Title: Nothing and Everything

Chapter 29

~~~~~~~~~~

The day was overcast and dull, the sky a dark gray, those clouds heavy with rain. Jo’s toenails, however, were a nice cheery bright pink. She wiggled them and leaned over to put on a second coat. She’d intended to have matching finger and toe nails for once, since she’d thought they were going to a spa, but whatever. She smothered a yawn as she worked.

“Do you have to do that in the car?” Ellen cast a disgusted glance at Jo.

It was an old issue between them. Ellen disliked Jo painting her nails on stakeouts and Jo did it anyway. Since this didn’t appear to have any danger to it, she’d decided to chance doing her toenails this time instead of simply putting light pink or clear polish on her fingernails. “You won’t let me do anything else,” she pointed out. “I offered to make some calls for background information on Gina. I offered to check into what could possibly be happening here if Bobby’s right and I offered to go inside and talk to Bobby.”

“Then he’d know I was here and he’d know I’m worried about him.”

She really was worried, too. She thought Gina Travers was up to something and that something was nothing good. Jo couldn’t figure out what the woman could be up to, but realized it wasn’t all about that. A chunk of it was that her mother wasn’t ready for Bobby to realize the depth of her feelings for him. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve gone right in and inserted herself into the investigation. These weren’t normal circumstances, however. This time, Ellen was riding that rollercoaster of feeling that sometimes caused irrational behavior. “That’s not a bad thing, mom.”

“Or he’ll think I’m jealous and he’ll ignore the fact that that woman is up to something. He’s already ignoring it, taking the bait.”

“How do you know she’s up to something?” Jo finished applying the second coat and closed the bottle up tight.

“She flirted with him. Shamelessly.”

Somehow, Jo didn’t think her mother was telling the whole story. “Maybe she thought it was the only way he’d consent to checking the place out.”

Ellen snorted and trained the binoculars on Gina’s office window. Raindrops splattered the windshield. Dean had shown up earlier, stayed for only minutes inside, and left. He’d sat in the Impala so long upon coming out of the building that Ellen had moved the car to keep him from noticing they were there. When they’d been sure he was gone, she’d parked them right back where she had a clear view of the office.

“Talk to me, mom. Why are you so sure she’s trouble? This isn’t like you. You have real reasons for doing things.”

She lowered the binoculars and looked at Jo. “He hadn’t seen her in a good decade or so and she just up and calls him? If these deaths are so unexplained, why aren’t the police everywhere on it? Why haven’t there been autopsies or some sort of official investigation?”

“I don’t know.” It did seem weird. The last case Jo had worked with unexplained deaths had been with Gwen and they’d been neck deep in police politics trying to get information. They’d almost gotten themselves arrested and had managed to split town before that happened. “As for her calling out of the blue…. It happens. Especially in our lives. People come and go, usually go, and sometimes they come back years later. You, me, Sam, and Dean are a prime example of that.”

“Not like this.” She was firm, unbending, and so certain.

“Explain it to me.”

“I can’t explain a gut feeling, Jo. You know that. I feel it in my gut, in all of me, that something isn’t right about her. I tried to tell Bobby, but her pretty face had him all smitten.”

“Wait, what? Did she come to the house?” Jo turned in the seat.

“No, we met her halfway.” She sighed. “Greeted him like no time had passed, planted a kiss right on his mouth, and he went all goo-goo eyed.”

“He’s not going anywhere. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“I’m not jealous,” she insisted, then made a noise of frustration and looked out the side window again. “Maybe I am a little, but I’m scared to death for him in there. She could do anything.”

They lapsed into quiet and Jo attempted to change the subject to something a little less emotional. “You think Sam and Gwen are enjoying their honeymoon?”

“I think Sam and Gwen can have a good time together digging up graves...and have.” She turned the little wheel to focus the binoculars. “You can get me new binoculars for Christmas, by the way. These are crap.”

“I hope they’re not digging up graves -- or planning on it.” Jo frowned. “I made them promise no work on this trip.”

“Think about how well that usually works out.”

She was contemplating getting out and skulking around the grounds in the rain and mud just for a change of pace when Dean called. Immediately, Jo thought of a million things that could be wrong. Luckily, none of them materialized by force of paranoid thought.

~~~~~~~~~~

For their second day together, Dean had planned something special. Sort of anyway.

Since Jo never believed him that Jack ate a full adult portion of oatmeal, Dean got out the spare video camera and set it on the tripod, making adjustments until he had it where he wanted it. He turned it on while he made the oatmeal -- one cup of water, half a cup of oats, and some applesauce to sweeten it a little -- then left it watching the oatmeal cool while he got Jack up, changed, and in his highchair. He carried the tripod and oatmeal to the table, adjusting again. Jack was making desperate crying noises, his feet kicking and hands reaching for the bowl. He was acting like he thought Dean wasn’t going to actually feed him.

“Okay, let’s say hi to mommy.” He waved one of Jack’s hands at the camera and said in a high voice, “Hi mommy.” He put a large bib on him and checked to make sure the area was covered with an outdoor tablecloth before beginning to spoon the cooled oatmeal into Jack’s mouth. Jack even didn’t spit much of it out this time, though he did try to help by attempting to shove a fist in the bowl to feed himself.

He was getting pretty good at grabbing food and shoving it into his mouth. And grabbing anything else not nailed down and shoving it into his mouth. Jack would put anything in his mouth right now, whether it was edible or not. Jo would take whatever it was away, and tell him ‘no’ in a firm tone that brought either a scowl or waterworks every time. He’d then throw a fit of epic proportions until Jo would pick him up and hold him. He had her wrapped around his tiny little finger. When Dean said ‘no’, Jack would stare up at him without a scowl or crying, just a sort of solemn expression acknowledging that dad saying no could startle the crap out of him so he forgot what he was doing.

The phone rang. Dean paused in feeding Jack and looked at it. It was Bobby. With a sigh, he answered it. “Yeah?”

“They want me to eat cream of wheat,” he announced in a disgusted tone.

“Hmm. There really is something evil going on there.” He wiped Jack’s mouth with a cloth. It did no good, as Jack snaked a hand into the bowl, got it all sticky with oatmeal, and raised it to his mouth, smearing oatmeal across his cheeks, chin, nose, and mouth in the process.

“Bring me a real breakfast, will you?”

Jack’s hand lowered into the bowl again. This time he held the oatmeal encrusted digits up to Dean.

“Daddy already ate,” he whispered to Jack, then said to Bobby, “Is that the only thing they’re serving?”

“No, but it all looks regurgitated and the coffee tastes like decaf.”

“You want me to drive an hour to bring you breakfast?” Was he being serious? If he wanted help, all he had to do was ask. Not that Dean could give much help right now, but still. He didn’t have to invent a reason for him to go back there.

“Did I or did I not just say that? Damn it, here comes that creepy orderly. I gotta go.” The phone clicked as Bobby hung up on him.

“Bye to you too.”

He finished feeding Jack, got him cleaned up and dressed, then headed out to take Bobby something completely forbidden by the retirement home nutritionist. To his surprise, breakfast was all Bobby wanted.

“That’s it? You had me drive an hour to get you food?”

“Of course, idjit.”

“No help wanted, no --”

Bobby glanced at the door and leaned over slightly, voice lowering. “What else do you think a crotchety old guy would do but drive his kids nuts…son? Get outta here before you make me break character.”

Dean shook his head, envisioning the next few days of Bobby calling and demanding he drive there for various reasons all so he wouldn’t break character. It was going to be a long few days. As he returned to the car and began to strap Jack in to his seat, he glanced out the back window.

Was that Ellen’s car? It sure looked a lot like it. However, the car pulled away from the curb and headed down the street before he could get a good look at the license plate or the occupants.

Back home and with Jack on his lap, Dean looked through the little they had on the Soul Stealer.

“This is daddy working,” he told him. “Daddy takes care of some very bad things out there in the world.”

Jack glanced up at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed by that, and continued to try to throw his pacifier down. It swung from the string attached to his shirt. When it stopped swinging, he’d grab it, put it in his mouth for about three seconds, then try once more to throw it. Along with putting things in his mouth, he was getting good at throwing objects, or dropping them from his high chair. Some days he could get Sam bending down to pick up the same object for upwards of ten minutes before Sam got tired of it and left the object on the floor.

Dean flipped pages. What they had was a folder of nothing. Sophie and Chris were tracking down Native American legends that might fit, emphasis on the might part. It had been Chris’s idea, that maybe the Navajo or Cherokee would have something that could give them information. They weren’t just checking those legends, however, they were hitting up all the Native American legends in the U.S.. Hell, they weren’t even sure if the creature had originated here. For all they knew, it had migrated from the Middle East or something centuries ago.

It was like every possible bit of information had been scrubbed away. How did they fight something when they didn’t know how to fight it?

He sighed. “This is daddy frustrated by what little information he has on a very bad creature.”

Jack frowned and began babbling. When he finished, he reached for the pacifier again, shoved it in his mouth, and leaned against Dean, closing his eyes.

“Naptime already?” He shut the folder. “Sounds good to me. Let’s take a nap.”

With Jack settled in the playpen, one arm and hand clutching the stuffed animal Gwen had given him, Dean returned to the file. Though they’d been waiting and watching, the Soul Stealer didn’t peek out of wherever he was hiding. Somehow, Dean didn’t think they’d be lucky enough that he’d gotten bound again by someone else. There was never anyone else. It was always them having to do the work. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Just once, he’d like someone else to take care of the biggest of the big bads.

The creature was out there somewhere, biding his time. What was he waiting for? Why wasn’t he wreaking havoc across the country like he was supposed to? It was unreal that it wasn’t doing anything anywhere. It made no sense. Thinking about it gave him a headache and he reached for his phone, dialing Jo.

“What’s wrong,” was her greeting.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just checking to see how the spa thing is going.”

There was silence and then, “Fine. It’s going…fine.”

“You and Ellen having a good time then?”

“Wonderful.”

Was that a touch of sarcasm he heard? “You all manicured and been in the mud bath yet?”

“My nails are done,” she confirmed. “No mud bath, but I wouldn’t rule out mud in the near future.”

“Mmm-hmm. Ellen told you what the job is yet or are you still flying blind?”

“I can tell you for sure, sweetheart, that it’s not a job.”

“Okay. Sure. Well, keep your gun with you and don’t let her try to dig up any graves by herself.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“You did take your gun?”

“We’re not digging up graves, Dean. How’s Jack?”

He cast a glance at their son, who was still sleeping. “He’s napping. That’s some cute kid we made, Jo.”

They talked for awhile longer, Jo assuring him at such length that they weren’t on a job that he was now completely certain they were. He waited for panic to creep over him, but it didn’t. She was with Ellen. Ellen would keep her safe to her own death if need be.

Tired of pouring over what little they’d found on the Soul Stealer, Dean spread out the data Sam had sent the previous morning. Soon he was engrossed in weather patterns and, in checking actual news reports from the areas hit by the weird storms, he stumbled upon something that might be, well, something. He found reports of attacks that seemed to have no motive and left the victims confused and saying things that made no sense, like how they felt different after the attack. They no longer felt like themselves.

And then he found the latest reports. A town in Illinois of fourteen hundred people dead. All the people mutilated, every last one. Man, woman, and child. No one had been spared and the authorities had no idea what would have done that.

Now that was something.

Dean began to make some calls.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen carried the ‘In Style’ magazine under her arm and a drink in either hand. She figured she needed a few drinks in her to read the stupid magazine. Slowly, she searched the starboard lower outer deck for Sam, realizing he wasn’t there and the chairs were all full. Contemplating that fact, she sucked down the last of the drink in her left hand.

Had he meant port side instead?

She set the empty glass down, grabbed a refill from a passing server, and pushed back into the ship and across the lounge to the port side and out onto the deck. Success. There, halfway down, she could see Sam in one chaise. He had it all the way back. As she approached, Gwen saw three empty glasses on the deck beside him, the same sort she was carrying, and one of the car magazines was open on his chest. He was asleep, splayed out, his shirt unbuttoned completely. Impressive that he could drink three drinks and fall asleep so quickly since she’d been gone less than ten minutes.

Sitting on the chaise beside him were three teenage girls, one blond, one brunette, and one redhead, all watching him with adoring grins as they giggled to each other.

Gwen fumbled for the camera dangling from her wrist.

Six mango peach strawberry slushy thingies, possibly alcoholic: nine dollars a pop. Cruise appropriate clothes for her husband: two hundred dollars. Husband asleep on the deck with three adoring teenage fans drooling on him: priceless.

She made sure to snap three or four pictures for Dean and Jo’s enjoyment later before moving to Sam’s other side and sitting down. Surely those pictures might make up for some of Jo’s embarrassment? “Hey.”

The girls looked at her, smiles faltering. “Um…hi?” It was the brunette who spoke.

“I’m Gwen.”

“I’m Kathy. This is Katie,” the redhead, “and this is Kerry,” the blond.

“Kathy, Katie, and Kerry. Right.” She gestured at Sam with one glass. “This is Sam, my husband.”

“Told you he was married,” the blond hissed.

“Good ones always are,” the redhead replied with an almost depressed shake of her head.

Gwen carefully set down the drinks, then lifted the magazine and dropped it onto the deck between their chairs.

Sam woke with a start and a yell, one arm flailing for the gun he kept at the head of their bed back home and didn’t have here. She recognized the gesture. He blinked in a thoroughly adorable confused way.

“Have a nice nap?” Lifting one glass, she took a long sip. Definitely a little alcoholic. She could feel the warmth of the alcohol now.

He blinked several times more, focused on the girls, and without taking his eyes from them, leaned over to her. “Do we know them?”

“Kathy, Katie, and Kerry.” Gwen saluted them with one drink.

“Uh-huh?” His gaze slid to her. “Why are they staring at me?”

“You really have to ask that, oh mostly shirtless hubby of mine with the rippling muscles?” The words just sort of flowed from her tongue and Gwen decided perhaps she should quit drinking the cocktails like they were flavored water.

Sam sat up, laid the car magazine aside and buttoned his shirt. “Guess not.” He cleared his throat. “Hi. I’m, uh, I’m Sam.”

“We know,” they replied in unison, then giggled.

“Your wife introduced you while you were sleeping,” Kathy whispered, like it was confidential information.

“Yeah….” Taking the drink Gwen handed him, he took a long drink. “Where are you from?”

“Not far,” Katie said.

Gwen picked the magazine up from the deck and laid it on her lap.

“But we do a lot of traveling.” Kerry twirled a lock of her hair around and around a finger. She had a pretty shell bracelet on her wrist that jangled a little when she moved her arm. “We’re seasoned travelers.”

Kathy stretched her legs out. “Mostly the islands. A cruise looked like fun, though, so we hopped aboard. We’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

Hopped aboard?

“Your parents take you on a lot of vacations?”

The teens giggled again, but ignored the question, Katie sitting forward with an eager light in her eyes. “Where are you both from?”

“South Dakota,” Gwen told her, flipping pages of the magazine without looking at the pages. It was easier to say that than try to explain otherwise. Besides, no one here needed to know their history.

Kerry drew in a deep delighted breath. “South Dakota! I’ve always wanted to go inland!”

“We stay mainly by the coast and islands,” Katie explained. “Tell us all about South Dakota. Everything. Is it awesome? Is it wonderful? Is it too pretty for words? Is there a lot to do there?”

“It’s….” Sam glanced at Gwen as if to ask her to help him out on that one.

“Everything you’d expect it to be.” She nodded. “And more.”

“We’d love to go there some time.” Kathy’s voice was wistful.

“So take a vacation there.” Sam adjusted his chair.

The three teens looked at each other, then frowned. Gwen wondered what about that suggestion caused that reaction. Their parents obviously had enough money to take them anywhere, so why not South Dakota?

“We’d have to really research that,” Kathy announced. “It’s an awfully long way to go.”

“We’ve gone further,” Kerry mused in a thoughtful tone. “Much further…but mostly in sea miles.”

“I’m intrigued.” Katie nodded slowly. “We should go discuss this.” She smiled. “I like the idea!”

In less than a minute, the three girls had disappeared through the double doors into the ship and Gwen laid back in her chair. “That was interesting.”

“What’s to research about South Dakota?”

“Anything teen girls would like to do? Teen girls with money anyway. Somehow, I suspect shopping is high on their list of priorities.”

Reaching over, he snagged the camera and looked at the pictures she’d taken. “At least I wasn’t drooling in these.”

“Don’t delete them,” she ordered. “You delete them and I’ll find those girls and restage the whole thing.” They’d agreed beforehand not to delete any pictures and make Dean and Jo suffer though pointless pictures of things like accidental shots of their own hands and blurry pictures of what could be scenery along with the real trip photos. “We agreed. No deleting.”

“I sort of had to delete the ones we took last night.” He set the camera on her lap, fingers sliding along her thigh in a quick caress. “Not the sort of pictures we want to share with anyone.”

Heat flared across her cheeks. “Deleting those was fine…as will be deleting any more like that we may take the rest of the week.”

Sam sat up and leaned over to her, mouth to her ear. “In that case, I’ve got a few ideas for that one…product.” His hand touched her leg again, fingers sliding slowly up it to her hip. It wasn’t anything too touchy-feely for in public, yet managed to convey where his thoughts were headed. “What’s say we go back to the room and rest before dinner?”

“Dinner’s in four hours.”

“I think we can fill the time somehow.”

“Sam Winchester, I like how you think.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aaron Bennett was going to be trouble.

Castiel closed the journal he’d been reading and sat back in the desk chair, his attention sliding first to the box filled with Trickster magic, then to the various journals, published books and other items he’d been tasked with keeping from Sam and Dean the past couple months. Aaron Bennett. The man was dead, but he was going to be trouble nonetheless.

He’d completed his latest task in Death’s plan and taken one journal from the many in the trunk that had been Aaron’s. He’d also lifted a few pictures and, while he’d been there, he’d quietly perused the rest of the journals, skimming the contents quickly to get a better feel for Aaron’s character.

The question Balthazar had asked of who had given Aaron the symbols kept running through his mind. Honestly, he didn’t see Gabriel giving that knowledge away. If the Trickster had become trouble, Gabriel would have dealt with him himself, not trusted humans to do it. That conclusion left an interesting puzzle behind, one that Castiel was thinking about. Aaron was smart, a good chronicler, and specific in details. The clues had to be there somewhere and Death hadn’t forbidden Castiel to discover the truth. In fact, he’d encouraged him to study every part of the information available.

Had someone given Aaron the information, or had he just been that smart, tapped in somehow to ancient Enochian?

A knock sounded on the door and it opened, Uzziel stepping inside. “You wanted to see me?”

He motioned for him to close the door and once Uzziel had he said, “You worked with Michael a long time.” He didn’t mention Raphael. It stood to reason Raphael hadn’t had that information because if Raphael had had the symbols to use the way Balthazar suggested they could be, he would have used them. He wouldn’t have hesitated. Balthazar claimed they were the oldest form of Enochian, that the knowledge was ancient. Michael had been the oldest, therefore, he assumed Michael had known them.

“Yes?”

“Did you ever see any symbols like these?” He sat forward and touched the box with a hand. “Did Michael use any?”

Uzziel came close and studied the box. He picked it up, turned it this way and that, then set it back down. “A couple of them are similar to what Michael used on you, but I don’t recall seeing these exact symbols before. What’s this about, Castiel?”

He sighed. “A man and a destiny.”

“Which man? Which destiny?”

He didn’t answer that, sitting back. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Name it.”

“Find out everything you can about the people who were in Aaron Bennett’s life.” He was beginning to suspect that someone hadn’t been who he or she appeared to be. While he could ask Abigael for the information, since he’d given her the initial task of Gwen’s family genealogy, he wanted someone not connected with Death and the Fates in any of this. He wanted someone who’d be discreet and who’d get the job done, yet didn’t have a real stake in the events somehow. To be completely honest, he wanted someone who’d be loyal to him in the end and not to Death and the Fates. Because of her position in the world, Abigael was no longer a full ally. She had her own agenda because of her charges and the full nature of her job and that agenda was aligned with Death and the Fates. He hated to discount her, but that was simply how it had to be.

The angel that came to mind was Uzziel. His job was in a different area of heaven and Castiel knew he’d discover what Cas needed.

“You mean Gwen Winchester’s father? Isn’t he dead, Castiel?”

“He is, but he still has the power to affect events today. I’d like to know where he got the obscure information contained in his journals and if the…individual is still alive today.” If his increasing suspicions were correct, Balthazar was right and Michael had been very wrong in the Watchers dying out. Not only hadn’t they died out, but they were still out there, manipulating events by giving out information that should remain buried. They’d taken an interest in Aaron Bennett. Why?

Or was he seeing what wasn’t there? Were he and Balthazar seeing what wasn’t there? Was he hoping for an outside influence instead of the brilliant mind of a human? Was that information beyond what the human mind was capable of deciphering? It had to be an outside influence. Had to be. Castiel didn’t see any way a human would be able to discover the things Aaron had, even a brilliant human.

When Uzziel had gone, Castiel turned his chair, studying the things he’d taken from earth, things he locked up in this room to protect. Only he had the key. He hated keeping information from Sam and Dean, his only consolation in doing this being that there’d be balance. He hung on to that as hard as he could. Neither heaven or earth would be destroyed in the end, though there would be blood spilled. A lot of blood at that.

It had already begun.

The Soul Stealer was making his presence known, gaining speed almost too fast for Castiel to keep his exploits covered over like he was supposed to. Death hadn’t indicated how difficult it’d be to keep up with the creature. All of Castiel’s time was spent in that task. There was no time for anything else. It was hard to keep the pattern of his attacks and the news reports suppressed, to keep Dean and Sam from focusing in on the definite string of attacks happening across the U.S. from Colorado to Indiana. Other hunters could notice, just not Sam and Dean. They had to remain unaware until the time was right.

The Soul Stealer was tasting the population, eating a bite here and there, leaving behind confused people aching for the part of them that had been taken. In some cases, the creature had eaten over half the soul and with each victim, Castiel found himself thrown back in his memories to earlier days, when Sam had reappeared soulless. Those poor people…. If he’d understood what helping Death had meant for the victims, would he have agreed to do this? He could almost hear Dean asking him if he’d lost his marbles to agree to work with Death in any way, shape, or form. He smiled a sad little smile, picturing the way Dean would shake his head and say, “He’s Death, and you’re willingly being his errand boy? Are you screwed in the head? Don’t you think you should be protecting those people, not letting some hellspawn rip their souls apart?”

Maybe he was screwed in the head. Balance and order were supposed to be good things, good goals to work towards.

But he hadn’t understood the consequences for the victims until he’d seen the consequences right there in front of him. He’d thought only of the balance that would occur in the end, not about the victims that would pay the price, and because of how he was to aid Death, he saw each victim, each consequence along this path. He was confronted with it at all hours of day and night in an unceasing public relations nightmare.

That was what he’d become. A public relations agent, scrubbing away the bad so Dean and Sam wouldn’t see it.

He had to ride this out. It was too late to turn back. Balance was already sliding back and forth along the scale, wobbling from side to side. To step in now and hand over the information would tilt it too far in a single direction.

It’ll be okay, he told himself over and over. In a few short months, Sam and Dean would have that information and would fight and triumph over the creature. They’d save the world one more time. It was what they knew, what they were good at. He had faith that they’d win.

Castiel lifted a report compiled for him by Clotho and glanced over it, the sensation of beginning to drown in the task he’d signed up for increasing.

The creature wasn’t limiting himself to humans, devouring monsters and their souls whenever he caught wind of one. That’s what this list was, the creatures that had gotten in his way. Seven vampires, two werewolves, a Gorgon, and more. Demons even and why not? They were simply corrupted souls and if he caught one in a body, it’d be a two for one special in his eyes, a bonus soul twined inside with a human.

Castiel’s eyes widened as he finished reading what had occurred. He dropped the report. Leaning over, he put his head in his hands.

A big boss demon named Agares had attempted to fight the Soul Stealer in Illinois and failed. Castiel knew Agares. He was powerful and should have made some impact, yet the creature had drunk down both Agares and the small army he’d taken with him before turning to the townspeople. It had been a massacre, the bodies discovered that morning. There was no way Castiel could keep Sam and Dean from noticing the demonic omens and finding out about an entire town. If they didn’t see the reports, other hunters would call them in on it anyway.

With a long steadying breath, he sat up and back.

Let them look. Let them try. They’d be missing the pieces they needed until the time was right for them to find them and face the creature.

He felt a very real, very hard pang of regret knot in his stomach. This wasn’t the path he wanted to be on, but it was the only one he could walk at present. He’d just have to make the best of it.