making a rasping sound as it drags across the wood of the old table. Then he raps her knuckles swiftly so that her eyes open. His face says he knows what she’s leaving out and that he won’t penalize her for that. With Rafi, there’s no telling who’s listening. “You be marked. You don’t know ‘bout that?” At her head shaking he smiles again, and Ophelia isn’t sure if she should get up and leave or simply wait for the pain he’s about to serve her. “Got pagan god and angel stink all over you. Be smelling it the minute you came in. Lucky none of the Loa got displeased, ‘cause your lover be upsettin’ them on a regular basis. What you gone do ‘bout that? You can’t get rid o’ it.” His knuckles tap her sternum.
“What are you talking about?” Her lips feel numb, and she almost reaches up to feel if they’re still there.
“He buried it deep inside you. Put it down where you can’t remove it and live, and that makes you marked. It makes you owned. Anyone with the sight or the sense can see you belong to ‘dat little god, and they be knowin’ what that means. So what you gone do?”
“Let me think about it old man. In the meantime, what do you know about a gun that can kill anything?”
-----
Gabriel is in Haiti, sipping the biggest and fruitiest cocktails they’re legally allowed to make when a gorgeous blonde plops down beside him and lights a cigar. He knows she’s being ridden, knows it’s Baron Samedi himself, and he waits to see what this is going to mean.
“Your little slut showed herself. If you wanted her to stay hidden you should have leashed her better Loki.”
The drink turns to ashes in his mouth, but he sips it anyway and peers at the sun burning brightly overhead. “This island has some of your best followers doesn’t it? Certainly some of your juiciest offerings. What would happen if I leveled it?” He doesn’t look over, but he hears the sharp indrawn breath. Good.
“Word around the campfire is she’s working with the Winchester brats to stop the apocalypse. Is this your doing?”
He puts the drink down then and stretches once, muscles in his vessel’s body singing at the relaxation and warmth. “Absolutely not. That freak show can play out on its own. I have bigger fish to fry. Now if you’ll excuse me-“
“Does Kali know?”
Everything stops, the two lovers running across the beach freeze in place, and the waves cut off crashing as his power slams through the area without his control. It’s not his Grace, he’s better controlled than that, but not by much right now. “What?”
There was a time when Gabriel spoke with the voice of his Father, before he left and that Metatron douche took over his old duties. He still has the ability to use that control, but it’s rare that he does. Shows too much in his experience. When he turns his eyes the Loa riding the girl is almost visible, but he sinks back down inside her and bubblegum pinks lips turn upwards into a smile.
“Kali. Does she know that your human fucktoy is planning to do what she’s been longing for all these centuries? I wonder, because it seems that she would be against such a thing. Take away some of her bloody glory.”
He has to be controlled here. Can’t show his cards or give up his inner thoughts. “She knows what she knows. My offer to level your island still stands, and I could go to New Orleans next. Just make a tour of it. I used to love that sort of wide-scale chaos.”
The Baron stands, the woman’s breasts bouncing enticingly in the little bikini top as he leans in and strokes his jaw. “It wasn’t a threat Loki, just a simple question. You’re so testy these days. You should work out some of that aggression before someone starts to think this girl is a weakness for you.” The fingers are gone, and the Loa’s eyes sparkle wickedly as he taps the ashes from his cigar. “Take care Trickster.”
With that he’s gone, and Gabe lets the scene go as the pretty blonde stumbles in confusion and drops the cigar. She makes her way across the sand without giving Gabriel a second look, and he leaves the drink in favor of getting the hell out of there before he makes another mistake.
Gabriel ends up in Moscow for some reason, the air around him full of snow, white-out conditions, and he pushes the door of the bar open and plops down before ordering as much vodka as they can hand him. Around him men mutter in Russian as they hunker down into heavy coats and stare at nothing.
He should check on her. Just for a second, he could peek his head in and make sure she’s not doing something incredibly stupid, as is her tradition.
Instead he slips into the motel room currently occupied by Dean and Sam. He watches as Dean sings along to Living Color’s “Cult of Personality”, husky voice dead on as one hand clenches an invisible microphone. Gabriel’s glad he can’t be heard laughing, and just to make sure there’s no cosmic misunderstanding as to why he’s here he muffles the sound of Sam coming in.
His laughter only increases when Sam stares at his brother, dancing through the living area in his boxers and nothing else as he sings loudly, and then Sam starts laughing and Gabriel laughs with him. After the fallout of Sam’s mockery Gabriel sits in as they discuss plans and approaches. No one mentions a certain tattooed lunatic, and that’s comforting enough he can go about his own business.
-----
They end up at a rather nice house in Kansas, waiting on the doorstep of a woman that their father knew, but never took Dean to meet. Dean’s fairly nervous, because the woman is supposed to be some kind of awesome psychic, but he thinks he’s hiding it fairly well. Until Sam brushes his lower back once and whispers, “Calm down Dean.”
When the door finally opens the psychic standing on the other side stares at them critically. She’s heavy, older, but her face is young and pretty. The scowl on it doesn’t put him at ease, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes that suggests kindness and mischief.
“Took you boys long enough. I swear I’ve been waiting for weeks. Well, come in, dinner is getting cold while you stand on my steps and waste my time.”
Dean shoots his brother an incredulous look, but Sam only raises his eyebrows and shrugs. They follow in slowly, Dean’s eyes roaming over the incredibly normal and simple looking home. He expected more, most of the psychics he’s ever met with have a good deal of pageantry laid out for their customers, but Missouri Moseley appears to not care much for that sort of thing.
The kitchen is homey and simple, and when she lays a plate piled high with fried chicken and mashed potatoes Dean moans without thinking about it. She slaps his knuckles when he lifts the first breast, and he drops the chicken abruptly and looks up in wonder.
“You need to wash your hands boy, and then we say grace. I know you’ve got manners, so use them.” Sam’s lips are quirked, eyes bright , and Missouri looks over at him. “You too Samuel. This is an equal opportunity household.”
So they wash their hands, and then they take the places she indicated before and Dean begrudgingly lets her take his hand as she starts to pray.
“Father, I know these are hard times, and we’re coming to the end of things now. If you, in your infinite wisdom, would allow these two boys to do their work and maybe buy us some time we’d be eternally grateful. If you deem it our time though, we’ll go graciously into your light and love. Amen.”
Dean’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard he’s sure there’s blood, but he manages to not say anything smart or sarcastic.
“Now eat boys. I didn’t cook this for my health. And Dean you finish all your vegetables, you aren’t too old to be spanked or not need your greens.”
He shoots Sam that disbelieving look again, but his brother is too busy tasting the mashed potatoes and grinning around them to be of any help.
It’s been a long time since Dean had home-cooked Southern fare. Which is why Dean eats everything on his plate, and tries his hardest to keep up with Missouri’s bright and gentle voice. She tells them about herself, what she does, and how happy she is to finally see them together again. Dean manages to only choke a little when she adds, “And don’t bother lyin’ to me ‘bout what you two been up to. I know good and well what you are, and I ain’t the judging type. Although Dean you could be more honest with your brother. Lying hurts everyone involved.”
When the meal is finally over they sit in the kitchen, glasses of iced tea at every place and Missouri levels them both with her gaze before turning her eyes on Sam. Dean watches as she studies his little brother, her mouth twitching thoughtfully, before it finally resolves into a big smile. Her eyes are wet and wide, still sparkling gorgeously.
“I know what your father put you through and I’m mighty sorry ‘bout that Samuel. I wish he would’ve consulted me before he made that decision, but I’m afraid he didn’t have much interest in my opinion. Your daddy was bull-headed beyond all reason. You couldn’t tell that man anything once he made up his mind.”
Dean was torn between nodding his head in sympathy and arguing with her on the principles of loyalty. He chose to keep his mouth shut, because in the end she was right. John Winchester had been bull-headed, and there’d been no arguing with him. Dean knew that from long experience.
“I appreciate that.” Sam’s face clearly stated how uncomfortable he was. He didn’t like to call their father dad, and he didn’t like to be reminded about what had happened and who had done it. Missouri seemed to get that because she changed topics pretty quickly.
“So you boys are going to need a bed to sleep in. I’m afraid my guest bed isn’t big enough for two, but the pull-out couch might do it. It’ll kill your backs though. In the meantime, can I suggest that after a good night’s sleep we sit down and see what we can figure out about your devil killing problem?”
“How do you know what we came for?” Sam shot him a look, but Dean refused to feel stupid. He’d met a lot of psychics, and none of them had known this much without at least getting a good look at his palm, or a spread in front of them.
Missouri’s eyes were twinkling, and she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands together. “I’m better than those other tinkerers you saw, and I’ve dreamed about all of this before. I don’t know if I can tell you everything you need to know, but I can certainly help. I think you boys could use a little help these days, don’t you?”
And that? Dean definitely couldn’t argue with that.
----
In the morning Sam woke to Dean’s elbow cracking his jaw as his brother tried to find a comfortable position on the creaky old couch mattress. In lieu of hitting Dean back Sam slipped out of the pull-out bed and made his way to the bathroom as he rubbed his jaw. Missouri’s bathroom was as pretty and well-kept as the rest of the place. He was kind of in awe of the way everything matched, and a brutal sweep of homesickness came over him at the sight.
He’d been away before, in fact as of recently he’d been away more than there, but that didn’t change how hard it was to be in this kind of place. The run-down old motel rooms reminded him more of the house on the hill than this picturesque little home. There was a worn-in quality there that he associated with home. He wondered briefly if that’s how Jeff had picked his decorating scheme.
All thoughts of home and mismatched curtains fled when Sam rounded the corner into the kitchen and found the psychic humming happily as she mixed something in a bowl. She caught him staring and simply smiled brightly.
“I’m making blueberry muffins. I thought you might like them with breakfast.”
He had to swallow, and then he took a spot at the kitchen table and watched her work. “I would. I love blueberry muffins.”
“I know.” She shot him a mischievous smile before she started to drop paper cups into the muffin pan. “Want to tell me what’s put that lost puppy look on your face baby?”
Sam licked his lips once, leaned back in the chair, and then figured lying to a psychic was sort of pointless. “I’m worried about my sister, and I’m really out of my element here. People don’t bake for me.”
“Well I can’t say much to the second thing, but I’m sorry for the first. I’ve never met her, but I met her uncle once. Good man, little wild though. Came here with that prickly old Bobby Singer. I miss those men something fierce. Nobody could get my car purring as well as Bobby Singer.”
Sam felt a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah he’s good. You know, Dean’s a really good mechanic. I bet he could help you. It would let us re-“
“You say repay me and I’m a whack you with a spoon.” She pointed said spoon at him before dipping it back in the mix and going back to filling up the cups. “I don’t need repayment for helping you boys. Consider it my atonement.”
“Atonement for what?”
Missouri’s eyes dropped to the bowl, and she stirred once before scooping up the next load. “There’s a lot of things that can be seen, but not much can be done about them. I wanted so badly to do something when I saw what you were going through, but I just didn’t have the clout or the ability.”
Sam felt all the breath punched out of him, and then she was there and stroking his hair. “You-you know what-“
Her arms went around him, and Sam was pulled into her soft embrace as she stroked his hair gently and cooed at him. She smelled like blueberries and fresh linen, and something in Sam went soft and pliant at her touch. “Shh baby, it’s ok. You don’t have to worry about that. You were a little boy, and you deserved a real life. If I can I’m gonna make sure you get one now. Soon as this end of the world business is over. In the meantime you go easy on yourself, and just let me spoil you a bit.”
Several minutes passed that way, and Sam was almost completely slack in her arms when he heard Dean clear his throat. Missouri pulled back and finished her work before sliding the muffins into the oven and pulling out two skillets. “How do you boys like your eggs?”
Sam met Dean’s questioning gaze and gave a tentative nod to tell him he was alright. Dean cleared his throat before bee lining for the coffee maker. “Over easy. We appreciate this a lot ma’am.”
“I ain’t no old lady. You call me Missouri boy.” But her eyes were sparkling now, and she brandished her spoon one last time before dropping it in the sink and opening the fridge. “Plus, don’t thank me yet. You’re gonna be doing the dishes.”
Dean groaned piteously and slumped into the seat beside Sam as he sipped his coffee.
“So Missouri, you know why we’re here. Do you have any idea how we’ll find the Colt?”
She didn’t turn from the skillet as she cracked eggs into it. Instead she simply spoke over her shoulder. “I know a few avenues, but none of them are going to be easy. I can’t see clearly where it is, but there are faces attached to it that I think would be able to help you. One or two of them are people you already got helping you, and that’s good. On the other hand I think at least one of them is new. The problem is I can get her face, but I can’t see her name.”
That had Dean leaning forward, and he watched his brother’s elbows land on the table as he dropped his chin into his hands. “What does she look like? Why wouldn’t you be able to get her name?”
“She’s blocking me. I think she might be aware people are looking for her. Pretty little thing, brunette with blue-grey eyes. British I believe. Also, you don’t get those elbows off my table and I’ll be over there to teach you better manners. You’re strong enough to hold yourself up.”
Dean pulled back quickly but stuck his tongue out. Sam was overcome with laughter when Missouri responded without turning around, “And put your tongue back in your mouth boy! You ain’t no dog!”
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Date: 2013-06-04 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 12:01 pm (UTC)but I couldn't resist taking a peek...lol@that fist paragraph :)
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Date: 2013-06-04 04:46 pm (UTC)I love the first paragraph. It's my favorite part of anything.
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Date: 2013-06-04 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 07:47 pm (UTC)So glad you liked it and thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2013-06-04 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 06:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 06:52 pm (UTC)You posted it! I just love Missouri, and I wish we saw more of her in canon. I have hope, but for now she lives here and is a marvelous treat.
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Date: 2013-06-04 07:50 pm (UTC)Thanks again Sammich, because you're my crutch and my hero. :D
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Date: 2013-06-04 08:54 pm (UTC)(people - trust me you do and you know that already if you're seeing this)
Team Shoe, Bitch! (hey, was that like a Ferris Bueller moment?)
<3<3<3
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Date: 2013-06-04 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-04 07:51 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting, and for sticking around!
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Date: 2013-06-05 09:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-05 01:32 pm (UTC)So glad you liked it, and thanks for reading and commenting!
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Date: 2013-06-05 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 01:03 pm (UTC)Edition 2,578
Date: 2013-06-07 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 01:04 pm (UTC)