Title: Nothing and Everything

Chapter 18

~~~~~~~~~~

The possibility that Patricia had searched auctions for anything that might belong to Gwen’s biological family consumed Dean and Jo’s conversation on the way back. With what Gwen had revealed to Dean about Patricia keeping an eye on a couple auction houses, it made a weird amount of sense. Jo thought there was something telling in Ronnie’s reaction to Gwen’s name, yet they didn’t know what was being told by that response. If they had a clue why she’d reacted the way she had, Jo felt that everything would open right up, from Patricia’s attendance to auctions on.

She could be wrong, of course. Patricia could have just liked the sort of items that ended up at those facilities. Jo just didn’t think she was wrong however. There was something that they weren’t seeing yet.

Sam, Gwen, and Jack weren’t there when they arrived and Jo made a beeline for Gwen’s dresser drawers, opening the top one and drawing out the large flat case she and Gwen had found in a box. It was a fancy case, eight by eight inches square and two inches deep, the sort meant to imply that the contents were insanely expensive and should be treated as such. She opened it, studying the stones a second, noting how they glittered when she moved the box in the light. Just as Ronnie had said. Jo lifted the inner section and there, inside, was a folded paper.

She opened the paper, smiling in half disbelief as she read the contents. “Dean!”

“What?” He came to the doorway.

She held up the paper. “Jackpot. Patricia wrote out a partial genealogy. Aaron and Mia, Ronnie and Ham, Gwendolyn and Richard -- with dates and places.” The names were all written out in full, with birth dates and places and death dates on a couple. Veronica Beatrice Martin (Bennett) and Abraham Alan Bennett. Ronnie’s parents: Gwendolyn Mary Carys (Martin) and Richard Herbert Martin. Abraham’s parents: Emily Susan Sexton (Bennett) and Edward Deverell Bennett. Gwen and Carys were both family names.

“Let me see.” Taking the paper from her, he looked it over. “Unbelievable. Patricia wanted her to know.”

“She’s said before she thought her mom was trying to tell her before she died.”

He half laughed. “No wonder Ronnie reacted to Gwen’s name. It was her mother’s.”

“It’s all here…except Mia’s side and I think we should forget her side.”

“I’ll run this up and copy it.”

When he’d returned, Jo refolded the paper and returned it, then the case, where it belonged. “It’s been sitting in there this whole time. The box it was in was right around the corner in the front room. We’ve had it here for months.”

“Under our noses.”

Jo nodded slowly. “Abigael. Has to be. She went through all the boxes. Said she left the clue where Gwen would find it if she looked. We looked and found the case, but Gwen never took the set itself out of the case, so she never found the information.”

“The human way.”

They stepped back into the living room.

“Dean, we need to get Sam to take her somewhere fancy so she’ll wear them and find the information.”

“Or we could just tell her to open it.”

“And have her know we rifled through her stuff? Dean. You don’t rifle through a woman’s stuff without permission and we certainly didn’t have permission.” She knew she didn’t want anyone to rifle through her things and was pretty certain Gwen was of the same mindset.

“You’re the one said she needed to know.”

“Yeah and you agreed,” she pointed out. “She does need to know.”

“Yup. We tell her to open it.”

Dean had made a point before though, back after they’d had dinner with Ronnie. He’d said he didn’t want Gwen to run after Ronnie and be disappointed if Ronnie wouldn’t see her. He was right. Gwen would take the information and go after Ronnie, probably before Ronnie was ready to talk to her, which would lead to disappointment. Now she shook her head. “No.”

“No?”

He had an utterly adorable confused expression on his face that made Jo want to smooth his hair and kiss him. “You wanted to give Ronnie a chance to form an emotional connection with her picture and not disappoint Gwen if she doesn’t form that connection. If we tell her to open the case, which will indicate we violated the unspoken rule to never mess with a woman’s stuff, she might still run out and be disappointed.”

He blinked. “Right. But she could open it at any time anyway and still run with it.”

“True,” she acknowledged, raising a hand and chewing on a thumbnail for a few seconds, half turning away from him. “We sit on it, Dean. I don’t really want to, but I think you’re right.”

“Say that again.” He caught her arm and gently turned her to face him.

“We sit on it.”

“No,” he held up a finger, waving it in the air to punctuate, “the other part. The part where you said I was right.”

“I say you’re right lots of times.”

He smiled and shrugged. “I know. I just never get tired of hearing it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’re right. Now keep contacting Ronnie about the box. She seems to like you.”

“She won’t when she finds out I’m a Campbell on my mother’s side.”

“True and what’s with that anyway?” She grabbed her bag from by the front door and moved to the stairs. “Geez, is it like the Hatfields and McCoys only with the Bennetts and the Campbells?”

“That’d be my guess. Maybe if we play nice we’ll find out.”

It would be nice if they got information without having to search heavily or drag it from someone.

“Why don’t you talk to her?” Dean followed her up the stairs and into their bedroom. “She liked your dad. Little Billy Harvelle. They approved of him.”

“Billy.” She made a face at him. “I can’t imagine anyone calling my dad ‘Billy’.”

“It’s Ronnie. I suspect she gets away with a lot other people couldn’t.” He laid down on their bed and watched her unpack her bag. “You think Gwen’ll like her?”

Jo shrugged. She’d been thinking about that. “From what you said previously about Ronnie, it sounds like she speaks her mind…rather like Gwen does. I think they’ll either click and love each other immediately or hate each other because they’re too much alike.”

He rolled onto his back. “I think she’ll like her. She’s never had a grandma before. Hunters rarely live long enough to see any grandkids they might have and if they do somehow see them, usually the circumstances are all screwed up and….” He swallowed hard, his light mood disappearing. “Things happen.”

Jo sat on the bed beside him. He was thinking about Samuel. Had to be. “Samuel was screwed in the head, Dean. He had something wrong with him. You know that. It was him, because any man in his right mind would’ve wanted to know you and Sam, to learn about the children his daughter had given birth to. I don’t know what his damage was, but it was something major broken inside him.”

Taking her hand in his, he pressed a kiss to it and held it against his chest. “Yeah, I know. I just…. I wonder sometimes if there ever would’ve been a time where Samuel wanted to know us, you know?”

She had nothing to say to soothe those wonderings away, so Jo laid beside him, drawing his head to her breasts and holding him while their conversation moved on to other things.

Gwen and Sam returned within the hour, Gwen launching into the trouble they’d had with Jack, that had already been talked about on the phone, and Sam into a discussion with Dean on Mick and a property. Both Sam and Gwen looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes. Jo tried to keep up with both conversations.

“Your child is an incessant drooler,” Gwen said, taking Jack from the carrier. He was fussing. “He’s been crying for no reason since you left. We changed him, fed him, played with him, held him, read to him. Nothing worked. Sam’s had a headache for two days and Ellen flat out said she was off grandma duty this week and he was our concern.”

Jo wondered what her mother was working on that caused that response and took Jack from Gwen, trying to soothe him. “What do you mean she said she was off grandma duty? What’s she working on?”

“Hell if I know. She hung up on me.”

Hung up on her? Interesting. Her mom lived for grandma stuff lately. Jo resolved to get to the bottom of that later. “You went through the drill?” She felt his forehead with the backs of her fingertips, thinking he felt a little warmer than usual. He rubbed his face against her shoulder and shoved a hand in his mouth. His cry was hiccupping. “Shh, sweetie. It’s okay.”

“We’re going to West Virginia. Today. Not tomorrow or the next day. Today.” Sam picked up a sheaf of papers from the table and waved them. “Gwen and I may have found a connection between Mick and one of our properties.”

“Of course we went through the drill. We tried everything, Jo. He just wouldn’t settle down.” Gwen straightened Jack’s shirt with a hand.

Dean shook his head. “I just got back, Sam. Can I have two hours before we’re off again?”

“You’ve had at least an hour already.” He held it out the papers in his hand. “Here. Look at this.”

“Sam.”

“What was he doing exactly,” Jo asked, swaying a bit in the way that usually calmed Jack. It didn’t work this time.

“Crying. He was crying, Jo, ” Sam interjected, then returned his attention to Dean. “You want to wait two hours when we might be able to solve whatever happened to Mick and maybe find the box? It’s Gwen’s life we’re talking here. And Mick’s.”

Somehow, Jo didn’t think he’d meant the part about Mick’s life to sound like an afterthought.

“One thing at a time.” With a speculative frown, Dean stretched out a hand, slipping a finger into Jack’s mouth. A second later he winced. “There’s that problem solved.” He looked at Sam and Gwen. “Either of you two notice he’s got a tooth coming in?”

“He’s teething? Already?” Jo sighed. The teething process didn’t sound like fun for the baby or the parents. “Wonderful. I’d hoped we’d have a little longer.”

“Teething,” Gwen repeated. “So we didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “No, I didn’t notice a tooth.”

Dean gave Jack’s back a quick rub. “It’s not through yet, but it’s there. Put your finger in his mouth and you can feel it just under the gum trying to break through. He been chewing on things? His hands, toys…?”

“Yes.” Sam crossed his arms. “He’s been chewing and drooling. We need to pack, Dean.”

“I’m going to guess you’re already packed.” Dean glanced at Sam with a resigned expression. “We’ll try the teething ring first and use a little numbing gel, maybe some baby Tylenol if that doesn’t work.” He went into the kitchen and came back a moment later with the teething ring they’d had in the freezer in preparation for this day.

“Then what,” Sam wasn’t going to back down. He was ready to go and Jo understood completely.

She took Jack’s hand from his mouth and maneuvered the cold plastic ring in it’s place. He latched onto it like he did with a bottle, chewing on the ring with enthusiasm. “It’s okay, Dean. You two go. We did promise Sophie we’d help her and if Sam and Gwen think there’s a connection, there just might be.”

It was clear he didn’t want to go just yet, but he nodded, “then we go,” and spent ten minutes with Jack while Sam repacked the car and Jo repacked his bag, then gave Jo a long kiss and headed back out on the road.

The next morning, she had the opportunity to have a chat with her mother while they were grocery shopping. Actually, Jo was shopping, Jack sound asleep in the seat. They’d left Gwen home. Ellen was just walking with her waiting for time to leave for a lunch date.

“Dean have a good birthday,” Ellen asked, keeping pace with Jo as they moved towards the baby aisle.

“I bought him an entire pie at a diner on the way back. We had pie and ice cream for dinner.”

“Nice and nutritious.”

Jo read the comment inside the comment. “Fruit, dairy, and bread. Sort of.”

“You know Jack’s gonna pick up your eating habits, right?”

“I think watching me, Sam, and Gwen might offset Dean’s habit’s a little.”

Ellen snickered. “If you say so, Jo. Kids soak up exactly the things you don’t want them to. Just wait until he starts talking. You might be surprised at what some of his first words end up being.”

Jo bent and retrieved two packages of diapers from the bottom shelf. “So…. Off grandma duty? What was that all about?” She flicked a glance towards Ellen. Her mother was wearing makeup -- more than her usual swipe of mascara and lipstick anyway -- and the shirt she was wearing hugged her body. Quite a lot of effort for a plain ‘lunch date’.

“Oh, you know.”

Vague, no details. Jo was beginning to understand. “Ahh.”

“Ahh, what?”

They rounded the end cap and started up the next aisle. “You had a date.”

“I can have dates, Jo.”

“Did Bobby finally ask you or is it someone new?”

Ellen stopped walking and reached out a hand, snagging the cart and drawing it and Jo to a stop. “You knew he was planning on it?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “He’s been flirting with you for weeks now and since he and Jodie decided they weren’t couple material…. I’m not surprised. He let you rearrange his kitchen, mom. In all the time we’ve known Bobby has he ever let anyone rearrange his kitchen?”

“Aside from me?”

“Aside from you.”

“Well, no one….”

“And he let you rearrange the office area, conned you into looking at his business books, and lets you cook anytime you want. He even ate the stew that got burned and called it good ‘Cajun’ cooking.”

“Okay, so maybe it was obvious. You’re okay with it?”

She was watching Jo closely, trying to make sure it really was okay and that Jo wasn’t going to tell her it was when it wasn’t. Did she mind? No. Sometimes she thought of Bobby like a father anyway. It was what he’d been to Dean, Sam, and herself, and most recently, to Gwen. He’d slipped into that role like it was perfectly natural to do so. “I’m fine with it.” She pushed the cart forward again. “Just don’t make out in front of me. That’s like…gross.”

She heard her mother laugh and mutter, “It’s universal,” before catching up to her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel paced outside of the meeting room.

Death had called a meeting and Castiel was expected to attend and bring Abigael with him. Death had specifically asked for her, though she wouldn’t be able to vote on any matter brought up for a vote. Neither would Castiel.

What on earth could they have to vote on, he wondered. It wasn’t like anything in Death’s domain needed a vote. He could pretty well continue doing what he pleased in New Heaven and didn’t have to inform Castiel about any of it. Death’s department, while a part of the heavenly make-up, wasn’t a part of it really. The closest Castiel really got to Death was the Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.

Those three had already arrived and he was just waiting on Abigael before going inside. He continued to pace, feeling very much like something was hanging in the balance of this meeting and maybe if he didn’t go in, whatever it was wouldn’t transpire.

But he had to go in. One didn’t decline to meet with Death when he called for a meeting. One went and said, ‘yes’ to whatever was planned, understanding that any information Death deigned to give out was merely a courtesy. Death’s plans were usually implemented as laid out with a few exceptions. Dean came to mind.

Castiel greatly feared that he wasn’t going to like what Death had to say. And to ask for Abigael? Whatever this was had to do with the Winchester family. Had to be. Her new assignment wasn’t born yet, the woman only a few months along and she wasn’t a hunter or pregnant by one. Her child would influence world events in other ways entirely. Ergo, to Castiel’s thinking, this was definitely about Sam and Dean in some way.

Abigael appeared at the end of the hall, walking briskly towards him. “Castiel, what’s going on? Uzziel grabbed me from my newest assignment, said it was urgent I return to heaven.”

“Death requests our presence at a meeting.”

Her eyes widened and she gulped loud enough to hear it. “What’d we do wrong?”

Interesting how she jumped to that conclusion. “I hope nothing.” Death was capable of reaping any of them at any time and for any reason. The reason would be sound and he’d have calculated the fallout right down to the last little thing. If it was in his plan, he’d make sure it happened and there really wasn’t much Castiel or Abigael could do about it. They could and would be reaped if Death thought it necessary for the big picture. Death was…Death. Castiel motioned at the closed door. “Shall we?”

The wide, tall doors opened onto a room that looked like a conference room in a human place of business. Uzziel had had it decorated in one of his manic bursts to get New Heaven just right. If Castiel remembered correctly, it also doubled as a classroom. There was a conference table with chairs around it and a large covered board on an easel. Pointed at one long wall was a slide projector filled with rows of slides.

Castiel vaguely remembered that Death had a fondness for the dramatic in presentations, a thing that had actually surprised Castiel to discover. A slideshow meant something Castiel didn’t care to think about: Death was going to make a point and it would be made in a painfully clear, graphic manner. The number of slides informed him of that. The point would be hammered in until none could protest it.

His stomach lurched a little, a human response to that realization.

Death was seated at the end of the table, a plate of doughnuts in front of him. He was in his customary suit and tie and was somehow not getting powdered sugar on his dark coat as he ate. He had a fondness for the sort of foods Dean did. Funny how he could have something so basic in common with one of the humans who’d done the most to upset natural order.

Clotho was on his left, wearing a business suit and holding a cup of coffee in her hands. Her hair was up, her glasses were firmly in place on the bridge of her nose, and she had a thick file in front of her. She was studying one page with an intensity that he knew meant she hadn’t realized they’d arrived. She was deep down in the facts before her, getting them memorized and figured out. Of the three Fates, she was the one the most formal in her dress, keeping to a dress code that Lachesis tended to mutter was out of date and too much like the angels with the sticks up their butts.

He tried not to take that comment personally whenever she said it, though Lachesis always assured him she didn’t mean him specifically.

Lachesis was on Death’s right but down three chairs from him, closer to the end of the table that Atropos sat at. Her clothes were as casual as Abigael’s were and she had an empty plate beside her water glass. She raised a hand and waved her fingers at them. The gesture seemed subdued, like she didn’t truly want to be there.

Castiel could relate. He didn’t particularly want to be there either.

Atropos was at the end of the table closest to where Abigael and Castiel stood. It was a slight reassurance to note that she hadn’t changed her clothes into the more formal style. When she went formal like Clotho, it was another indication of things Castiel wasn’t going to like. When all three Fates conformed to the old style, it meant that they were united completely, working as though they were one and a force to be reckoned with. But they weren’t united at present. They were still in their preferred styles of dress. A mild comfort.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly, yet stayed fairly well in place as he noted the exact positions of the Fates and what that could mean. Atropos was usually the one closer to Death, working with him and his Reapers to plan the deaths. For her to not be beside him could mean that she didn’t agree with what was going to happen. It was something that was going to mess up her job. She disliked changes in her job as much as Death disliked change in natural order. And for Lachesis to be so far down the table? The same.

What was going to happen? What did Death have planned that Atropos and Lachesis might not like? If they didn’t approve, it was a good bet Castiel wasn’t going to.

He pushed aside any alarming thoughts. He’d just have to wait until the meeting began.

Along one wall was a table with cookies and doughnuts and what smelled like coffee that had been cooking for a few days. Death was the only one eating. When they stood by the end of the table, he looked up. “There you are. Precisely on time. Very good. Try the doughnuts, Castiel.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“I insist. They’re from a tiny bakery in New York. You’ll like them. I recommend the filled chocolate iced on the end.”

He went to the table and put one on a plate before returning to the table and taking the chair exactly opposite of Death at the end, not willing to start a fight with Death over food. It wouldn’t do to piss off Death in any way, shape, or form.

A moment later, Abigael sat beside him, across from Atropos. She had a cup of the coffee and a plate with two large cookies on it.

“The cookies are Risa’s favorite,” Death pointed out, at which Abigael paled.

Castiel wondered what had her so sure they were in trouble, though decided Death specifically getting Risa’s favorite cookies did tend to point to that. Or it could simply be that he was softening her up for something. Death being nice to be nice? He watched Death a minute and dismissed that notion. He was up to something.

“Thank you both for being prompt. I understand you were beginning a new assignment Abigael?”

She flinched when he said her name. “Yes.” Her voice trembled on the word.

“Then we’ll try to make this quick so you may return to the woman and her child.”

A spasm of relief crossed her face. “Thank you, Death.”

His gaze turned to Castiel. “Before we begin in earnest, let me point out that this meeting is a courtesy, Castiel. I don’t have to share any of this with you or your staff. However, in the interest of continuing good relations between our departments, it was suggested that I consider giving you a heads-up.”

Lachesis gulped and didn’t look up from her current contemplation of the tabletop.

“I appreciate the consideration.”

“I suppose you do.” Death studied him a long while. “There’s something of a situation about to develop. Are you aware of it? Has your…team brought it to your attention?”

There were many things he could be referring to, yet with Abigael’s presence requested it had to be something that would affect Jack in some way. Again, that meant something that would affect Sam and Dean and he couldn’t think what it was. They were always involved in something potentially big and global. “What situation might that be?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Very well, we’ll start at point ‘A’ and work forward to the situation I’m referencing. Atropos, show him.”

She handed Castiel her clipboard and he read the contents there with a growing sadness for Sam and Dean. A lump seemed to form in his chest, a lump of futility and grief for his friends. “No. No.” He shook his head. “Who decided this?”

“I assure you, Castiel, this is the proper death slated in the near future. There have been a couple corrections made already. I wasn’t present for those, you remember. My staff implemented them. Allow Abigael to see the board.”

Abby seemed to pale further as she read. “Are you serious? This is…it’s not fair to --”

Death’s stare was cool and unemotional. “I don’t usually share such information with those out of the loop, but I decided you both must understand the gravity of the sort of decision that we will be making today. The weighing that has to take place in light of the developing situation.”

She gulped again.

“What weighing,” he asked. What was Death referring to? “What situation?”

“These meetings are weekly. We review information and adjust matters accordingly. Sometimes the information that comes to light makes adjustments necessary to the plan and sometimes we must wait to see the beginnings of the ripple before looking into matters. In this case, we watched awhile first. Atropos, show him the other pages.”

Clotho slid a thick sheaf of pages down the table to her and Atropos passed them along. The writing was in tiny print and he struggled to make sense of it. “What am I looking at?”

“The first thirty pages are the projections of what is scheduled to change if the death is allowed. The last thirty are what will change if it is not.”

Balance and order. He was talking about that and the job they were all charged with. They were going to vote how best to keep balance and order here, but there was something he wasn’t understanding, a piece of the puzzle he didn’t have yet, a thing that was being kept from him. “I don’t understand.”

Castiel thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile on Death’s lips, which was impossible. Death never smiled and Cas hoped he’d never witness something that would cause Death to do so.

“Clotho, your presentation, please.”

Even after the eldest Fate finished speaking, Castiel wasn’t sure just what Death was wanting from him and from Abigael. “What does one have to do with the other?” He was missing a piece of key information and was beginning to suspect that Death wasn’t going to give him that key piece. He was going to let Castiel flounder about instead just because he could.

Death sat forward in his chair and clasped his thin hands together on the table top. He spoke at length, explaining, then describing what he wanted Castiel to do, his tone calm, bored even.

“No,” Cas interrupted, no longer caring if he made Death mad. “Neither Abigael nor I will aid you in this. We want nothing to do with such a plan.”

“Are you certain of that? Are you absolutely certain you have a choice here?”

“There are always choices,” he insisted.

“Of course there are. Some good, some bad, and some that are necessary. This is necessary and therefore makes it your only choice.”

He and Abigael argued until Castiel realized his voice was breaking from strain. All the while, Death watched them with that barely blinking gaze. He’d made his mind up, the course of action was set and, as Castiel suddenly remembered, this meeting had been a courtesy. Death hadn’t needed to inform Castiel of any of this. He could have left him and Abigael both in the dark, weathering it all with the Winchesters, but he hadn’t.

“Let us take a vote then. Our angelic visitors may not cast a vote.” He made a motion to go forward with the changes as proposed and slowly, the votes were given. Death -- for. Clotho -- for. Lachesis -- for after a long moment of hesitation. Atropos was against. Death blinked once. “If you interfere, Castiel, I’ll take it as an aggressive action. Don’t forget your place in our arrangement. I can and will reap you if need be.” His glance flicked to Abigael. “And any in your heavenly realm who get in the way, regardless of what their job is.” He made a motion of one hand towards the door. “You may go.”

With a shock, Castiel sat back in his chair, realizing what had just happened.

Death had made them accomplices by including them, setting them both in the middle between a rock and a hard place. They were damned if they told Dean and Sam what they now knew and damned if they didn’t. Either could be considered a betrayal by the brothers and Castiel felt nausea flop about in his belly.

If they shared, Dean would demand to know why they hadn’t stopped it and if they didn’t and it was found out later they’d stood by, Dean and Sam would track them down. In the first, Death would kill them for interfering and in the second, Dean and Sam would kill them for being a part of it. Castiel knew it as surely as he knew his own name. No one hurt one of their own.

He was on Death’s leash now, or as Dean would put it: ‘he was Death’s bitch’ and it had happened before he’d understood what was going on.

Either Dean and Sam would kill them or Death would. Rock, meet Hard Place.

Death was going to have his way and all Castiel and Abigael could do was watch.