The Game of God: Day 157 - part 2

The Host is a terrible role model.

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— Day 157, continued —

Despite the fact Cas dressed so fast he’s pretty sure non-existent Grace was involved and the Alicia method of eating was utilized (Dean mentally reviewed the Heimlich Maneuver twice watching that), they barely get downstairs before Joe returns, looking not quite as grim but still not good.

“Alison says it’s on the list,” he says, dropping on the couch in the Situation Room with a sigh. With Haruhi’s team on duty on Seventh, the room feels unnaturally quiet, and now has unattended laptops that may or may not tempt Cas into spreadsheet theory or whatever. “Don’t have much yet, obviously, but it says something she already heard about it along with the catalyst event. From what she understands from Claudia, it’s coming from the refugees, but which, who knows. Dolores is pissed, if that helps; I told Alison about this morning with Alicia and how we think it got around, so on a guess, Carol’s dealing with Dolores about now.”

He looks at Cas, slumped on the arm of the couch, one foot on the cushion. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s truly an amazing coincidence that we hear this one—accusing us of killing people with supposedly questionable Croatoan infection status—at the same time as the one accusing Alicia of murdering small children who were already Croatoans. If they aren’t related directly, they will be soon.”

Dean sees it, but—oh. “They’re going to forget the ‘Croat’ part when talking about the kids, got it.” Sitting back in his chair, he tries to think. “Let me get this straight; the one about me started this morning and is already over half of town and part of a catalyst event in the YMCA? Even for gossip, that’s fast.”

“I think it started earlier, and on a guess, Claudia knows it, too,” Joe offers. “Especially if it started with the refugees, and you can’t blame ‘em—”

“Yeah, I can,” Dean interrupts.

“They’re in a shitty sitch, in a town of strangers, and they’re gonna get conflicting information no matter how much Claudia and the other volunteers work to make sure they hear what actually happened. The rumors aren’t the problem, that’s standard anywhere, ever, and that one’s a natural; it’s the consistency and speed that are the problem.”

Dean starts to protest then thinks better of it. “What do you mean?”

“Good detail work,” he answers, crossing his arms. “The rumor mill’s a game of telephone, but this one—at least, the versions I’ve heard, the ones people actually believe—are too consistent on what actually happened and are reasonable extrapolations—hell, if I were among them, this one I’d listen to. They’re not saying you did it for fun; they’re saying you did it on spec. Not actual dismembered exposure—”

“—but simply possible.” Okay, that is reasonable, and in a sense, true. No, he didn’t call in anyone from Ichabod to check, but even if everyone there was miraculously not Croat infected, they were dead; fast or slow, what a Croat did to a body for fun didn’t couldn’t survive it, not for long. “Like the military when they closed the borders.”

“That’s what they’re thinking, yeah. And that’s not past tense; anyone found in the buffer zone is shot on sight.” Joe sighs. “For better or worse, we’re a militia, and we don’t need uniforms for people to know on sight what we are. Dean, this isn’t the refugees fault; if anything, it shows their survival skills are in working order. They’re trapped here, so damn straight they’re not going to dismiss anything until they’re sure. The problem is, this one doesn’t just sound reasonable; it’s hit critical. Enough people have said it—and enough people believe it—that it’s as good as true. Add in the Alicia thing—and that one’s still confined to Ichabod’s own mess, but not for long—and of course they’re going to believe it.”

“So we’re all murderers,” Dean says out loud; yeah, that sounds shitty, period. Then he catches Joe’s faint smirk. “What?”

“Well, one of us won the lottery,” Joe says casually, leaning back and balancing his right ankle on his left knee. “Two, rather. Guess who are the saviors of Ichabod right now? Hint: he killed five Hellhounds with his bare hands, she brutally beat a couple to death with her gun and drove the other off with a determined grimace, to protect a sad group of civilians—or retrieve bodies, or just for sheer righteousness, pick two—and I want to be there when Sarah hears about this.”

Dean starts to grin at Cas’s horrified expression. “Five?”

“I corrected a couple of people, upped it to six and Sarah three,” Joe says smugly. “Even people who saw it live are starting to wonder if they forgot how to count. Which was a lot of people, by the way, even people who were asleep or on the other side of town. Though to be fair—”

“There weren’t that many on duty on the wall,” Cas protests, and oh God, of course he didn’t notice.

Dean exchanges a helpless look with Joe, and realizes he’s up. “Cas, you led a fucking procession to the walls—”

“We just walked up the street.”

“Procession,” Dean says clearly. “Cas, all that was missing were some trumpets. Jumping off the wall like Bruce Willis should be taking notes was just icing. I got there just ahead of not even standing room only.”

If anything, Cas is even more horrified. “They need to be corrected—”

“Good luck with that,” Joe interrupts even more smugly before he leans forward, looking between them. “But you see what I mean on consistency? Cas’s has, like, a dozen variations, not a surprise; yours has all the pertinent facts, just the wrong conclusion. Alicia’s is still spreading, but there’s almost no chance with yours out there, this won’t be ‘Croat kids’ but ‘kids who may or may not have been exposed to Croat’.”

“Almost like it’s not just random accident.” His candidates are the idiots two of Micah’s—fuck if he can remember their names—but why is up in the air. If a mob comes at their building to kill them, Micah probably shouldn’t want to be in it at the time. “And to top it off, a catalyst event, first in three days. And Kyle killed five of ‘em.”

“I was going to pretend that didn’t happen for a little while longer,” Joe answers. “No injuries, by the way; five dead, that put the room below threshold and it broke. Kyle doesn’t miss.”

He waves Joe silent at the knock on the door, followed almost immediately by Vera peering in.

“Hey,” Dean says, getting to his feet as she and Amanda come in, looking her over before checking Amanda’s expression; survey says, good. “How you feeling?”

“Fine,” she says with a shrug. “Haven’t slept that well in years.” Her eyes dart around the room briefly before focusing on Dean again. “Look, you and Cas have a minute? Patient confidentiality and everything.”

“Dean,” Amanda says, “I’m going to check the wall, see how it’s going. We have two teams of recruits up there and I want to—”

“Scare them?” She nods hopefully. “Go with God.”

“I’ll go with you,” Joe says, heaving himself off the sofa with a grunt: right side, quicksand, he called it. “Teresa’s running patrol today, but Manuel’s reporting what’s going on with the investigation. Dean, you mind?”

“Meeting in an hour,” Dean answers. “Brief Amanda on this morning, would you? And keep me updated if we’re accused of murdering anyone else. Especially if there are bodies involved.”

Joe salutes on his way to the door. “Got it.”

Cas locks the door behind them before abruptly hugging Vera, who looks two parts surprised and one part pleased, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she says against his shoulder. “Promise. Just—weirded out.”

“Sit down,” Dean says, and grabs a chair as Cas and Vera take the sofa (center, smart of ‘em). “What do you remember?”

“I was possessed by a god so I could help deliver her into a baby,” Vera says in a breath, looking between them and sighing when they nod their reassurance. “Good, that happened. Also, I know Hindi—sort of. At least—that’s Hindi, right? Sudha got a huge kick out of it when I checked in this morning.”

“Yes,” Cas answers, tilting his head. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

She makes a face. “It’s coded to someone speaking to me, I think. Didn’t even realize it until Sudha started giggling.”

Cas says something that Vera responds to immediately, and she sighs. “Yes, it’s probably coded, but we’ll check the limits on that. Can you tell?”

“Not really,” she answers with a grimace. “I mean—not at first. People’s expressions help. Did I mention the giggling wasn’t just Sudha? Rabin sounds like a five year old girl.”

From her discomfort, he’s gonna guess this is something she’s only going to talk about under duress and that’d be Cas’s job. “How’s Sudha? And Jaya?”

“Great,” Vera answers with a relieved smile. “Jaya’s fantastic, already on a meal schedule. No problems with let-down, either. Breastfeeding,” she says deliberately, eyebrow raised at Dean’s expression (he’s not sure what it is, but she seems to find it really funny). “Even under normal circumstances, it can be a problem, especially with new mothers.”

Okay, then. “So you were in the infirmary—”

“Heard it, and heard Dolores making some people really miserable,” she says, smile fading. “Carol?”

“Carol and Kat.” Vera’s expression hardens. “And Kyle as source.”

“That fucker,” she says succinctly, which as far as Dean’s concerned isn’t bad assessment of his character. “If there’s anything else, any chance I can get some coffee? Ours is better than the infirmary.”

“Cas will fill you in on this morning,” he says, meeting his eyes and seeing his nod: everything but the part about Micah being under their protection. “Be right back.”

---

Dean (not an idiot) brings back three cups, balancing them carefully and ignoring Joelle and Jeremy’s grins when they see him; what, he can’t be leader of Chitaqua and get people coffee?

When he gets inside, he does a quick assessment and realizes that the meeting is in less than two hours and dropping this on her then isn’t going to get him any points. Handing over two of the cups, he sits down and tries to think how to explain.

“We’re meeting in a couple of hours to talk about Micah.” He’ll just say it. “He wants protection, and we’re gonna give it. As soon as Naresh clears it—probably early this afternoon but with everything else, who knows—we’re moving him here.”

Vera’s expression doesn’t change, looking from him to Cas and then back again. “This is where you say ‘just kidding’.”

“Vera,” he starts.

“He’s a murderer in intent if not in fact,” she says, twisting to look at Cas. “You can’t be okay with this.”

“Our options are to house him here and give him our protection or risk civilian lives,” Cas answers. “It’s the lesser of two terrible options.”

“You missed one, a good one,” Vera retorts, looking at Dean. “Throw his ass outside the gate and let him and Erica get re-acquainted. They were buddies, did you know that? Got a lot in common, too. Worked together to try and kill me and Cas, I thought you knew about that? Didn’t he tell you or something?”

“I know.” He meets her eyes. “It doesn’t change our job description.”

Vera wets her lips. “Cas, could I talk to our fearless leader alone for a minute?”

Cas flickers a glance at him and at his nod, gets to his feet. “I’ll… do something useful not here.”

When the door closes, Dean sits back. “Go ahead.”

“Tell me when our job description covered saving a guy who probably is going to Hell soon anyway, so why not let nature take its course?”

“He is,” Dean answers steadily. “He’s under contract.”

“Even better,” she spits out. “I like a guarantee. Let’s get him going now, no reason to wait.”

Alicia flashes through his mind. “Preview of the meeting—”

“If you think I’m coming to that fucking meeting—”

“Vera.” She shuts her mouth, glaring at him. “He sold his soul with a gun to his head, same reason he was one of the ones that went after you and Cas. And he’s not the only one.”

“Ask me,” she says flatly, “if I care.”

“It’s not your job to care,” he says. “But it’s mine. You think I like this?”

“I think you’re ordering us to protect—ordering your boyfriend to protect—one of the people who tried to kill him! Who does that, Dean?”

“He agreed with me.”

“If you told Cas to cut his throat, he’d do it and not even ask why,” she retorts, dropping back against the couch, and Dean wonders if he should be glad that her coffee cup is empty so if she throws it at him, at least he won’t get wet. “Jesus, we worked so hard to keep it a secret; what the fuck was the point? We told you then, nothing would have changed. We’d still have spent two years with a camp of potential murderers waiting to kill us, but hey, the mission, right? Now it’s ‘protecting people’—”

“I’m not inviting him back to Chitaqua!” Dean snaps. “For fuck’s sake, when this is over, he gets a trip to the border and out of Kansas; Erica wants him then, she’s welcome to him!”

“What’s the difference between now and then?” she demands. “When this is over, he won’t need protection? He won’t ask for it?”

“We won’t be guests of this town and he’ll be under our authority,” Dean answers. “He confessed: the penalty is exile from Kansas. When he’s ours, he answers for what he did against us, but not until then. We can’t just come into a town and start killing people in it because we don’t like ‘em.” Especially since they apparently are getting a reputation for that.”

“Good leader, right.”

“Okay.” He pulls his sidearm and holds it out. “Go ahead.”

She looks at it like it’s covered in Croat. “What?”

“Micah’s at Ichabod’s prison thing, second floor, end of the hall to the right,” he answers. “They’ll let you through. I saw your marksmanship; you can get him before he even sees the gun.”

Her hands clench into tight fists. “Fuck you.”

“What’s the difference between me doing it and you?” he asks, holstering it again. “He wants to walk out there and hand himself over to Erica, fine, I sure as fuck won’t stop him. But any other way, it’s murder.”

“Never stopped you before,” she answers coolly. “His life worth more than twenty-six innocent people with Croat two days ago, more than Debra, more than every fucking person you killed because they were at the wrong place, wrong time?”

He expected it, thought he was ready for it, but a punch is always a punch, and nothing prepares you for a knife to the gut. “You’re out of line.”

“I apologize,” she lies. “Forgot: because Croat, that makes it okay. So that’s it? Mission first, last, and always?”

Rules exist for a reason; some are bullshit, but not all of them, and he’s starting to get not only is there a difference, he may not ever know why. This one, though, he knows in his bones; you can bend some, but some you can’t, not and still pretend they exist. This is one of them; they can’t break it and still be hunters. He’s not sure they can break it and still be people. “It has to be.”

“Right. New verse, took a while but it’s same as the first, I know this one. Welcome back, Dean Winchester: I didn’t miss you at all.” She gets to her feet. “Permission to leave, sir?”

He thinks a lot of things and says none of them. “Yeah.”

Dean hears the door open and close—no slam, very deliberately—and then once again. Cas eases himself down where Vera was sitting. “Dean?”

The first time he was shot, it was half an hour before he felt it; until then, the only way he even knew it happened was the blood. “How much did you hear listening at the door?”

Cas shrugs. “All of it.” The blue eyes regard him curiously. “You do realize if you told me to cut my throat, I’d tell you—”

“—to fuck myself,” Dean finishes for him, wishing he could at least fake a smile. “I know.” Then, “You’d kill him, wouldn’t you?”

“Dean—”

“Not asking my second in command or Cas of Chitaqua,” Dean says. “I’m asking an angel of the Lord. What would you have done?”

Cas tilts his head, and before his eyes, Cas sloughs off all the human trappings between one moment and the next. An infinite ocean of drowning blue, a sky of stars and galaxies that goes on forever: “We were the Host. We had the right of immediate execution for any trespass against my Father’s will both in Heaven and on Earth. By our judgement, his actions merit execution.”

Dean blows out a breath.

“Unless ordered to do so, however, we wouldn’t have done it.”

Dean looks his ‘huh?’; that usually works.

“We have killed great-grandparents to babes barely born,” Cas says, the echo of infinity in his eyes and his voice. “It was our duty and we carried it out; that is what we were. Micah’s sins merit execution, yes, but so do many; only a handful ever felt our wrath.” With another shrug, Cas is a slumping militia member again. “Why, I don’t know and don’t pretend to.”

Dean tries and fails to map that onto anything he can use here. “That’s—I don’t even know what that means.”

“I think,” Cas says thoughtfully, “it means the Host is a terrible role model.”

So that didn’t help at all, and now he’s also confused. “Right. Are you okay with this?” What he’ll do with the answer, no idea, but he needs to hear it.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, and Dean wants to believe him so badly he’s not sure if he’s telling the truth or not.

“He tried to kill you.”

“That would be the reason he’s not on my Christmas card list,” Cas tells him solemnly, and despite himself, Dean snorts. “If you wish to know if I’d kill him now…”

“Well?”

“I want to,” he admits. “Then again, I want to kill all of them, and most are dead.”

That’s what he figured. “Yeah—”

“That doesn’t mean I should,” he interrupts. “Or that you should, or the militia should be used as a private army bent on vengeance for me or anyone else. Dean, if you think I expect you to abandon your duty as Chitaqua’s commander as well as your ethics as a hunter for me—”

“You think I wouldn’t?”

Cas snorts, and Dean’s so startled by that he misses Cas getting up until abruptly, he’s got almost six feet of former angel straddling his lap and there goes thinking. “I should have asked first,” Cas says, bracing his forearms on Dean’s shoulders. “Is this unprofessional while we’re on duty?”

He wraps his arms around Cas’s waist just in case he tries to do something stupid like move. “Dude, that’s crazy talk. What if we… run out of chairs? Sitting on the floor, that shit’s unprofessional as hell.”

Cas ostentatiously looks around the room. “I think we have enough chairs—”

“I can fix that.”

The knocking at the door only belatedly registers as something he should care about, and Dean wonders how many times in his life this is going to happen. A lot if they keep having meetings in their cabin when they get back to Chitaqua.

Then the door opens, and Dean sees Cas’s smile vanish. Turning his head, one look at Joe’s face brings him and Cas both to their feet.

“Something tested the ward line,” he says without preamble. “Teresa doesn’t know what.”

“We’ll be right there,” Cas says, which is good because Dean is still working on words. “I’ll get our rifles and meet you in the lobby.”

Dean nods. “Thanks.”

---

Dean scans the horizon from Ichabod’s walls and empty road as it trails off into the dip. He never realized until now just how much brush there is, though it’s the reason Ichabod’s been able to hide for so long. There’s nothing to see, of course: just a snowy late morning.

The quality of the silence tells him that even if he can’t see anything, it isn’t because there’s nothing there to see.

The west-facing wall is solid with those on wall-duty (and some he’s pretty sure aren’t) straining to see something, and Vera’s actually got a fist in Amanda’s jacket due to her straining forward like staring hard enough will do the trick and not lead to death-by-falling (or death by whatever may be out there). They’re doing a pretty good job ignoring each other; the reason she came when Joe went to get her can probably be expressed by the words ‘Amanda’ and ‘possible danger.’ As a preview of coming events at the meeting, it wasn’t encouraging; it’s not like Micah was liked by pretty much anybody, and adding ‘attempted murderer’ isn’t going to help.

“Dean?” Teresa prompts, and glancing at her, he takes in the dark circles under her eyes. Dropping his gaze to the wall, where even from here he can see the too-thin fingers are starting to tremble, he wonders just how much of a strain the wards have been on her, especially with the Croats two days ago. She’s still not tapping the earth, but all that means is that it’s all coming from her.

“Give us a sec.” Beside him, Cas is scanning the area, expression blank, and Dean can actually feel Cas wanting to try his see-everything and end this with an aneurysm, so no. “Anything?”

“Nothing,” Cas says finally. “Teresa, you’re sure something touched the ward line here?”

“Only thing that has since the Croats,” she answers, voice flat. “Easy to get location when there’s nothing else around.” She frowns as she studies the wide open space that was the scene of a lot of fighting two days ago. “Okay, anyone but me wondering why we haven’t been attacked by anything else? We got, what, a day and a half before it breaks?”

“Dusk tomorrow,” Cas agrees, lips tightening. “There should be some activity by now, yes. It can be partially explained by the wards; now that you have an anchor to use, they’re far stronger, and it makes us far less vulnerable prey. For many things, the wards can be sensed at some distance”

Right, and that’s probably a reason, but not the one Cas doesn’t want to say; it’s kind of what they aren’t saying is probably out here right now, morning after a god was born on earth. “You think the Misborn scared them off?” He’ll say that part.

“I think that attracting the attention of something that can—and has—killed gods isn’t recommended,” he answers obliquely. “At least, not to anything with a modicum of intelligence.”

Dean licks his lips and decides to get this over with. “Cas, are they what tripped the wards?”

“I’m trying very hard not to think that,” he answers grimly. “Vera, did you see James’ team this morning? They don’t go on duty until this evening, but I suspect Nate might have wanted to check on the baby.”

“They were still in the infirmary when I left,” she answers. “They were helping one of the other women get settled; she’s due tonight, I should check on her when we’re done here.”

Dean looks at Teresa, who shrugs helplessly. “Could Alison—”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly.

Following Cas’s gaze, he sees a slim figure in red standing just short of the ward line, dramatically giving no shits she’s in a sleeveless dress while standing in about a foot of snow, icy wind barely moving her hair. He’ll give her this much; she knows how to make an entrance.

“Erica,” Amanda says softly, automatically shifting half in front of Vera as she stiffens and takes a step back, and Dean hears a safety pulled. Glancing over, he sees Amanda’s eyes narrowing, her sidearm in her hand, and worse their two teams of recruits are close enough to see it.

“Stand down,” Dean murmurs, checking the area behind Erica and not seeing anything, which means jack shit. As if aware of them watching—and by that, he knows she is—she tips her head just enough to feel like she’s staring into the eyes of everyone watching her. “Cas, what are the chances she’s alone?”

“She’s not,” he murmurs back. “Two on her left, one to her right, twenty feet and sixteen respectively.”

“You can see ‘em?”

“Don’t need to,” Amanda answers from Cas’s other side. “They’re there. Question is, who?”

Dean starts to say ‘demons,’ then realizes what she meant: members of Chitaqua. Ichabod is turning into the worst family reunion in history.

The silence breaks with a word, projected effortlessly despite the distance. “Castiel.”

Dean fights the impulse to step in front of him so she can’t see him. “Go ahead,” he murmurs at Cas’s glance.

“What do you want?” Even Dean’s impressed by the way Cas can make a four word question sound like trumpets should be playing and a chorus getting involved for the grand finale. A quick glance confirms those who only heard about Cas being an angel just got an idea of what it must have been like when Gabriel—fuck him—decided it was time to let Mary in on the entire Jesus thing; it’s kind of funny, and he files it away for later appreciation.

“To talk.” No coy demurrals or saccharine word games: even the way she’s standing—straight backed, chin up, gaze direct—isn’t like any demon he’s ever met. It is, however, a lot like a hunter stands, evaluating the situation and working out how to handle it. He can easily see her in old jeans and a faded army jacket on a hunt, holding a rifle and watching the backs of her team as they watch hers. “What are your terms?”

Dean sucks in a surprised breath. “She’s gotta be kidding.”

“I don’t think she is,” Cas answers, barely a breath, but something in his voice makes Dean look at him sharply. Raising his voice, he asks her, “What are yours?”

“A truce will be in effect from the moment of your agreement and continue until you are again standing where you are now and verify its end,” Erica answers, voice clear. “The Crossroads itself will enforce the terms as confirmed by the Host.”

“It’s a trick,” Amanda says, which is exactly what Dean was thinking. “You don’t think—”

“Hold up,” Joe interrupts, shouldering between Amanda and Cas to look down at him curiously. “Crossroads can do that when it’s not a contract?”

“It’s very much a contract, simply not one for our souls,” Cas answers, meeting Dean’s eyes in reminder.

“We’re not falling for that!” Amanda exclaims. “She’s fucking with us.”

“She isn’t,” Cas responds. “At least, not in this. Crossroads oversees all contracts, and those for souls are only a part, albeit a large one. She wouldn’t invoke it if she wasn’t serious.”

“It’s Erica,” Amanda argues. “What difference—”

“So everything—the terms, the participants—have to be accepted for it to work?” Joe asks, like it matters or something, since they’re not doing this.

“Yes,” Cas starts.

“Right,” Joe interrupts. “Cas, don’t say another word; I’ll handle it.”

“Why?”

“Because if we’re gonna do this, I should do it,” Joe says, startling Dean. “By ‘we,’ I mean, me, not you. You’re not a negotiator, Cas.”

“Do you think I haven’t had to deal with demons before?” Cas asks.

“You have done contract negotiations with a demon?” Joe asks, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows in not even polite disbelief. “Or you were in the room—or multidimensional space—where it was happening?”

Cas’s eyes narrow, but noticeably, he doesn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Joe says. “Lots of fighting and looking fierce—hey not knocking it, you’re good those—but zero sitting at the negotiation table, am I right?” Joe stares at Cas until he reluctantly nods. “Nothing—and I do mean nothing—is simple when it comes to contract. Me, I’ve had a gun to my head and still walked away with what I needed and that’s not even an exaggeration.” He pauses, frowning. “Can I do it for you? I mean, can you appoint me to represent the Host here even if I’m human? To confirm, I mean? I assume that’s how this works.”

“Tell him,” Dean says, curious where Joe is going with this; it’s not like they’re going to actually do it, so why not? Especially since hey, no Host.

“Castiel,” Erica interrupts, right on schedule. “I require an answer.”

“Yes, the Host can appoint a representative; can you imagine Michael deigning to speak to a demon?” No one can, as it turns out, even Dean, who kind of met the guy. “Gabriel did it when he was among us, though Zachariah—Joseph, what are you—”

“Appoint me,” Joe interrupts. “Cas, not joking here: I’m human, does it matter?”

Cas stares at him, and after a moment, Dean identifies that look as ‘humans are sometimes rather slow.’ “Humans have at one time or another represented my Father on earth. Does that answer your question?”

Joe grins. “It does. Okay, tell me what to do to get us a little time.”

“Just tell her,” Cas says, starting to look curious. “She can accept or deny it, but if she truly wants to speak to us, she’ll agree.”

“Okay—” Joe starts to turn toward the wall.

“Don’t use your name.”

“She knows my name…” He trails off when he sees Cas’s face and nods before turning back to face Erica. “As appointed representative of the Host, do you accept my authority to speak for them?”

Erica doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”

“We are requesting a moment to consult,” Joe tells her, projecting effortlessly in what Dean assumes is his negotiation voice: calm, clear, and really certain of getting his way. “Ten minutes, at which time you can consider our silence a rejection of your offer. Do you agree to our request?”

“We?” Dean mutters and gets a stern look from Cas. “’We’ sound ridiculous, for the record.”

“It’s a—”

“Figure of speech, I know,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I do,” Erica answers, a thread of amusement in her voice. “This is a one-time offer; I won’t ask again.”

Joe nods, stepping back as she vanishes into the brush in a flicker of red, and looks at Dean and Cas thoughtfully. “That was interesting.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Dean demands.

“I’m curious as well,” Teresa admits, cocking her head. “In case this isn’t obvious, we discourage suicide missions. In case that’s relevant.”

“It is,” Dean says firmly, glaring at Joe and Cas. “Well?”

“Yeah, I do. Some things don’t change, and this is one of them.” Joe looks at Cas. “This is contract. She wouldn’t pull this unless it was serious.”

“Doesn’t matter if she is.” Cas looks at Dean in surprise. “There’s nothing she’s got to say that’s worth sending Cas outside these walls alone.”

“Then we specify I don’t go alone,” Cas says (tone: ‘humans are rather slow,’ thanks, Cas), which is exactly the kind of shit Dean really hates to hear. He can almost see how much Amanda is fighting the urge to jump up and down and say she’s in, because Cas didn’t just pass on skills when he trained her; he passed on all his crazy, too. “An escort is always considered acceptable and is protected under the terms of the truce.”

Dean wants to point out what happened the last time Cas went on a playdate with a demon and doesn’t; that’s for later. “You’re kidding, right?”

“If we want to try, I can work with this,” Joe says, looking between them. “You two need a minute?”

“Yeah, thanks. Everyone, back a few steps, pretend not to eavesdrop,” Dean says, going a few steps away and waiting for Cas impatiently before whispering, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Cas steps close enough that his hip is pressed to Dean’s, lips hovering close enough for Dean to feel his breath against his ear. “I want to see her expression when she sees you.”

That’s not the answer he expected to hear. “What?”

“Lucifer announced Dean’s death to all of Hell; that means she knows as well,” Cas answers. “I’m certain Alicia was unbearably tempting, but surely Erica could have spared a few moments to express some form of surprise that among those bravely running away from an army of Croats was a living, panting refutation of what she knows as true.”

“Fuck you, it was over two miles…” Dean huffs a breath, annoyed, but he’s got a point. “That’s why you want to talk to her?”

“I think she has something to say that we need to hear—”

“She really doesn’t.”

“But whether she does or not, if she fails to get our attention this way, I’m fairly certain we don’t want to see what alternate methods she might resort to.” Dean scowls, but Jesus, they’ve gotten bit in the ass enough, and mostly by shit they didn’t even actually do. “If you have a better idea…”

Yeah, that trail off is helpful.

“You’re not really considering this?” Vera demands abruptly, and it’s only his iron nerves and cat-like reflexes that keep him from jumping. Much. “Why the hell would you risk your lives on her word?”

“Private consultation going on here!” Dean says, but Cas steps back anyway. “Okay, Joe, Cas, explain the risks here.

“If I’m right, there’s not any unless we break the terms,” Joe answers as Teresa joins them.

“He’s partially correct,” Cas agrees and may be the only one surprised by the fact hearing that does nothing for Vera at all except up the incredulity to critical. “There is always the risk that we make or accept bad terms, however.”

“Which is why I’m doing it,” Joe says, and no, not helping.

“But okay, we’re missing something here,” Dean says, wondering if he’s the only one who noticed this. “She said the Host had to confirm it. The Host isn’t here.”

Joe and Cas exchange a weird look before Joe says, “Yeah, and yet, she accepted me as their representative.”

“But…” Dean honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. “They aren’t here to tell you that you can.”

“Cas said I could.”

“I did,” Cas agrees, like that’s supposed to reassure them all.

“She’s going to kill all of you!” Vera exclaims, and almost immediately shuts her eyes with a pained expression while Cas straightens like someone just shoved a broom up his ass. “Oh God, start over—”

“You think,” Cas says in the precise tones of imminent homicide, “that a demon barely off the rack who, despite my repeated attempts at correction, never did quite manage to remember to protect her left and believed the best defense was to pretend she didn’t need one—”

“Here we go,” Amanda mutters, rubbing her forehead. “Jesus, Vera.”

“—would be dangerous to me or anyone with me?” Cas continues, voice rising. “Two days ago, I killed a Hellhound in single combat and a number of Croats. If that isn’t enough—”

“I’m so sorry,” Vera murmurs to Amanda, who looks like she’s getting a migraine.

“—less than seven years ago, I fought in a forty year siege in Hell. I won’t elucidate, for modesty demands I don’t go into detail regarding my accomplishments during my time there, but suffice to say they were well above ‘adequate’.”

“He won,” Dean admits during the pause Cas gives him to do just that and hopes no one asks for details. “The whole siege thing, technically. Killed lots of demons, it was pretty epic.”

“Mortality has required some adjustments, yes—” Cas continues.

“Sorry,” Vera says sincerely. “You have no idea how much.”

“—but despite that, I’ve managed to survive this long, so I must be doing something right,” Cas finishes with vicious satisfaction. “Anyone else wish to express doubts on my competence?”

No one does: what a surprise. “You think that she won’t try to get around the terms, whatever they are?” Dean asks before Cas decides a history of his personal bloodshed may now be required; that could take forever (actually, literally forever).

“She’s a demon, and for that matter Erica; treachery is to be expected. However, for one, she’ll be limited by the terms, and two…”

“She really wants to talk,” Dean finishes glumly. “At least, you think so.”

He meets Cas’s eyes and remembers what he promised about listening, even if he didn’t agree. That doesn’t mean he has to change his mind when he listens to why he should, but it implies he’ll be honest with them both on whether his reasons not to are better. Jerking his head toward Joe, he ignores Vera’s incredulous expression. “Joe?”

“We can do this,” Joe answers confidently.

“You don’t,” Vera argues, “even know all the terms! Or made any, for that matter!”

“Here’s what I know,” Joe says, with an inflection that really makes Dean wonder what he’s thinking. “She’s Crossroads, which means when it comes to contract, everything she says counts, and they can do everything and anything but lie. What she agrees to, Crossroads has to enforce and the Host confirms, and that includes breach, am I right?” Cas nods, blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully at Joe’s grin. “We’re good. Dean, trust me.”

Like those aren’t famous last words. Sure, trust him, he can do that, but it’s with Cas. “Cas?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

Okay, then. “Do it.”

“What?” Vera explodes.

“Cas was right; if we refuse and she wants our attention, she’ll find a way to get it, and me, I really don’t want to find out. If we’re gonna do this, we need a pro, and I’d bet on Joe against the Crossroads any day.”

Joe smiles at him in surprised pleasure. “Thanks.”

“Teresa?” he asks, because sure, they could all go over the wall and look stupid (no one is going to top Cas’s performance, they’ll look even stupider trying), or you know, ask her to order the gate opened.

She tilts her head, brown eyes unreadable. “I’ll give the order. She shouldn’t cross the ward line, though.”

Well, yeah. “Got it,” he answers, and she smiles oddly before starting toward the gate to give the order.

“Escorts are me, you, and Amanda,” Dean tells Joe. “We got five minutes; Cas, Joe, you two talk about terms. We’ll wait. And don’t get us killed.”

---

“Those are the terms acceptable to the Host,” Joe finishes, watching Erica. “We await your answer; what say you?”

The terms are pretty straightforward—by that, he means Joe sounds like a lawyer who’s getting paid by the word—but what Dean can’t get over is how they’re all talking like weird people. “’What say you’?” he mutters. “Where the hell are you getting this? Sorry, ‘we’ getting this?”

Joe’s left eye twitches but he keeps his gaze on Erica.

“The Host confirms,” Cas agrees, which seems kind of pointless—Joe’s rep for the Host, right?—but who is Dean to question? Their leader, right: that should help more than it does.

“Accepted,” Erica answers. “The truce has begun; you have ten minutes to arrive or I’ll consider it broken.”

From the corner of his eye, Dean sees Erica do her vanishing act, but he’s way too focused on the fact that Joe’s smirking.

“Okay, what?” he asks, wondering if he needs to ask or just watch how this plays out. “Gonna share with the class?”

“We have ten minutes to be outside the gate and begin to talk or we’re in breach of the truce,” Cas says, turning to look at him. “We should probably not risk delay.”

Vera’s expression darkens, but she bites her lip against whatever she was going to say.

“Vera,” he says, and the look she gives him says really shitty things will happen if he ever makes the mistake of getting sick again, “get Alicia. Brief her on the way; I want her up here by the time we start talking.”

She hesitates, then nods shortly, giving Amanda a long look before starting toward the ladder.

“Everyone ready?” He’s not, but whatever. “Let’s get down there.”

---

Erica’s expression when she appears at the ward line the moment the gate closes behind them is probably exactly what Cas wanted to see, and it tells Dean two things: one, she really was distracted by Alicia two days ago, and two, she knows exactly who he is. A complicated knot of emotion clouds her eyes as she looks at him, and for a moment, he almost forgets she’s a demon and not a hunter looking at the doppelganger of her dead leader. A hunter who came to Chitaqua to find some way to fight Lucifer after her entire family was murdered in front of her by her boyfriend, after she spent a couple of days trapped under his body in a pool of blood while everyone she loved rotted around her.

Ten feet short of the ward line, Dean comes to a stop beside Cas, Joe and Amanda having stopped half-way between the ward line and Ichabod’s walls and not subtly fanning out enough to keep him and Cas as well as Erica and anyone who might be hiding behind her somewhere in sight. Not that Erica seems to notice or care; the brown eyes flicker to oily black and back in endless succession as she stares at him, lips parting in the shape of his name before she closes her eyes.

“Erica,” Cas says quietly, and the black-slicked eyes focus on Cas with something that’s hatred and rage and bitter regret and none of them.

“Cas,” she says, and the intimacy of the nickname brings home who she used to be. She was Dean Winchester’s trusted lieutenant and Alicia’s team leader and an assassin who killed in Dean’s name everyone who wouldn’t sell their soul for him, but before that, she was a woman who showed up in Chitaqua and became Cas’s student to learn to be a hunter. “How did you finally recognize me?”

“You were the first in your class to understand speed was only a weapon,” he answers. “And like any weapon, you could learn how to counter it.”

“The first thing you taught me,” she says, the black receding for dark brown iris and pupil, but what looks at them isn’t any more human, “is we should be willing to pay any price to win. I guess it’s true; those who can’t do, teach.”

“And yet, you dramatically missed the point,” Cas answers. “Payment rendered is and must always be from yourself alone. You never had the right to force others to make payment for you.”

“Is that what you want to talk about?” Dean asks casually. Erica’s lips curl in a sneer before she makes a visible effort, expression smoothing over. “If not, get to the point.”

“Micah,” she answers, still looking at Cas. “He made contract like the rest of us, and he’s in breach.”

“He’s not,” Castiel answers, “or you wouldn’t be here.”

She cocks her head, studying Cas for a moment, eyes flickering to Dean briefly and then back to Cas. “He’s the reason, isn’t he?”

Dean stills, forcing himself not to look back to see how close Amanda and Joe are, and sees her slow smile. Raising a hand, she snaps her fingers.

Without thinking, he reaches for his rifle. “What—”

“Just need some privacy,” she says mockingly. “I thought you might prefer it.”

“How considerate of you,” Cas answers, sounding bored, but his body language, while alert, isn’t ‘danger’ and Dean makes himself dial it down. “I would be interested in knowing the reason.”

“I need answers not couched in euphemisms,” she answers impatiently. “If anyone would know what’s going on, it’s you, and you’re sober enough to make sense. For once. Consider this payment for it.”

“Micah isn’t in breach, because the contract didn’t specify which Dean Winchester’s death would fulfill the terms.” Her lips tighten. “A Crossroad contract is for all intents and purposes unbreakable, but the price the Crossroads pays for writing and enforcing the terms is that any ambiguity favors the other party. That apparently holds true for the Apocalypse as well.” He raises an eyebrow. “I assume asking Crowley why he didn’t send anyone for Micah once the barrier was weak enough for a successful summoning didn’t occur to you.”

“It’s not as if he knows anything,” she answers contemptuously. “He’s weak.”

“Crowley is King of the Crossroads,” Dean says mildly. Erica’s eyes flicker to black again, which he guesses is her shitty attempt to pretend he’s not here. “All you see is what he wants you to, and me, I’d wonder why that’s what he wants you to see.”

“How many of you does Crowley have right now?” Cas asks.

She smiles. “Nice try. If you don’t know how many people still in Chitaqua want you dead, I’m not going to enlighten you.”

“If I’d truly feared for my life, I would have killed you all two years ago,” Cas says with a slow smile. “Did you ever wonder why I didn’t?”

“You were—”

“Killing you would have taken moments; enjoyable, yes, but over almost before it began. Alive, I had the satisfaction of watching all of you for two long years never have a single peaceful night of sleep, never spend an hour, a minute, a single second without being reminded that I could kill all of you and Dean would believe any explanation I chose to give. Knowing every time you saw Vera, saw me, you thought all I was waiting for was one of you to give me an excuse. I wasn’t; I was simply having fun.”

The black-filmed eyes are filled with hate, and for a moment, Dean think he can almost sees the memory of a fear that dogged every moment of her life until Kansas City and her death.

“The only thing I regret,” she says softly, “is that you survived that night and we didn’t try again.”

“How strange: I regret nothing at all.” Cas holds her eyes, Dean feels a flash of rage coalesce, focusing on her. Through the chill rush, he belatedly realizes it’s not his own at the same time he feels a knife hilt in his hand. “Except, perhaps, that it was not my hand that placed you on the rack and saw to your re-education.”

“You couldn’t—”

“I could,” Cas says softly, and Dean hears remembered pleasure in his voice, and even better, so does she, even if she has no idea where it’s coming from. “There’s so much I would have liked to try.”

She wets her lips. “I’d love to see you try.”

“If Dean could only see you now,” Cas says softly, mocking. “His loyal lieutenant: he would put a bullet in your head and cut your throat with Ruby’s knife.”

“He wanted to win.”

“Do you think he would have ever asked that of you? That he would have wanted it?”

“He didn’t need to ask,” she says. “To help him, my soul was nothing. Would have been cheap at twice the price.”

“And everyone else’s was worth even less,” Cas replies. “All of that, and you still failed.”

Dean thinks of Vera, who sat calmly in Cas’s cabin that night, trusting Cas’s word to keep her safe from thirty-five people on their way to kill them both; Carol, in that bed with all her guns, refusing painkillers for a leg nearly ripped apart, waiting for the team leaders she left Chitaqua to escape to finally come to kill her; the list of people who might have died or lost their souls if Cas and Vera hadn’t survived that night, and every person who sold their soul with a gun to their head at the crossroads and every person they killed for refusing to say yes. And Andy on the clock, marking the seconds he had to live before either a needle or Croatoan took his life.

“How did you know who Dean was?” Cas asks her.

“I know the difference between a cheap knockoff and the genuine article.” She looks at Dean briefly before returning her attention to Castiel. “I remember him. From before. Is he why you survived? To save him? Why him and not Dean?”

“Dean didn’t want to be saved,” he answers simply. “Neither did I. None of us who went to Kansas City meant to survive; that’s why we agreed to go.”

“We were all willing to do anything to help him,” she says. “Not you, though; you wouldn’t do shit for him. But now…” She swallows, and the flash of the hunter she could have been is there. “Everything Dean wanted you to do, to be, and now you’re doing it, all for a shitty Xerox of the real thing. You didn’t deserve how Dean felt about you.”

“No, I didn’t,” Cas tells her, the smile fading. “Nor did you. He deserved better than any of us.”

Lips tight, Erica straightens. “I want Micah,” she says, black-filmed eyes focusing on Cas.

“I want to kill you,” Dean tells her. “Looks like neither of us are gonna get what we want.”

“Do you?” To his surprise, she turns to look at him, brown eyes studying him like fingers crawling over his skin, every touch leaving a slimy trail behind; it’s an effort to keep from shuddering. “Cas is right, you know,” she says abruptly. “Demon part, though, Dean wouldn’t even care; going after Cas would have gotten me a bullet to the head on sight, do not pass go and talk about our feelings. I wouldn’t have risked this if it was him here, but you… you’re reasonable.”

Dean tries not to flinch. “I’m not him.”

“No shit,” she answers, meeting his eyes. “I took the first shot at Cas’s head, did you know that? And thirteen more before I stopped counting.”

“Your attempt at baiting leaves much to be desired,” Cas says, projecting near-death boredom. “It’s not going to work.”

“So you noticed, too?” Dean sucks in a breath and she smiles in satisfaction. “You’re not even real, you know that, right? The life you live will always be his, and when anyone looks at you, he’s who they’ll always see.”

“I won’t,” Cas says calmly over the roaring in his ears.

“You don’t need to worry I’ll ever tell anyone who you really are,” Erica continues, still staring at Dean. “Do you know why?”

“Because you want to win,” Dean tells her; somewhere inside her is and will always be the woman trapped in that basement beneath her dead boyfriend, surrounded by dead bodies and slowly going insane. Even the rack couldn’t burn out that rage and horror and grief; nothing it could do would get past those memories and touch her, not until… not until it gave her a reason to want it to. It couldn’t take the memories, but it could reshape her around them; in the very bowels of the Pit, in the domain of Lucifer himself, the rack created a demon with no other purpose but to destroy him and formed to do just that. “And I’m stopping the Apocalypse so you have time.”

“That’s all you’re good for, Xerox: existing,” she agrees. “Until we don’t need that anymore, though… even in Hell there are pleasures to be found, and one of them will be in knowing every hour, every minute, every second of your life here until the moment of your death, you’ll live in a camp and lead a militia that can’t and will never be yours. Dean recruited them, taught them, and they loved him; you, they don’t even know and don’t care. They’re following him; all you are is what’s wearing his skin. It covers you up so well they’ll never see you at all. Nothing you have wasn’t his first and always will be.” She grins. “I’d keep your secret forever, Xerox, just for that.”

The sound of a gunshot in close proximity gets him breathing as well as his full attention. Beside him, Cas coolly lowers his handgun as Erica staggers backward, clutching her belly with fingers already stained the same red of her dress.

“Cas…” he starts, remembering what he said about the truce and Crossroads enforcing the penalty all at once, but he’s interrupted by Erica’s laugh as she pulls her hands away from the growing stain on her dress.

“You just breached the truce to do that?”

“Five,” Cas says. “Four. Three.”

“I’m gonna love seeing you on the rack,” she says gloatingly, taking a step toward the ward line. “When you—”

“One,” Cas finishes.

“What—” Abruptly, Erica doubles over, clutching her stomach with a breathless sound that might have wanted to be a scream if she could get any air for it. Head snapping up, she stares at him, mouth working soundlessly.

“The most dangerous thing in the universe is knowledge without context,” Cas says, sliding his gun back into the holster and crossing to the ward line as Erica falls to her knees, bent nearly in half. Looking down at her, he tilts his head, and for a moment, shadows like retinal burn seem to flare around Cas in echoes of great wings spread wide. “You summoned the Host of your own free will; surely you cannot quibble when we claim our rights on earth.”

She glares up at him, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “You. Aren’t. The Host.”

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Cas asks, dropping into a crouch and smiling into her eyes. “You asked for the Host to confirm; we did. You accepted it, and us; that is contract.”

Looking back, Dean sees Joe watching with a faint, unmistakable smile.

“Crossroads wrote the terms, but ambiguity always favors the other party. Traditionally, the Host has the right of judgment, and we claim it now; we judge our actions did not break the truce, and no penalty shall be applied. You are not dead, nor maimed, nor is there permanent damage, though a hollow point bullet filled with holy water breaching the sciatic nerve must be very painful.” Pushing to his feet, he adds over his shoulder. “We’ll wait, of course. We have decided your current state is not a breach of contract.”

As Cas joins him again, Dean looks at him, shaken and not sure why. “How did you know—”

“Joseph was correct; he’s a far better negotiator than I am,” Cas murmurs, and Dean watches incredulously as they exchange a smile. “Joseph asked me to name him representative and I agreed; when he told Erica the Host appointed him, she didn’t argue the point. The Host, of course, could dispute my right to claim membership, but as you might be aware, they aren’t here.”

“So she basically agreed you were the Host and Crossroads believed her.” Dean takes in his expression. “You didn’t mention that during the explanation up there.”

“I didn’t know,” Cas explains. “At least, not for certain.”

“You risked breaking contract—”

“Of course not,” he interrupts, making a face. “Joseph knew, and I trusted his judgment. I was following your recommendation to trust humanity; you were right. Again. Well done.”

Dean looks at Erica, who’s slowly getting to her feet, face ashen, then at Cas. “We’ll talk about this later.”

She walks up to the ward line, so close he can see sparks forming, tiny swarms of fireflies glowing around her feet. Then abruptly, she focuses on Dean. “I could be wrong about you.”

“Erica,” Cas says, “if there’s nothing else—”

“There is,” she interrupts, never looking away from Dean. “I could be wrong about you, so let’s find out.” She tilts her chin toward Joe and Amanda and snaps her fingers. “Time for them to join the party.”

Dean swallows in a dry throat before saying, “Joe, Amanda. Looks like Erica’s finally ready to get to the point.”

She waits until they join them; a glance shows Joe, standing on the other side of Cas, is keeping his expression neutral, but Amanda’s next to Dean, and she can’t quite, tension so strong he’s getting a stress high.

“How’s your eye?” Amanda asks brightly, and Dean sees Cas’s smile spread across her face. “Wanna try for a matched set?”

“Micah made contract with the Crossroads of his own free will,” Erica says, eyes skimming over Amanda too quickly to be as casual as she obviously wants to be. Two decades on the rack and a demon to boot, but she died still afraid of Amanda, like she was of Cas, and that will never change now. “I’m here to claim him.”

“Dean’s not dead,” Amanda says, and Dean sees her cocking her head curiously. “Micah’s golden until—what, ten years or Dean’s death?”

“That’s not what she’s talking about, though,” Joe says slowly, shifting his gun, and Erica’s eyes fix on him in surprise. “This isn’t official action, that we know, but you went after Micah the first chance you got. This is personal.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about…” She trails off, and Dean follows her frozen gaze to see a figure standing on the wall just above the gate. As if she were watching for just that, Alicia leans forward, bracing one hand on the battlement, and even from here, Dean can see the glint of metal between her thumb and first finger of her right hand. He doesn’t think anyone can make a plus one hundred foot throw—much less have any accuracy doing it—but on the other hand, he wouldn’t want to test that if he was the one Alicia was looking at.

Everything Erica’s said, and finally, Dean remembers that demons can lie with the absolute truth. This is personal.

“I forgot,” Cas says into the near-perfect silence. “Alicia sends her regards.”

Erica jerks her gaze back to them. “Everyone who made contract first swore obedience to the team leaders through me. His life belongs to us; I’m claiming it here and now.”

Joe shifts his rifle against his shoulder again. “Why here and now, though? That’s what I’m wondering.”

The brush behind her begins to shift, dappled light flashing on jeans and blurred ovals of faces vanishing too quickly to count or even tell apart, but every pair of eyes is slicked in black. He feels Cas still, Amanda’s soft curse, something Joe says that may be Yiddish but he can guess the meaning without needing a translation, but even without them, he knows who they are.

“Six, seven, eight,” Amanda counts out loud, and there’s no mistaking Erica’s startlement or the pulse of hatred in Amanda’s voice. “Cross the ward line, I fucking dare you.”

For a moment, Dean thinks Erica just might.

“And if we don’t give him to you?” Dean asks quickly, before Joe turns creepy, too, and he has an entire matched set of crazy people taunting demons at the ward line. “It’s not like you can get inside Ichabod to get him if we say no.”

“That’s true,” she answers, and Dean sees Joe go still. “In which case, we’ll leave at dawn without him.”

“Dawn?” Joe asks unexpectedly, throwing Dean a look that practically screams ‘shut up,’ but it’s not like he doesn’t get the significance; that’s when the Misborn will be able to cross the barrier.

“I have some time.” Joe’s expression goes blank as she looks at Dean again, smile back in place like it never left. “I already know what you aren’t,” she says softly. “It’ll be interesting to find out, however, exactly what you are. See you soon.” After a calculated pause, she adds, “Please give Stephanie my love as well.”

Taking a step back, she and the other figures melt into the darkness, and the quiet around them tells him that wherever they are now, it’s not here.

Turning on Joe and Cas, Dean glares at them. “What—”

“Not here,” Joe interrupts, looking at Cas, who nods with an expression Dean can’t read. “Dean, just trust me; let’s go. Now.”

Dean nods, staring back toward the gate. “Amanda, go to Admin and tell Alison we want Micah now. Joe, grab Vera and Alicia and meet us at HQ.”