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Author	Topic: [Supernatural] I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly [one-shot]
Helen_Taft Registered: Mar '08	Date Posted: 7/30/08 2:47pm Subject: [Supernatural] I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly [one-shot] - Date Edited: 7/30/08 3:03pm (2 edits total) Edited By: Helen_Taft
	Title: I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC and Bobby Spoilers: Very vague for S2’s ‘All Hell Breaks Loose’ and some general ones for Sam in the new season (S3). Summary: A new case forces Sam to look closely at what he is turning into. Disclaimer: It’s just fanfic. All characters and premise belong to people who aren’t me. No infringement is intended and no profit made. Notes: (1) The title is from a song by Breed77. (2) This is an older fic and one of only a few I wrote for SPN. I hope you enjoy it. ~ “What the hell is going on?” Sam said incredulously. There was a stitch ceasing his side and his lungs burned as he tried to get his breath back after racing up twelve flights of stairs. “Look at them, Dean. They’ve gone nuts.” “…Freakin’ demons are on crack if you ask me,” gasped Dean, bent double with his hands on his knees while he too tried to catch his breath. Peering over the edge of the asphalt, he shook his head in disbelief at the bizarre scene playing out in the sunlit street below. “Something’s sure got ‘em juiced.” “Sh’yeah. You’re not kidding,” said Sam, worried. “It’s broad daylight…if anyone saw them just step off this roof and plummet six storeys without so much as a scratch—” “Then World Weekly News will have an all new exclusive,” interrupted Dean, straightening up, “’cause we both know no will else will print it, or believe it.” Sam was forced to concede he had a point, but couldn’t resist saying, “It’s Weekly World News.” “Whatever.” Unable to reach their quarry, they could only stare down at the otherwise empty side-street below, watching as the pair of demons they’d been tracking tore every car and dumpster apart with their bare hands. The scariest thing was that they seemed oblivious of the damage they were doing to the bodies they were possessing; not to mention the possibility of Joe Public spotting them. Standing far above on the flat roof of an apartment building, Sam was completely clueless as to what was going on. Damn it! Personally, Sam hated supernatural mysteries—they slowed things up (and if he was going to save Dean, he didn’t have time to spare) and people had a tendency of dying on him before he figured it all out; hence why he was worried. “I don’t get it. Are they searching for something?” “Who the hell cares what they’re doing?” Grabbing Sam’s arm, Dean pulled him away from the edge. “C’mon, we gotta get back down there. If we’re lucky Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will still be around so we can waste ‘em.” Racing back down a dozen flights of stairs was no more fun than pelting up them, and a lot more dangerous when done at speed. Sam leaped the last few stairs, landing with a heavy thud on the spotlessly tiled floor of the foyer. Dean was right behind him and together they flew through a door marked ‘Private: Tenants And Staff Only'. Lucky for them it was also a fire door and so left unlocked. Beyond it was a communal laundry room. Washers and dryers lined the walls and all except one was silent. Sprinting past the bald, spectacled tenant staring owlishly at them over his freshly laundered y-fronts, Sam gave the guy what he hoped was a reassuring grin to go with Dean’s fleeting thumbs-up. After the laundry room was the utility room. At the far end was a pair of partially glazed double doors through which the midday sun was blazing. Straining to hear over his own panting breaths, Sam couldn’t hear any bangs and crashes coming from outside. His heart sank with the possibility that they were too late and the demons had gone. Probably thinking the same, Dean picked up speed and surged ahead of him, bursting through the doors into the street beyond with his Colt already drawn. On his heels, Sam pulled out his Taurus and followed. Blinded by too bright sunlight, it was Dean’s explosive curse that told first told Sam they had indeed got there too late. Still cursing, Dean turned in a circle, triple checking that the demons had definitely vanished. Battling his own frustration, Sam remembered something. “Where’s Bobby, did you see where he went?” “No. He took off in another direction. I didn’t see where. Sonofabitch! Where the hell did they go?” ~ With no other brilliant idea presenting itself to them, they went back to the Impala and began cruising around, ostensibly looking for signs of a disturbance. Dean was still pissed off enough that every time they had to stop for a stop-sign, he took off again with a deafening roar from the V8 engine. From the passenger seat, Sam slid him a scowl, “Will you calm down. The last thing we need is to get pulled over because you’re being an ass.” It was a testament to just how focused Dean was on finding the demons that he didn’t respond, too busy scouring the sidewalks, passing buildings and roads. Finally they spotted Bobby’s truck in the car-park of an all-day diner on the other side of the road. Dean signalled to turn. Just as he was about to pull into the empty space next to the dusty, rusted truck they heard the distinct sound of breaking glass. Sam looked at Dean who raised his brows. “That didn’t come from the diner.” “No,” Sam agreed, “It came from over there.” He pointed to an abandoned car sales lot next door. Without a word, Dean threw the Impala into reverse and then set off again with a screeching wheel-spin. The car park of the diner had a dedicated exit; sharing a road with the entrance for the failed auto business. Throwing the car into a tight turn, Dean didn’t even slow down until they were coming to a gravel-spitting stop at the rear of the boarded up single-storey building that had been the sales office. The plyboard that had been covering the glazed door had been wrenched off and tossed aside. Sam and Dean got out of the Impala and cautiously made their way over. The contrast between the sun-drenched, deserted lot and the interior of the abandoned sales office was extreme. The doorway was little more than a gaping maw leading into darkness and, worse, the unknown. Weapons drawn, Dean led the way inside, moving slowly and in a half crouch, wanting to present as small a target as possible to anyone who might already be inside. It wasn’t completely dark inside. The tiny gaps between the boards allowed in long slivers of sunlight; enough to show the floating dust motes and the pieces of broken office furniture heaped into corners. It was hot and musty and Sam could already feel a line of sweat snake down his spine. From what he could make out most of the space was dedicated to a showroom, but on the left was a solid wall with two doors opening into it. Dean gestured towards the two doors, mutely saying that they needed to be checked out. Sam nodded, closing in to protect his brothers back. The first door opened with a hair-raising creak of rusted hinges. Dean led with his pistol and Sam stayed by the doors so that they couldn’t be snuck up on from behind. As for the office there wasn’t much to search; just a desk and a pair of file-cabinets with an inch of dust lying on top and at least one drawer hanging out at an odd angle. A single, sweeping glance was all that was needed to confirm that there was nothing to worry about in there. As he was closer, Sam took the lead for the second door. Wrapping his fingers around the handle, he pushed it open, or tried to. After a few inches it hit an obstruction and swung shut again. Dean drew up to his side and together they aimed a snap-kick at the door. The thin wood barrier exploding forcefully inwards and Sam jumped into the gap before it could close again and forced it open wider. As he did, someone flew at him from the left corner. Ducking to the side, Sam made an impulsive decision to tackle the shrieking old woman, driving her back rather than shooting her. He heard Dean yell at him for being a damned idiot. They’d both seen the pure black eyes of the demon staring out of that wrinkled face framed by wispy white hair—this was no gentle old lady. She turned the tables on him, driving them both into the dividing wall, she rammed him hard enough to break his hold and twisted out of his grip. Then she went for him. Struggling not have his neck snapped like a twig while he was swung around and around like a rag doll, Sam had an irrelevant thought that Dean should be glad he hadn’t shot her; maybe it would reassure his brother that he wasn’t the stone-killer Dean was half afraid he’d brought back from the dead. Eye watering, dizzy and choking, Sam glimpsed Dean furiously yelling and trying to take aim. Then another figure came into his (blurred) line of sight; a girl no older than he was. She seemed tiny and despite his own predicament he couldn’t help but notice that she looked like she’d been run over by a truck. Overall, he got the impression of big eyes filled with fear and loathing. The demon noticed her too and stopped swinging Sam. Before Dean had a chance to take aim and kill the old woman (banishing the demon) the strange girl, her face bruised and covered in blood and with one arm hanging limp and awkward at her side, closed the distance and slapped the wrinkled face. “GET OUT OF HER !” she yelled right in its face. As if she’d used a hitherto unknown magic word or pushed some magic cosmic button, the demonised old woman clutched her chest and staggered. The grip that had been keeping Sam locked to what should have been a frail frame, slackened and he slumped to the filthy floor. Then, she tipped back her head and the demon left on an infuriated howl, looking exactly like a swarm of angry black bees erupting from her mouth, and streaming for the nearest sliver of daylight to escape. Afterwards the silence literally rang. With the demon gone the old woman collapsed. She looked grey and shrunken enough to have been dead for days. Ears still ringing in his sickly swimming head, Sam tried to reach out to feel her pulse, but someone beat him to it, also shutting the still, staring eyes. The girl’s own were brimming with tears and Sam noticed that her hand was shaking. “Are you okay?” he asked her, stupidly he realised, considering the state of her. She nodded, averting her face. A few feet away, Dean was standing staring at the girl as if not knowing what the hell to say (a first for him) and with his Colt pointing harmlessly at the floor. “Dude, what about the other one?” asked Sam, remembering there’d been two and trying to clear his head enough to stand. Dean jerked a thumb at a body by the door. Sam followed where he gestured and saw the bloody remains of what had once been a suit-wearing elderly gentleman—the same one who twenty minutes earlier had been ripping a door off a Ford sedan like it was paper. “Oh…then who… Damn, is that Bobby?” There had been two bodies obstructing the doorway. One had been Bobby’s. “Is he dead?” ~ “Where the hell did she go?” Since Dean was busy pacing, Sam was delegated the task of getting Bobby settled on one of the beds. Straightening up, Sam said, “No idea. Personally, I want to know who she was.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, you saw what she did, right?” Dean thought it a dumb question and let him know it. “Kinda hard not to considering I was right there in the same room, Sammy.” “So, what do you think? Have you ever heard about anyone being able to just order a demon to leave like that?” “Outside of the bible, no,” said Dean. “As for the rest, hell if I know what to think.” Just then Bobby started to come around. He hadn’t even opened his eyes before he began groaning; not surprising considering he had a bump the size of a baseball on the side of his head. Taking up positions on either side of the single bed, Sam (and Dean) was just damned grateful he was still alive. “Hey there, Bobby,” said Sam with a smile that hid relief. Bobby’s eyes popped open and then screwed tight shut again in the next instant. “Damn, my head feels like it got drop kicked,” he groaned, gingerly feeling the lump. “Looks like it too,” said Dean with a grin. An eyelid cracked open a touch. “Oh, hah hah, very funny. Kick a man while he’s down whydontcha.” “Bobby,” interjected Sam, not wanting to lose more time, “Can you tell us what happened…why you split off from us?” Bobby looked blank for a moment; then his eyes widened as far as they could go without popping out of their sockets, “Crap!” he exploded, looking wildly around the cheap, bare motel room, “Did you find her, is she okay?” Sam could feel shock steal over his face. “Excuse me?” “Which girl?” said Dean, confused, then hazarded a guess, “Demon-expelling-girl?” Bobby ignored the question, “Ah crap! Tell me the other demon didn’t get her?” He sat up and went even whiter as the pain in his head spiked in protest. “The other demon didn’t get her,” Dean obliged, still bemused and not liking the sensation. “In fact, it was the other way around,” said Sam, pushing up straight to go and sit next to Dean on the other bed, “the girl got the demon, or that’s how it looked to us.” “Got it how?” Bobby bounced a look between them. Apparently it was his turn to be confused. “Well, she belted it across the face and told it to get the hell out; which it did,” said Dean looking to Sam for corroboration, “Right?” “Yeah, that’s was pretty much what happened.” There was a pause. Bobby scratched his head, frowning and then winced when his head gave a twinge. “That doesn’t sound right.” “You’re telling us,” said Dean. “So, is she the reason you took off. You saw her and decided she was worth hunting? What is she anyway?” Bobby actually reared back as if Dean had swung a punch at him. “God sakes, Dean, I wasn’t huntin’ her. I was tryin’ to protect her.” Glaring at them, he continued. “She ain’t some stinkin’ demon. She’s a daemon—there’s a whole world of difference—and works for the other side. Why else do you think those demons were so goddamned determined to get her?”” As if he’d pressed play on a VCR, Sam got a flashback of huge, tormented blue eyes in a thin, pale, pretty face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” ~ They were once again cruising the streets; the Impala’s engine a solid grind of metal on metal under the hood. They were under strict orders to find the girl called Maggie. Night had fallen and they were heading away from the picturesque residential section and into the more commercial south-west of Normal. Pretty houses with brilliant white trim and long green lawns gave way to concrete and single or multiple storey concrete boxes with tiny windows. After half an hour of simmering silence, Dean reached out and switched off the cassette player, silencing Ozzy. “Okay, Mr Sunshine, ‘fess up. What’s the matter with you?” Sam had been expecting this. He sighed and slid lower in his seat, stretching out his legs, “I don’t know what you mean.” “Don’t give me that, you’ve been acting like a grizzly ever since we left the motel.” Sam shrugged. “I’ve been thinking. Sue me.” “Yeah, well, here’s a shocker…so have I.” Because Sam knew Dean expected him to, he turned in his seat and quirked his brows in mock surprise. “About what? Bigbeautifulbreasts.com?” “Hilarious, and no,” said Dean without missing a beat. “I’ve been thinking about what Bobby said about this girl, Maggie.” So had Sam, hence his bad mood. “You believed him?” he asked Dean, trying for casual. “Bobby sure believes it.” “I know he does,” said Sam, “but maybe he’s just into wishful thinking, y’know?” “Maybe,” said Dean, lapsing back into thoughtful silence Sam could understand Bobby deluding himself. After all, he’d done the same thing back in Providence. He remembered all too clearly the desire to believe there was a higher power looking out for them, helping them fight against all the evil lurking in the world. The difference between him and Bobby though, Sam told himself, was that he’d stopped hoping to see some sign of supernatural goodness amongst the ceaseless onslaught of ‘random, unpredictable evil’. Dean, it seemed, had got it right. There was no God, no benign Power That Be who would extend divine aid or come riding to the rescue when all seemed lost. They’d past ‘lost’ months ago and help had not arrived; nothing had changed. They were alone and the only people going to save them, was themselves. What had pissed him off (and was still pissing him off) was walking smack bang into a case that pretended otherwise. Unaware of what was going through Sam’s head, Dean tried again, “Seriously, man, do you think it’s possible that she is what he says she is?” Sam clenched his fists and kept his face averted so that his brother wouldn’t see his rage and thinking, ‘No, Dean, It’s not possible that this girl is some kind of agent for good because they don’t exist’. He didn’t say it. Instead he said, “Bobby didn’t exactly explain enough for me to decide for definite one way or another, Dean.” Annoyed at being pushed, Sam’s voice got short and impatient. “I’ve heard of daemons before but only in Greek mythology. Originally they supposed to be these powerful supernatural beings that were friendly to mortals—Except later it got twisted around though to include malignant spirits like the demons we both know and don’t love. Still, I dunno, maybe I’m just not willing to accept such wild suppositions without some evidence; which is why I’m not particularly enthusiastic about this case.” “Those demons were pretty compelling evidence, Sammy,” said Dean, quietly for him. “That’s not how you put it when we were back with Bobby,” protested Sam. That much was true. “Yeah, well, I’m sayin’ it now.” “Uh huh. Well, I’ll leave you to weigh up the facts, but in my opinion we shouldn’t waste too much time with this. We’ve got other things we should be concentrating on.” Sam knew he’d said it too aggressively, but he didn’t really give a rat’s ass. As per usual Dean ignored Sam’s reference to the increasingly desperate search for a way out of his hell-bound problem. Ozzy was given full volume again, a mute signal for Sam to shut-the-hell-up about that topic. With no other distraction, Sam got back to brooding over what Bobby had told them. Not that it had been much. Bobby had been ridiculously vague on details. All he’d said was that a little over a week ago, he’d had a call out of the blue from an old friend. This friend had asked Bobby to meet him at the Travellers Rest Hotel here in the town of Normal, Illinois. However, when he’d reached Normal, Bobby had found an unusual amount of demon activity. Unable to find the guy he was supposed to be meeting, Bobby had then decided to stick around and called them to help him get rid of the town’s escalating demon problem. It was while he’d been waiting for Sam and Dean to turn up that he’d found his friend—in hospital and raving about losing some girl he’d been trying to protect. That much made sense. But a daemon in the form of a girl; a powerful medium and a healer—apparently saving mankind body and soul—and sent by the forces for good (the very same forces who hadn’t once turned up in all the years that the Winchesters had been hunting)? Moreover, who had been reincarnated time and again over such a long period of time that her origins were long forgotten, even by her. Sam snorted in disbelief and shook his head. He would never have believed that Bobby could be so…gullible. Oh, yeah, and apparently demons could sense her presence and if they found her would go to any lengths to torture, maim and kill her; which was why Bobby wanted Sam and Dean to find her first. It was all was too fantastical for anyone to believe wasn’t it? When a sceptical Sam had asked why they hadn’t had so much of a whiff of any supernatural good guys before, Bobby had answered that it was because they’re rarer than rare, and followed it up with a testy, ‘and why the hell would they want to show themselves to a pair of horses asses like you two, anyhow?’ After that, Sam and Dean had quit arguing with him. Now, Sam rested his elbow on the passenger window frame and raked a hand through his hair, raising his voice to be heard over the stereo. “I’m serious, Dean. I think we should move on, because it’ll be almost certain that she has.” “It’s the ‘almost’ that worries me,” said Dean, slicing him a frown. Sam felt frustration simmer under his skin and stamped on it, keeping his tone coldly even, “It’s pretty obvious that she doesn’t want to be found. Have you noticed how she’s not exactly asking for help?” Carrying on before Dean could reply, Sam waved a hand at the empty, dark shrouded streets. “Finding her isn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park either. In fact it’s the proverbial needle in a haystack trying to locate one person in a town with a population of fifty thousand—that is if she hasn’t already skipped town like I said.” There was a heavy, accusing silence. Sam cursed and wished he hadn’t sounded so matter of fact, reacting defensively. “Don’t give me that look. C’mon, has there been any demon activity since yesterday?” “Twenty four hours isn’t exactly a long time, Sam. It’s a bit soon to be giving the all clear.” Dean swore when he was forced to swerve out of the way of a pickup truck that had pulled out on him. One long and irritated blare of the horn later, he turned back to Sam. “What the hells’ gotten into you? There’s a girl who needs saving and evil that needs killing…and you wanna leave?” The accusation was back in Dean’s tone and stronger than ever. A poignant, pale and scared face taunted Sam from dead-centre of his minds eye. Guilt and a sharp icy spike of fear froze him from the inside. The fear was a double-edged sword; half for Dean and half for himself and what he was turning into. A year ago he would have taken as much time as was necessary to make sure the girl was out of harms way. It shouldn’t matter what Bobby believed and he knew it, but Sam couldn’t stem his bitterness. God. You had to be seriously screwed if even you realised how callous you were being. He shook it off. This girl, Maggie, was a stranger and Dean was his brother—his only remaining family—there was no contest. A quarter of Dean’s allotted year was already up and they were no nearer to finding a way out of the deal he’d made with that bitch of a crossroads demon. Not that he was giving up, no sir! And, if he had to be ruthless, then so be it. As far as he was concerned it was way, way past time he saved Dean’s life and nothing was getting in the way of that. Not even Dean himself. Necessity turned Sam’s tone icy when he said, “I said we should give it tonight and make tracks tomorrow. I meant it.” Sam hadn’t looked at him when he’d said this and Dean’s glare singed his profile. Oblivious to the road, Dean opened his mouth—probably to remind Sam that since he owned their only transport they’d go when he said they were ready—when something crashed into the windscreen, cracking it open like an egg. “What the—!” Dean stomped on the brake and the Impala’s wheels smoked and shed rubber as they came to a snaking stop accompanied by a hair-raising screech of protesting brakes. They both stared, wide-eyed and panting at the remnants of the windscreen. Whatever had hit them was resting in the sagging mass of cracked safety glass; then it moved fretfully. “It’s a person, Dean.” “Crap!” Dean cracked open his door and got out. Sam did the same. The only warning they got that the ‘person’ wasn’t strictly human was a low and savage growl. Sam yelled an unnecessary warning to Dean who was already diving to the side, away from the car and the severely pissed off werewolf. Dean landed on his back winded, but still compus mentis enough to reach down to his ankle and the silver knife strapped there. Sam, meanwhile, dived back into the car and wrenched open the glove-box to grab his pistol. Fumbling for it, he heard a thud and a piercing whine. Panic threatened to numb his brain. Damn it! Out of the car again, Sam threw himself over the hood with the Taurus already raised and ready to fire. Squeezing off a round, he caught the werewolf in the shoulder and blood blossomed instantly on a dirty, white cotton shirt. It whirled with a shrieking snarl, flashing fangs and feral inhuman eyes ablaze with hatred and sick hunger. This one was much bigger and a whole lot uglier than either Glen or Madison had been. With its attention on Sam, Dean was able to kick himself backwards and out of the way, slashing with the knife again and catching it across the abdomen. It howled but still didn’t go down. Sam fired again wishing to hell the bullets were silver and terrified he was only pissing it off more. There was a pause while it seemed to scent the air. Seconds stretched; then it moved incredibly fast, talons raked his chest as it barrelled into Sam and then streaked past him. Knocked back onto the hood of the Impala in a sprawl, he sucked in air trying to get his breath back. The acrid stench of gunpowder caught at the back of his throat. Hearing Dean’s groans of pain from the road, Sam shoe-horned his wits into some semblance of order and slid back off the car and onto the worn tarmac. The fact that they were in an industrial district in the dead of night meant that their little monster interaction had gone unnoticed by the good people of Normal—thankfully. “I don’t get it. Why did it just go?” Sam asked Dean, offering him a hand to help him get back on his feet. Taking it and rising with another deep groan, Dean stood swaying on his feet and sporting some deep cuts on his neck and forehead. There was also a bloody gash visible on his left calf. Swiping at the blood running into his eyes and grimacing, he said, “It heard something. After you shot it the second time I saw it **** its head as if it were listening to something. Then it went for you and took off.” Dean nodded towards a razor-wire topped gate bearing the sign ‘Hester Street Auto Salvage.’ “It went in there. Smart bastard’s good at picking hidey holes.” With possibly thousands of rusted out and discarded cars to pick from, Sam had to agree…to a point. “Yeah, but it still makes no sense. It was beating the crap out of us. Why did it run off?” “I told you, it heard something.” “What did it hear?” Dean’s voice rose with aggravation, “How the hell do I know, I’m not the ‘not-so-psychic-anymore’ guy around here, am I?” Sam ignored the pointed reminder that he was no longer having visions and walked back around to pop the trunk. By the time Dean had hobbled around to join him, Sam was already reloading the Taurus with silver bullets. Wisely, Dean refrained from pointing out that Sam was happy to spend time wasting a werewolf, but not safeguard a girl; for which Sam was grateful. A minute or two later, they were searching the chain-link fence for a weak spot. When they found one, they also found two dead dogs along with it. Inside the yard, Sam was fairly clinking as he jogged cautiously along the dirt path. Dean had insisted that they go to town on the armoury and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Along with his handgun, Sam had a machete, a silver hunting knife and a spare clip of silver bullets. “It’s like being in a freakin’ maze,” griped Dean edgily. “Yeah, or a labyrinth,” said Sam, “except instead of a Minotaur, we’ve got a werewolf to worry about. Personally, I think I’d prefer the Minotaur.” This place was nothing like Bobby’s. Sam wondered if it was even legal. Cars were stacked two or even three high, forming mini towers of dented and rusted metal on either side of them. There were Cadillacs, Fords, Lincolns, Chevvies and even a couple of Oldmobiles. The floor was hard packed dirt and weeds. A few scattered stones hinted that in the past the owner had been ambitious enough to try a gravel path. The whole lot stank of old oil and sodden dirt. Thick, black clouds obscured the moon. Their flashlights were like pinpricks of light in a smothering darkness. Sam wished they didn’t need them, because it would highlight to anyone else in the yard where they where. The expectation of being attacked at any moment was making him tense and it felt like every muscle in his body was locked tight. The fine hairs on his arms, legs and the back of his neck were standing at prickling attention too. Turning a corner made up of a Firebird, a Dayvan and a Camaro, they heard the unmistakable sound of running footsteps that seemed to be running parallel to them. The sobbing breaths that accompanied the footsteps were unexpected. Hearing it too, Dean picked up speed and ignoring his wounded leg began to run. Sam kept pace, not wanting to get separated. Around the corner a wall of worn and ripped rubber tires loomed ahead. Reaching the tires, Sam spotted another path running down on the left. As he did a body hurtled out of it and collided with him. He hadn’t had time to brace himself and they both went down. The moment his back hit the dirt, Sam rolled them in a hard and fast move. Sliding off the warm body and coming up on one knee, he brought up his gun. At the same moment Dean’s flashlight lit a pale, thin face with wide and scared blue eyes. “You!” exclaimed Sam, lowering the pistol. There was no sign of bruising or swelling on her face anymore. Bobby’s wild ideas about this girl rushed into his consciousness. The thing being, that factoring in reckless demons, and hunting a feral werewolf in a dark, deserted junk yard where Maggie just happened to be, they didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore. . Lying in the same place where Sam had slammed her on the ground, Maggie was wide-eyed and wary, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her jacket was filthy and her jeans were ripped at the knees. Besides being terrified she didn’t look happy to see them. “Behind me…there’s a…a…thing!” Dean leant down and grasped her left arm while Sam took the right. Hauling her up onto her feet, Dean asked, “A thing? Care to elaborate?” She didn’t need to elaborate. The werewolf reached the top of the tires and leapt with a guttural snarl. Spinning to face it, Sam and Dean fired simultaneously. Twin bullets slammed into its chest and the werewolf jerked in midair and landed with a heavy thud. Sam had shoved Maggie behind him and now the three of them stared down at the dead man at their feet. In death he’d gone back to looking like your average everyday Joe. Blank human eyes stared out of a pallid, forties face with a little too much jowl. “Is that…is that….what is that?” she asked tremulously. “That’s a man,” said Sam, shortly. “He was a werewolf. Although he probably didn’t know it” He turned to face her and couldn’t keep the accusation out of his tone. “How can you not have known that?” The blue eyes that had been haunting him more than he liked to admit blinked in surprise at his aggressive tone. A frown creased her brows and wariness flickered over her face. “Why would I know what a werewolf looks like?” She was lying, she had to be. Sam’s anger had abated during the hunt for the werewolf, but now it came back in a flood. Her guarded stance told him she knew his temper was running hot. Still, he didn’t fail to notice how pretty she was; more so than she’d sound if you simply described high cheekbones, wide full lips and big eyes in an oval face framed by thick, wavy dark hair. There was something delicate and ethereal about her face and he couldn’t put his finger in why looking at her got his stomach muscles jumping. “Hey, are you British?” asked Dean, his own gaze frankly appreciative and oblivious of the sudden tension. They both ignored him. “The way we’ve heard it is that you’re a little unusual yourself, Maggie” said Sam pointedly, taking a step forward when she took a step back and thwarting her attempt to put some space between them. “Among other things, according to our source, demons have a thing for you—they like to hunt you down and play rough. If that’s true, I’d at least expect you to know what they look like.” “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Maggie replied with more than a hint of sarcasm. “But have you considered that I don’t usually get time to ask what something is when it’s ripping my throat out. After which the power of speech is generally lost.” “Good point,” said Dean, glaring at Sam in a will-you-shut-the-hell-up kind of way. Shame, hot and unwelcome, surged in Sam. He struggled with it for a moment and then gave in. “Okay, I apologise. I guess that was a little insensitive of me.” It also occurred to him that she hadn’t denied what he’d said. It was another chink of doubt in his firm disbelief. Had he been wrong? Was she being hunted? “It doesn’t matter,” said Maggie in response to Sam’s stiff apology. “Look, I have to go. Thanks for your help, but I’m not doing you or myself any favours by standing here.” She stared directly at him for the first time and Sam had the fleeting thought that she could see right into his soul. She appeared to be about to say something else and then changed her mind, keeping it to a simple, “Bye.” “Hey, hey, hey. Where do you think you’re going?” asked Dean, grasping her arm before she could turn and walk away from them. “Are you being hunted?” asked Sam, quietly. He had to know. For some reason he couldn’t breathe while he waited for her to answer. Maggie swung back towards him and a spasm of bitterness shot over her face. “I’ve been attacked in almost every town, city or village I’ve stopped in during the last five years—you tell me.” “If that’s true there’s all the more reason for you to stay with us,” said Dean, letting her pull free. She shook her head, clearly regretting having said so much and backed away a few steps, a prelude to taking off. “Maggie, we can help you,” added Sam, still confused and full of doubts. “You just have to let us.” “Are you sure you want to?” she asked Sam, and it was her turn to be pointed. The fact that she obviously knew his feelings about this case shocked the hell out of Sam, and he saw the same shock flicker over Dean’s face. For the second time in a few hours he felt as if the floor had been whipped out from under his feet. Had he just been judged and found wanting? Sam felt hollow at the thought. “What makes you say that?” The blue of her eyes seemed to darken with sorrow. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “I wouldn’t believe it either if I didn’t live it.” Sam felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. Then she was gone. “Bobby’ll kill us if we go back and tell him we let her shake us off,” said Dean to Sam, putting the safety on his colt and stowing it in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. Sam didn’t need persuading. He was already taking off after her, shouting, “Maggie, wait, please. We can help you.” Cursing fluently at being left behind, Dean took off after Sam. Rounding the corner together, they found the path empty and skidded to a halt. All of a sudden the air temperature had dropped and their breath misted in front of their faces in the chill air. “Damn, this girl can move,” said Dean, half admiring, “So much for the English not being able to run for toffee, huh?” Sam was in no mood for jokes because he was too busy drowning in guilt. After she’d asked him did he really want to her help her, Sam had realised that he hadn’t wanted to help Maggie; only, not because he hadn’t believed Bobby, but because a part of him had believed him. He’d resented the idea of them spending time helping people, or beings, who ignored everyone else’s suffering—who were going to let Dean die and go to hell. Whichever way Sam looked at it, he’d been going to let a girl suffer and all because of his own bitterness. Worse, he hadn’t even admitted any of it to himself. God. What the hell was happening to him? Hearing a horrendous creaking from directly above them, Sam was jerked out of his own torturous thoughts and lifted his head up. His eyes widened at the sight of the dark, hulking mass of a rusted out Mustang hurtling towards them. Shock had him rooted to the spot until a rough hand grabbed his jacket sleeve, yanking him off his feet and out of the way just in time. Spitting out a mouthful of mud, Sam covered his head, but the crash of the Mustang into hard earth was still deafening this close. Shards of metal whistled over their heads and the tinkle of glass showered over their sprawled legs and torsos. “Thanks,” Sam said to Dean, who nodded an acknowledgement. They both finally became aware of how frosty the air had become at the same time. Sam came up on his elbows. “What the—” A second car, a Cadillac, started to rock back and forth on its perch several feet up. More tellingly, the windscreen of the white Lincoln opposite them misted up in seconds right in front of their eyes. “Crap!” said Dean. As if to confirm their suspicions a flickering, grisly figure appeared on top of the pile of wrecked cars. He was the reason for the Cadillac’s increasingly sharp motion. “Well this is just great,” said Sam with the air of a man who thinks it can’t get much worse. “First demons, then a werewolf and now a murderous spirit. What the hell is going on in this town?” Dean got up and dragged Sam up too. “Beats me, man. This gig is getting weirder and weirder. I shoulda known that any town called Normal would have to be the damned opposite. It’s like tempting fate or something.” A wing mirror was snapped off and came flying at them at incredible speed. They ducked and then had to scramble over the buckled Mustang to escape the falling Caddy. As they did, another white, ghostly figure appeared; this time a woman with legs that ended in stumps at the knees, no arms and a face streaked with silver tears. She wasn’t looking at them, but at Maggie who had appeared out of nowhere. The air was so frozen now that breathing it in was like inhaling ice. “Goddammit, what the hell is going on?” yelled Dean. Sam was afraid he could guess. A medium could communicate with spirits. In fact, according to popular lore, spirits were even drawn to them. Bobby had said that Maggie was a powerful medium. “It’s Maggie,” Sam told Dean. “She probably can’t help it, but she must be some kind of magnet for spirits.” “Great, she’s doing a Whoopi and all we’ve got are these,” Dean waggled his Colt. Dean was right. The bitch of it was that their pistols were full of silver and not rock salt. “C’mon. We have to get out of here,” Sam said, heading towards Maggie and goggling when he saw that she was talking to the spiritwoman, not just talking but reaching out to touch her tormented face. As he watched the mutilated woman began to glow brighter and brighter and then disappeared. His heart contracted at the sight and the suspicion that Maggie had sent her on, giving her peace and ending the spirit’s relentless pain. No medium he’d ever heard of could do that with just a few words. “Freaks me out, but at least were one ghost down,” quipped Dean, failing to hide the fact that he really was getting freaked out. Reaching Maggie they hauled her around to run with them. The three of them pelted for the end of the path and the chain link fence that was now visible. Reaching the end of the lines of cars, Maggie pulled back and dropped to her knees in the dirt, feverishly drawing symbols with her finger in the mud. “What the hell are you doing?” asked Sam incredulously. The hulking brute that had tried to squash them with classic automobiles was streaking towards them inhumanly fast, and she was scribbling in the dirt? “Wait just a moment,” she shot back, not looking up from what she was doing. “This might get rid of him.” “Might?” queried Dean sharply. “Lady, I don’t do ‘might’.” It was too late, the spirit was upon them. Maggie barely had time to accept Sam’s hand which promptly yanked her out of the way and ahead of him so they could race towards the fence together. Behind them, the spirit met Maggie’s symbols and instantly burst into flames. Sam and Dean whirled to see the flames roar so high they seemed to scorch the sky for a few long seconds. Then he was gone, flames and all. “Wow!” said Dean, visibly impressed. “That was actually pretty cool.” Sam had to agree. Except when he looked around for Maggie to tell her he was impressed, too, he found she’d gone. He felt like kicking himself. Instead he announced resignedly, “She’s done it again, Dean.” Dean caught on immediately. “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me.” ~ They split up. Knowing that Maggie wouldn’t have had transport, Sam went on foot and left Dean to search in the car. Before roaring off, Dean had tossed him a pair of handcuffs and instructed Sam to cuff Maggie to him if he caught up with her. Under normal circumstances, Sam would have refused to even take them, but since Maggie had pulled a Houdini on them three times now he was seriously considering any options that prevented a fourth. If he wasn’t confused enough, Sam was also attracted to Maggie. She was thin and worn enough that it might seem that he could snap her with one hand, but the pain in her eyes called to him, and she was classically pretty enough to stand being too pale, frail and fearful. That attraction was just another reason of why he’d reacted so negatively to her sudden appearance. He had to find her, and he hoped to hell she couldn’t read minds. The roar of an engine and a crash turned Sam westward and got him running. Some ten minutes later, he came to a gate with a sign saying ‘Dairycraze Dairy. Tellingly, the sign was hanging lopsided as the gates had been crashed right through. Hoping it wasn’t Dean, Sam jogged cautiously through the ruined gate and up the sweeping drive. A sprawling complex of pale and smooth concrete stood at the end of the drive. Well-tended lawn surrounded it and standing in the middle of some churned up grass, stood a dented pickup truck. It looked remarkably like the one that had pulled out on Dean earlier on. Pulling out his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, Sam called Dean. The call was picked up after only a few rings. “Where are you?” he asked. “I circled around…couldn’t find much. So I went to the medical centre to see if she’d gone to that pal of Bobby’s. So much for being on the critical list—he split a couple of hours ago. I’m just leaving now. Why?” “Make your way to Arcacia Avenue,” said Sam, wishing Dean was closer. “There’s a place called Diarycraze. I’m there now and I think I’ve found something.” ”Like what?” “I’m not sure yet, just get here…gotta go.” Ending the call, Sam headed for the main entrance. The complex was modern and the doors were made of glass. Or, they had been. Now they were thousands of shattered chinks of thick, tough safety glass littering the tiled porch. The metal frame was all that was still standing and it was no barrier to anyone who wanted to get inside. Oh yeah, he’d definitely found something, Sam thought, stepping over the threshold. He pulled out his pistol and the flashlight and slowly circled the smart, prosperous looking foyer. It looked nothing like you’d expect a dairy to look. There was a circular polished beech reception desk, a quick glance over the smooth expanse confirmed there was no-one there; not exactly a big surprise considering the clock above the desk showed the time to be 11.38 pm. On the left of the desk was a bank of elevators and next to it a set of stairs for those who preferred to get some exercise. Sam took the stairs. He was a hairsbreadth from the top and the landing for the first floor when he sensed a presence and ducked. Something long and heavy whistled the air over where his head would have been and buried itself in the plasterboard wall. Lunging to the other side of the stairs, Sam raised both light and gun. The beam of the flashlight caught a snarling face with pure black eyes. Sam fired, but demons can move unnaturally fast and this one dodged it. Powerful fingers gripped his jacket at the shoulders and lifted Sam off his feet, heaving him through a locked door. The flashlight went south, but Sam kept a hold of the pistol. The demon came in after him. Sam timed it perfectly and kicked the sonofbitch in the crotch. Funnily enough, even demons feel that explosion of pain. It staggered and this time when Sam pulled the trigger the bullet went where he aimed it. The demon collapsed, folding in on itself. Sam just hoped he’d caught the guy in a non-lethal spot. The sound of squealing brakes and tires on asphalt outside should have been a relief, but there was obviously more than one; which meant it wasn’t Dean. It was probably cops responding to an alarm. “Not good!” Keeping the pistol trained on the downed demon, Sam edged around it and back out of the splintered door frame. He was a few feet away when the head fell back and a stream of black erupted out of the gaping mouth and rocketed straight at Sam. He had a split-second awareness that it was going to try and possess him; then it hit him. The talisman that Bobby had given Sam was worn on a leather throng around his neck. Now, it heated up super fast and seemed to stick to his skin like a leech. It friggin’ hurt and Sam bent over. “Arghhh!” A vice wound tighter and tighter around his skull, crushing it to the point where Sam thought he was going to die. The same pain coiled around his chest and legs, squeezing the breath out of his lungs and the strength out of his arms and legs. Sam bellowed in pain just as the demon finally gave up and streamed back to the stairs and down. Panting and hoping he wasn’t going to spew, Sam sank to his knees on the tiled floor and unstuck the talisman, “Ow! Dammit!” Then he saw Maggie’s face through a partly glazed fire door. Thinking she was going to disappear again he staggered to his feet, but she opened the door and ran over to him, steadying him with an arm around his back. “Are you okay?” The simple answer was, no. He felt like he’d beaten from the inside out, but he figured it was better than being a demon’s meat puppet. “I’m fine.” She seemed to find that answer aggravating. Stepping away from him, Maggie glared and tossed up her hands. “Yes, well, it would be all your own bloody fault if you weren’t okay. For Gods sake, Sam! You have to stop following me. You’re going to get hurt.” “Don’t run off again,” he demanded holding up a hand as if it might stop her from disappearing again. “Sam,” she sighed in resignation. “I—” There were yells coming from the foyer and floating up the stairs; then gunshots and finally pounding feet. Sam pushed away from the wall and went to Maggie, snagging her wrist and pulling her towards the next flight of stairs, saying, “C’mon, we have to keep moving. I think the demon has found a new host.” She tugged at his grip as they climbed. Sam felt an uprush of molten frustration. Did no-one want him to save them? He rounded on her, “Stop pulling, away, Maggie. I’m not leaving you alone. Deal with it.” They clashed wills for a long suspended moment. “Everyone who has tried to help me has ended up hurt, or treated me like some prize until finally betraying me when it got too much for them” Maggie told him, “I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I prefer being alone?” “It’s not unreasonable. It’s just not happening.” Sam felt an ache of sympathy. There were real reasons for the fear and distrust that she carried around like a shroud and he had a feeling that he hadn’t even scratched the surface yet. Her hand was cold in his and he squeezed it to try and offer some mute reassurance. “We can’t stay here. We have to move.” Some unnamed emotion moved behind her tight expression and there was an ache in her eyes. “You can’t protect me.” He wouldn’t accept that. “I can try. I want to try.” Finally, she nodded. Up another flight of stairs, they reached the second floor landing and ran across it to another door. Sam dragged them into the third stairwell. This one was smaller and uncarpeted. A part of Sam not preoccupied with get them both away from a crazed demon, breathed a huge sigh of relief that something had broken through the ice encasing his emotions. Tonight, he felt more like himself and less like a mere shadow dredged up from hell, one who was fighting and failing to save his brother. The crazed demon was closing in though. There was a door at the top with a pressure bar and a padlock. Keeping Maggie behind him, Sam wrapped an arm around her head to cover her ears and carefully shot the padlock off. Kicking the bar slammed the door open and Sam and Maggie spilled out onto a flat roof. At the far end they could see the top of a fire escape. They raced for it. Maggie lost her balance and slipped to her knees. Sam grabbed her up again and they reached the ladder. Down below the Impala roared up the drive, mounted the lawn and sped towards them. “You go first,” Sam told Maggie. “When you get to the bottom get in the car. Dean’ll look after you.” “Wait, what—” “Now!” Out of the corner of his eye he saw a cop run out onto the roof with his weapon drawn. Sam hesitated, not knowing if this cop was possessed or not. Then the cop fired at him and the bullet zinged an inch past his right shoulder. Yup, he was possessed. Sam fired back, or tried to; the clip was empty. Not good. Swinging his leg over the side, he felt for the ladder rung and finding it, dropped below the roofline. The last thing he saw was the cop running full tilt for the ladder too. Down below Dean was yelling and Sam prayed that his brother had a bead on the demon. Next there was the sharp crack of a gunshot; then another. Hot, white pain sliced into Sam from the point where his shoulder met his neck. He wondered dimly if he’d been cleaved in two, and then he was lighter than air and falling, falling, falling. On some level he knew he was dying all over again and a different pain threatened to split him open. Tears stung. Christ. Dean’s sacrifice had been all in vain. He was gonna die anyway. The synapses of his brain seemed to fire indiscriminately. His thoughts were disjointed. At least Dean would be able to get Maggie away. Then Sam hit the ground with a sickeningly meaty thud. He felt something that was too overwhelming to be labelled as mere pain, and then nothing. The stars overhead twinkled invitingly and then winked out. All was black. Dimly he heard a noise that sounded like shouting and then Dean’s face appeared in place of the sky. He was speaking, shouting by the looks of it, but Sam couldn’t decipher the words. He opened his mouth to say sorry but couldn’t move his jaw. He was fading fast; dying. Lying there broken, Sam finally felt something and it was grief. Grief for himself and for Dean. They’d been screwed from childhood, and the crap that had happened, between then and now, had been nothing but death throes. Darkness crept in from the edge of his vision until there was almost nothing else. The last thing Sam saw was Maggie’s tear stained face joining Dean’s and lowering towards his. Illogically he wished he’d known her longer and gained her trust. He should have died then. But he didn’t. He felt lips touch his and then sensation rushed back into every atom of his body. Soft hair brushed his cheeks and jaw. Someone—Maggie—gasped against his lips and he wished he could open his mouth and catch that breath. Heat blossomed in his neck where he’d been shot and then burned along his spine and limbs, rising to a point that was almost unbearable. Then Maggie was gone and Sam sat bolt upright. ~ They’d found somewhere to keep her where nobody would hear her screams. Bobby’s friend, Harry Steadman, was also British and he told them what had to be done. She would suffer for healing Sam. Apart from the gunshot wound, Sam had broken almost every bone in his body with the fall, as well as crushing the back of skull and snapping his spine. She’d taken it all and they’d rushed her broken body back to the motel. Then had come the desperate search for somewhere remote. Bobby had found the cabin. It had seen better days in the last decade but there were no neighbours for miles and it had four walls and a roof. Maggie’s lips were cracked from screaming, but she’d finally lapsed into unconsciousness on the rough pallet they’d made for her. Sam curled his fingers around her hand, but didn’t tighten them in case he hurt her even more. Inside he was trembling so hard he wondered why he wasn’t shaking on the outside. Dean was taking a break. They took it in turns to look after her. Sam was always reluctant to leave her, but in the end he had to leave the cabin or crack from seeing her in agony twenty fours a day. They were all suffering. The first few days he’d puked him his guts outside when Bobby had taken his turn. After less than a day, Dean had gotten so desperate that he’d found a pharmacy and got some drugs but they hadn’t done a damned thing. Harry told them that healing people when there wasn’t an evil element required a payment—and Maggie paid. Sam did too; guilt over how he’d been before they’d found her in the junkyard, as well as the fact that she was suffering now because she’d dragged him back from the brink of death. When they weren’t watching over her, they were patrolling the woods around the cabin. So far the demons appeared to have given up. “We’re going to look after you, Maggie,” he told her. “You don’t have to live alone in fear anymore. I won’t let them get you. I won’t let them get any of us. That’s a promise.” Sam meant every word. He owed her in ways that even Dean and Bobby didn’t know. It wasn’t just his body she’d fixed. Ever since he’d come back after Dean’s demon deal, Sam had felt as if he’d brought something unclean along for the ride too. Now it was well and truly gone. Sam bet the crossroads demon was pissed. FINIS Note (3) I edited this from the original to take out the disallowed cussing. The few milder ones I did leave in, I've done so on the basis of the FAQ saying that they're okay between fictional characters. I hope I made the right judgement call. -----signature----- Purgatory (A/P AU) - http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/28225076/ I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly (SPN) - http://boards.theforce.net/non_star_wars_fan_fiction/b10808/28873939/p1/?0
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JadeSolo Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Sep '02	Date Posted: 8/5/08 10:49am Subject: RE: [Supernatural] I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly [one-shot]
	First off: Normal, IL! I've been in that area - I'm not surprised demons showed up. Dialogue between Sam and Dean was perfect. I loved the little details as well - Dean referring to Maggie as Whoopi and blasting Ozzy in the car. And you had me scared for a second - I thought Bobby was really dead. Hope to see more SPN from you! -----signature----- "If you expect a kick in the balls and you get a slap in the face, it's a victory." "May God bless you and keep you always...I mean that in a civic deist way." -Prof. Siegel "No guaranteed money, but all guaranteed fun!"
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Helen_Taft Registered: Mar '08	Date Posted: 8/5/08 11:43am Subject: RE: [Supernatural] I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly [one-shot] - Date Edited: 8/5/08 11:45am (1 edits total) Edited By: Helen_Taft
	Thanks for the reply and saving my blushes JadeSolo I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the story. I hope I didn't differ from the locale you know too much. As much as I'd adore to, I've not yet had the chance to visit the US, never mind the location I set the fic. It's all guesswork I'm afraid. posted: Hope to see more SPN from you! I've only written two fics for SPN, and unfortunately I'd have to delete 90% of the other one to make it fit for posting here (The title, 'How Sam Loves A Woman' pretty much acts as a summary too g). If I write any more though I'll be sure to post them here. Thanks again! -----signature----- Purgatory (A/P AU) - http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/28225076/ I Asked An Angel If I Could Fly (SPN) - http://boards.theforce.net/non_star_wars_fan_fiction/b10808/28873939/p1/?0
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