Huckleberry Pie - 8: The Mysterious Letter
Somewhere in Minnesota, the evening tv glow reflecting on her face in blues and greens, a woman dozed quietly. She was exhausted from a long day, the stench of urine and Jack Daniel's still clinging to her clothes, dreams of a life where she didn’t come home every day ready to collapse playing in her mind.
The woman, Olivia, worked at a homeless shelter where she had ended up straight out of high school. It was okay money, enough that she could afford to split rent on a two-bedroom house with her best friend, but the work was difficult and smelly. She had fallen asleep on the couch as she often did after her 12 hour shifts, halfway through eating a tasteless microwaved meal, exhaustion getting the best of her.
Olivia had no idea that this would be her last meal, wilted broccoli and cardboard mac n cheese from a black plastic box, burnt on the edge and still cool in the middle when she warmed it up.
On the tv, an actress screamed, waking Olivia from her sleep. She rubbed one hand over a bleary eye, putting the container on the short table in front of her. She pushed herself up disjointedly, like a newborn fawn just testing out its legs. The tv clicked off and she threw the remote back into the couch cushions, not bothering to pick it up when it bounced off and onto the ground.
She entered her cramped room, pausing when the guinea pig she kept in the corner squeaked at her insistently. Shit, she had forgotten to feed the little rodent today. With a big sigh, she reached down to grab a scoop of food from the bag she had left open on the floor. She was absolutely exhausted, but little Chipper needed to eat just as much as she did. She fiddled with the lock one-handedly, the rusting metal squeaking in protest.
The moment that the lock was open, the guinea pig launched at her, mouth stretched unnaturally wide, teeth sharp and pointed where they usually were wide and beaver-like. Olivia didn’t even have time to scream as the furry little beast ripped open her throat, eyes shining red in the moonlight filtering in through the window.
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Dean sat perched on the edge of a table at Bobby’s house, Sam arguing with him from a chair. He liked being taller for once, still sore that Sam had passed him up as a Sophomore in high school. It wasn’t fair that the younger kid got the freakazoid tall genes, especially when their mom and dad hadn’t been all that tall. He tried to rein in his wandering mind as Sam continued to blabber at him, shaggy hair falling in his face as he gestured.
“Well, then tell me what else it could be.” Sam said.
“Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel.” Dean frowned in a “what do you want from me” face.
“Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?”
“Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie.” Dean said. Sam scoffed.
“A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!”
“Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?”
“Yeah. You just did, Dean.”
“I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me.”
“Dean, we have a theory.”
“Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please.”
“I hate to get involved in your little squabbles, but I’m with Sam here” Bobby cut in.
“Oh come on.” Dean said, throwing his hands up.
“I’ve been digging through lore, Biblical, pre-biblical. Hell, some of it’s damn cuneiform. It all says the same thing.” Bobby said.
“What’s that?” Dean said, crossing his arms as he stood up. “That angels are real? That they decided to take a fucking vacation down under to get handsy with my soul?”
“It says that an angel can snatch a soul from the pit.” Bobby said, ignoring Dean’s sass.
“What else?” Dean demanded.
“What else what?” Bobby was getting tired of the boy’s standoffishness. It wasn’t like angels were a far stretch, they dealt with demons and reapers, vamps and werewolves, all on the daily.
“Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing.”
“Look, Dean,” Sam started, “you don’t have to like it, or- or even believe it in the devout, reads-a-bible-a-day christian way. But all the signs are pointing to this being a real angel that pulled you out of hell. A real god that cares about whether you end up in hell or not.”
“I mean, I’ve saved some people. I figure that makes up for some of the other shit I’ve done, but when you count it all out, I come out more sinful than righteous. I mean, I’m just a regular guy. Why do I deserve to get saved?”
“Apparently you’re a regular guy that’s important to the man upstairs. Can’t you even just consider it?” Sam asked, trying to find any scrap of faith that might be left in his jaded older brother.
“Well, that creeps me out. I don’t like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by… God.”
“Okay, well, too bad Dean. I think the big man himself wants you to strap on your party hat.”
“Don’t you ever say that again. I don’t wear party hats.” Dean shoved a finger in Sam’s direction menacingly.
“You two done being at each other’s throats? If this is a real angel, we need to learn everything we can about them.” Bobby said, pulling out a heavy stack of books and dropping them on the table.
“You are going to go get me some pie, or so help me god, I will beat you over the head with one of these books.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll make a snack run. No need to get violent.”
Dean sat down in an actual chair as Sam headed out, shaking his head as he picked up a book. Fucking angels, he thought, there’s no way.
Sam drove to the gas station with the radio tuned to a pop channel, something he could never do with Dean in the car. He should have been frustrated with Dean, the way he usually was when they argued, but all he could find himself feeling was unbridled hope and joy. If angels were real, it meant that all the years of praying and hoping finally meant something, that they hadn’t been worthless or a waste of his time. And the fact that an angel had saved Dean, maybe that meant that someone had taken notice of his pain and decided to help.
After Dean had gone to hell, when Sam had finally exhausted his list of demons and reapers, hunters who owed him favors and psychics that seemed legit, he had fallen into a funk. Sam had well and truly run out of options, and in his helplessness, had turned to the last source he could think of to help. God hadn’t exactly been reliable for him in the past, but Sam couldn’t shake the faith that had settled in him long ago, the faith that said there was some greater force out there. So he prayed, for hours on end, for days at a time. He prayed so fervently, with such attention to the task in front of him, that he fell ill. Deathly ill.
That was when Ruby had found him, laying in a motel bed, feverish and delirious. She had helped nurse him back to health, keeping him fed and safe while he recovered. For the first part of it, he was so delirious that he wasn’t sure if she was real or not. When his fever had finally broken, days after Ruby arrived, Sam was still weak and confused, accepting readily when she fed him drinks laced with demon blood. He had been hooked immediately.
After Sam was well and truly addicted, Ruby came clean about who she was and why she was there, explaining the demon blood and the effect it would have on him. Sam was angry, of course he was, but it really had seemed like Ruby just wanted to help. Begrudgingly, ever suspicious of what ulterior motives she could have, Sam accepted her help.
He pulled into the gas station just as an ad break started, radio clicking off when he stopped the engine. Sam spun the keys around his finger, shoved them in his pocket when he got close to the front door of the place. A shadow broke away from the corner of the building, bee-lining directly to Sam. Subconsciously reacting, not even truly aware that he did it, Sam turned to face the figure as she approached him. Ruby’s face came into focus as she drew close, brown waves shining bright in the sun. Despite himself, Sam had to catch his breath every time he saw Ruby like this, hair shining and brown eyes staring back at him, all sorts of secrets hidden in their depths. He caught himself quickly, noticing the purse of her lips, the wrinkle between her brows. She was here on business.
“Is it true?” She asked him, stopping a respectable distance away, arms crossed.
“Did an angel really save Dean from hell?”
“So you’ve heard about that. It’s looking like that’s the case, yeah.”
“Fuck, Sam. I’m sorry, I have to go then. An angel won’t care if I’m trying to help.”
“Ruby, they’re the good guys. This is a good thing! Maybe God is finally taking notice of what is happening here on Earth.”
“Not for me. I’ve never met an angel, but from what I hear they smite first and ask questions later. I’ll find you when it’s safe.”
Ruby turned to leave, pinching the bridge of her nose once Sam couldn’t see her, but she quickly remembered herself, whirled back around and shoved the newspaper in her hands against his chest. She let her hand linger for just a moment, speaking quickly.
“Here, you might want to take a look at this. I’m not quite sure what it is, but all the demons are staying away so it’s probably important.” she said.
Sam looked down, catching the newspaper in one hand, and by the time he looked back up Ruby had gone. He felt a twist of disappointment in his gut, but shrugged it off. He stayed distracted enough to forget the pie, a grave mistake.
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Back at Bobby’s house, Dean was excessively preoccupied with the lack of pie. He gestured to the plastic bag, and back to Sam, sputtering in disbelief.
“You had one job dude. One goddamn job.”
“I’m sorry Dean, I forgot.” Sam shrugged, not overly concerned about it. He didn’t add that he forgot because he had been preoccupied with what Ruby had told him.
“I just- I just can’t believe it.” Dean put a hand over his heart. “My own brother. My own brother didn’t get pie when I specifically asked for it. It’s basically sacrilege.”
“‘It’s just pie’, he says. Blasphemy!” Dean mocked him. “That’s like if I smashed your precious computer and then went ‘Sammy, it’s just a computer’. Just pie my ass.”
“Can you focus? This news article, don’t you think it’s worth checking out?”
“How can you focus on news articles at a time like this? I’m in mourning Sam.”
“Shut up. This is weird, I mean a lady’s throat was ripped out, bites taken from her body, blood mostly drained, and organs missing. It sounds like the spawn of a werewolf and a vampire got her or something.”
“So don’t you think we should at least check it out? We’ve been at the books all morning, we can worry about angels later. At least angels aren’t currently ripping throats out.”
“I don’t know. The papers say it looks like it’s just an animal attack of some sort. I mean, it’s weird for sure, but there’s only one death like it so far. I kind of want to figure out everything I can about the creature that knocked Bobby out cold with one finger.”
“Yeah but-” Sam was cut off by a ringing doorbell.
Bobby looked up from his reading, making eye contact with the other two men. That was weird, the doorbell at Bobby’s place rarely rang, if ever. As if whoever was at the door could sense their hesitation, the bell rang again. Dean picked up his gun, walking cautiously to the door, peering out the peephole. There was nobody there. He opened the door, gun still cocked in his hand in case someone jumped out. Nobody did.
On the porch, there was a single envelope, baby blue and with a chicken-scratched title scrawled across the front. The envelope read for Sam and Dean. Dean picked it up between two fingers, still half expecting a bomb to go off when he did, and retreated back inside, locking the door up tight behind him.
He set the envelope on the table between him and Sam, both of them confused into silence. Nobody should know that they were at Bobby’s, let alone know their real names if they did know the two boys were there. Sam tried to think back, wondering if he had been followed. Maybe it had been Ruby? But she was obviously scared of attracting angel attention, and the handwriting on the envelope wasn’t hers.
“Well, are you going to open it?” Dean asked.
“Me? Why don’t we rock paper scissors to see who has to open it.” Sam said.
“No, I already opened the door and brought it inside, that means you have to open the envelope.”
“You damn sissies,” Bobby sighed, curiosity overcoming him, “pass it here. I’ll open it.”
Bobby slid a knife under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open in one smooth movement. The contents of the envelope were almost as confusing as the circumstances under which it had appeared. The piece of paper inside read, simply:
It is important that you follow that news ad and go to Mankato Minnesota. There is more going on that you don’t know about. Find the Godzilla statue. Everything will be explained there. Tell no one of this letter, and burn after reading. Especially don’t tell that angel.
P.S. Hit the Pub 500 if you have time, Dean will love the food there.
“So, we’re going to go check this out right?” Sam said.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Dean said, eyes wide, spy movie plotlines flashing through his head.
“We’re getting some goddamn pie on the way though.” Dean said. Sam laughed, excitement rushing through him.
“Okay, we can get some pie.”
“You boys be safe.” Bobby said, pulling out a magnifying glass to look closer at the letter. “I’m gonna stay here and see what I can learn about this letter. I’ll keep digging into angel lore too.”
“You got it Bobby.” Dean saluted, arms full of hastily packed clothes and gear, all but running out the door.
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