The Game of God: Day 155 - part 2
Theory. Practice. Adrenaline. Fun.
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Warnings at the end.
— Day 155, continued —
When Cas said that Croatoan was the sum of humanity’s fears, he nailed it: mouths stretched in insane grins, teeth bared in anticipation of ripping apart anything and anyone they touch. Watching it live and in action earlier, it should be a lot more terrifying than it is, but without the screams of victims, it’s almost mundane; shoot, shoot, shoot, don’t even watch them hit the ground for those behind them to trip over, shoot them, too. Move back when they get close enough for a burst of speed and a lunge—Amanda abruptly jerking him back three feet from the ward line with a warning glance—and never, ever stop shooting.
They aren’t mindless, though, and that’s the killer; a human mind, however damaged, is still in there, and those brief flashes of human intellect, human calculation, are what makes them dangerously unpredictable. Worse, it’s so fucking random that you never see it coming.
A quick check shows Alicia and her team spread out nearby, coolly firing off shots like it ain’t no big while Amanda takes a step back for a fast reload. Moving slightly in front of her, Dean does a mental count and figures he has another couple of lines of Croats with the rifle before he needs to reload and blesses Cas for really being into the entire ‘arming him’ thing; looks like it’s also useful for survival, who knew?
“Everyone okay?” he shouts. Vague affirmative sounds drift back toward him, which he takes as agreement. They’re alive, after all.
“They’re not fast enough,” Amanda says quietly, coming back up beside him; unlike Alicia and her team spread along the ward line, she’s almost at his hip. The brief glimpses of Alicia and her team makes him suddenly wonder what it’ll be like to have one of his own; even he can see how they’re following Alicia’s unspoken orders, watching for signals only another team member can recognize. Only a couple of months since Cas appointed her, but they already work together like they live in each other’s skin. He thinks, a little wistfully, that he would really like the chance to find out. “The ones earlier must have been the pick of the litter.”
Dean gives her a querying look.
“Frostbite on that one’s hands,” she says, shooting the one she’s referring to and adding a couple more bullets for good measure as it goes down. “No wonder they’re on the low end of performance. These people were dying already; they might only be alive because the infection got ‘em first.”
Startled, Dean scans the Croats carefully and has to agree with her assessment; there’s a clumsiness, like a demon who’s new to bodies after too long on the rack, a weird lack of coordination in some. Now that he thinks about it, the ones at the daycare were a hell of a lot faster, and the attack at the ward line were definitely better than this. The near-skeletal bodies beneath the torn winter coats aren’t the only indicator; now that Amanda pointed it out, he can see the beginnings of rot at the tips of blackened fingers and noses, skin patchy on their cheeks, and limping gaits that might mean frozen feet or toes no longer functioning at optimum.
Before Cas, he only vaguely understood Croat had stages, but until now, it didn’t occur to him that even after manifesting the process might not be complete that turns a person into a monster. It can’t fix what’s broken (or not there), but it can sure as fuck make sure the Croat’s not slowed down by it.
For a second, he thinks he sees a figure smoothly walking among them, straight and certain among the stumbling bodies coming up the hill, dark eyes fixed on him, flashes of blood-red around pale legs, but when he blinks, they’re gone. If he’s already hallucinating from a fever he doesn’t even feel, better to find out now. “Amanda—”
“Red dress,” she says shortly, something unidentifiable in her voice. “She wanted us to see her.”
Dean uses a brief absence in the ranks—really slow, but from the look of what’s still coming over the rise, numbers are making up for it—to reload. Slamming in the magazine—not nearly as smoothly as Amanda—Dean steps back around her and starts firing again, watching in growing disbelief as another group stumbles over the rise.
“Dean, they all look like shit,” she says, a snarl in her voice. “Son of a bitch, they were on their way here. They must have thought…”
You think you’re gonna die in the middle of the road and looking the bullet option in the face, then someone in a red dress shows up and offers to save your kids, your parents, your friends for the small, small price of your mind, not even your soul (maybe); what do you do? You get infected, get in the truck, and get dropped off near a walled city, waiting out the hours until you go crazy. As yet another group shambles over the rise—Jesus, how many survivors did they pick up?—Dean signals and starts to drop back, watching in relief as they raggedly follow along. This has to look convincing, not just to some Hellhounds but the demon who set this up and watches every move they make.
“How long until you need to reload?” Dean asks after they reach the halfway point between the wards and the wall, trying to ignore each flash of vivid red that’s more unnerving than the endless stream of Croats coming at them. He hopes to God someone’s got a gun to someone’s head at the gate; when people are good at being people, they’re just as liable to fuck up, and all they need is someone getting the bright idea of opening the gate when they’re this close to it and trying to save them.
She gives him a startled look, following his gaze to the gate and gets with the program. Dropping back behind him and pulling a reload out, they leave an opening for the Croats to get between them and the gate, and in that flash of human intelligence, they take it.
“Five seconds,” Dean murmurs as the rise starts to look almost solid with Croats and noting the ones they’re shooting are starting to look dangerously alert now, focused, like Croat finally overcame the near-death of the bodies and is ready to party. He forces himself not to take a step back, not yet; they only got one shot to make this look good, and it’s not just hellhounds they have to convince anymore. “Okay—now.”
This isn’t a great plan; the only way that they know it’s working is that they’re still alive. There’s no time for relief, though, because it’s time for part two; getting to the goddamn door, which unfortunately, none of them have actually seen.
For him, it’s less of a problem; even before he saw the wall in real life, if he was asked, he probably would have surprised himself as much as the questioner by being able to describe it down to the last goddamn detail, the outline and principles crowded into that space in his mind that he’s labeled ‘Cas,’ and that talk with Tony confirmed he can also name the physical and chemical properties without breaking a sweat. He can see it now, a rough sketch that must have been Cas’s original idea, details filling in as quickly as he can understand them, and the more he learns, the more he realizes this might not be doomed to failure after all. If they can get there, that is.
Each door is eight feet in width, and like the gates, they’re sunken into the wall so there’s a ten foot deep alcove between the outside of the wall and the door itself. Unlike the gates, however, the eight foot opening is both easily defendable by two people, and the line they need to draw on this side of the door is gonna be a lot shorter. Each of them carry enough salt to draw several lines, in fact, and if they have basic timing and a little luck, they’ll be protected long enough to get inside when they open the door (after the brick is sledgehammered away please God), close it, and fix the salt line inside if by any chance opening the door or their brave retreat inside breaks it. He’s already mapped out where he’ll put the salt lines, how long he’ll need to do it and how long they can wait for that door to open (as long as possible); all that’s left is actually getting there.
The North Gate is about five and a half miles from either the western or eastern gate, so the northwest door—postern door, thanks, Matt—is smack dab between them, so two and three quarters on the outside. Parking Lot A (and B and C) are now part of the wall, but those weren’t the only place people were parking to get off the road fast and start walking; Tony’s calculations mean the north fields are inside the barrier, and considering the number of people trying to be subtle coming in, he’s surprised not at all to see the number of abandoned cars among the skeletal trees and snow-covered brush that were outside Ichabod’s technical city limits and Cas didn’t pull for the wall. In fact, he was pretty much counting on just that.
As far as he’s concerned, that’s the only reason this has any shot of working; he doesn’t even pretend he can run all of it in a single shot, much less do it while keeping ahead of a not so miniature army of Croats who aren’t affected by shit like pain and cramping and a fever three months back. Amanda might have been exaggerating about her leg, but he doubts it; she’s a hunter and wouldn’t tell him anything less than the truth about what she can do even casually. And while he’s sure his people are in great shape, that’s a fuck of a run without a break; they’ll all need those obstacles to slow down the Croats and give them a minute to rest.
The first breather isn’t even a quarter of a mile in, and Dean almost protests stopping; he feels fine. Then he remembers Alicia’s team behind them and a check shows Alicia and Matt are running rearguard, with Jody and Andy between them and Dean and Amanda, who are out in front. At Amanda’s significant glance, he concentrates on keeping ahead and not falling over his own feet between the uneven terrain and occasional piece of broken automobile, which he’s kind of grateful for. Otherwise, he’ll start thinking too much about what’s following them besides Croats and hellhounds.
Hellhounds can think, but they’re not human; a demon in the mix, though, might just figure out why the hell they didn’t go to the gate when they had a chance, especially one who knows Chitaqua’s hunters and might guess they have a specific reason to know why they couldn’t risk opening it. The red dress of the demon Cas met at the Crossroads tells him that’s exactly what they’re dealing with and opens up a whole host of new questions starting with ‘why.’
Slipping past an overturned van, Dean glances back at Jody and Andy two cars and ten yards behind them, Alicia and Matt bringing up the rear twenty yards farther out, with Croats at less than twenty behind them. Obstacles don’t stop them—nothing but a few bullets will—but they’re definitely slowed down by a ton or so of metal that doesn’t respond to their rage by fleeing before it and seem shaky on going over things instead of taking the extra time to shove them aside.
Dean pauses, watching a Mazda shoved aside by the weight of enraged Croats and giving all of them a lot of ground to cover before they have to start shooting again. Even for Croats on the hunt, they’re way too focused. The cover fire coming down from the walls—he makes a mental note to thank everyone involved if he survives this—doesn’t seem to be distracting them, either. Cocking his head, he follows Alicia and Matt’s movements; something about what they’re doing bothers him, but he can’t take the time to work out why before he’s moving again.
Amanda jerks him behind the van, scowling at him when he starts toward the next car. Measuring this distance in vehicles passed is a lot less intimidating than thinking of the actual distance. “Breather.”
Jesus, feels like they’ve gone five already. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking him over with professional expertise. “Don’t be a guy now; how much longer can you go without knocking yourself out? I’m not leaving you out here if you fall, so better we plan for it now. How many breaks to get you to the door still on your feet? You need them, tell me. We’ll work it in.”
Dean wants to say hell yes he’ll be fine until they get there, but he takes a second to think about it first. He’s up to a fast jog around Chitaqua under the merciless eye of an entire camp of tattletales (thanks, Cas), but he’s also wiped afterward. He’s been up since dawn, and between the fighting and fleeing the Croats, he’s running on pure adrenaline and fear and, admit it, the fact that everyone who can fit onto the walls of Ichabod are watching every goddamn move they make. Cas is watching him. Pride may go before the fall, but it can also be the only thing that keeps you on your feet.
“I’m not sure,” he admits finally, checking to see if he needs to reload. “I’ll tell you if it gets dicey. No promises I won’t, you know, be a little tired when we get to the door, though.”
“Okay, I’m impressed,” Amanda answers with a flashing grin, but the sound of shouting interrupts them. Pushing up, they both take in the sudden lack of Alicia’s team in sight, but a glance at Amanda shows she’s not worried and decides to go with it. As the Croats approach, they pause like they’re looking for something—which hey, that’s weird—before abruptly, the world is gunfire and snow. When it clears, Dean sees thirteen dead Croats, Alicia standing on the roof of a truck looking smug, and her team spaced in a square around them. “I always knew she had a mind on her,” Amanda says admiringly. “Just needed something to wake it up.”
And bought them some very useful breathing room, too: they’re not wasting it.
“All right,” he says. “Let’s get going.”
Dean gets his second wind four stops later, which is lucky, since they barely have thirty seconds at the next before Alicia yells a string of profanity as impressive in length as it was worrying in existence: the Croats got way too close again and Dean’s lost any hope of working out how many are out there but ‘maybe endless’ (it sure feels like it). Their progress isn’t nearly as impressive as he wishes; having to dart halfway to the ward line to get around some of the pile-ups too high to get over and slowing down to navigate between tight-packed vehicles before clear land opens up again, is turning this into a crawl.
Taking a deep breath, Dean rubs the stitch in his side as he makes for a rusty truck and three cars lined up with it, boosting himself onto the hood of the truck with a grunt before running across the cars, parked so close that if they still had a decent paintjob, they wouldn’t now. Jumping to the ground on the other side, he stumbles, a lance of pain shooting up his instep and nearly knocking him off his feet. Catching himself before he hits the ground, he looks back to see Amanda standing on cab of the truck providing cover; that means the Croats are close enough to Alicia and Matt that they need time to run, and Jody and Andy (and the fire coming from Ichabod’s walls) aren’t enough.
There’s not much of a reduction in the number of Croats coming after them, almost underlining how wrong this is especially for a new demon who there’s no fucking way Crowley trusted out of sight, much less running a collection call. And he’s still not liking how they slow down in their crazy, headlong scramble when Alicia’s team does one of their things.
“Go ahead,” Amanda shouts, presumably at him, but Dean ignores her, angry at himself for not checking before he got down here. After a few more shots, Amanda turns and jumps to the hood of the nearest car and a couple of strides later lands beside him with barely a hitch in her step as she grabs his arm and pulls him along with almost no loss of forward momentum.
“Come on,” she huffs impatiently. “They figured out climbing over instead of going through. We got discount Croats, but they’re catching up to the sticker price version. Alicia and Matt barely got far enough ahead to risk shooting again.”
“They’re getting faster,” Dean observes breathlessly as they start to cross fifty feet of uninterrupted dirt studded with the occasional clump of winter-dry grass at a dead run. Glancing up at the wall, he confirms his performance is being monitored by more people than he can count and wishes hopelessly that he wasn’t wheezing—that can’t be impressive to anyone—and wishes even more that didn’t bother him.
Up ahead is a school bus and a van that ran straight into it, hood half-buried beneath the tail jacked almost five feet off the ground. He tries to decide whether to go over the narrow remains of the hood or around and try to get through the scraggles of brush. As they reach it, Dean glances back and sees Andy and Jody just hitting the ground by the cars, and Alicia and Matt are on the truck and from the angle of their guns, firing right down. “Holy shit.”
“How the hell are they—” Amanda cuts herself off, shoving Dean toward the car. Over it is; climbing up, Dean navigates the narrow space between the back of the bus and the windshield and stops short as he gets a look at what comes next.
“Fuck. Me.”
Amanda almost knocks him off the hood, growling something before she sucks in a breath at the view over his shoulder.
“I think we just found Parking Lot D,” he says mildly, staring at the endless rows (or piles) starting thirty feet away, crushed so close together—and sometimes smashed against each other—he’s seeing a lot of jumping in their future. At a shout from behind them, Dean turns to see Alicia crouching on the roof of a rusted Buick, shooting steadily as Jody and Andy scrambling over the hood. Matt nowhere in sight.
“Dammit,” he starts, but Amanda catches his arm, shaking her head and that’s when Dean sees Matt roll out from under the car, shouting at Alicia, who doesn’t move as the Croats lumber toward her. “What’s she doing?”
Matt shouts again, coming to a hard stop, but to Dean’s surprise, he doesn’t run back toward her, jerking his head at Andy and Jody to get behind the next car as he takes out his gun. They’re too far away to be sure, but Dean thinks he’s staring at—something under the car. Snow makes it hard to see but—
“Get down,” Dean says, shoving Amanda down on the hood and covering her just as Alicia straightens, kicking a Croat in the face before pointing her gun at the hood and shooting, Matt following with a shot to the car beside it. Turning, Alicia hops off the hood and runs toward Matt and Dean sees her wide grin as she fists one of her hands and the car explodes behind her. “They carry C fucking 4?” No fucking way could that car explode like that otherwise even if they both hit the fuselage. “Ana let them have some? She barely let me look at it!”
“This is Alicia,” Amanda says, sounding muffled before he realizes she’s laughing. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she carried an extra missile in her coat.”
They could use one of those, he thinks just before another car explodes, and Dean wonders how the hell Matt did that with Croats on their heels. Then as Alicia joins Matt, he sees her frantic waving and realizes it’s at them.
“We’re up,” he says to Amanda, checking the other cars warily as burning Croats wander through the snow, though behind them he can see more coming. Stepping off the car, he takes a deep breath that hurts all the way down. “Let’s get going.”
Alicia and Matt with Jody and Andy pull the ‘blow up random cars’ twice more before Dean assumes they ran out of explosives (they carry C4 and detonators now, what the hell? He’s gonna have to talk to Ana; if anyone gets to play with plastic explosives, it should be him).
“Something’s wrong with this,” Dean tells Amanda during a brief break, shooting at the mass of Croats indiscriminately; at this distance, with his left, he’s taking best effort and sacrificing aim for getting a hit on something, anything to slow them down. They’re getting help from the wall, but it takes experience to hit a target as fast as a Croat and no one’s got experience shooting from a twenty-four foot elevation, either. She nods agreement before jerking her head, indicating it’s time to move on; there’s no time for an answer, but from the fleeting expression on her face, she probably knew it before he did.
Croats aren’t really faster than humans; they just don’t get tired and don’t care if they dislocate or rip anything in pursuit of their murder-purpose. Which technically does make them faster than humans, or at least them; Amanda’s panting, and while she’s not favoring her leg yet, he thinks she will be soon. In their favor, speed is most useful on the straight and flat when you’re running, which this isn’t. What’s not is that he’s had just enough time to think that he’s not imagining that these Croats aren’t right, either, and it’s got nothing to do with the shape they were in when they were infected.
Croats aren’t mindless, they’re just really focused on the hunt, and usually, that means anything in range, including each other. These Croats are focused, he’ll give them that, so focused that every bleeding Croat body is ignored, trampled into pulp in the rush forward to get them, the shooting from the walls doesn’t merit even a snarl, and there’s nothing about it that works with what he knows about Croats in the other world, nothing like that first group at the ward line, and sure hell not the ones in Ichabod.
Alicia and Matt are doing a good job of covering their tail, keeping the Croats far enough back to avoid close contact, but it’s getting harder to keep up fire and also run, and Dean watched two close calls before deciding to mix this up a little. It’s great and everything they want to protect him, but Amanda will have to knock him out and drag him to that goddamn door if she thinks he’s leaving anyone behind.
The first two times he stopped to provide Alicia and Matt more cover, Amanda only gave him enough time to see them break and run before jerking him off balance and getting him moving. He fought it both times, but by the third, he saw enough to realize Alicia’s team is working a very specific pattern and the distance between Alicia and Matt, Jody and Andy, and him and Amanda was deliberate. Worse, from Amanda’s grim look the second time he argued, it was clear that nothing he could say was going to stop them, and at best, he was going to get them killed if he didn’t follow along.
So when he takes a breather—and he takes them more now, just for this—he gets in a few shots, and Alicia and Matt a little more breathing room. The look on Amanda’s face—half-frustration, half-affection—tells him she knows perfectly well he’s not going without them and she’ll just deal with it.
Getting those shooting breaks, brief as they were, was when it finally started to click, and not just the weirdness of the Croats not eating their own; they were focused all right, and he didn’t think he was wrong about exactly what they were focused on no matter how badly he wanted to be.
Every so often, Dean sees a flash of red just outside the ward line, there and gone before he can turn to look. He wonders what that’s like, to look at people you used to hunt with and who will be hunting you if they get a chance; if that’s a memory that Cas took when he got him out of hell, he’s glad he doesn’t have it.
As they get to a brief clearing in the cars, Amanda checks behind them before pulling him behind a Winnebago and he decides he really does want to be wrong about this and the only way to be sure.
“They’re after Alicia,” Dean says once he catches his breath, watching Amanda carefully. Like nothing else, this has really brought home to him how good they are at this and how little he knows, but he’s learning fast, and from the look on his face, he’s not wrong. Fuck, and it was already going so badly. “It’s like they don’t even see the rest of us, even Matt when he’s shooting them in the face. They’re following her every move.”
He reviews the last few times they held off the Croats; two more killboxes, then the bait and switch, Alicia shoving Matt to run, holding position until the Croats are too close and her team sets up behind her, then breaking while they hold the Croats off for the few moment she needs to get to them, repeat ad infinitum.
Amanda focuses on an unnecessary check of her gun. “Is that Erica outside the ward line?”
Dean stares at her, unable to work out how to deny it when he’s trying to figure out where she got that from.
“The demon’s pacing Alicia on the ward line to watch what she’s doing and control the Croats; she always appears parallel with Alicia—and now that I know Alicia was Erica’s secret tactical advisor, makes sense,” Amanda continues, still looking at her gun. “Look, I don’t trust Micah any farther than my reach, but if he’s playing infiltrator, I promise you his ass wouldn’t have been anywhere near anyone turning Croat. Fuck our lives, he may have been genuinely trying to warn her about Erica. Though how he’d know…” She trails off before looking at him. “Dean, a demon is one thing, but one of our own stalking us? This is need to know info.”
“If I’d known she’d be here, I would have,” Dean snaps, and Amanda stills, looking startled, like just maybe if he’d kept his mouth shut, she might have given up, or maybe—just maybe—she expected him to lie. “She was the one who met Cas at the Crossroads before Crowley showed up.” She nods slowly. “There was something else that tipped you off.”
“Watched Erica for two years, waiting for a reason to put a bullet in her head,” Amanda answers. “Luke was a fucking psychopath, made my skin crawl, but that’s all he was. Erica—she could fake normal. Fake it so well you don’t even realize she’s not just trying to bang your new best friend’s girlfriend but has a bullet with your friend’s name on it.” The blue eyes darken when they rest on him. “Don’t feel too bad about it though; she sure as fuck fooled you.”
“I knew what she was,” he says, because Dean did; Erica’s history was probably the deciding factor to get her into Chitaqua. “If you’re waiting for me to make excuses, Croats will pick us out of their teeth first. I don’t have any.”
Amanda’s expression doesn’t change for a long moment before she says, “I slept with her, and if you ever tell Vera…”
Dean chokes on a laugh, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Amanda relax. Looking back, they’re still okay, and he needs to know. “Alicia and Erica…?”
“Alicia really is a dead zero,” she answers with a faint smile. “It wasn’t that, but it was something with them. And another thing that lends credence to Micah—Erica hated him.”
“He was on her team,” Dean protests and hey, he’s getting better at being himself again; he remembered something actually relevant. “When Alicia was injured—”
“Like I said, she could fake it, but honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t have an accident on patrol. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” she says acidly before shaking herself. “Look, she’s after Alicia for whatever reason, and I’m pretty sure at this point the rest of us just keep running, the Croats won’t even notice. If—”
“We aren’t leaving her out here.”
“You,” Amanda says and grabs his arm before he can jerk away. “Dean, be practical here. You’re a liability out here, but if you can get inside—”
“Through the bricked door.” He can feel the flash of heat in his face: liability; she’s not wrong. Flexing his right hand, he barely keeps from flinching at the low, deep ache that warns him it’s not gonna be worth anything really soon now, and shooting targets with his left isn’t in the same ballpark as doing it in the field. “The plan is I stand behind a salt line and watch you all die?”
“Alicia knows something’s up, just not who,” Amanda answers. “She’s not coming within fifty feet of you; you stop too long, she won’t move. She can tell the Croats are sticking with her, and she’s using it—”
“To protect me, I get it. Except they’re after her, so how the hell…”
“For now,” she snaps. “And when Erica stops playing—”
“The plan is not letting you, Alicia, and her team die!”
Amanda snorts. “You call what we’re doing right now a plan? Dean, I think you’ve been out of the field too long.”
“I need to check on Alicia.” Jerking his arm free, he ignores her grimace and circles to the front of the Winnebago; Alicia’s shoving Matt ahead of her before turning to shoot down the Croats behind them. Now that Amanda’s confirmed it, he takes in the details, filing them away; Alicia does know what’s going on, even if she doesn’t know why. She’s using the Croat’s focus, darting parallel to them, never letting them get too close, pulling them from one side of the field to the other while Matt sets up halfway between her and Jody and Andy to take them out the minute Alicia breaks and runs for him, Jody and Andy providing supplementary fire until Alicia reaches Matt and all but Alicia retreats, and it all starts again. Watching Alicia, Erica’s figured out how to keep her too busy for any more setups, and if they survive this, Ana’s gonna be Alicia’s new instructor in explosives and teaching them all how to play Croat: The Live Action Video Game where you blow them the fuck up.
“Let’s go,” Dean says, climbing on the hood and taking aim as the Croats come into his best range. Alicia races toward Matt, Croats falling over their own dead and dying trying to get to her (not even stopping for a snack or even fucking notice), and the way they mass together makes it really easy to just shoot in one convenient location. Putting all the Croats on Alicia means that until she’s dead, the rest of them aren’t in danger, and all their focus can be on protecting her. This is shitty tactics for a former team leader, even when they’re a demon, but then again, that would depend on Erica’s goal. And unlike Amanda, he actually thinks he does know why Erica’s doing this now.
“Dean,” Amanda starts quietly, making each shot count with a body count to prove it. “Look—”
“Gotta concentrate with my left.” Which is partially true; he has to concentrate to keep his right hand from going into spasms, because practice isn’t anything like the field and he forgot to switch before it got this bad. Taking a deep breath, he lets reflex take over and tries to think of what the fuck they’re supposed to do now.
Erica’s just off the rack, and even Cas was surprised by the way she went after Crowley; usually, it takes time for a demon to get something like their own personality back from under the terror and pain and horror, and even more to get back anything resembling initiative. Erica was a Chitaqua hunter who trained under a Fallen angel and was led by a former demon; that she’s breaking the curve makes as much sense as anything and her performance with Crowley confirms it. The thing is, that’s not all that comes with rising off the rack, and he’s not sure even Erica saw this coming, much less have any idea what’s driving her right now. If he’s right, and he kind of thinks he is.
“I don’t get it,” Amanda says, ignoring his unspoken but pretty damn obvious lack of interest in anything she’s got to say right now (just because she was right doesn’t mean he has to take it with grace). “Of all the times to pursue whatever with Alicia, why now? She was a lot of things, but not stupid.”
“She’s not stupid,” Dean continues, counting down the seconds until they have to go; giving Alicia a little more time now is all he can do right now. “She’s just forgotten what she’s supposed to be doing here.”
Amanda flickers a glance at him, surprised. “What?”
Taking aim, he watches a Croat go in a burst of blood and bone and brain. Seeing Jody and Andy stop firing, he slides the rifle over his shoulder and slides off the hood, just barely avoiding a groan at the fleet of endless cars ahead. If he’s right, Erica forgot a lot more than just the plan.
“Ever fuck with a demon’s head for fun and profit?” he asks as Amanda catches up to as they run bravely to their next stop.
She looks at him with a combination of suspicion and outright anticipation (a hunter, in other words). “Why?”
“I got a plan. One question, though,” he asks, boosting himself on the hood of the next car with new energy. “What’s your farthest range when you don’t care about a kill shot?”
Parking Lot D ends abruptly with an actual five car pile-up; circling it, there are a few more cars and trees, but mostly it’s clear ground and Jesus, that’s not good, but hey, no better time to see if this works. This close to the door—and they’ve gotta be close by now—Alicia’s not gonna be able to play chicken with them much longer and she’s gotta know that. He’s not sure how she’s managed this long; even with Matt doing everything he can, the pace she’s set for herself is brutal, but that’s less a problem than her end game. She’s got this all worked out. The second they get to the door, she can’t count on it being ready, and there’s no way to tell how long until it is, so Plan A: she’ll give the Croats and Erica exactly what they want and the rest of them plenty of time to get in the door and get the salt line fixed.
Amanda’s expression when he double checks confirms it. “Pretty much that. She may shoot herself first, but I doubt it. She’ll break for the ward line and keep going until she collapses probably, far enough away that we have a clear shot. She knows she’s more interesting alive than dead, which will buy us more time.”
“I’m going to think up new places to mow, just for her,” Dean tells her grimly as they climb another miniature pile-up; it’s like a junkyard gone wrong and weird everywhere he looks. “Maybe here; let her think about her sins.”
“Our fearless leader,” Amanda mutters, and they save their breath for running for a while.
As they stop behind a suburban he’s pretty sure is basically all rust, Dean shoves the sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, making a mental note to get a haircut and fighting the urge to strip off his flannel despite the fact it’s fucking freezing no matter how hot he feels right now. Climbing on the suburban to get a better view of the field (such as it is), he takes in Alicia’s team; no matter what Alicia thinks, they won’t leave her out here, and that’s more distraction for him and Amanda. They have to be close to the door now, but that matters less right now than getting them off Alicia’s ass and spreading the misery a little.
“You ready?” This idea looked a lot better half a parking lot ago, before he thought about how much is riding on him being right about what changed between the beginning of the second attack and when they started to run. On a guess, until Alicia took front and center at rearguard, Erica didn’t see exactly who was fighting.
Demons hate humans, but nothing quite matches what they feel when they’re faced with their own past, and the worst is the parts that remind them how much they lost when they rose from the rack. Whether she liked Alicia before or not, Alicia was team, her team and the team leaders might have been crazy, but their loyalty to the teams they chose is one thing Cas never doubted, and Dean doesn’t either. It wasn’t just how they were trained, though that’s how it started; it’s what they wanted to be, a choice they made whether they realized it or not. Knowing Erica’s history doesn’t excuse what they did, but maybe if Dean the former hadn’t been so fucking obsessed and realized how goddamn dangerous they were and made a goddamn effort to help them, their chosen teams—people they trusted with their lives and were trusted with theirs—might have saved them before it was too late.
Right now, pretty much everything is riding on just that loyalty; if he’s wrong about what’s driving Erica out here, that it’s made her forget what the hell she came here to do, they’re probably all gonna be dead and it’s not gonna be fast.
“Dean, you’re sure—”
“I’ll make it an order if that’ll get your ass moving,” he interrupts, wishing he was still pissed, but guilt took care of that, fuck his life; Amanda’s worry is for him right now (a liability) and while he’s not doing this to prove he’s not, it might help. “Again. Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Amanda answers, finishing her reload with a jaunty snap, easy in her skin. He thinks Jo would have been like this if she’d gotten the chance to finish growing up, years of experience behind her; Ellen carried herself the same way, cool confidence and purpose; but he can see his own certainty in her, that this was the one thing, the only thing she ever wanted to do. He doesn’t fool himself she won’t jump gleefully into a deathmatch with a Croat army with a smile on her face, more deadly than any ten Croats but still just as dead with these numbers stacked against her. It won’t be fast, she won’t let it be, none of them will, but that won’t change the ending of their story. The only person who can do that is him.
“You’re not back in twenty minutes,” he warns her, “I’m coming to find you.”
Giving him a playful salute, she strolls casually into the open, one eye on Alicia as she heads straight for the ward line. Watching her in full view of the Croats, Dean fights down the urge to call her back; he’s putting Amanda right in the open to save Alicia. The only thing that’s even vaguely okay about this is that Amanda isn’t just the best hunter Cas thinks he ever trained. By Dean’s estimation, she’s the best he’s ever seen, and more importantly, if this was a truly shitty plan, she would have shot it down (and with commentary).
Taking a deep breath, he lines up the shot, waiting for Alicia to break and run. If Erica was as good as she was supposed to be, as Amanda thought she was when she was leading a team, she should have already changed her tactics when she realized Alicia figured it out. The fact she hasn’t is the only proof he has that all she can think about is destroying this one piece of the life she lost.
When Alicia breaks off, the steady fire holding them back the precious seconds she needs to get a head start, he can tell she’s running on empty. The only thing that’s probably keeping her going is seeing Matt behind her, Jody and Andy, the fear they won’t run when she goes down, that they’ll stay, and the flickering glance up, at him, uncertain. Like maybe in the back of her mind is the possibility it’s not just her team that won’t leave, and he sure as fuck hopes so; he needs every bit of pressure he can put on her to keep her from giving up.
When the rifle fires air, he tosses it off the truck without even thinking about it—no more ammunition, and he needs to lose the weight anyway—and pulls his handgun, picking up the next shot with barely a three second delay. It only takes a moment to focus, and for once, using his left feels automatic, instinctive, and every shot goes exactly where he needs it to go; it’s not just Alicia he’s buying time for, but Amanda.
As Alicia comes to a stumbling stop, turning to face the oncoming Croats, Dean doesn’t move when Matt does, keeping his eyes straight ahead and waiting for that flicker of red from the ward line. He doesn’t move even when Jody and Andy hesitate seeing him still standing there, firing shot after shot, because Erica’s watching Alicia, saw her stumble, has to know she’s barely on her feet. It’s not gonna be enough for the Croats to kill Alicia, no; she’s going to want to watch it happen.
As the Croats get closer, Alicia calmly firing off each shot like she’s fresh from a long rest, Matt looks at him for a moment as he gets to the set-up point, his expression broadcasting that Alicia doesn’t think she’s getting away this time, and he’s not either. With a nod Dean hopes tells Matt he knows just that, he counts how long he has before he needs to reload and makes a mental note that he’s gonna be practicing just that a lot in the future.
When he feels the last shot’s been fired, he makes a brief prayer—to anything, why not—that Amanda’s too focused on her task to pay attention to what he’s doing. Getting the reload, he slides down the suburban, hitting the ground with a lance of pain up his spine like the stab of a knife and reloading clumsily on the run toward Jody and Andy, ignoring their growing alarm. If this works, Matt’s gonna be too distracted dragging Alicia to safety to provide cover fire and someone’s gotta pick up the slack.
As Jody frantically switches from her rifle to a handgun, he climbs up on the car with them, meeting Matt’s eyes before looking pointedly at Alicia. Nodding, Matt starts toward the car in front of him, easing onto the hood just as Dean sees a flicker of red from the corner of his eye and a kick of adrenaline rocks him on his feet, wiping away the exhaustion under a hot chemical burn lighting every nerve.
“Go!” Dean shouts.
He doesn’t wait to see if Amanda took the shot or if it hit; he knows Amanda and she can’t, won’t miss. Both questions are answered on the field within a second anyway: the approaching Croats stop, Erica’s control slipping from a bullet to the head if he knows Amanda, bewilderment and hazy confusion holding them still, uncertain. He can almost see the moment that they take in there’s actually more than one target, and not all of them are human. As the too-focused mass dissolves, turning on each other, others sprint forward, and this time they’re after all of them.
Perfect.
Alicia doesn’t waste time wondering what the fuck; with a new burst of energy, she jumps on the hood of the car between her and Matt, turning in time to kick a Croat just at her heels through the throat with an almost audible crunch and nearly decapitating it before taking two steps and jumping off the car. When she lands, even Dean can see the way her ankle turns before she tumbles to the ground, a barely controlled roll through the snow that she ends just barely on her knees. Matt’s already halfway to her, but if she doesn’t move, move now—
“Alicia!” She looks at him, white under the dirt and flecks of blood, as he starts firing toward the approaching Croats. “On your feet, that’s an order! Now!”
Swallowing, she gets up, biting her lip hard enough he’s pretty sure he sees blood before she starts a slow, limping jog, gesturing at him frantically to go, her lips moving in what’s probably some pretty sweet profanity before she breaks into a run—Dean winces for her ankle, hoping to God it’s not broken—and almost stumbling into Matt’s arms before half-turning to fire off some cover over his shoulder: that’s his girl.
Sliding down, Dean makes an effort to be careful; they can’t afford another injury, not now. Through eyes starting to blur, he glances automatically at the wall, scanning it and pulling Cas’s memory into an overlay and yeah, he’s got it; he doesn’t need to see it, fifty yards and this shit is over (mostly: the door thing, but whatever).
“Dean!” Amanda’s shout from his left cuts off when she sees where he’s looking. Reaching him, she shoves his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s it—go! We’ll be right behind you!”
“Bullshit.” Turning around, he fires at the three front runners dogging Alicia and Matt’s heels, watching in fierce satisfaction as a couple behind them stop for a tasty good time with the fallen. Skipping backward, he shouts at Alicia’s team, “Cover them coming in!”
“Fuck you,” Amanda breathes as they dodge around the hood of another car—model whatever, it’s rust, who cares—pacing Matt and Alicia and keeping the Croats back. With a burst of speed, Matt gets breathing distance, but it’s not enough; ignoring Amanda’s shout, Dean runs toward them, and three precise shots to the head bring down two Croats almost breathing on their necks before Alicia’s incredulous expression tells him it’s time to get moving.
It’s almost a surprise at the click in the back of his mind, jerking his attention sideways like some internal alarm just went off; when he looks, he sees the faint shadow of the doorway, right on schedule.
Stopping short, he gestures behind him. “Get her to the door! Move!” he snaps when Matt starts to slow, like he’s trying to be polite or something and let Dean go first. As Jody and Andy fall back while he and Amanda cover them, he hears Alicia’s muffled shouting and figures while there’s definitely a door, it’s not opening.
He can deal with that. “Inside,” he wheezes to Jody and Andy, who don’t even bother to pretend to listen as Amanda grabs him by the arm with a muffled curse and drags him to the opening before throwing him into the alcove. Two faltering steps and he’s on his ass, Matt darting by him to join the rest of them at the opening while Alicia pounds on the door, standing on one foot and shouting to get it open and for Cas to stop feeling up the closest townsperson and get this shit done.
“Fuck. You,” Dean wheezes at her, and she starts to laugh between curses, gulping sounds as she pounds the door.
“I’ll—apologize,” she giggles, balancing on one leg and clinging to the door between punches. “Sorry, Cas! Now open the goddamn door!”
A burst of pain from his right hand makes him fumble the salt, fingers refusing to even try and close. Annoyed with himself for forgetting, he switches to his left and crawls toward the opening, laying a shaky line behind their heels and hoping to God his militia’s trained to skip those.
“Six inches behind you,” he shouts hoarsely over the noise of gunfire, and another bag of salt lands beside him, which he assumes means they heard him. Going back two feet, he lays another line, all his concentration on ignoring the shocks of pain from his right hand while Alicia takes the volume up a notch, which as it turns out is pretty fucking loud, and throws him her salt between each version of ‘fuck’ that seem to be the majority of her vocabulary. Honest to God, he didn’t know she could talk like that.
“Still bricked, but they’re almost through,” she tells him before slamming her hand into the door again. “For fuck’s sake, what are you doing, taking a fucking break? Smite that shit, Cas! Use the stare; that’ll do it!”
Finishing the third salt line, he checks the opening. He can’t see anything but four bodies blocking his view, but over the sound of gunfire, the Croats’ snarling is pretty fucking close, and below that, he knows he hears the low, reverberating growls of Hellhounds who just got the message the clever plan may have failed. Swallowing, Dean sees another bag of salt—Jody or Andy, on a guess—and steps carefully between the lines to get it and get a look over their shoulders just as a grinning Croat face dissolves in a fountain of blood that sprinkles warmly over his face.
Fighting the heave of his stomach, Dean wipes his face with his sleeve and retreats, stuffing his shaking right hand in his pocket to deal with later as he adds one final line before taking out his gun and checking it. Beside him, Alicia curses again, both hands fisted and reddened from beating the wood.
“Open the fucking door!” she shouts again, then gets a dangerous look on her face and steps back, glancing at the closest salt line. “Dean, I need your shoulder.”
Dean blinks and stands up, and one callused hand clamps down hard enough to make him wince. “What are you—” Half-turning, she brings up her good leg and kicks the door hard enough to splinter the wood where her heel hits with a low thud. Brick there, okay, useful, what? “Holy shit. You can’t—”
“Watch me,” she snarls as her foot snaps out higher, shaking the entire door and making a vaguely hollow sound that makes her grin as the wood cracks before their eyes, revealing a slice of the world on the other side of the door: brick only halfway down the door now. “We’ll crawl through if we have to—oh, there we go, it’s going down,” she breathes at a crunching noise and a sound a lot like shattering brick, lowering her leg with an audible gasp, followed by the groan of wood. “Hurry the fuck up! Becoming Croat chow was never in my life plan, people! Then again,” she adds honestly as the sound of brick being very thoroughly destroyed fills the alcove, “none of this was, really, but still.”
Muffled but clear, Dean hears someone (Cas?) say, “It’s down.”
“Amanda!” Despite the noise from the fighting at the opening, Dean can actually hear the squeal of hinges as the door starts to open. Turning toward them, Dean takes (shaky) aim. “Break! Now!”
He doesn’t have time to see them react, much less give them some cover fire; Alicia’s hand closes on his arm, jerking him off balance, and then he’s stumbling through the open door before he hits the snowy ground on his ass and skids to a slow stop. Staring up at the grey sky, he wonders what the hell just happened as Alicia lands across his legs with a groaned curse. Pushing himself up, he sees Jody and Matt followed by Andy as Amanda shoves him through, coming in last. Turning in the doorway, she pauses for a roundhouse punch to the Croat behind her that makes Dean’s jaw hurt in sympathy before slamming the door shut and dropping the full weight of her body against it, and someone else’s hand shoves the bolt closed.
Looking down, he sees her feet just short of an immaculate, unbroken line of salt curving neatly around the opening of the doorway and feels himself start to grin.
“Nice,” he says hoarsely. “Job.”
Amanda blinks at him before looking down at it, like she’s not sure what it is, then gets four relatively normal steps before hitting the ground on her knees with a grunt. Immediately, Alonzo’s beside her, helping her away, and abruptly Dean’s view is interrupted by more people than he can count.
“You got the door?” someone asks above the noise, and the response of, “Yes,” manages to combine affirmation, incredulous disbelief anyone would even ask, and obvious doubt the questioner is sapient, because Cas likes words like that. “Anytime you’re ready, of course; I’ll wait.”
A crew of Tony’s people rush forward carrying equipment and what looks like steel beams and brackets—and is that a blowtorch?—and go to work as Amanda waves Alonzo off. Dropping flat back on the snowy ground, she starts to laugh, great gulps of air, and yeah, he knew she was crazy.
“Holy shit,” she gasps, rolling on her side and looking at Dean with bright, tear-wet eyes. “Jesus, when you’re on. You’re on.”
“You said,” he pants triumphantly, “I was. A liability. With shitty plans.”
That just makes her laugh harder. “And now I know. How to inspire my leader.” Wiping her eyes, she grins at him. “Awesome plan. What’s next? I’m so fucking in.”
Staring at her reddened face, it hits him all at once; they’re alive. “It worked.”
That sets Alicia off, who pulls herself up enough to crawl beside him, laughing so hard her arms won’t hold her up, and oh God, it’s hitting him, too, bubbling up in his throat, and despite the fact he’s pretty sure they’re surrounded by worried, wary people, he can’t make himself stop. They’re alive; holy fucking shit, it worked.”
“Jesus,” he says blankly, thinking of all those goddamn Croats. “We’re good.”
“No fucking shit,” Alicia wheezes between peals of laughter. “Give me ten, do it again, no sweat.”
Then someone is crouching beside him, hand touching his cheek gently, and despite the blur that’s the extent of his current vision—tears of laughter, it happens—there’s no mistaking the blue of Cas’s eyes, fear and relief so strong he can almost feel it himself.
“Hey,” Dean says stupidly as a blanket is gently draped around him before a damp cloth wipes briskly across his face, freeing him of Croat whatever, and he wonders if Cas’s hands are shaking or if he’s just imagining it. “Are you—”
“Shut up,” Cas says calmly. Dropping the cloth, he tips Dean’s head up, peering at him like he’s discovered a whole new country to conquer, then leans forward and kisses him, fast and rough, campaign already in progress; the natives are fine with this, by the way. All desire to laugh fades at the wet slide of Cas’s tongue, teeth scouring his lower lip before the kiss deepens again, almost frantic. With an unexpected surge of energy, Dean gets a hand up and threads it through his hair to get him closer, biting his lip and licking an apology with the tip of his tongue, and he’s already half in Cas’s lap when he realizes two unwelcome things: one, they’re outside in the snow (not a dealbreaker right now or ever, come to think) and two—
—two, his goddamn militia have filthy fucking minds.
Wolf whistles and laughter are interspersed with suggestions, and he’s pretty sure he’s not flexible enough to do what Jody just suggested and holy shit, Matt, no one can do that (he thinks). Pulling back reluctantly when he loses the battle against laughter, the look on Cas’s face is almost enough to send him right back, but then—
“—really?” Alicia is saying piteously between giggles. “Cas, I know someone warned you about what he’s like post-mission, don’t even try that one. Three foot rule until we’re on safe ground.”
Dean’s grin widens helplessly at Cas’s slow blink. “I’ve been on missions with him before.”
“Before, you weren’t there for the after,” she says with a giggle, lifting a hand and waving it mid-air. “Theory. Practice. Adrenaline. Fun.”
Looking around, he sees Mel’s team coming down from the wall with satisfied expressions (dead Croats, on a guess) Manuel and several of patrol offering blankets and clean clothes to the others and figures they could use a few more minutes of rest. Taking Cas’s hand in his, he runs his thumb over the bright red skin of his knuckles in concern; there’s a faint sense of swelling, though no open wounds. “Did you punch through the brick? Inquiring minds wanna know.”
“Sledgehammer,” Cas answers vaguely. “Several of them. Manuel ordered them all brought out while Ana tried to calculate how much C4 we could use without risking…” He stops, which for some reason makes Alicia start laughing again, hiccupping giggles edging on hysteria. Making an effort, Cas straightens, sitting back on his heels, and reluctantly, Dean lets him go, but nothing can make him let go of his hand. “Dean?”
“Huh?” Shaking himself, he follows Cas’s gaze to his right hand, which at some point escaped his pocket and is currently fisted against the ground. He just avoids trying to flex it—just thinking it makes his entire palm scream, fingers refusing to even pretend they’re going to work—and shakes his head. “Just sore, that’s all. Got a report for me?”
“Yes,” Cas says after a second, frowning at Dean like it’s all his fault, whatever ‘it’ is (and it probably is). “Alison confirmed your order to keep the gate closed until you indicated otherwise and ordered Ichabod to go into lockdown when the second group of Croats appeared. Everyone assigned to the checkpoints was ordered to lock themselves in the nearest bus and wait for further orders from her or Claudia. Manuel and Teresa went to personally verify all gates and doors were secure and Tony’s crews are reinforcing them now. The lockdown is in place for twenty-four hours, but those at the checkpoints assured us they have rations available and will be fine until tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Dean looks around, alarmed; they’re all still sprinkled with Croat blood, and a shower would be good before interaction with anyone (like, say, crazy mayors, no names here). “Uh, Alison isn’t down here—”
“Sean’s team was ordered to distract her from coming here herself and risk potential contamination,” Cas assures him, a smile in his voice. “She’s currently receiving reports on the Ichabod’s preparation level from various leaders.”
“And us?”
“Joseph’s currently on duty at Headquarters coordinating Chitaqua’s efforts. Vera went to tell Dolores to meet us here and should be back with them soon.”
Right, they got wounded. Dean takes in the distant sight of livestock behind hastily-built fences, temporary buildings just visible and erected at some point last night after the wall went up, because Ichabod doesn’t let grass grow under their feet when it comes to using what they’ve got. Even suddenly materializing walls out of nowhere. The even more distant cluster of buildings over two miles away to the right are all that’s left of the original town, and it hits Dean all over again just how big Cas’s Wall of Everything is and what it took to make it. Big enough for livestock and a decent size population that needs the space for what he suspects is gonna be some massive future growth.
Definitely need towers, he thinks, studying the wall. They’ve gotta survive this; like Alison said, who wants to miss what’s next? Towers, at least, and maybe Walter will talk them into getting a moat. Stranger things have happened, and he wants to see if they can beat those. And… yeah, he needs to focus.
“Hellhounds,” he says, automatically lowering his voice. “Not sure how many, they were using the Croats as a bridge over the wards.”
“Erica did have her moments of inspiration,” Cas says neutrally, and Dean nods shortly, not surprised that Cas figured it out. “Not a terrible plan, though somewhat excessive.”
“The word is ‘overkill’,” Dean answers. “Why she needed so many Croats—”
“Do you remember what Alicia said?” Cas asks. “You send Joe when you want to negotiate, you send Vera when you want to steal, you send Sarah when you want to lie—”
“Mel to control a sitch, Amanda if you want it dead, and Alicia if you want to know what’s going on,” he agrees. “And James to find things. That’s a real thing they say?”
“The full version includes sending Nate if you want to kill them with their own meals,” he answers with a faint smile before it falls away. “The unexpunged version includes this: you send Stanley if they won’t talk, you send Terry if they won’t help, and you send Erica if the only thing that matters is that you win, and in none of these cases do you care how they get it done.”
Dean licks his lips: being a demon would definitely encourage that kind of thinking. “How many Croats…”
“Haruhi and Rosario counted two hundred and fifty,” he answers, and Dean thinks of those dead people on the side of the road and dead Croats here; Erica must have gone up and down the roads recruiting or something and it wouldn’t have been hard to get takers. “But they were also distracted helping kill them.”
Dean snorts. “We kept everyone entertained, huh?”
“They kept watch for me and provided a narrative,” Cas says, flickering a glance toward the wall and Dean sees the ladder a few feet from the door and Haruhi and Rosario standing next to it with a couple of Amanda’s other students desperately trying not to stare at them and really not pulling it off. Checking Cas’s expression, Dean sees the faint, fond smile as Cas looks at them and hides his grin.
“All right,” he says, turning to look at his people in various stages of lying on the ground, “everyone rested up enough to report?”
“Ugh,” Amanda mutters, sitting up and hissing as she grabs for her thigh. “Jesus fuck, why didn’t I just finish rehab first? Fuck my twenties.”
“You pay for your sins,” Dean tells her, briefly losing the battle against laughter again: her face. “Great and small…you pay for them all.”
Alicia whimpers like she’s dying but raises her hand, while Jody and Matt, sitting on Alicia’s other side, both give a tired thumbs-up, which for some reason makes Alicia—who’s apparently hit the crazy part of post-adrenaline rush—starts laughing again.
Dean sighs. “God, someone get her a sedative or knock her out or something?”
“I need a reload before we do that again,” she says breathlessly before rolling up and pulling her leg to her chest, staring down at her boot like it hurt her feelings before surveying the people around them hopefully. “And maybe a new ankle; anyone got one?”
“Broken?” he asks sharply.
“I don’t think so.” Frowning, she reaches down and tests it with a hiss. “Maybe a baby sprain at worst; I got off it when I felt it turn, unlike some people who—”
“Shut up?” Like he needs the reminder. “You fell; that wasn’t a strategy, and by the way, anyone ever tell you self-sacrifice is for losers? Pull that shit again, you’ll be mowing the entire goddamn state for the rest of the war. No one gets left behind, get me?”
“Understood,” she assures him, and over her shoulder, he sees Matt roll his eyes. “Get me a brace and I’m good to go.”
“We’ll let Vera decide that,” he answers, ignoring her scowl and focusing on Andy, slumped against the wall a few feet from the door with his eyes closed.
Before he can get his attention, Cas says, “Do you have any orders?”
Actually, come to think, he does. “How many people got in before the gate closed?” He’s starting to feel lightheaded with adrenaline crash and survival and probably exhaustion that he can’t remember how to feel; right now, he could fight that Croat army all by himself, no sweat. Right now, he kind of wants to try.
“Ten,” Cas answers, which is more than he thought. “They were escorted to the infirmary and checked by Dolores. Any with open wounds or visible blood were placed in isolation on the third floor of the infirmary until I can check them; the rest are under observation on the second. I assigned Derek and Vicky to provide the infirmary with assistance should they need it.”
“We need to find Micah,” Dean says, lowering his voice. “He was out with the volunteers, said something to Alicia—I think he knew Erica was here.”
“He was working with her?” Cas frowns, and Dean recognizes the same look on his face that was on Amanda’s earlier. “I’ll give the order as soon as Dolores has checked all of you. After she’s done, Alison agreed that you could all be supervised at Headquarters instead of placed in isolation if there aren’t any open wounds until I can verify that you’re all clear of infection. Manuel volunteered one of his teams to watch us.”
“Thanks, Manuel!” he shouts, getting Manuel’s attention, and gets a grin and a roll of the eyes before he turns back to his team. “I could get used to special treatment here.”
“In this case, it’s practical,” Cas replies. “The isolation rooms are being used both for potential Croat victims as well as those who were negatively affected by the catalyst situations and there’s no space.”
With a sigh, Matt drops heavily in front of Alicia, batting her hands away from the mess she’s making of the laces of her boot and unlacing it for her. “Striptease by the Wall of Everything, everyone’s invited,” he tells Matt, who snorts. Turning his attention back to Cas, he asks, “How long until you can tell?”
“One hour, two at most,” he answers. “Haruhi assured me that none of you received more than splatter, and I assume you had the sense to keep your mouths shut and avoid licking your lips.”
“We did,” Dean starts, but Andy getting to his feet gets his attention. Hesitating, Andy looks toward them, taking a few tentative steps before stopping short, expression weirdly blank. “Hey, Andy, you—”
“Andy?” Alicia asks, all humor stripped from her voice. Shoving Matt away, she stumbles to her feet, ignoring her swollen ankle as she starts toward Andy, who immediately retreats, looking alarmed. “No. Andy, no, you didn’t…”
Andy stares at her wordlessly before abruptly shoving up the sleeve of his sweater, and Dean sees the faint tears in it just before he reveals his bloody arm. The wound’s a mess, like something—oh God.
“When?” Alicia demands, which is better than Dean’s doing right now. “How—”
“When the door opened,” Amanda says tonelessly, staring at him as well. “He shoved me back when Dean shouted. I threw him ahead of me to the door, how—”
“You didn’t see the one coming when you turned,” Andy tells her quietly “Got him, but I didn’t move fast enough, that’s all. Should have practiced more.”
“Andy…” Amanda starts to stand up and her leg almost immediately goes; fast as a thought, Cas catches her, holding her upright, and she turns to brace her forehead against his shoulder “Fuck.“
Alicia hesitates, then straightens, expression smoothing over. “How do you want it?”
Andy swallows, thinking about it, and Dean wonders what the hell they’re talking about. “Yeah, I want—I can wait and say goodbye.”
“Good,” she answers, never looking away from him. “Dean?”
Belatedly, he realizes everyone’s looking at him and has no idea what he’s supposed to say.
“Manuel,” Cas says over Amanda’s bent head, “can Andy be isolated at our headquarters? He’s not contagious yet, and that’s the only open wound. Mel’s team will keep watch; we know the precautions to take.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Manuel answers, looking at Andy with a carefully neutral expression. “I’ll send Dolores when she’s done here to explain your options. You got time, Andy; contagion doesn’t kick in for at least an hour. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Andy’s head bobs jerkily. “I won’t. Thanks.”
Numb, Dean watches, disbelieving, as Andy strips off his sweater and turtleneck despite the cold, leaving him in only a thin, sweat-soaked t-shirt before he starts to disarm, dropping two guns and spare ammunition, two knives, a half-empty bag and bottle, and then crouches to remove his boots before stripping off his belt despite the cold.
He starts to reach for his jeans, but Cas’s “That’s enough,” stops him short.
“It’s cold,” Cas says quietly, glancing at Amanda and carefully easing her back to the ground. Crouching, he hands her his own weapons one by one before starting for Andy, who spreads his arms, brown eyes bleak. Dean’s not close enough to hear what he says to Andy when he reaches him, but whatever it is makes him relax, not moving as Cas does a fast and thorough pat down, and finally, Dean gets what’s happening.
“Get his weapons and someone get me a first aid kit,” Cas says to David, holding Andy’s eyes as David collects them all from the ground, expression set in careful blankness, before retreating. Mel joins him holding a blanket, which Cas takes and drapes around Andy’s shoulders with more care than necessary, tucking it under his chin, and holds the kit open as Cas thoroughly cleans the wound, and there’s no way to mistake what human teeth can do when a Croat’s using them. Fuck knows, he’s seen it enough now to know.
Glancing around, Dean takes in the expressions of those watching. To those from Chitaqua, at least, this is familiar, but not Cas being the one to do it.
“Manuel’s correct; contagion can take as long as two hours to manifest in some cases,” Cas tells Andy, cleaning his hands with an offered cloth before stuffing it in his pocket. Reaching out, he smooths away a non-existent wrinkle on Andy’s shoulder. “You won’t be alone even then, and I can be with you for as long as you wish. Do you understand?”
Andy nods, licking his lips, eyes darting to Alicia limping toward them, who pauses at Andy’s twitch.
“I’ll be there as soon as Dolores checks me out. Wait for me,” she tells Andy fiercely before looking at Mel, expression beginning to crack. “Don’t leave him alone. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“I won’t,” Mel assures her, laying a hand on Alicia’s shoulder and looking at Cas. At his nod, she smiles at Andy, so natural that Dean’s almost fooled. “Come on, jeep’s right over there. I think one of Amanda’s kids just made a fresh pot of coffee and it’s good. We need to trade for more of that.”
Andy slowly starts toward her, Mel’s team making a loose circle around him as they head in the direction of the presumed jeep, Alicia staring after them until Matt finally coaxes her to sit down on the blanket he spread out for her, Jody joining her, dry-eyed and shocked silent.
Dean sees Vera hovering nearby, watching the small parade scatter people in its path with an expression that tells him just how familiar this must be to them; it’s obscurely comforting. What he saw that day with this Dean was the exception, maybe, not the rule; Cas said the guy was too close, already showing disordered thought. Like Debra, maybe it was too close, and they couldn’t afford the seconds that might be the difference between one death and everyone’s. Like those people at the ward line—
—and he can’t think of that right now.
“Alicia first,” he says as Vera starts at the sight of Amanda, fear flashing across her face; idly, he wonders if Amanda noticed and shakes himself. With a visible effort, she nods, changing direction and joining Matt, placing her kit down as she begins to examine Alicia’s swollen ankle. Extending a hand to Cas, he has to swallow twice before saying, “Help me up. We need to talk.”
As soon as he’s steady, he jerks his head toward the wall where Andy sat all that time alone, knowing Manuel’s team’s watching them. Leaning back against it, he takes a deep breath; it happened right at the alcove door, right before they were safe. Seconds: it was fucking seconds.
“How much did you see?”
“Five Hellhounds,” Cas confirms quietly. “They were shadowing the wall. When you reached the door, however, the Croats fighting at the opening blocked them from getting inside, though I assume you laid multiple salt lines.”
Dean cocks his head; Haruhi couldn’t actually see Hellhounds (he hopes). “Haruhi really kept a close watch, huh?”
“She provided a very thorough narrative while I destroyed the brick,” Cas confirms. “I also told her to observe the ward line, and she told me when Erica showed herself, as well as Amanda’s shot.”
“Tell me it was in the head.”
“Through the right eye,” he answers with a flicker of satisfaction. “I assume that you sent Amanda to break her concentration; with that many Croats to control, any lapse, and it would be impossible to get it back.”
“She’s barely off the rack,” Dean says quietly. “There’s no way she should have been strong enough to control those Hellhounds, not to mention all those Croats. We both know Crowley wouldn’t send her on a collection call, much less give her that kind of power to do it.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not collecting a debt,” Cas says, eyes drifting to Alicia. “You said Micah warned her about Erica?”
Dean flickers a look at Alicia, one arm draped across her face and ignoring the action going around her feet as Vera carefully checks her ankle. “So this is probably personal.”
“I should have let Crowley discipline her after all,” he murmurs bitterly. “If I had, there’s no way she could have come to earth for a few centuries at least.”
Dean squeezes his shoulder. “We need to find Micah and his buddies now. And talk to Carol: somehow, I don’t think it’s a coincidence we got exes here and Hellhounds.”
“If this was a contract,” Cs says, “she wouldn’t have survived.”
Yeah, that’s the thing. “Makes you wonder why the hell one of them went after her at all.”
The arrival of a jeep interrupts them, and Dean watches Derek climb out and almost run to open the door for Dolores, who gives him a patient look and hands him what looks like two large tackleboxes before getting out. Two more people climb out of the back, Vicky and someone he assumes is from the infirmary, each carrying their own kits and looking almost terrifyingly eager to be of help.
“I’ll send Haruhi to inform Joseph,” Cas is saying. “He and Kamal can begin the search. Dean?”
Dean blinks, realizing he’s been staring at the door again: five minutes, Alicia told him despairingly. Five minutes, and I would have been there. It was only seconds: seconds, and Andy would have been safe.
“I got a few more orders for you,” Dean says, pushing off the wall as Dolores makes for Vera and Alicia. “Me and Amanda are going to set a good example and go to the infirmary for our check, and you’re gonna be our watcher.”
Cas raises an eyebrow and waits.
“How long until Andy…” He stops, realizing something else. “He’ll wait for me, right?”
“He’ll wait,” Cas agrees quietly. Manuel telling Andy about options flashes through Dean’s mind and Amanda telling them about the last hours she spent with her student before giving him that shot; the people he shot outside the walls of Ichabod today while they were still people didn’t get any options at all because mercy was the only one left. “Mel will keep him calm until Alicia gets there.”
“Good.” He takes a deep breath, pushing everything out of his mind but what happens now. “Let’s talk to Manuel first.”
Dolores smiles at him when he joins her, watching Vera wrapping Alicia’s ankle in admiration. “Looks like a pretty bad sprain, but I’d like to x-ray it later, just in case,” she tells him.
“How much longer do you need here?” Dean asks, sensing Vera’s sudden attention despite no change in her smooth movements. Dolores hesitates, searching his face. “Me and Amanda are gonna go back to the infirmary with you for our check. Cas is coming with, along with Manuel’s team to keep us on watch.”
“I’m absolutely sure,” Dolores says drolly, “that’s the only reason Cas is coming along. Vera, do you need me?” Vera pauses to look up, nothing but curiosity on her face before shaking her head. “I’ll leave my kits with you. If you need anything else…”
“I’ll send someone,” she finishes, tilting her head to indicate Vicky and the other woman currently occupied with a silent Matt and Jody several feet away. “I’ll come by the infirmary when I’m done if you still want me, but I’m barely back in practice.”
“I’d prefer your expertise on a few cases,” Dolores says ruefully. “I only worked in general practice before, and my boss was almost as old as his patients. Anyone below sixty is still new territory for me, and you have no idea how much I want to pick your brain after this is over.”
Vera laughs, right on schedule. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Let me look at Jody and Matt, and I’ll be right behind you,” Dolores says, taking his hand and letting him help her to her feet. He nods, watching as she joins her helpers before moving to crouch by Alicia.
“Vera, check on Amanda,” Dean says, and waits until she’s gone before saying, “Alicia.” After a moment, she moves her arm and looks at him, eyes flat. “It was Hellhounds.” Her jaw works for a minute, comprehension flaring in her eyes.
She nods slowly, and he starts to get to his feet when abruptly, she sits up, gripping his arm, fingers digging into the flesh deeply enough he thinks there may be bruises later. “What?”
“Micah,” she says urgently and her grip tightens. “Find him, get a team watching him. There’s something going on and he’s part of it.”
“We are—”
“Dean, he started running before those people turned Croat,” she says flatly, and Dean stares at her for a moment. “He was looking at something else behind me, not that woman. Either he knew about that, or—”
“He saw the Hellhounds.” Son of a bitch, didn’t see that coming.
“There’s something else.” Alicia swallows. “Dean, no matter what he says, you can’t trust him. He—he was one of the planners, and he was there that—that night.”
Dean checks his automatic nod, staring down at her tear-streaked face, frozen. “He was at Cas’s cabin?”
“Five shots, including the second. Before bravely running away.”
“He told you—”
“No,” she answers. “He didn’t need to.”
Dean tries to make sense of that, but for some reason, it’s not working. “So how—”
“Erica, Terry, Luke, Stanley, Darryl, Heath—”
No. No. “Stop.”
“—Randal, Missy, Micah, Felix, Anabelle, Dev, Brandon, and Cybil. I don’t know any other names, just the ones on my team and—and the ones closest to me,” she finishes tonelessly. “None of us were told who would be there and we didn’t want to know.”
Dean looks down at her and finally gets it. “You were there.”
She nods, and finally, he recognizes the look on her face: guilt. Even seeing it, even hearing it, it’s—not registering.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because when you find Micah, he would have told you so you won’t trust anything I say,” she answers. “What he told me at the ward line—there’s only one person he could have been talking about. That demon—she was watching me the whole time, like she knew me. She caught up too fast to what I was doing, and she’s the only one that knew—Dean, it was Erica, I don’t know how or why, but it had to be.”
“Yeah,” he says automatically. “It was.”
“Yeah. If Micah knew she’d be here, he knows why, whether he was helping her or not. Just—make sure Cas and Vera are protected, and Amanda, too; Erica holds a grudge, she hates them and she hates Cas and Amanda even more because they were the only ones that could kill her and didn’t pretend they wouldn’t if she stepped out of line even once. The only thing that kept her from a suicide mission when they failed at the cabin was she hated Lucifer most of all, and that’s saying something. I know her, Dean; no matter what she’s doing or why she’s here, Cas, Vera, and Amanda are going to be targets.” Her face crumples briefly, but with another breath, it smooths out again. “I won’t run, I won’t hide, I won’t fight, I swear, I get what’s coming next. Just—just let me see Andy through this first, please.”
She knows what comes next; good, maybe she can tell him what the fuck he’s supposed to do with this. “Fine,” he says, wondering if he should add something to that, get a team to watch her—and what? If she tried to run, they’d probably have to kill her, and—Christ, why can’t he think? “You’re restricted to HQ. I’ll deal with you later.”
She nods, eyes still closed, and he gets shakily to his feet, scanning the people around them and marking each face in memory before finding Cas, currently talking to Haruhi, Rosario, and Derek. As he starts toward them, Derek cocks his head, asking Cas something and nodding before tucking a thick dreadlock more firmly into the short ponytail. At Cas’s nod, they turn to go, and Cas watches them as Dean joins him.
“We’ll wait for Dolores at the jeep,” he says, jerking his head toward Amanda before pitching his voice louder. “You think she’s up for it?”
“I think,” Amanda says clearly, “I’m up for anything.”
Somehow, he finds himself grinning by the time they reach her, extending a hand. “We’re going to the infirmary.”
“I’m fine,” she protests, getting to her feet and bouncing (carefully, he notes) in place. “Vera checked. It’s just sore. Just walk it off—”
“Not that.” She stills, blue-green eyes darkening. “Five Hellhounds shadowing us by the wall. Time we found out what exactly happened with the sixth.
“I’m in.” She waits until they reach the jeep, leaning against the hood and giving the ground a look he’s glad she’s never turned on him. “Carol’s got some explaining to do.”
“I’d like to hear it.” At the sound of Dolores’s voice, he fixes his expression into something more pleasant, smirking at Manuel as he makes for the driver’s side. Dean politely opens the passenger side door for Dolores, who rolls her eyes, before climbing in back behind Amanda, Cas following him in. As Manuel starts the engine, he leans over between the seats, getting Dolores’s attention. “The people who got in the gate before it closed—they all still under observation?”
“Two hours is the minimum for anyone without open wounds or blood signs,” she tells him. “They were held at the gate the moment they got inside and taken to isolation, which I assume is your next question; all of them were accounted for.”
“What about those who came in earlier?” he asks. “The woman attacked by the Hellhound—Carol? How’s she doing?”
“Recovering from surgery,” she answers, eyes very sharp, and Dean figures she knows this isn’t just small talk. Glancing at Manuel, she waits for his nod before adding, “She won’t be up for much talking.”
With an effort, Dean reins his frustration back. “What about the people who came with her?”
“They were shaken up but fine. I cleared them a few hours after they came in.”
“You talked to them?” She nods again. “They tell you about the attack?”
She raises an eyebrow. “A little, yeah.”
Dean folds an arm across the back of the seat and gives her his best smile. “Tell me what they said.”
Warnings: explicit violence.