Episode Eleven: End Game

By Kittsbud & BurstynOut

Part Two

"No way, man," Sam argued. "We're not breaking him out of there. First of all, we get caught, and we're all gonna be in jail. Second, the fugitive lifestyle sucks, in case you haven't noticed. Not only will he be living on the run, but it would destroy his career, if it isn't already shot to hell."

"So, he gets a regular job and becomes a televangelist or online pastor. He'll get over it, Sam. Dead is something he won't get over," Dean stated, sliding into the car.

"Still, let's try it my way first," Sam beseeched. "If it doesn't work, we'll go with Plan B."

"As long as Plan A doesn't involve any of your stupid costumes," Dean glared over his shades.

"Dude, I'm Plan A, you're Plan B. Plan A picks the costumes, Plan B shuts his cakehole."

"Oh, God, kill me now." Dean sighed, leaning his head back against the headrest. He turned the key, bringing the Impala to life, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

* * * *

Clark County Sheriff’s Office
South Dakota

Sam looked through the Impala’s window at the small Sheriff’s office they were parked outside and wondered if they could actually pull off their little subterfuge. It was a modern structure, bristling with activity-not at all the kind of place he’d envisaged as he’d researched the town on their trip from Texas. But then, nothing about this gig was turning out to be what it seemed.

Sam had hacked into every scrap of evidence and pulled every string he could, but so far, there was no way to get Kyle released except to break him out. The priest had been caught red handed with the murder weapon, and he had no excuse for what had happened. In fact, Kyle had refused to say anything to the police about the incident at all, therefore sealing his own fate in the eyes of the law.

“Told you all those law books wouldn’t do you or your Plan A one bit of good, geek boy.” Dean ignored the two deputies milling around outside and began rifling through his box of fake I.D.’s. “Think I should go with a Fed or just a regular cop?”

Sam winced. Dean’s window was down, and it was quite probable the two deputies could hear their conversation. Nevertheless, Dean was being his usual brash self. “I’d go with the regular cop,” he offered in a somewhat more subdued voice than his brother. “Small town Sheriff’s Departments tend to get a little irked if they think the Feds are treading on their toes.”

Dean nodded in agreement, selecting a Dakota State Police badge from the plethora he’d drummed up earlier. He grinned roguishly as he flashed the I.D. at his sibling. “Officer Hetfield is a pretty handsome fella, don’t you think?”

“Officer Hetfield is a jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re going to walk in there, flash that thing, and hope you get away with it? Dude, some day someone is going to call you on all the names you steal for I.D.’s.”

Dean instantly thought of his lone trip to Burkitsville when a local man had, indeed, called him on his fake identity. He wasn’t about to divulge that little incident to Sam, however. The less he remembered about that "scarecrow" town the better. “Hey, you could always go in there and do the rescuing. This guy is your buddy. I don’t even know him.”

“Dean, he saved your life back in Missouri. I think the least we can do is return the favor.” Sam watched the two deputies climb into their cruiser and drive off towards the center of town. He let out a breath, relieved that two less cops would be anywhere near the building while Dean was in there lying his ass off. “Besides, he knows things, things I don’t even know…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the picture, little brother. I just hope this guy has better taste in food than you if I’ve gotta spend time in a motel room with him.” Dean pushed open the weighty Chevy door and climbed out, thankful there was at least no costume involved. He straightened his jacket and then leaned low to have the last word through the window. “He’s not a health food nut is he? Because no way can I stand two of you.”

Sam plucked an empty sandwich wrapper from the floor that had contained lunch only an hour earlier and tossed it across the car at his brother.

Dean expertly dodged the projectile and wiggled his eyebrows cheekily. “You never could aim worth a p…”

“Dean! Will you just go already?” Sam stretched over to the driver’s side and hastily wound up the Impala’s window to avoid further discussion. Most days he could put up with Dean’s audacity, but today he was scared it would land them all in jail. Or worse.

After all, if the two murder victims had been killed by a demon to set up their friend Kyle, then that could also mean the Winchesters were walking into a trap. Kyle was special, as was Sam, and what was happening here was no coincidence. Just get in and out fast, Dean.

* * * *

Dean swaggered into the Sheriff’s office using an intentionally slow gait. While Sam might want to race in, grab Kyle and haul ass, Dean appreciated the fact that that kind of behavior drew unwanted attention. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t use caution, but on this occasion Dean had already noted his judgment was slightly clouded by past events.

Sam liked the priest. Heck, Sam thought the guy was special and had saved their lives. The latter Dean didn’t deny, but was Father Williams being set up, or had his gifts sent him over the edge and made him a killer like Max? It was a thought that had crossed the elder Winchester’s mind a couple of times on the journey here, and it was something he wouldn’t be able to answer until he met Williams face to face, without Sam in the room.

“Can I help you, sir?” A young Deputy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and Dean was disappointed to note that it was a guy. It was so much more fun when the small town cops were chicks to flirt with.

“I’m Officer Hetfield. I’m here to pick up a prisoner.” Dean flashed his phony badge so fast that the Deputy would have missed the motion if he had blinked. “I’m supposed to transfer Kyle Williams to Watertown P.D. for further questioning.”

The Deputy pulled a clipboard from an adjacent desk and swiftly rifled through an abundance of paperwork. As he read the last sheet, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don't have anything here to confirm any kind of transfer for Williams. Do you have the relevant documents from Watertown?”

Dean had expected as much, and, as always, had come prepared. It was amazing what could be achieved on the brothers’ laptop graphics program if you had a flair for such manipulations.

“Right here.” Dean tapped his pocket and then stuck a hand in, pulling out several sheets of somewhat crumpled transfer papers. Now for a little name dropping, and hopefully all would be well. “Look, I’m already running late and taxiing this killer priest is not my idea of a fun shift. Maybe you should just call my superior and get this straightened out?”

The Deputy looked uncertainly at the documents he’d been given. While they did seem in order, it was against procedure to make a move without the duplicate documents at this end. On the other hand, the Sheriff might be irked if he spent all day ringing Watertown to confirm what was already in black and white in front of him.

“You need to speak to Captain Halling,” Dean pushed, knowing that, if the cop checked, there was, indeed, such an officer. “Or you could go right to the Chief. Jo and I go way back. Sweet lady, I can tell you.” Dean winked mischievously, even though he actually had no clue what the Watertown police chief looked like.

“I…um, I think I better okay this with the Sheriff first.” It was obvious the Deputy was still pretty green. He was nervous and yet eager to please his superior.

Dean crossed his arms and looked around the walls as if he had all day. “Sure, I understand. Your Chief here probably knows Jo too. Maybe he’ll call her up. Busy lady, though…”

The young cop gulped. “Just a second. I’ll be right back.” Dean grinned as the rookie scooted to his desk and checked the names he’d dropped on his computer. Within a minute, the Deputy returned. “I’ll need some signatures on the release forms. Sorry about the formalities, but normally the Deputy Sheriff deals with all this.”

Dean nodded knowingly. It was unfortunate, or rather, very coincidental, that said Deputy Sheriff had been called to a drunken and pretty violent brawl at a local bar not ten minutes previously. Of course, when he and the other cops arrived and found no scuffle, they’d be right back. So, even as he acted casually, Dean really couldn’t waste too much time.

“No problem.” Dean smiled and signed the forms that were offered up. It was actually quite amusing to be using one of his idols' signatures, especially right under the rookie’s nose. People today just have no taste in music!

“If you’d just like to wait here, I’ll have Williams brought through from the cells.” The Deputy smiled now, thinking his boss would be pleased with how he’d handled the situation during his superior’s absence.

“Excuse me, did I hear the name correctly?” A tall, rather lean man in a dark suit appeared through the front double glass doors. He wore small, wiry glasses, and his deep, beady eyes darted from the Deputy and back to Dean. When no one answered immediately, he set a tan briefcase on the Deputy’s desk and introduced himself. “I’m Ian Blis, Kyle Williams’s lawyer. Why was I not informed of his transfer? I was supposed to have a meeting with him this morning.”

“We only just received word, sir. All the paperwork seems in order.” The rookie’s voice quivered ever so slightly as he addressed the imposing character before him.

Dean was less intimidated. “Your client broke the law, and now he’s gonna pay for it. If these small town boys can’t get a confession out of him, we will in Watertown.” He turned to the Deputy, knowing he had to get things moving. “Can we get Williams brought through? I’m on a schedule here.”

The Deputy gulped and nodded, still not taking his eyes from Blis. “I’ll get right on it.” He took a last look at the lawyer and then disappeared through a security door.

Dean shot Blis a glance. “So, you’re planning on getting Williams off the hook?” He scrutinized the lawyer as he spoke, some inner voice yelling that all was not right with the interloper. Dean rarely misjudged a character, and he didn’t like what he was seeing in front of him.

Blis appeared to hold the elder Winchester with a similar contempt. “I’m sure my client is innocent and that the truth will prevail, yes.”

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “You really don’t have any kind of case, and you know it. What’s the matter? Did the Church offer you a big payoff just to keep the whole thing low key?”

A small smirk crossed Blis’s features for just a second. He apparently found something in Dean’s words amusing, although he didn’t offer an explanation. “I’ll be speaking with your superiors about your attitude, Detective. Until then, good day.”

And Dean didn't have to use an ounce of intuition to know that the sentiment was a false one. He fought the urge to make a rather unprofessional hand gesture as the lawyer glanced away smugly. Smartass.

Blis reclaimed his briefcase and strutted from the Sheriff’s office like a peacock. As he slammed the door closed, the young Deputy reappeared with his charge in tow.

Kyle shuffled along beside the cop with his head inclined towards the floor, servile and deflated. He seemed to be a man whose whole purpose in life had been taken away. He no longer cared whether he lived or died. If he was to be convicted of murder, then so be it. Perhaps he would even receive the death penalty, so heinous were his supposed crimes. At least that would give him release from the torment of his visions, a final pardon from his life sentence.

“Aren’t priests meant to save people 'stead of killing 'em?” Dean watched Williams carefully for a reaction. Kyle met his gaze. His eyes instantly showed recognition and something more-hope.

“I like to think I did help save a life, once.” Kyle kept his voice neutral. He’d guessed why Dean was there, and like it or not he had to play along. “I’m just sorry I never got to speak with the man after he recovered.”

“Maybe you’ll get your chance some day.” Dean winked while the Deputy was busy un-cuffing Kyle. “Right now, though, your murdering ass is going to jail.” The Deputy offered the open cuff to Dean, and he clipped it closed over his wrist. “C’mon, Judas, time for a ride.” He tugged slightly, and the priest obediently followed.

“Hey!” As they reached the door, the young Deputy called them back. Dean turned, poised to run, while outwardly remaining calm. Not now. Not when we’re so friggin’ close to the door. The cop tapped the paperwork with a grin on his face. “You know the lead vocalist of Metallica’s name is James Hetfield too. You guys wouldn’t be related would you?”

Dean exhaled with relief and couldn't resist one last lie. “Distant cousin on Mom’s side.” The infamous lopsided grin appeared, and he quickly jerked an open-mouthed Kyle through the door with just one yank on the cuffs.

“Did you really need to tell that last lie?” Kyle stumbled after his captor as Dean quickened his pace back to the Impala. While he appreciated being rescued, he wasn’t so sure he could condone the method.

Dean on the other hand, was very sure. He grinned again as he pulled open the Chevy’s rear door and unceremoniously stuffed Kyle inside. “Hell, yes,” he teased.

* * * *

Ten miles down the road from the Sheriff’s station, Dean found a dirt road and pulled the Chevy off the main highway. Steering the classic over a rutted section of ground until its suspension groaned in protest, he guided the car to a halt behind a large section of undergrowth.

Dean killed the ignition and then turned to his guest in the rear of the car. “So, my trusting brother here thinks you’re innocent, Judas. How about spilling the story now that we’ve saved your ass?” It was blunt and to the point, but that was Dean all over.

Kyle looked to Sam first. Sam was the one he had spoken to back in Missouri. Sam was the one whose eyes he had seen through all those months ago. Sam was the one he would trust with his life even though they’d only met once before. “I…I didn’t need rescuing. Not like this. My life in the church will be over now. I had so much to do, so much with which to help others like us.”

Dean scoffed. “Dude, your ass would have been grass if you’d been transferred to a real prison instead of that Sheriff’s holding cell. This isn’t a game or a movie. It’s not friggin’ Prison Break. Real life doesn’t work that way.” He slapped the steering wheel, exasperated that the priest didn’t see the bigger picture.

Williams cleared his throat and let his eyes fall to the Impala’s dusty floor. He knew what real life was like, and he knew of the evil that walked among men. “I know,” he said in a low, unassuming voice. “It’s just that, as a wanted man, I’ll never be able to continue my work for the church; work that I know was for the greater good, not only my own, but that of humanity as a whole.”

Dean took in the words. He decided he liked the little priest, even if he sounded way too much like Sammy sometimes and appeared to have some delusions of grandeur about his place in the world. He definitely needed to lighten up. “Dude, get over it. You’re not gonna get to be a priest. It’s not the end of the world.”

“No, but it could be…” This time Kyle’s words came out as nothing more than a mumble as he rubbed his hands together nervously, but both brothers heard anyway.

“You think this thing we’re involved in is that big?” Sam instantly recalled the remarks Bobby had made when they’d visited him before the accident. The storm’s coming, and you boys, your Daddy – you are smack in the middle of it.

Kyle nodded solemnly. “I know it is. We’re fighting an ancient enemy; one so old that it walked this earth before man.” He kept his gaze fixed on Sam. “After I left Missouri, I returned to my seminary with every intention of discovering what kind of creature we were dealing with. The thing in my dreams, your dreams-the thing we must destroy.”

Dean raised a brow. “Wait a minute, Judas, you’re telling us you know what killed our Mom? You know what it is we’ve been hunting all this time?” There was a hint of excitement to his timbre, and the meek little priest suddenly had all his attention. “Do you know how to kill the freaky sonofabitch, too?”

Kyle slowly shook his head. “I was still in the middle of my research when the demon killed the bishop and his secretary. It knew I was close to finding the truth and ready to tell you. It’s my guess it set me up to get us all together like this, and then kill us.” He fidgeted with his glasses while he paused to think. “What I don’t understand is who the demon chose to possess.” He raised a brow questioningly and looked at Dean. “It was a young woman-your doctor?”

Sam nodded. It was a long story, but Kyle didn’t know anything about Fletcher and the huge confrontation at the hospital. “After you left me the note and vanished, let’s just say the doc was possessed and decided to do a little extra work on my brother.”

Dean winced at the memory. “Yeah, but she didn’t count on the fact that I’m too stubborn to die like that. She got a nice flask full of holy water in the face for her trouble and took a hike. If she’s back and killed your people, then that means you’re right. You’re getting close to something.”

“Can we see your research?” Sam rummaged in a hold-all he’d had at his feet and pulled a change of clothes out for the priest while they talked. Right now, he needed to look less like a priest and more like a regular guy if they were going to make good their escape.

Kyle looked back apologetically. “I’m afraid everything I had on the subject is still at the seminary, and I can’t go back. It’s the first place the police will look for me. I had no time to hide or remove it. And besides, some of the texts are not allowed outside of the church’s boundaries. They’re quite ancient.”

“Gee, well I guess we’re gonna upset the Pope then, dude, because like it or not, Sammy and I are gonna need to grab those documents.” Dean twisted back around to restart the Impala but suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Here he was talking to a priest as if he was some shmuck off the street. What was worse, the guy had actually saved his life. He turned back, abruptly feeling uncomfortable. “Look, I um…I guess I never thanked you for what you did…”

Sam watched his brother struggle to thank the priest and was both proud and amused at the same time. He knew it would be killing Dean to cut out the quips and be so serious. Sam stifled a grin and had to look out of the window so Dean couldn't see his smile.

“There’s no need for thanks. Anyone would have done the same.” Kyle offered a hand, and Dean shook it. “Although, I suspect the Lord has plans for you that didn’t include your death, even without my intervention.” The priest wiped his glasses on a piece of old tissue. “There is just one thing I would ask of you…”

“Name it,” Dean scowled as he said the words, realizing he may now have to pay a penance he really didn’t want. Ten to one Sammy got this dude to insist I turn off the rock.

“Please don’t call me Judas,” Kyle beseeched. “It infers I am something I’m not.”

Dean exhaled and cranked the Impala to life. It was time to head back to the seminary to find Kyle’s all-important research. “Tell me something, do you like music?”

Sam's eyes flashed with despair, and he put his head in his hands, realizing what Dean was about to do.

“Of course,” Kyle said innocently, “I’m a priest, not a cave dweller.”

Dean smirked. “I was hoping you were going to say that, Moses.” He checked the rear view and noted Kyle roll his eyes at his new title. Next came the music.

Dean flicked the cassette deck to "on" and slid in Judas Priest with an ear to ear grin. As "Riding on the Wind" began to assault their senses, he couldn’t suppress a chuckle and began to sing along with the track. “Nothing like a little mullet rock, huh, Sammy?”

Sam shrank back into his seat and dared not look over his shoulder to Kyle. Dean had just reached a new level of embarrassing, and Sammy didn’t want to be a part of it.

* * * *

Cardinal Seminary
South Dakota
Two Hours Later

Kyle watched as the two brothers entered what used to be his home. The seminary was out of bounds to him now and probably always would be, but that didn’t stop the deep burning desire in his heart to still become a priest.

He felt cheated somehow by the forces of darkness, and only the Winchesters had pulled him back from the brink of despair. If Sam and Dean could instil hope in him, then Kyle would fight onward, as they did. Right now, he wished he could be entering the crime scene with them to help them find their goal.

The would-be priest fidgeted on the back seat of the Impala, wringing his hands continuously with worry. He was still sure this was some kind of demonic trap, and he had no desire to see Dean or Sam hurt again so soon after the "truck" incident. They were good people, and even though Dean constantly ribbed him, Kyle was already seeing the other side of his tormentor.

Dean had the softest, kindest of hearts that any man could possess. He would die for his family, die for a cause he thought was just, and all that selfless honor was hidden beneath a cheeky, brash exterior that was simply a façade to ward off all but his closest allies.

Kyle squirmed again at the thought, moving restlessly to the Chevy’s window to look impatiently towards the seminary. Hurry, my friends…please hurry…

* * * *

“So, we’re just going to walk in and hope the cops haven’t left anyone on duty?” Sam glanced sideways, checking the road for traffic as they crossed. “I mean, what are the odds the texts will still be where Kyle left them, anyway? Won’t they have been bagged and tagged as evidence by now?”

Dean ignored a station wagon that was heading his way and jogged over the road. “If we’re unlucky, yeah. The books will have been bagged and tagged, and they’ll have a cop waiting for us. Jeez, Sammy do you always have to be so negative?”

“'Realistic' is more the word I’d use.” Sam pushed open the heavy oak door to reveal a small vestibule. In the corner, a petite, aged woman with graying hair sat, typing at her desk. She looked at least a hundred years old, like some character from a Bronte novel. “Excuse me, Ma’am; we’re from the police crime scene unit. Could you point us in the direction of the library?” He flashed a badge he'd made not ten minutes previously and was thankful he’d done the creating himself this time.

“You don’t look a bit like the people on TV, young man.” The woman looked over small, wire-rimmed spectacles as if the two brothers were specimens to be examined. “I watch your boss every week.”

Dean pursed his lips. “You do, huh?”

“Oh yes,” She ushered them through a door to her left with a smile. “Grissom is good, but my favorite is Horatio Caine. He’s so handsome…”

Sam let a small smile play across his features and was tempted to tell the sweet, old lady that C.S.I. was just a show. In the end, seeing Dean’s expression of ‘what am I ground meat?’ he decided against it. It was actually quite funny to see the old dear innocently irk his brother.

“The library is this way. Take a left and then the second door to your right, young man. There’s a police officer already down there in the corridor. You can’t miss it.” The woman turned tail but not before eyeing both brothers again with a smile and muttering under her breath as she scurried away. “Wait until I tell Martha at the bridge club that the C.S.I. people have been here…maybe I should have gotten an autograph…”

Dean frowned as the door closed behind her. “Horatio Caine is better looking than me? Dude, working for the church for so long must have warped her mind.” His brow furrowed as Sam shot him an exasperated look. “What?”

“Not every person of the female persuasion is going to find you attractive, dork. Now can we get on with what we’re here for?” Sam pointed ahead. “She said there’s a cop down here, and I doubt he’ll go for our fake I.D.’s as easily as she did.”

“Maybe I should have made them,” Dean snarked with a grin.

“Yeah, right. There’s a real need for a bikini inspector in a place like this.” Sam turned where he’d been directed and was surprised to find no cop on duty outside the library entrance. “Funny.” Sam’s brow creased. “Maybe the guy needed to take a leak…”

Dean poked his head into the corridor. “Or, maybe something’s up.” He slowly retrieved a forty-five from the back of his belt and cocked it. “I’m not liking this, Sammy.”

Sam agreed. As he took tentative footsteps towards the library door, he spotted a small, unmistakable blood trail leading to a closet at the bottom of the passageway. He put a finger to his lips and then gestured to the blood.

Dean nodded, grasping his weapon tightly in front of his chest as he approached the built-in cupboard. When he reached the door, he intimated he’d cover Sam while the younger Winchester investigated what was within.

Sam licked his lips, grasping the doorknob and twisting slowly to avoid any noise. As the carved door swung silently open, a mangled and bloodied cop’s body tumbled from its perch inside the storage area.

Dean knelt, quickly checked for a pulse, and then shook his head. “Looks like his neck’s broken. Not exactly your classic demon M.O. This guy’s been beaten to a pulp, but his throat’s intact.”

Sam glanced back to the library door, wondering if the killer was lying in wait for them or was simply there for the texts. Whatever the reason, if they wanted the ancient manuscripts it looked like they had a fight on their hands. “You ready to find out why?”

Dean waved his forty-five in the air, signaling that he was more than ready, and then stood from his crouched position. He set his aim at the library door, and at his side Sam pulled out a similar weapon of his own and did much the same.

As they neared, Sam took position to the left of the doorframe and nodded. Dean moved back just a little and let his weapon drop to his side, enabling him to blast a running kick at the door unhindered.

The oak didn’t give easily to the sole of his boot, and Dean found he needed two more follow-up lunges to gain the required response.

The latch caved with his final blow, and the door swung open laboriously. Before it stopped moving, Dean and Sam were inside, guns poised for action.

Sam reaffirmed his grip on his Glock as he swung it around in an arc, scanning the room for interlopers. As far as he could see, they were alone, but then, in a library this size, there were a wealth of hiding places should anyone choose to conceal themselves.

“See anything, little brother?” Dean stepped cautiously around a large bookshelf, wary of being tossed into it as he had on so many past occasions. It was as if spooks got a kick out of hurling his ass into the damned things, and he wasn't going for a record-breaking attempt.

Sam shook his head, honing in on the section of the library where Kyle had been working. It had been clearly marked out by yellow police tape, and there were still dried bloodstains on the polished floor where the coagulating crimson liquid had dripped from the knife blade.

“Looks like we missed what we came for.” Sam indicated the empty desktop.

Dean agreed, moving forward slowly to examine the priest’s work area more closely. “Yeah, question is, did the cops take it, or the cop killer?”

As if in response to his question, something clattered to the floor behind them and both brothers whirled, eyes dancing over every inch of the room. Sam’s gaze settled first, and he pointed silently with his Glock to a small, leather-bound book that now sat at the base of one of the larger shelves.

The book had obviously been dislodged from its perch by something on the other side of the ledge-something, or someone.

Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed. They were here in search of a way to destroy the demon. What if it had found them first? The thing he had hunted all his life could be before him, and for the first time, he feared it with gut-clenching intensity. Half-forgotten nightmares that he’d tried to erase came flooding back of the fateful night in the cabin. Was it really the demon he feared, or simply the fact that it had been his father it had inhabited? Was he ready to face either again?

Dean blinked, feeling the thudding of his heart in his chest, just as he had that night, only this time it was he himself who had set it racing, not the demon's claws or taunts. He swallowed, letting his finger caress the trigger of his forty-five just a little too tightly.

“Show yourself," he commanded, and despite the forceful timbre of his voice, he hoped to God that he got no answer.

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