Chapter Text
Many of Book's memories came forth while he was sleeping. So did many of his visions.
The night Book had awakened Gabe by screaming the name "Anna!" over and over again had been perhaps one of the most notable. The child had been inconsolable, babbling on about monsters coming for Anna, and insisting that Gabe had to go get her.
Had to save her.
Three days later he returned with a three year old Anna in tow, shell shocked and half-crazed from watching the 'monsters' murder her parents. Gabe had taken one look at her, and realized what she was.
His instinct had been to leave her at a hospital somewhere, knowing her very presence could endanger Book and himself, but Book would have nothing to do with it. Looking into Book's sad, determined eyes, he'd reluctantly acquiesced, agreeing to attack to heal Anna's fragile psyche.
He had succeeded, and failed. Anna had come back to herself, but she had come back completely, with her angel memories. But unlike her previous life, where she had viewed Book as a dangerous abomination, in this life, she looked up to Book as a brother and confidant, and slowly Gabe came to realize how good she was for Book.
She helped fill in the empty space where his other family should have been.
In time, she grew to be an odd mix of human child and wise-cracking angel, with the ability to hear the other angels, but a completely human body. She was adventurous and spunky, embracing life in its extremes, and she helped pull Book out of his shell. Slowly, the trickster found his small family starting to grow.
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D : Since you're in Japan, could you stop by a shrine and confirm how many times you have to stab an okami?
B : ……...The hallux is the anatomically correct name for the big toe…
D: Which planet rotates clockwise on its axis?
B :……...Hot water will freeze faster than cold water, try that….
D : If it's indigenous to Appalachia, what kind of range are we actually talking about?
B:……...For august, you're going to want to find a hunk of peridot…
D: What the hell does URL stand for, anyway?
B :……..What do you know about teddy bears?
Dean frowned at the latest text from Book. He was only able to get the kid on the phone about one call out of three, but he was pretty reliable about returning texts, especially if it was case related. Getting personal information out of him still took a crowbar, but he divulged enough that Dean managed to tamp down his general state of panic. And the kid was a freaking encyclopedia of the nerdy and weird. Sure, Dean could ask Bobby, but having a reason to keep a (long-distance) eye on Book wasn't breaking Dean's heart. Still, this one was a little weird…
"Teddy Bears?" He asked, frowning down at his phone. Like, a cursed teddy bear? Then his eyebrows lowered even more when the phone actually started ringing .
"Book? What's wrong?" He couldn't have said why he assumed something was wrong, except this was the first time Book had ever taken initiative to call him.
"Hey, Dean. Um…" Book sounded…weird. Flustered and uncertain.
"Talk to me." Dean kept his voice calm as he took the gas nozzle out of the Impala's tank. "Where are you? Stateside, right?"
"Uh….Washington." Book sounded distracted. "I think…could you call Bobby for me?"
"The state or the cesspool?" Dean asked, then "Why do you need Bobby? Wait, teddy bears? Like, cursed teddy bears?"
"Well…" A jagged, disbelieving laugh. "He seems to think so…"
"The teddy bear? Okay, what's going on?" Dean frowned, even for a conversation with Book, Dean was feeling a little lost. And if the kid was in D.C. it was going to be a hell of a drive from where Dean was at in Billings. Granted, Dean could just…not go to him. Sure, he could do that….
"I…think I'm in over my head. My contacts got nothing…" Book sounded more and more rattled by the moment.
"Okay, I'll make you a deal." Dean said, keeping his voice easy as he slid in the driver's seat and rifled the glove box for some paper and a pen.
"Tell me where you're at, right now. Give me your weirdness and I’ll call it to Bobby. Bobby can start researching. I'll meet you and we'll deal with it." Dean wasn't above wheeling and dealing, and Book had been in the wind for several weeks now. Dean hadn't even known he was back in the country until his phone plan had stopped informing him he was making international calls.
"I don't think…" Book sounded hesitant. "I should let you go…".
Dean snorted. "Well, see, I'm already going to be curious, so may as well tag-team this one, huh? Throw me your weirdness." There was a long, pregnant pause. He could almost hear Book thinking in the silent hesitation.
"Book, have we ever not solved a job when we worked together?" Dean let the smile show in his voice. Yeah, the dynamic between Dean and Book wasn't like anything else he'd encountered, and the kid worried him half to death nearly all the time- but Dean had realized several weeks back that he liked it .
Worrying about his partner added a layer to the job, required more care and thought, but it also made Dean feel more…anchored. To everything, like he wasn't just watching a play featuring every other person around him. He didn't feel any of that dead space around Book, and suddenly, when he was with him, he was a part of the things happening around his life, instead of a bystander. And their "successfully solved cases" ratio was on point, no lie to be found there.
"Uh. Okay. Yeah, I'm at a loss on this one." Book sighed. "I think I need a drink. If that damn bear has left anything behind."
"Come again?" Dean asked. Did the kid mean a bear bear? Suddenly Dean grinned. "Dude, are you hunting bigfoot without me?" Surely the kid knew there was no such thing…
Right?
"Um, okay. Ghost activity, invisible, but not incorporeal." Book sounded like he was doing something at his end, Dean could hear things rustling.
"So, poltergeist?" Dean offered. "Also, Washington state, right?"
"Yes, a town named Concrete. Also, no emf, and it's supposedly very polite, for a ghost." Book was talking quickly again.
"Also, three big lottery winners in the last week. Zero police presence except for fish and game. Twelve weddings in the last 10 days. 11 missing people by my count, assume I don't know about all of them. Half the cars in town are sports cars which no one has any idea how to drive, for the record, all the stoplights seem to be permanently green. Also, everyone's kind of beautiful. All the houses look like they came out of a hgtv special, except it sort of seems like a lot of them are having kitchen fires. And then there's…the teddy bear." Of all the things that had come out of Book's mouth, his voice was just irritated until the end when it kind of…shook. "Oh, and Todd. Not 100% sure what's going on there, but if you see a little kid with bright green tennis shoes, just…walk the other way Dean, okay?"
"Book, have you been drinking?" Dean asked in concern as he pulled onto the freeway.
"Nope. This is the third store I've tried but the damn bear beat me. Not a drop to be found. Oh, and tell Bobby that it's not a trickster, but no matter what happens, the wishes go bad, man. They go bad…" With that, he hung up, leaving Dean to stare at his phone in bewildered confusion.
"What the hell did you get yourself into, kid?" He whispered, shaking his head before calling Bobby.
"Bobby, hey. Sounds like Book's caught a live one. I'm about eight hours out."
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Dean slowed down as he pulled into the town proper. He hadn't been able to get Book back on the line, and he'd been starting to panic when two texts had come through an hour ago.
B : Paek
B : ...park.
Looks like Book had found himself a drink or three…
"Park…where?" Dean said, slowing the car down to a crawl as he looked around what he guessed to be the main town square. It was a cute enough town, lake in the distance, mountains in the background. Kind of scenic. And yeah, so far all the lights had been green but it was 2 am…
And seriously, where exactly did Book want him to park?
Scowling, he tried Book's phone again but it just rang. "I'm going to be pissed if you got yourself in trouble in the last eight hours." It would be just Dean's luck that Book finally called him for help and Dean got there late. He didn't even know what they were hunting, only that his psychic was seriously freaked out. Spying a motel the next block over, he pulled in. Working his best charm smile, he leaned against the counter, chatting up the night clerk. "I was supposed to meet my friend, but he didn't say which motel. Tall kid?" Dean had no idea what alias Book had used to check in.
"This is the only motel, unless he's the B & B type." The bored clerk stopped popping his gum long enough to look Dean up and down searchingly. Grinning, he said "The B & B-"
"Not that kind of friend." Dean smirked in irritation. "He's not here? Freakishly tall, too much hair, looks like a puppy dog."
"Ahh, Nadine mentioned a tall guy. He's in 9, but I haven't seen him all night." The kid returned his attention to the tv, bored again.
Sighing, Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled out a card. "Give me room ten."
It wasn't much work to toss his duffel on his bed, and even less to pop the lock on Book's room. The place looked practically untouched, but his backpack and computer bag were present. Book was decidedly not present , and Dean had to roll his eyes.
"Traveling real light this time, kiddo." How did Book manage, seriously? What, two pairs of jeans, a laptop and his fancy knife? His vagabond lifestyle set Dean's teeth on edge and Dean was practically a rolling stone himself.
Closing the door behind him as he walked back out into the night, he frowned. He scanned the parking lot. Book hadn't mentioned a car, but obviously he had access to one. Still, his instincts told him Book was on foot and it was now 2:30 in the morning. Dean had been to dive bars still lighting up the night this late, but not in a town like this. And if Book was on foot….
Scoffing at himself, Dean walked out to the street, looking up and down. Finally shrugging, he started walking further downtown. If there was any nightlife to be found, it would probably be there…
Seeing a copse of trees and the silhouette of a swingset ahead on his right, he rolled his eyes at himself. Dean had read Book's text like a driver , but Book was a walker , and he'd told Dean he was at the park. Hell, for a drunk text it hadn't even been that ambiguous…
Dean snorted, shifted course to enter the park. It only took a few moments to locate one tall, vagabond psychic laying on top of a picnic table watching the stars.
"Hey kiddo. Going for some public intoxication?" Dean joked, looking at how Book sprawled there nearly bonelessly.
"I am…out of my weight class." Book announced, his words only a little slurred. "But there are no cops…at this moment…"
Dean's lips twitched, because of course the kid would be a lightweight. But as he got closer to the table, his eyebrows raised at the collection of empty bottles laying on the ground.
Okay, so the kid maybe wasn't such a lightweight, but that was a lot of helper for one hunter. "So uh, are we at the laughing stage, the crying stage or the puking stage?" Dean asked, hoping it was anything but the last one.
"Couldn't…let that damn bear...outdrink me…" Book said, holding up an only partially full bottle of Jameson.
"Here, here." Dean agreed, grabbing the bottle from Book before he spilled it on himself…or dropped the bottle on his own face.
"Be sure to fill me in on the bear later, when you're only seeing one of me." Dean said, coming to stand at the head of the table, grinning ruefully down at Book as he took his own drink from the bottle.
"You came." Book said, a touch of surprise in his voice. Two spots of color danced high on his cheeks.
"I did. Told you I would." Dean couldn't help but grin at the clearly, clearly drunk kid in front of him. But still, consider this obviously wasn't the first bottle, the kid was holding it together pretty damn good. Most hunters drank like fish and this would be enough to have them dancing around in a nightgown singing 'midnight margaritas'…
"Did you think I was lying?" Dean added, taking another drink from the bottle. To give the kid credit, it was good whiskey.
Book sighed, long and a little mournful. "Different hemispheres….s 'that's what you said. That we should be….different hemispheres…" The words were only slightly slurred.
Dean's gaze sharpened at that, even as his arms broke out in the gooseflesh. Because, yeah, the phrase 'different hemispheres' was exactly what he thought when Book took off for freaking Japan after that damn hunt, but he'd never said anything like that to Book. He hadn't wanted the kid to leave, had about had a damn heart attack when he disappeared…
"I never said that." Dean heard the thread of anger in his voice, saw Book sort of…wince…as the words came out. He broke eye contact with Dean, looking away.
Shit, had someone said something to him and that was why he'd spooked? But who? When? Forcing himself to be calmer, he asked "Did someone tell you that I said that?"
And once again, who? Because other than Jo, Ellen and Bobby, who had even known Book and Dean had been together? Bela? Anna?
"S'not a trickster." Book levered himself up suddenly, a surprisingly graceful move considering he had listed over at the end, almost toppling off the table.
Dean grabbed him on instinct, patting his shoulder as he adjusted his stance to stabilize him. "Yeah, I still don't know why you keep saying that, or what that has to do with you hunting bigfoot."
"Thought it was…trickster." Book was mumbling into his hands now, where he was scrubbing his face. "The old gods…police themselves, ya know? Not many left, but thought…a new one coulda popped up. But it's not…a god. Just…chaos….and…teddy bears….where's my drink?"
Any other time Dean might actually be a little amused at watching the kid tie one on, but he still had questions about who had been filling Book's head with garbage, it was late, Dean had driven nearly 9 hours straight, and according to Book, this town was weird -weird.
So being drunk in the park was probably not the best decision.
"Okay, well, I gave Bobby all the intel you gave me. He'll call us in the morning. Let's get you poured into a bed."
"Don't like the motel." Book answered immediately, sounding just a touch petulant, and Dean was again swamped with a sense of frustrated fondness . He should be irritated as all get-out right now, but he kept having to stifle the urge to chuckle.
"Well, that would explain drinking in the park." Dean said as agreeably as he could, pulling a wobbly Book to his feet, hoping he could walk. Book continued to grumble softly under his breath, but Dean couldn't quite make out all of the words.
"What's wrong with the motel?" Dean hazarded the question.
"Hell's empty and the devils are here." Book announced with a flourish, suddenly waving one arm out dramatically, nearly falling over in the process.
Dean first grabbed him, hauling him back upright, then froze for a second, and then shook his head. Book didn't mean actual devils because no way in hell would the kid have left himself so vulnerable around actual hellspawn.
"Okay, the decor was crap, I'll admit it, but I wouldn't exactly call it a hellscape…" He joked as he draped the kid's arm back over his shoulder.
"You…said it. Not going to talk about it because it's right here ..." Book said the words with grave emphasis, tapping his temple.
Dean just chuckled, lost again. The kid was toasted, even if he was walking in a surprisingly straight line. His walnut was officially pickled for the night, at least.
"Okay, well, tomorrow…or whenever that bitch of a hangover goes away, we're gonna talk about what people are telling you I said, okay?" The night was calm as Dean continued to steer them back towards the motel.
"It's…s'bad room. Bad dreams." Book said, sounding mournful again.
Well, dreams Dean had experience with, maybe not like Book, but still. Most hunters could fill up every appointment slot at a shrink's office and still leave with the couch.
"We'll just put you in mine." Dean said with a shrug, then cursed as the shrug started to unseat Book, the younger man listing to the side once again. Did he have to be so tall?
"Still…be loud." Book was actually pouting now, Dean could hear it in his voice. "Whole damn town…so loud."
"Yeah? That why you found a liquor store and drank it?" Dean teased, patting his shoulder encouragingly. He wasn't sure what Book meant by loud, but it was probably a psychic thing.
Book just shook his head. "Damn….teddy bear."
Dean was about to salt and burn this damn bear, wherever it was, just to get it off Book's mind. "We'll take care of the bear tomorrow, okay?" The motel was just ahead.
Book pulled up short, looking at Dean with a face full of grave misgivings. "Are you…going to shoot the bear?"
Dean looked back, uncertain as to what was the right answer, that is, the answer that would get Book safe and sound in bed for a few hours. "Do you want me too?"
Book stood still, as if he was searching himself deep inside. "I….don't know. Maybe."
It looked even his own answer alarmed him and Dean was starting to move from amused to vaguely alarmed himself. Even for Dean, this conversation was getting a little weird.
"I'll handle the bear, Book. I promise. Whatever needs to be done, I'll do it. You don't shoot anyway, right?" Dean wasn't sure if that was the correct answer, but it sounded reasonable enough…
"Yeah. Yeah, I don't shoot things anymore." Book agreed after a moment. "Was…a good shot though…still…not enough."
Again, his mumbled answer only left Dean with more questions. Unfortunately, at that moment, Book pivoted, perhaps intending to return to his picnic table.
"Nope, nope. Nuh-uh, kid. Bed . Bed is good, bed is your friend." Dean said, quickly redirecting him towards Dean's room.
Dean had gotten the Winchester special, two queens, and that worked for him since he still had no idea what Book had gotten him into, and securing one room beat securing two for the night.
He got Book in the room and somewhat situated on the far bed. He pulled off his sneakers and his outer shirt, but didn't worry about his jeans or shirt. He doubted the kid was sober enough for it to matter.
"Dean!" Book grabbed his shoulder suddenly, voice urgent.
"What's up kiddo?" Dean said, running a hand through his hair. Kid was damn lively for three sheets to the wind.
"You shouldn't have come." Book sounded so earnest. "Hope…" he flopped onto the bed, spread-eagle, closing his eyes, "Will be the death of you."
And like that, he was out, leaving a wide-eyed Dean staring at him. "Ouch." Dean actually said the word out loud. "What's that supposed to mean?"
There was no answer but a soft snore. Dean shook his head. "Sounding more and more like a hunter by the day, Book."
Shaking his head, he went about securing the room for just about anything he could, then ran next door and got Book's bags, bringing them back to his room. He found some tylenol and a bottle of water and left them on the night table for Book, then crawled into bed himself.
He dreamed of an apocalyptic wasteland, and a man in white, someone Dean hated and loved at the same time. In the morning, the dream drifted away, with only one stray thought remaining as the sun pushed through the curtains.
"We keep each other human."
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Dean awoke with a mild groan, stretching his arms above his head. Glancing over, he narrowed his eyes at the other bed, then chuckled quietly. The kid had the blankets pulled up around him like he'd built himself a damn nest. At least he hadn't kicked them off in the night like he usually did. At some point, he must have woken up and taken the tylenol and drank the water Dean had left out for him before returning to bed.
Probably a good call since waking up for good would probably feel like dying after everything he'd drank last night. Though he'd held it down pretty good, considering. He didn't seem like he'd be the drinking type, but he'd been raised mostly overseas, and Dean knew a lot of the European countries weren't as asinine about alcohol and kids, so for all he knew, Book had grown up drinking wine at dinner when he was twelve.
The air conditioner kicked on then, ruffling the curtains above it, and a few errant beams of sunlight fell across Book's face. His brow scrunched up, obviously not a fan of the lightshow. He rolled over, nestling deeper into the blankets. Dean chuckled again, getting out of bed and padding softly over to the minifridge. Pulling out a bottle of gatorade (glad he'd never gotten rid of his shaky-psychic supplies), he put it on the nightstand as Book restlessly turned back over, obviously getting closer to waking whether he intended to or not.
Dean wanted to tease the kid a little, considered bringing back the smelliest breakfast food he could find, but he hesitated.
Book was generally pretty level headed, except for a chronically guilty conscience that made him feel like he had to save everyone all the time. So what had driven the kid to drinking alone in a park where anything could have grabbed him?
The longer Dean considered it, the more uneasy he felt. It had been kind of cute, in a way, last night. Like coming home for the weekend and catching your kid brother in Dad's hooch. But it had been dangerous as hell, too, and that just wasn't how Book acted, sure, he took risks, but not usually overtly stupid ones.
He dressed quickly, scratching out a quick note to Book that he left on the nightstand-
"Went to get food, call me as soon as you wake up . Drink the gatorade." He underlined "call me as soon as you wake up" twice for good measure, then headed out, checking the salt lines and locking the door behind him.
Heading towards the impala, he paused, remembering Book's unease about his own motel room. Pursing his lips, he turned back to the door beside his own and opened it, this time with the key he'd taken from Book. Carefully, he turned around, studying it as best he could. It was a mirror twin to his own, two queens, same wallpaper, same bedspreads. The only difference was that the furniture was flipped, situated against the opposite wall.
So why had it rattled him so much?
He began checking more thoroughly, the closet, the bathroom, even under the beds. Weird shit was happening, and witches weren't shy with hex bags and other assorted nastiness. He pulled out the compass he carried, but the needle found north like normal. Hell, the room even smelled like his.
But Book had been adamant about his room, and hadn't so much as fussed about Dean's. It could just be a psychic thing, Book had referred to the whole town as noisy, much as he had the hospital….
Dean sat on the bed furthest from the door, trying to imagine what Book would have seen….
"I'm not going to lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it…"
For a minute, Dean almost imagined he could hear a voice, his own voice, saying words he didn't remember saying, at least not to Book. Lord knew there were topics he'd prefer to avoid like the plague, yet at the same time, he was pretty sure that if Book had insisted on talking to him about something, Dean would probably spill.
He didn't have much of a defense against the kid, not that Book seemed inclined to use it against him. Book went far out of his way to respect Dean's boundaries, notably far, in fact. Even if he'd asked a question that had made Dean uncomfortable, the second he realized it, he'd backtrack with an apology.
And yet, Dean once again had a smattering of gooseflesh dance across his arms, that almost-absence prickling behind his eyelids again.
Whatever. Book was right. This was a crappy room.
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Dean let himself into the motel room as quietly as possible, frowning when he saw Book's empty bed. The kid was shit at following directions. He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door, which was only partially closed, probably to let light in since Book was sitting on the lidded toilet, bare chested and barefooted, no more than jeans and the towel he was using to dry his hair.
In the dark.
He was so hungover .
Dean forced down the snort. He wanted to tease, wanted it like he wanted pie , in fact, but the bigger part of him didn't want Book to regret calling him for back up. There was always time for teasing later. Book already seemed constantly worried that he was holding Dean back, or that he might endanger him. Dean wasn't sure how he'd take the teasing, especially since they hadn't spoken in person in weeks, save last night's little drunken ramble.
No, today he was just going to be a good partner. Every time they met, Book had started off skittish, finally relaxing enough that Dean didn't expect him to bolt at any given second. Hopefully, the hangover would cut that off at the knees. They could go straight to working the case together.
Dean was pleased the younger man had called him for help, and had acknowledged they worked well together. He knew Book had felt guilty about his injury back in the woods. It had already nearly healed though, it wasn't even tight anymore. Hopefully, Book could see Dean in action and realize it had simply been a scratch on a hunt. Standard Winchester procedure. As far as holding Dean back? On the contrary, Dean thought Book had done almost frighteningly well on the Greeley job, given the circumstances.
Dean wanted to keep working with him, often if not all the time. He liked how they worked together, liked how Dean knew instinctively that Book would tell him if he got something wrong .
Or, not wrong, per se. But not as right as it could be. He could be sympathetic when Dean couldn't. He could be kind when Dean didn't feel kind. He asked the right questions, the questions that gave Dean the answers he didn't even know he was looking for. He could bring knowledge to the case that made Dean more likely to swing at the right target the first time.
There were times Dean lacked grace, as Pastor Jim had once said. And Dean knew it, owned it, honestly.
But Book didn't. Sometimes Dean thought he lacked common sense, but he embodied freaking grace. Not the ballerina kind of grace, but the kind of grace that turned down middle school crushes and left actually friendship in its place, grace. The give-up-a-seat-to-the-person-who-was-unkind-to-you grace. And while it didn't bother Dean as a person, as a hunter, that he lacked that kind of grace, he always wondered if he'd gotten it as right as he could.
Lord knew, John Winchester lacked grace, so Dean obviously came by it naturally. But sometimes on jobs, even when Dean knew intellectually that he'd accomplished everything necessary, he felt like he was still missing something, some little thing that would have made things just a little bit better for the civilians he was leaving in Baby's wake when he high tailed it out of town.
Instinctively, he knew that with Book with him, he'd get it right.
Also, if he was going to worry about the kid regardless, he may as well have him around. Plus, he liked the kid, liked working with him.
"Scale from one to stepping on a Lego, how bad is it?" Dean asked, forcing himself not to chuckle at Book's immediate bitchface.
Good partner, good partner, be a good partner…
"Bed of legos". The kid finally muttered.
Dean winced in sympathy but bit back a snort, holding out his sunglasses. "Come on out, I got food. And juice. And coffee."
It was obviously the promise of coffee that finally drew the younger man out of the bathroom, even as he waved away the sunglasses.
Standing in front of the table, Book just shook his head at all the food present. "I'm too busy dying to eat, Dean."
Dean pressed his lips together, praying he could hold back the laughter. "Try the toast and the juice. There's bacon too, the best hangover cure I know…"
His words trailed off at the absolutely affronted look Book was giving him, the utter betrayal….
"Touchy…" Dean murmured. Sighing, he pulled out a chair and gently pushed Book into it, pulling the styrofoam container with the toast closer. "Start small, it'll get better. Plus, once you can eat something, you can have some ibuprofen."
Waiting until the kid gingerly picked up a piece of toast and started nibbling on it, Dean chuckled a little to himself before sitting across from him. He'd eaten his own breakfast quickly back at the diner, knowing the smell of his omelette would almost certainly have chased Book back into the bathroom.
Now, satisfied that Book was moving out of the hangover danger zone, he studied him. He looked like crap, but it looked more or less like the expected crap- pasty, a little sweat on his forehead, pain lines near his eyes.
So, hungover. Other than that, just a touch on the thin side, like normal. No bruises or other injuries that Dean could see.
"This your first hunt since you've been back stateside?" He asked finally. He would never get over his unease at the idea of Book hunting on his own, even if he was trained to track and fight demons. Dean's own father would have tanned his hide for trying that on his own at Book's age.
Taking a long pull from his coffee, Book nodded slowly. "Wasn't sure it was actually a hunt, just had a weird taste to it, you know?" He mumbled, eating some more toast.
Dean nodded, Book's choice of words amusing him, though he understood. Sometimes on a hunt, he caught that same feeling, like the air itself had a funny taste to it. "What caught your attention?"
"Lottery winners, three from the same town." Book said. "That and the engagement announcement section being about three pages long."
Dean frowned. "It's summer, most people get married in the summer, right?" Seemed like he's caught something like that on tv once….
Book nodded. "Yeah, but those weddings are usually planned months in advance, sometimes years. This was the announcement page. More engagements announced in two weeks than the last two years.”
"Witchcraft?" Dean guessed, always one of his first go-tos anytime anything even close to love spells were mentioned.
"Damned if I can find so much as a single witch, much less a coven. No hexbags, no sacrifices, no suspicious anythings . Then I started noticing how everything around town was wrong." Book frowned into his coffee cup like it had betrayed him on a personal level.
"Wrong how?" Dean asked, frowning.
"Like, Holly-weird wrong." Book said, finally chewing on a piece of bacon, pulling a face as he did.
Dean did snort out loud that time. "Holly-weird?"
Book waved a hand tiredly. "Something Anna says. You see it in LA, or those cities where the entertainment industry is big. Everyone's a little too pretty, a little too nicely dressed, the diamonds are a little too big, all the cars are straight out of a magazine but people keep crashing them because they don't know how to drive them. The houses look amazing, the lawns are perfectly manicured…"
"Okay, so it's one of those towns." Dean offered, playing devil's advocate.
Book shook his head. "Yeah, but even those kinds of places aren't that perfect. Feels like the background on a tv show. And despite all the car crashes, no one's getting tickets. I haven't seen a cop since I got here, except for when I caught fish and game talking to the town drunk."
"Which is how you ended up hunting bigfoot?" Dean teased, no longer able to hold back.
If possible, Book went even paler. "Did you mean what you said, last night…that you'll..take care of the bear?"
Dean just blinked at him, impressed that he was even able to remember any of the conversation from last night.
"Well, yeah." He answered, nonplussed. "What's up with the bear, anyway?"
"I think…you just have to see it to understand." Book whispered, actually whispered.
"Jesus, kid. Why'd you wait so long to call?" Dean asked. "Shit gets too weird, call in backup, remember how that works?" In particular, Dean would prefer if he'd call Dean , but anything was better than being drunk in the park at 2 am…
"Things escalated quickly." Book mumbled into his coffee. "Did Bobby have anything to say?"
"Well, he suggested a trickster, but I told him you'd already ruled that out. I gotta be honest, I don't think I even know what a trickster is, much less how you rule it out." Dean smiled as he said the words, but in the back of his mind, a fragmented memory was stirring.
Trickster …he'd heard Book say it, but someone else had, too…. but when ?
"Tricksters are…gods. Deities." Book said, finally.
Dean nodded, gesturing with his hand for Book to elaborate, the kid was the encyclopedia of weird, after all. Book watched him cautiously over his coffee cup, obviously wrestling with something internally, but eventually he nodded.
"Most gods are old, but tricksters are born out of chaos, usually, so they can pop up, new ones, that is." Book added, now looking anywhere but at Dean.
Dean frowned, wondering just how bad the kid's headache must be. "What religion?"
"Uh…most of the old ones had a trickster or two, different names, same recipe, basically. But chaos doesn't require religion…"
"So enough chaos, like wars or even natural disasters.." Dean offered.
Book nodded. "It doesn't happen often, but yeah, new ones can spring into being. And Tricksters tend to start off small but end up big. Especially newborns, outside a structured pantheon where the other gods keep them in check."
"I'm sorry, kid gods?" Dean asked.
Book shifted, looking more uncomfortable by the moment, maybe the toast wasn't settling as good as Dean hoped. "There aren't a lot of tricksters around." Book said. "I only know of a few…"
"How many? Are they kids?" Dean asked.
"Three that I know of." Book scrubbed his face again, looking pale and antsy. "Um, pain killers?"
"Shit, yeah. Hold on." Dean surged to his feet, digging around in his duffel. "Anyway, Bobby's next best bet was a curse or a cursed object."
Book nodded. "I think that's right, I just don't know what the object is."
Dean nodded, settling back into his seat. "Okay, well, the theory is that people are making wishes which come true but somehow go wrong?"
Book nodded, throwing back the medication with a drink of his juice. He'd ignored the rest of the bacon but at least he was picking at the hashbrowns.
"But it can't be every wish in town, just the kids would be creating chaos. There'd be unicorns and robots and everything else. Right now there's just Todd…and Teddy." Book shuddered.
"Okay, that's it. What is up with the damn bear?" Dean wanted to let a little more of the kid's hangover melt away, but every time Book brought up that damn bear he looked worse …
Book was staring at him, mouth slightly gaped, like a goldfish. Finally he shook his head. "I think it's better for you to see for yourself." He said finally. "I'll give you the address."
Dean just shot him a look, shaking his head in disagreement.
"Dean…." Book was looking around the room. "I think I should stay here and research-"
"No chance in hell, kid." Dean was grinning, he couldn't help it. He didn't know what was freaking out the kid so badly, but obviously it needed to be dealt with for his piece of mind.
"I'll deal with it. But you're coming with me."
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Dean stared quizzically at the house in front of him. The lawn looked a little overgrown, like it had gone a few too many days without being cut, but other than that, it looked like an ordinary house on a fairly ordinary street.
"Okay, what is it, a freaking care bear?" Dean asked, chortling despite himself. He looked over at where Book was slouched in his seat, leaning against the door. He'd taken Dean up on the offer of sunglasses about twelve seconds after leaving the motel room.
"More like…existential crisis bear…" Book muttered under his breath. "I sent Audrey to stay with a neighbor."
"Who's Audrey?" Dean asked.
"She's the wisher." Book answered, shuddering again as he slowly climbed out. "Anyway, the house is unlocked. Let's…get this over with."
Dean forced down another laugh. Christ, the kid looked soooo freaked up a hand, he wiped the smile off his face. "I'll go first. I promised I'd handle it, right?"
Dean had never been a big brother, but the look the kid shot at him screamed 'relief' even with the shades, and Dean wondered if this was sort of what Ellen meant when Jo had been younger and she'd asked Dean to take more care with her feelings.
Because Book was kind of looking at him like he was ten feet tall, and Dean kind of liked the feeling. Smiling reassuringly, he clapped Book on the shoulder. "I got this, man. We're good."
Dean had thought perhaps they should go around back, but Book just opened the front door and walked in. "Someone wished the cops away, I think."
"I mean, traffic court sucks but it seems a little extreme." Dean tried to lighten the mood with a joke. Book only shook his head, gesturing upstairs.
Rolling his eyes, Dean began a slow ascent. Book didn't seem to be worried about stealth, yet Dean could pick up an almost palpable sense of dread coming from him. Coming to a closed door with the name 'Audrey" spelled on it in pink, bedazzled letters, he realized Book had stopped a few feet away.
"You good?" Dean whispered.
Book shook his head, looking green around the sunglasses he was still wearing even inside the house. "Teddy's a projector. He's loud from here. And….he's gotta stop listening to Jerry Springer…"
"What-" Dean hadn't got more than a word out when the sound of a gunshot echoed from inside the room.
Eyes widening, Dean instinctively shot out a hand to block Book from coming closer while drawing his gun with his other hand, kicking the door in with his foot. What he saw however had his hand lowering in confused disbelief.
The room itself looked like a little girl's room, pink and frilly, with toys and a canopied bed. It was currently decorated in a rather impressive variety of skin mags and beer bottles, however. And whiskey bottles. And wine bottles. The tv was on in the background, Jerry Springer egging on two bleach blonde women as they wrestled on stage, screaming.
And all that excluded the thing in the center of the room, the impossible, improbable thing sitting in a rocking chair in the center of the room, square in front of the tv.
Dean knew what normalcy bias was, understood it was eighty percent of the reason he was able to do his job, for the average person, seeing the impossible was literally that- impossible . They told themselves that wendigos were bears, ghosts were faulty wiring and vampires were animal attacks.
But Dean's brain came up blank when he finally managed to make his eyes focus on the bear .
The freaking teddy bear.
It had to be eight feet tall, more probably. A dark espresso brown, a lurid pink bow around its neck. Its shiny button eyes (if shiny, creepy buttons came in salad plate sizes) focused on Dean in shocked disbelief. Dean realized with a growing sense of unreality that it was armed, and that it had, in fact, placed that gun in its felt padded mouth.
It had…attempted to commit suicide, Dean realized in horror even as the last little bits of stuffing ( teddy bear brains? ) floated gently down to the ground, landing like fake snow among the garbage.
What the actual fuck-
"Book, go back downstairs and wait in the car." And Dean had never been a big brother, but that was a pretty good facsimile of a big brother voice, Dean reckoned.
"Dean, I don't feel good about leaving you.." Book said.
Dean jerked his head towards the kid, about to reiterate his command when he realized Book was already hightailing it down the stairs in true little brother fashion, getting the hell out of dodge.
"Well, that makes sense. He has practice being the little brother…" Dean muttered to himself, nodding, realizing that his own thoughts were a little disjointed.
"Please…I just want the tea parties to stop."
The bear could speak…
Knowing better, Dean still couldn't help but ask-
"Tea Parties?"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
The bear could scream.
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Three minutes later Dean was climbing into the impala with jerky movements, breathing hard.
"Dean…" Book's question was half-whispered.
"Not a teddy bear Doctor…" Dean whispered back, starting the car. "It's important to know when you're fighting outside your weight class, kid. You did good. Best you could. Best either of us could."
His words, while technically directed at Book, were mostly tossed over to him as Dean broke the now nonexistent speed limit getting out of the neighborhood.
"Did you…shoot the bear?" Book whispered finally.
Dean just shook his head grimly. "Bullets don't work on that thing, man. When I left it was on the internet looking for bridges, I think-"
Just then a hot orange sports car cut them off, nearly running the impala off the road as Dean slammed on the brakes. "What the hell!" Dean swore, staring at the car as it continued on its way without even slowing down.
"No one can drive the sports cars." Book mumbled, sliding further down in his seat as Dean merely gaped at him.
He looked like he was mentally checking out of this situation, chin on his chest, shades still on, one hand tiredly rubbing his temples. "So loud."
Finally, Dean exhaled, putting the car back into drive. Book had warned him…
The next two sports cars didn't come as close, Dean was getting better at watching out for them, but the fourth one literally came out of nowhere.
It was also driverless, having skidded into the intersection on its roof, ending with an almost idle spin, mirror cracked and barely hanging on. In the distance, Dean thought he could hear something, or maybe someone, roaring.
"Oh, come on, someone has to actually be driving them, right?" Dean said in exasperation, gesturing towards the upside car, which was beginning to smolder.
Just then, a kid, little, maybe eight at the most, walked into the intersection screaming.
"Are his shoes green?" Book asked urgently, slinking further down in his seat.
"Wha-umm. Yeah?" Dean said, wide eyed.
"Do. Not. Engage. With. Todd." Book said the words very slowly, very calmly. "No eye contact."
"Book, what the hell, it's a kid-"
Dean was cut off by the sight of the kid, Todd presumably, walking over and lifting the sports car over his head….
Dean put the impala in reverse.
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"Okay, so the whole town is crazy. Dingo ate my baby crazy." Dean said, nodding to himself as he drove ( anywhere Todd wasn't) away.
"What else? You said a ghost?" Dean looked over at Book, who was surprisingly smiling.
"Uh, yeah." Damned if the kid didn't chuckle a little. "It was actually the first time I thought of calling you. Because…" He broke off, snickering.
"Oh god, is it actually bigfoot?" It turned out Book laughing about this crazy town was almost as bad as his drinking as far as Dean's 'oh fuck' meter was concerned.
"No, but the local women's health club apparently has a haunted shower room." Book offered, lolling his head on his palm, face turned towards the breeze from his open window.
In the background, Todd roared again but both men ignored it.
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"Maybe I dropped it somewhere along the way…" Dean muttered, smacking the EMF detector gently- ish .
Snorting, Book grabbed it neatly from his hands. "Stop. You'll break it."
Flicking his eyes over at the kid, who finally looked like he'd rejoined the land of the living, Dean decided to give in to his playful side. "It's already broken. Like my heart…"
His voice mournful, he glared at the 'closed' sign on the women's health club door. With the way things were going, the owner had probably received a check from the publisher's clearing house and was half-way to the hamptons.
"It's not broken, yet. Keep hitting it and it will be." There it was again, just that tiny trace of know-it-all smugness.
It should be annoying as hell, Dean was a grown ass man, after all. But instead, somehow, it was comforting. Like pulling on his favorite Metallica tshirt, or when Wayward Sons came on the radio all on its own.
He wondered if Book was like that when he was more comfortable. How much of his gentleness and reasonableness was for Dean's sake, and Dean was getting a quick glance behind the curtain because of Book's hangover or perhaps, because Book was finally feeling comfortable enough to be imperfect around Dean?
Dean really hoped it was the second one. The kid had called him, after all. You had to be at least a little comfortable with someone to ask for help, right? Granted, coming face to face with Teddy had caused a mini-existential crisis in Dean that had made him desperately wish for John, Bobby, hell, even Rufus , so that probably shouldn't be discounted.
"It's like I told you. No emf. No strobing on the security cameras. No cold spots. No. Ghosts." Book declared.
"Hey, check the batteries." Dean said, purposefully jostling Book's shoulder gently, laughing when the kid managed a dancing half-step out of Dean's reach.
"This is why you can't have nice things." He raised a brow so high Dean could see it even with the sunglasses on.
Dean stopped suddenly as a horrifying (but possibly brilliant) idea struck him. "Dude, do you think we could sick Todd on Teddy?" The words came out before he'd had a chance to stop them, and he looked at Book warily.
"Dean…." Book shook his head, looking at Dean like he'd never seen him before.
"I know, I know, I'm twisted-" Dean threw up his hands, afraid he'd taken the joke too far.
Book just shook his head sadly. "This is why I was drinking in the park, you know? I couldn't figure out who would win. It can't be a death match, because I don't know if Teddy can die. And Todd, is it just strength? There's too many variables ..."
Dean was so shocked he nearly tripped over his own feet, and then he burst out laughing.