The Game of God: Day 156 - part 3

Good Cop Bad Cop

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— Day 156, continued —

“He didn’t fight?” Dean asks Joe, just inside the Third Street building that had been designated holding for the drunk and disorderly on New Year’s Eve and is now—well, more.

(“This is temporary. Most problems are usually handled in my office at Admin,” Naresh told them on New Year’s Eve. “I’m assuming that won’t be practical tonight.”)

During the course of the party, it held: five drunk and disorderly, three altercations that couldn’t be handled with a stern talk, and two of the Andale stoners on a bad acid trip, which Cas blamed on substandard manufacturing somethings.

(Dean hasn’t and won’t ask if Cas will be spreading enlightenment on appropriate DIY drug making to the eager masses, because that’s definitely better than Cas becoming drug dealer of Kansas. Though if he’s honest, he’s not sure why; Dean’s already an illegal weapons dealer and they’re first and second on the FBI Most Wanted. He’s never aspired to being part of a power couple of crime, but if that’s gonna happen, might as well do it right and hit all the bases.)

Observing the frantic activity, Dean considers the current population of Ichabod’s Sort of Jail: twenty-one drunk and disorderly (ie people); forty-six fights serious enough that it couldn’t be handled by volunteer staff; one domestic abuse (Dean’s okay with exile right now for that shit); and a growing, rotating staff of progressively more bewildered volunteers (and they’re all aware this is impossibly best case scenario with the sheer number of people stuffed into Ichabod right now). It’s not that Ichabod didn’t have problems like anyone else; it just self-selected to get rid of the reason you tend to need jail cells. (Dean doesn’t discount ‘pure fucking exhaustion from trying to survive’ also being a factor here; any decent crime wave requires you be awake and able to walk, which field work, he’s heard, does not encourage. He’s really looking forward to spring, oh yeah.)

“Not really,” Joe answers, shrugging as they start toward the room that Naresh is resentfully using as his headquarters (his office in Admin is much nicer). “Idiots two weren’t with him, which might explain it; Micah, not a risk-taker. Naresh said he did invoke the Bill of Rights, though”

Dean looks up at him. “Seriously?”

“Micah was a lawyer before,” Joe says, and Dean nods at the check for confirmation: sure, why not? “Anyway, this is sketchy territory, but me and Naresh thrashed it out. We can’t take him out of the building, but he won’t insist one of his people be in the room when you’re questioning him. Two restrictions: only one of us in the room with him, and we’re on the honor system; don’t do anything he’s not allowed to do. There’ll be a check in an hour, but since we don’t plan to beat him up—yet—I figured we’ll go with it.”

A lot better than he hoped. “You’re good.”

“I’ve had practice,” Joe answers smugly just before they enter Naresh’s doorless office, a peeling-paint nightmare with Naresh sitting behind a folding table visibly resenting the substandard accommodations (and the insane workload, if the pile of manila folders and papers are any indication).

“Naresh,” Dean says, extending a hand as Naresh gets to his feet. “How’s it going?”

Naresh’s left eye twitches unsettlingly. “Wonderful,” he says, and Dean can hear the faint British accent appear like a storm warning screaming everyone is gonna die. Okay, so. “How are you?”

“Good, good.” Sitting down immediately when Naresh motions him toward the chairs, he cocks his head. “That bad?”

“It could be worse,” Naresh admits reluctantly, sitting back. “My people have been helping the volunteers keep our visitors occupied and have set in place a thirty minute rule to lower the chances of a catalyst event. I must remember to thank Alicia for that suggestion.”

Dean exchanges a bewildered look with Joe before asking, “Thirty minute rule?”

“Something Cas said about crowd stagnation,” Naresh says, thinking. “Alicia suggested if the geas was working psychologically, we could out-psych it by simply assuring no one felt confined and were kept occupied. We divided the day into four six hour shifts and move groups working inside between rooms and jobs—or areas if they’re unwell or can’t work at this time—and encourage as many people as possible to take jobs outside fixing windows or repairing roofs, whatever seems needed. Combined with Wall duty—a very popular job—and infirmary and mess duties, as well as organizing childcare and assistance for the elderly and disabled, everyone is kept occupied with a variety of needed jobs, alleviating the dangers of boredom as well. To be truthful, under these conditions, I wouldn’t need a geas to quickly go insane if I had nothing to do but sit and wonder what is happening and why.”

Huh. “It’s working?”

“There haven’t been any more catalyst events,” he points out, and yeah, there’s that. “In more mundane ways, it’s also helped them to feel more in control of their circumstances and lives. We’ve been able to finish repairs on several buildings on Seventh Street and Tony has brought three more up on the grid. Alison was taken on a tour by the families moving into the latest one this morning.”

Of course she was there; he reminds himself to check in with Sean’s team and maybe vaguely imply they’re doing a good job working their way off his shit list.

“So Micah,” he starts and watches as Naresh’s eye-twitch returns with interest; looks like Micah’s making the opposite of friends here. “Joe briefed me; anything you want to add?”

“Nothing in particular,” he answers, sitting back with a sigh when the chair squeals protest to his existence. “I have two people in the room with him, both of whom are eager to leave. He’s quoting Maryland legal statutes at them; pointing out we’re not in Maryland doesn’t seem to be deterring him.”

Micah sounds like a hell of a charmer; no lie, Dean gets Carol’s infatuation. “I appreciate you letting us talk to him,” he says. “For the record, we don’t know if he had anything to do with the attack yesterday, but we have reason to believe…” Okay, just say it. “Alicia thinks he had something to do with it. Or at least knew about it.”

Naresh nods. “If he did, we’ll need to discuss what to do with him, but as exile is our most extreme penalty…” He leans forward, giving Dean a searching look. “I assume if he did, you’ll wish to claim him?”

Yeah, that. “We want him either way.”

“Why?”

Dean considers leaving it vague, but—no. “I have confirmation he was involved in a failed assassination attempt on two members of Chitaqua two years ago. After this is over, unless Ichabod has some objections to us taking an attempted murderer, we want him back.”

Beside him, Joe’s chair creaks dangerously.

“You have proof?” Naresh asks.

“I have a witness,” he answers steadily, not looking at Joe. “If needed, they’ll confirm privately to Alison and you, but—for the record, it’ll be exile from Kansas for us. We’re not in the business of people hunting.”

Naresh sits back, regarding him thoughtfully. “I assume you wish to keep this private.”

“For now,” he agrees. “At least until we know more.” And hey, maybe tell the two victims about it first.

“I’ll speak to Alison, but it will probably need to go before the town council,” Naresh says finally, glancing at Joe, who is doing great with the poker face. “Dean, if it’s not an imposition—how is Alicia? I understand she lost a team member, and Suma and I would like to offer our condolences.”

“She’s—uh, with her team,” Dean answers blankly; he’s pretty sure Matt and Jody would have noticed if she went missing. “Uh—I’ll tell her, but uh, feel free to stop by. You should be on the list at the front desk.”

“Thank you,” Naresh says, sitting back, and Dean takes that as permission to escape. “Second floor, right hall, last door on the left. Check in with me when you’re done?”

“Absolutely,” Dean agrees, knowing Joe’s at his back and he’s probably going to need to talk about this.

And he’s right; they get halfway up the stairs and away from other ears when Joe hisses, “Micah was involved?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Surprised?”

“Not even a little,” Joe snorts. “Cas told you?”

Dean would love to stick with that, but on a guess, that will inevitably end—somehow—with Joe asking Cas about it, Cas denying it, and fuck his life. “No, don’t ask, I’m not gonna tell, and that’s for later, anyway. I haven’t talked to Cas about it yet.”

Joe makes a weird noise as they reach the top of the stairs. “You haven’t?”

“Dude, it’s been a little busy,” he argues as they start down the hall; it’s true (really). “So, you gonna listen at the door or what?”

“I am,” Joe says, like Dean asked if air exists (ie: yes). “Unless you don’t want me to, then I’ll pretend I didn’t. Scout’s honor.”

When they reach the door, Dean knocks and isn’t entirely surprised at the quick response; a man’s face peers out warily before he smiles in relief.

“Dean,” he says, which Dean tries not to take as ‘everyone knows his face whether he’s ever seen them or not’ but well, evidence. “Clyde,” he adds, coming out and motioning for an even more relieved woman to join him. “This is Lalitha,” he says, extending a dark, work-hardened hand to shut the door firmly behind her. “He’s on habeas corpus again.”

Joe sighs noisily. “Sounds fun.”

“All yours,” Lalitha says, mouth quirking as she threads an arm through Clyde’s. “We’ll see you in an hour. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” he says to their rapidly retreating backs before looking at Joe. “Any chance you brought anything to take notes?”

Joe pulls out a pad with a constipated look. “Cas,” he explains. “He’ll want a report, especially if he’s not here, and by the way, did you talk to him about this?”

“He’s busy at the infirmary, wasn’t time,” Dean explains, reaching almost eagerly for the doorknob. “Strike while the iron’s hot and everything.”

“You get,” Joe says behind him, “we’re going to be finding and moving a couch into your room for you to sleep on now, right?”

If he’s lucky, yeah. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll make a list of what we have to trade for the shittiest couch in town,” Joe says thoughtfully. “Something with bugs.”

---

Following Sudha inside, Castiel turns on the light and blinks slowly.

It’s—very much a room.

“Oh,” Sudha says in surprised pleasure, and Castiel nods as he takes in the newly-painted yellow walls and repaired tile floor spread with a cheerful rug, the glass in the window obviously just replaced, and the light fixtures gleaming gently in the mellow light. “How did he have the time?”

“I’m not sure,” he prevaricates, taking her bag to a repaired dresser and unpacking it absently as he eyes the walls, looking for—he has no idea what. It’s a pleasant room of utterly mundane proportions; bed, dresser, side table, a birthing chair in the corner should Sudha choose that support during labor, a regular—if worn—armchair nearby for visitors.

Castiel finishes unpacking for her just as one of the infirmary volunteers arrives with Rabin at her heels, and he excuses himself and goes to look at the other rooms and finding them only different in furniture and lack of current occupants.

Returning downstairs, he considers the possibility Nate was simply acting from a generous impulse to make her comfortable (and possibly, some form of solidarity in being targets of the Misborn). It wouldn’t be out of character; Tony spoke glowingly of Nate’s excellent work ethic, and he does seem to enjoy building things. He was very enthusiastic about the new mess, after all.

Using the back stairs, he emerges into the administration section of the infirmary to see Vera and Dolores talking nearby. Waiting politely for them to finish, he sees Dolores looking uncertain, but at Vera’s shrug, she nods in resignation and starts back to the ER.

Turning, Vera sees him and the tired look becomes a smile. “Hey. How—”

“I’m assisting you during the birth due to my former vessels having had progeny, and angels like pregnant women,” he recites. Vera’s eyebrows rise more with every word. “They’re all true. Technically.”

Vera cocks her head and considers him thoughtfully. “Not bad.”

He nods as she joins him. “I thought you said you would go off duty when—”

“Unexpected development,” she interrupts, nose wrinkling. “Carol requested permission to visit Kat at Headquarters.”

Perhaps those rooms actually sent him to an alternate universe where that makes sense. “What?”

“Sarah confirmed Kat would like to see her,” Vera adds, and Castiel fights the urge to return upstairs and repeat his tour of the rooms in reverse to see if that would help. “Yeah, I know.”

He looks at her helplessly. “Are you sure you didn’t hallucinate it in a new, unexpected, and frankly bizarre manifestation of the geas, which is still more believable than—that.”

Vera sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Thought of that, but if I was, Sarah was with me. I made her repeat it twice just to make sure. I guess it makes sense; I mean, they both loved Andy…”

“Cain and Abel both loved God,” Castiel says incredulously. “In case you weren’t aware of this, that story did not end well.”

Vera rolls her eyes. “Carol’s pretty torn up about Andy. From what she’s said, I get the feeling she wanted Andy to come with her and—you know, unresolved whatever.” Tipping her head back, she gives him a wry look. “She may have feelings for Micah, but between confirmation about her leg and the attack yesterday… if she’s not rethinking everything, I’d be really surprised. I mean, compare/contrast Andy and Micah: no contest, you know?”

“Is Carol stable enough?”

“No, and yes,” she answers. “I mean—she should be here, letting us prep her to get that leg, but… she’s not going to do it.” She swallows, mouth starting to tremble. “I—I just finished checking her, and Dolores confirmed; gangrene’s set in. Surgery failed.”

Looking down the hall, he sees the break room and gently reaches for her arm, leading her to it and is pleased to see it’s empty. Closing the door, he reaches for her shoulder in invitation and is relieved when she steps into his arms without hesitation, burying her face against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says; it never fails to amaze him how inadequate language can be no matter how many words there are.

“Maybe if we’d done it earlier…” Vera sucks in a breath. “Maybe if I knew what the hell I was doing, if we hadn’t waited…fuck.”

He nods, stroking her trembling back.

“Not a surgeon,” she whispers against the soft flannel covering his shoulder. “Not even a doctor. Fuck, I’m barely a goddamn nurse, what was I thinking, that I could—”

“Do the best you could?” he asks. He doesn’t know enough about modern medicine other than theory to know what is possible and what isn’t even in the best of all worlds. Which this is not.

“Best, yeah,” she snorts, voice thick. “Maybe if I’d paid attention instead of partying, I—”

“Would have chosen to become a surgeon in anticipation of having to operate on a woman injured by a Hellhound in the infected zone,” he interrupts as Vera gulps wetly. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“Cas—”

“It doesn’t help,” he says, tightening his hold. “I know.”

After a few moments, she starts to relax and steps back, wiping her eyes impatiently. “Thanks,” she says, though for what he’s not certain.

“How long does she have?”

“Depends on how fast it spreads,” she answers. “But not long. Which could be another reason: I got the feeling she wasn’t really close to anyone in that town. Only real hunter there, and she’s never been a people person, so… maybe being with us now helps. Not like Micah’s around.”

He nods uncertainly; Kat’s volatility is worrying, but perhaps Vera’s correct and having someone who cared for Andy as she did will be of some comfort. “The room beside that of Sarah’s team is currently empty.” The former residents had the very good sense to move. “Could we outfit it for Carol’s use while visiting with Kat?”

“I guess,” she replies. “Why?”

“In case she wishes to remain for a few hours or—” He thinks of Dean’s misery in their cabin after the fever: illness and boredom were issues, yes, but so was loneliness, even if Dean didn’t want to admit it. “She could spend the day at Headquarters and visit with those she doesn’t hate. Which are few, yes, but they exist, or so I assume. If the room could be made comfortable for her, with anything she might need… is there any reason she has to stay here?”

“Actually, no,” Vera answers after a moment of thought. “I can do her checks just as easily—maybe more—at Headquarters; otherwise, all we’re doing is observation and Chitaqua can do that. Let me talk to Dolores; if she goes for it, I’ll see what Carol says.” She smiles up at him. “Good idea.”

“Perhaps having people around her will encourage her to change her mind,” he offers, seeing by Vera’s expression that she’s considering the same thing. “Sarah’s team is still off-duty for the day; they can be assigned to check on Carol when you’re unavailable.”

“Alicia could—”

“No,” he says flatly, and Vera’s eyes widen. “She was—somewhat ambivalent regarding Alicia.”

It belatedly occurs to him that will be two people actively hostile to Alicia less than four doors from her room and struggles not to regret his suggestion.

“Because of Micah?” Vera asks. “Almost forgot, she’s Miss I Judge You All For Everything, right. I don’t remember those parties very well, but that could be the hangover from the drinking game.”

“Drink once every time she disapproves of something you do,” Cas agrees. “She was inspiring; I had a list.”

“We all did,” Vera agrees with a sigh. “Right, let me talk to Dolores, Carol, get her moved—”

“And go to bed,” he reminds her. “That’s an order, in case that was unclear.”

Vera straightens to a vague facsimile of attention. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll ask Amanda to enforce it,” he says innocently, and has the pleasure of seeing Vera bite her lip, dropping her gaze. “I’m sure she won’t have too many objections.”

“You’re a dick,” she says, starting to the door, but he catches the faint smile and is satisfied. “Give me an hour to get things started.”

---

Dean’s single view of Micah (outside the walls, at a distance, under stress, right before the Croat festivities began) gave him the impression of dark hair and weedy; however, if Dean was asked to extrapolate what Micah looked like with that plus ‘lawyer,’ this is pretty much what he would have described. Bland good looks that are done no favors by hard blue eyes that match the set of his mouth, projecting surprised resentment he’s not getting his way.

“Hey, Micah,” he says, getting the chair from the corner—as far away from the cot as possible, he notes—and pulling it to the center of the room to sit down. Joe checked him after Naresh’s people did (Dean’s learned his soldiers really can hide weapons anywhere), but if Micah kept up his training (which looking at him doesn’t seem likely) he doesn’t need a weapon. Dean does a quick check of the room; one window (tiny), one cot, one other chair (better than those in Naresh’s office), and settles down. The last thing on Micah’s mind seems to be ‘attack Dean.’

“So,” Dean says, smiling brightly. “What’s going on with you?”

Micah’s eyes flickering to the door before resting on Dean again. “Why was I—”

“Suspected involvement with a Croat attack orchestrated by your former team leader, suspected involvement in the murder of members of Chitaqua two years ago under the direction of the team leaders, and suspected involvement in the attempted assassination of Castiel and Vera,” Dean recites, watching in satisfaction as Micah goes a very uncomfortable shade of grey. “I got more, but we’ll start with what happened outside the walls before the Croat attack; specifically, your warning to Alicia.”

Micah’s eyes narrow. “She told you—”

“Everything.” Micah stiffens. “But we’re not talking about Alicia right now. Start with the warning; is Erica collecting on your contract early?”

Micah slumps onto the cot, looking away. “Yes,” he answers flatly. “I thought—”

“Your time was up,” Dean finishes for him. “Because I was dead. Funny story: a demon showed up at Chitaqua two months ago, and he thought I was dead, too. Interesting coincidence: tell me this was announced on the radio between detergent and car rental specials on the eastern seaboard?”

“I don’t know—”

“Or—Jeffrey told you I was dead and Cas was—wait, opening Purgatory and conquering the world?” He cocks his head. “Did you really fall for that?”

“Cas set him up.” Micah’s mouth tightens. “Why? What’s going on?”

“How do you know Jeffrey?”

“Dean—”

“How many shots did you take at Cas and Vera in the cabin?” Micah shuts his mouth. “That’s how many I’ll take before the one that kills you. Give me a number or answers before I stop believing anything you have to say and settle for guessing.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Micah says, sounding far too confident. “If you had that kind of authority here, I’d be at your headquarters.”

“I didn’t say I’d do it now,” Dean answers. “I’ll wait until you leave Ichabod, and I can guarantee they’re not gonna want to keep you considering your Chitaqua record.”

Micah shrugs. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Fair enough.” Dean gets to his feet, turning to the door. “Town council is meeting—probably in the next hour—about the burnings of those killed outside the walls last night. I’ll see if we can get that exile started early. Cas took care of the Croats so can’t see why we can’t do the penalty now. I’ll insist.”

Going out, Dean shuts the door, rolling his eyes at Joe’s shrug. “How long?”

“Depends on what he wants out of this,” Joe answers. “He tried negotiating with Naresh, didn’t work.” The dark eyes meet his. “Alicia told you about Micah.”

It’s not a question. “Yeah. Why?”

Joe shrugs again, playing with his pen.

Before Dean can work out what’s going on there, there’s a triple tap on the door, and through the wood, he hears, “Dean. I want to talk.”

He raises his eyebrows at Joe, who frowns: yeah, that was ridiculous.

“He’s fucking with you,” Joe says quietly. “Don’t lose your temper, you’ll be fine.”

“When have I—”

“Night of the Watch that lives on in everyone’s memories, even people who weren’t there,” Joe says bluntly. “Don’t lose your temper. He’s a talker, doesn’t like too much silence, so wait him out.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“I got a couple of theories, but nothing solid,” Joe answers. “He’ll tell us soon enough, why waste time speculating?” He checks his watch. “Okay, go. Just enough time passed to be insulting.”

You can insult people with time: the more you know. When he goes back in, he checks the room as ostentatiously as possible before finally sitting down again.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” he says. “That’s Joe’s territory. I’m going to ask questions, you don’t answer, I take this to the town council and let the chips fall as they may. Now, let’s skip to the part where you tell me about Jeffrey.”

Micah nods comfortably. “Got it.”

“You summoned Jeffrey.” He waits for Micah to nod. “He’s the one you made contract with.”

“Maybe.” Dean starts to get up. “Look, I didn’t ask for names when I made the contract, okay? Erica wasn’t big on chatting, and if I didn’t follow the script, she’d kill me. Literally, right there, she would have shot me in the head.”

Honestly, Dean’s starting to wonder how she resisted shooting him on principle. “So you just summoned and took the first demon that showed up?”

Micah gives him a patronizing look. “Cas didn’t teach us the finer points of summoning, so I used what Erica taught me; I went to a Crossroad and buried the box with my name and added Chitaqua to the paper. I figured that would get me someone relevant.”

Dean wants to argue that, but he’s not wrong. “Why?”

“Information.” Micah sits back, cool eyes evaluative, and Dean wonders suddenly if he was a defense attorney or prosecutor. “I had a—friend—at Chitaqua who kept me updated. I hadn’t heard from them in a while, and I wasn’t going back to find out what happened.”

He can’t be sure what Micah wants to imply with ‘friend’ but he can guess. “How’s your leg, by the way? I couldn’t tell with you running away from danger and everything, but still got a limp?”

Micah’s expression doesn’t change. “How is Alicia, anyway? It’s been a while since I saw her.”

“Twenty four hours, right before you ran away from danger: must feel like forever.” Carol used her anger, Micah’s using—lawyer powers or something, but point is, they’re way too willing to talk and he doesn’t like it. “Who was your contact?”

“Privileged information,” Micah answers. “This one is a dealbreaker; they helped me out and I’m not fucking them over. Besides, that’s not what you want to know about, unless I’m wrong.”

He really, really doesn’t like being manipulated, especially when he’s right. “The contract.”

“I thought as much.” Micah almost sighs. “Threatened Carol, I suppose. I suppose subtlety is still somewhat beyond you.”

Dean grins at him; he’s been insulted by the best, and that was before he met Cas and had to create a whole new standard. Interesting he didn’t assume Alicia told him, though.

“Jeffrey warned me about your death,” Micah says finally, and Dean gives Joe a point for calling it: a talker, awesome. “He also told me what Castiel told him—and I must say, Castiel never struck me as the brightest bulb—”

“You want to try and piss me off, get better at it,” Dean advises him, slumping back in his chair. “Come on, you’re a smart guy. He was your trainer; you want me to believe you got through training and lived in Chitaqua and didn’t catch on to what he was?”

Micah raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue the point.

“Yesterday, outside the walls,” Dean continues. “You warned Alicia; I’ll start with ‘how you knew’.”

“Jeffrey,” Micah answers coolly. “He said Erica had risen and first on her list was going to be anyone still under contract. At least, when the barrier protecting Kansas finally let Hellhounds cross it.”

“She was already on Crossroads?” Dean does the math; Cas’s estimate leaves a lot of time that neither of them can account for. Erica and the team leaders all died in Kansas City, not by Hellhound, and the barrier came up soon after that. Though there’s no way to know the exact moment, it’s possible it was up before Hellhounds could get her soul. Without reapers, he’s honestly not sure how a soul gets anywhere these days. Contract should have pulled her that direction, but come to think, he has no idea how that works without the people around who usually help with that kind of shit.

“Jeffrey didn’t mention it, but I assume so,” he answers. “I went to find Carol—”

“Got her location from your friend?” Dean interrupts. “I forgot to ask, how did they get messages to you? Pony express?”

“Privileged information,” Micah says, sounding annoyed at being interrupted, which is a shame. “She didn’t want to leave the state, however, and then we came here. Just outside Ichabod, Carol was attacked by a Hellhound, which seemed to confirm what Jeffrey told me. Then I discovered you were alive, which should mean the contract isn’t done—”

“Seriously, you bought Cas was gonna open Purgatory and conquer the world?” Dean asks curiously.

“—but it seems he was correct regarding Erica,” Micah finishes, voice hardening as Dean grins at him.

“So wanna tell me when you found out Erica was here?” He watches Micah’s face carefully, but nothing; guy might play a decent game of poker after all. “Let me guess: when you were running away from danger and leaving your girlfriend to a Hellhound? Just me, or do you see a pattern here? You plus danger equals—”

“Our group was too far away to help her,” he answers coolly, like he’s talking about someone he just met and not someone he was living with for at least a couple of months. “I saw Erica watching.”

“In a different body,” Dean points out and sees the muscles in Micah’s jaw tense. “Couldn’t tell if Jeffrey was the demon you made contract with, but a glimpse of a woman in a red dress, you just knew?”

“I guessed, as should be obvious,” Micah says in the fourth most condescending voice he’s ever had the privilege to hear (Winchester men take up the top two slots, but Cas is a close third). “For that matter, Erica is—distinctive. She was my team leader—”

“For two weeks.”

“—and my wife’s,” Micah continues impatiently, and Dean’s still enjoying being petty as shit when ‘wife’ penetrates. “She was a frequent visitor to our cabin.”

“Erica, always the social butterfly,” Dean agrees: Christ, wife.

Micah’s lips curve in a faint smirk. “Did she neglect to mention that? I understand she was rather—free with her favors after I left Chitaqua. Including with you.”

Free with her favors: who says that these days? “Why would she?” he asks, using the exact voice Sam would use on Dad (ages fourteen to eighteen) in a rarely attempted but insanely effective ‘bait Dad with maliciously earnest rhetorical questions until he explodes.’ (Dean would end up sleeping in the Impala to avoid being accused of not being supportive and/or undermining someone’s authority. Fun times.) “Dude, abandoning your wife? We call that ‘divorce’ in the infected zone.”

“She tried—”

“To kill you, yeah, I heard,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes. “Me, I’d start asking myself if I really want to talk about this, in case someone—I wonder who?—might want to know what the hell you did that got you a going-away scar. I ask Alicia—one of my team leaders—what do you think she’d tell me?”

“She’d lie,” Micah answers, amused. “As she always does. Which I think—correct me if I’m wrong—you know as well as I do. At least now.”

“She did it well enough, I’d go for it,” Dean tells him. “You, on the other hand, not so much.”

Micah’s genuine surprise would be fucking hilarious under any other circumstances. “Why would I lie?” Underneath: why would you believe her over me? Like he just can’t imagine it was even possible. Honest to God, he’d believe Erica over Micah right now.

“Could be pathological,” he points out. “Could be you’re trying to distract me, could be Alicia stabbed your ass to the curb and you’re a little bitter, could be you’re a dick. Pick any and all: I don’t give a shit. Back to Erica: you guessed?”

It takes Micah a second to unclench his jaw. “Yes, I guessed.”

“And you were outside the walls yesterday… why? Knowing Erica and her pets were hanging around?”

“I wanted to warn Alicia,” Micah answers, voice losing some of its smoothness. “You may not believe me—”

“I don’t,” Dean says reassuringly. “Not a word you say.”

“—but Erica was obsessed with her, and Alicia’s still my wife,” Micah continues, an edge of anger in his voice, and somehow, Dean doesn’t think that has anything to do with being interrupted this time. “I wanted to make sure she knew.”

“The last time you saw Alicia was two years ago, and she was on Erica’s team the entire time,” Dean tells him. “Pretty sure she knew Erica better than you did. Try again.”

Micah looks dangerously close to losing that lawyer-calm. “You know,” he says suddenly. “You’re nothing like I remember.”

“Funny story,” Dean tells him. “I barely remember you at all. Thought your name was ‘Mikey’: sorry about that. Back to—”

“Outside the walls,” Micah interrupts sharply and looks annoyed with himself, blue eyes fastening on Dean resentfully. “I wanted to talk to Alicia, and I knew she wouldn’t see me if I tried to visit your headquarters.”

“I get what you’re saying,” he agrees. “Look, it’s kind of obscure, but my understanding is that might be a sign to leave them the fuck alone. Future reference.”

“She’s my wife.”

Like someone would talk about their goddamn car or their dog. “She’s not anything to you unless she says so,” he says quietly, and Micah stiffens, eyes narrowing. “Now, let’s start at the top and go over this again: you summoned Jeffrey.”

Micah frowns. “Why?”

“For fun,” Dean answers with a shrug. “Go.”

---

Castiel has just enough time to greet Jeremy and Joelle at the front desk when the doors to their headquarters open and the checkpoint teams spill inside, exhausted and looking a combination of relieved and grim.

“Welcome back,” he says, scanning for any injuries. “Does anyone need medical attention?”

“We’re fine,” James says, Lee and Damiel nodding tired agreement. “Alison cleared us to come back early; we had a couple of potential pneumonias going on, one under ten.” He seems to brace himself before saying, “Uh, thirty refugees yesterday, twenty-two more showed up before we left, no one on the roads—”

“One question,” he interrupts, noting Lee seems to be listing to port and Jane subtly trying to support him despite the foot difference in their height. “Is there anything I need to know that will in any way affect any of us individually, Chitaqua, Ichabod, or the Alliance? In the next twelve hours?”

Damiel frowns, brown eyes unfocused. “Short version: fifty two people, no more in sight, freezing night trading going outside the buses so there wouldn’t be a catalyst event, nothing came near us, came home.”

“Excellent,” he says approvingly. “Food, shower, and sleep: the debriefing can wait. Consider yourself off-duty for the next eight hours at minimum, unless you wish to attend the burning this evening.”

James winces, and Castiel thinks he definitely could have phrased that better. “Are we—uh, Andy…”

“That will be Kat’s decision,” he answers. “Leave word at the front desk if you wish to attend should she agree and someone will wake you.” He nods toward the mess. “Now please feed yourselves and catch up on the gossip as you will. If I’m needed, I’ll be in the Situation Room.”

“Thanks,” James says, reaching to tug Nate toward him as he hooks an arm over Mira’s shoulders and herds them both toward the mess. For a moment, he’s tempted to call Nate back but decides against it; for one, an exhausted Nate is one who runs into walls (James firmly steers him away when he looks in danger of doing just that, proving his point) and two, he’s not entirely sure how to question Nate about perfectly normal rooms.

He looks at the stairs reluctantly, then reminds himself firmly of duty: he needs to speak to Kat (or preferably, Sarah who will tell him what Kat’s answer is). Leaving word with Jeremy in case he’s needed, he takes the steps two at a time and braces himself as he makes his way to their room. Knocking on the door, he waits patiently until it cracks open, revealing Sarah.

“Just a minute,” she says, and at his nod, closes the door again. He hears indistinct voices inside before she comes out again. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says. “Is Kat available—we need to make a decision on Andy’s remains. Ichabod is burning their dead tonight, and Dean says it’s Kat’s decision on whether Andy is included.”

Sarah nods thoughtfully. “Let me talk to her: wait here.”

He doesn’t ask why she asked him to wait; the answer comes through the door at considerable volume (and many words) before Sarah gently comes outside and shuts it firmly behind her. “I think she would rather wait—if possible—for our return to Chitaqua.”

“I had no idea you were diplomatically inclined.” Studying her carefully, he detects the faintest signs of stress around her eyes. Even Sarah’s rigid calm is being tested, and that says a great deal. “How is she?”

“She’s—very upset,” Sarah answers slowly, brow creasing. “I asked Vera if perhaps Ichabod had a counselor available, but Kat adamantly rejected the suggestion.”

“In that case, do you think Carol’s presence is a good idea?”

“I do, if for no other reason than she requested to see her.” She hesitates briefly before meeting Castiel’s eyes. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for Alicia and her team or Dean to visit at this time, though.”

“Is she an active danger to them?”

There are times that Sarah’s distance is somewhat disconcerting, but it also makes her one of the few people who doesn’t allow emotion to influence her judgement. She thinks carefully before slowly shaking her head. “No, but she’s always been prone to reacting without thinking, and now she’s not thinking at all. It’s better for all parties concerned to be separate for the time being.”

“How long is your shift with her?”

“Drew and I have been with her for the last two hours,” she answers. “Phil and Amanda are taking our place in two hours.”

“Vera is asking Dolores to have Carol brought here,” he says, noting Sarah’s almost indiscernible relaxation and making an executive decision. “When she arrives, you, Drew, and Phil are officially off-duty until dawn; I’ll arrange that Kat and Carol have someone with them while she’s here. If you need something to do, go to the Volunteer Center, but I’d prefer you take some time for yourselves, and I hope you feel the same.”

“Patrol—” she starts.

“Alison ordered the gates shut and no one, including patrol, is allowed outside until—I assume the emergency ends,” he tells her. “Right now, the combined patrol is taking the opportunity to rest and familiarize the volunteers with the wall and Ichabod’s defenses. When we are needed, we’ll be called, but Manuel and Teresa feel—and I agree—that the Alliance’s primary patrol members and Chitaqua should save ourselves for when our skills are going to be needed to do what most of those here cannot. Other than designated shifts on the wall and with Volunteer Services, it is expected all members of Chitaqua will take sufficient time to eat and rest. The barrier will fall in two days, and unless we are ridiculously fortunate, we’ll be needed then.”

She considers that before nodding, and Castiel adds Sarah to the list of people that Dean has taught to think about orders, not simply listen and obey.

“I would like to go down to the training field for a couple of hours,” Sarah admits, like she’s confessing an embarrassing social disease. “I haven’t had an opportunity to train for the last few days, and we could use some relaxation.”

That does sound relaxing; he makes a mental note to spend a little time today longing for a few hours of shooting targets and attacking dummies—or Amanda—since he doubts he’ll have time for the reality.

“I’ll be in the Situation Room,” he says. “Report before you leave, and if anyone else wishes to go with you, take them.”

“I will,” she says, and he correctly interprets her almost-expression as anticipatory and returns back downstairs, satisfied with his work as a commander.

When he arrives in the Situation Room, he finds Haruhi helping Derek with the boxes (excellent progress) while Victoria works on the laptop enthusiastically. Seeing him enter, Haruhi gets up with a smile. “Hey, what’s up?”

“The checkpoint teams returned and are in need of news, food, and rest, the former two they’re acquiring in the mess.” He looks around the room. “Where’s Rosario?”

“Laundry,” Haruhi answers. “She volunteered when Vicky threatened to teach her Excel and kind of ran for it.”

“Hey,” Victoria says without looking up.

“With—Freddy, I think?” Haruhi continues, frowning. “Brown hair, kind of cute, wears the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen.”

“Frederick,” he says, nodding. “He’s slightly nearsighted, but he only uses those for engine repair; the top half of the lens is for magnification.”

“That would explain the faint aroma of motor oil,” she says, nodding. “And the contents of his laundry basket. Oh, he told me to tell you that he’s available, so if you need him, he’s doing laundry for basically everyone. Including yours and Dean’s, and he told me to tell you he hopes that’s okay, but he got word Alison’s ordering water rationing across the board and it may be our last chance for clean clothes.”

Castiel thinks about that and winces. “How much rationing?”

“Everything but drinking water,” she says with a sigh. “Before you ask, I know nothing of anything to do with toilets or pipes, but you know all those holes from the buildings that are now Wall?” He nods. “At least a few were repurposed for emergency waste disposal, so…”

“We’re at latrines?” he asks and wishes he didn’t have to.

“With these kinds of numbers, that or the equivalent.” She winces. “Luckily, we’ve had to deal with it a few times when the waste plant kind of—broke—so we know how to avoid poisoning ourselves, but—Cas, I don’t have details and I don’t want them, please don’t make me go get them. Some things should remain a mystery to the common man.”

“Done,” he agrees reluctantly; he’d like not to know either, but he’s probably going to need to find out. “Is there anything else?”

“God I hope not,” Haruhi answers as he joins Victoria when she motions for him to look at something on the screen. “Need me to do anything?’’

“I do. Very good,” he says approvingly to Victoria. “Lee, James, and Damiel are to be kept off the duty roster until hopefully morning, so fit them in there as you will. Haruhi, I need you to find Amanda and ask her to come here; we’ll be hosting Carol today, and I need to discover what it will cost me for her to act as escort for Carol and Kat without worrying about revenge at some unspecified time.”

Haruhi cocks her head, thinking. “Carol… former Chitaqua, Andy’s ex, did I get it right?”

“You did,” he confirms with a smile. “Excellent gossip skills.”

“I try,” she says, smiling back. “If you don’t have anything else for me, I can hang with Amanda today, give her some support.”

“I think she’d appreciate it.” Which reminds him; he should speak to Alicia if Carol is going to be in residence. “Thank you.”

“I think she’s with Manuel and Teresa helping get everyone familiar with the Wall,” she says. “On my way back, you want me to grab you some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he says, then looks around the room and realizes something’s missing. “Where’s Dean?”

“Dunno,” she answers as she starts toward the door. “Kamal came by to talk to him and they left. Maybe they left word up front?”