Supernatural Fan Fiction: “Socknatural” Episode 5 Part 2

THEN: If you’re new to the Sockchester Supernatural fan fiction series, this is Episode 5 in the epic saga of Sam and Dean Sockchester, hunters in one of Chuck’s universes that exists parallel to the Sam and Dean Winchester we all know and love. The Sockchesters’ are also in the ‘family business’ of saving socks, hunting things! Each episode can be enjoyed on its own, or you can start at the beginning with Episode 1, which takes place in Kenmore, Washington! From there, you can continue with the Sockchesters’ adventures through links at the end of each hunt.

The beginning of this adventure, Part 1 of “Truth or Consequences” will set the stage for Part 2’s thrilling conclusion! 

NOW: Join the brothers on their hunt in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. 

The Sockchester Brothers’ Supernatural 

Episode 5 – Part 2

Sock Sam stares at the spoon in his hand and wills it to stop shaking. It does, but tremors still inadvertently wrack his limbs. He scans the puddle of soup outside his bowl and groans.

Sock Dean stands scowling in the wooden doorway to the kitchen in Silas’s house. The house is not much more than a dining and sleeping quarters beside a smelly livery stable, but Sock Cass, Sock Sam, and Sock Dean each found spots to settle. 

Dean, of course, settled for the kitchen because making food and supplying books the past two days is keeping Sam inside, away from the cursed pole… and away from any demons. His cuts and aches are subsiding and healing the usual way, with time.

Sock Cass spends the days grooming the horses and responding to their nickers and whinniss with versions of his own. The horses do not appear to be impressed.

Silas spends a good part of his afternoons taking a siesta either on the patio or in his bedroom. He says he only sleeps inside these days since a noose might rope you from anywhere.

Sock Sam tosses the spoon aside and moves the soup from the puddle around it: I’m really not all that hungry.

He picks up his iPad and stretches. Researching is his outlet. He doesn’t have to think about blood while he reads.  

Sock Sam finishes another article and lifts his eyes from the lore: I don’t get it. Asherah poles were just poles, sometimes trees, sometimes carved. People worshiped at them. Some had prostitutes. There’s nothing about this hangman’s version.

Sock Cass digs some apples out of the barrel in the kitchen: Raguel’s grace mixed with original demon blood has subjected it to move under their power.

Sock Sam: What can break that blood and grace?

Sock Cass takes a bite out of the bottom of the apple and chews on the bottom core: Maybe a weapon that was blessed with the same elements?

Sock Sam stands suddenly: So we need demon blood then?

Sock Dean steps in: No. Nope. Absolutely not.

Sock Cass: Dean’s right. That is unnecessary, and such a weapon would be under their subjugation as well. Original Demons are twisted, fallen angels. An angel’s blood and grace is adequate for the weapon.

Sock Sam: Okay, so if you already could make a weapon to destroy it with your blood and grace, why haven’t you?

Sock Cass: Angel warding. They sprayed Enochian runes on the ground around the pole, I can’t go anywhere near it. 

Sock Sam: What about throwing a Molotov of holy oil at it? Burn it?

Sock Cass shakes his head: Fire won’t consume it, but it might weaken it.

Sock Dean paces the small kitchen and dining room: Why do I keep feeling like these demons are three steps ahead of us all the time? Okay. So you need me or Sam to hit the pole and try to not die.

Sock Cass frowns: Sam is marked. The pole will kill him before he gets close enough to use a weapon. And look at him. He’s in no condition to wield an angelic weapon.

Sock Sam rubs the sweat out of his button eyes: Great. Thanks. So it’s up to you, Dean.

Sock Dean opens up the fridge and looks for a beer: So we just need some of your blood and grace. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Sock Cass picks up the machete Dean tossed on Silas’s kitchen table and examined the blade: You will need a lot of both. It will severely drain me.

Sock Dean shuts the fridge: Wait, wait. How much? Like baby in a trenchcoat drained? Steve, the almost-but-not-really-human drained?

Sock Cass squints at Dean, but doesn’t voice his offense: I won’t be that bad, but probably worth a squatting jack in a fight.

Sock Sam winces and massages his temples: That’s not how it’s said.

Sock Dean grabs a glass and a bowl from the cabinet: Alright, better sooner than later so you’ve got time to recover. We should have done this days ago.

Sock Cass takes the offered glass and wraps both hands around it and bows his head in concentration. Instantly it’s brimming with red fuzz.

Sock Cass: Five of these.

Sock Sam stares at Cass’s blood as Dean pours it into the bowl. The thick fuzz is nearly hypnotic to him. The power is right there. Cass and Dean are worried about the pole, but they should be concerned with the demons who made it, who could easily make another in the next town. If he just had some more of that blood, he knew he could take out those original demons. 

Sock Sam stands and walks past their work into the kitchen. He means to open the cabinet for a glass, because he really needs a drink, but finds himself cutting the palm of his hand with a knife instead. As skillful as writing his own name, Sock Sam swipes his fingers across the countertop.

Four more glasses of angel blood later, Sock Cass sits heavily in Sam’s chair at the table.

Sock Dean sets one of his angel blades on the table: Do you want to do the honors, or should I?

Sock Cass takes a deep breath, holds the blade, and nicks himself just below the neck. 

Sock Dean grabs the glass and catches his friend’s grace in it until Sock Cass puts his hand to his neck and wipes the wound away.

Sock Dean: Okay. Now what?

Sock Cass raises himself on shaky forearms, pours the grace into the blood mixture, and chants Enochian while stirring it with his fingers.

Sock Dean makes a face: Smells like you’re washing pennies in toothpaste.

Sock Sam finishes drawing an angel banishing sigil and peers back at Cass and Dean. They’ll understand after he kills all nine original demons. Then. Then he’d do what he had to. Get clean in the panic room at Bobby’s. Make a blood sacrifice or whatever that angel kid was talking about.

Sock Cass shakes his hands, but the bright purple grace and blood mixture doesn’t come off easily.

Sock Cass: Now you smear it all over the blade with your hands since you’ll wield it. 

Sock Dean rolls up his sleeves, sets his hat on the table, and pulls off his ring: Time to get down and dirty, huh?

Sock Cass grabs a towel and wipes the blood off his hands with it.

Sock Sam slams his bloody hand on the angel banishing sigil. 

The towel drops to the floor as Cass is cast out of the room. 

Sock Dean yanks his hands out of the bloody mixture: Cass!

He turns around to see Sock Sam. His hand still covered in red fuzz, pressing the sigil on the counter

Sock Dean: Sam! What are you–?

Sock Sam: Don’t follow me, Dean!

He runs out the door and starts the motorcycle. It rumbles to a start, scaring the horses away from that side of the field. Sock Sam weaves, wobbles, and finally balances the motorcycle as he tears out of town.

Sock Dean curses and glares at the flighty horses. They would take too long to saddle and follow Sam. He looks down at the brilliant purple angel blood and grace mixture coating his hands, then stomps back to the dining room table.

Sock Dean mumbles: I’m gonna kill him.

The first few bars of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” emits from Dean’s pocket, but he’s arm-deep in the angel blood/grace mixture and can’t reach it in time. Cass? Maybe Sam? Dean has his doubts and lets it ring the entire tune while he lathers the machete blade with Castiel’s blood and grace.

Sock Dean: Okay. Now what?

Moments after using the last drop of fuzz from the bowl, the blade gleams white-blue, temporarily blinding him.

Sock Dean blinks the stars from his eyes and scrunches his face until he can see. The mess of blood and grace is now gone from the weapon, and the machete’s blade has a bluish tinge to its steel. 

Sock Dean stands back and chuckles to himself: Okay. That’s awesome.

He sets the blade down and washes his hands.

He tugs his phone out of his jeans and scans his missed call. Rowena. Weird.

Sock Dean doesn’t have time to call back, Sammy is in serious trouble right now. 

Sock Dean quickly cleans up Sam’s bloody sigil. That much fuzz might make Silas queasy.

It was just in time, as Silas steps out of his bedroom, yawning: Where’s everybody gone?

Sock Dean brushes past him as he sheathes the machete blade to his belt: I’m gonna need a horse.

Silas nods: ‘Course. You got your pick.

Sock Dean straightens his hat: You got some chaps I can borrow too?

The wind whips past Sock Sam’s face, drawing tears out of the corners of his eyes. He knows Cass and Dean will be fine; Cass is usually back in three or four hours after they zap him away. And Dean…well, he’ll get around to making it right with him after the demons are dead. Dean always has to be the protector, the one who has to make the sacrifice. Sock Sam couldn’t let that happen. Not this time. Not when he can actually kill these demons, or at least take a couple down with him.

Sock Sam bites his cheek. The taste of his own blood doesn’t quench the thirst that pounds at his temples.

The bike vibrates below him, kicking up a dust cloud in the path he fled from just days earlier. His unsteady movements from inexperience are fading as he recognises the importance of leaning with his turns.

At one point, he thinks he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, but it could have just been the motorcycle.

The cave is exactly as he left it, except for two original demons sitting by the rest of the motorcycles, sharing a light.

Sock Sam doesn’t expect he will approach with any stealth as the motorcycle made its presence known from the moment he was a mile and a half away. So he jerks to a stop out front with the rest of the bikes. 

The male demon didn’t look up from rolling a new cigarette, the female demon tosses a burnt cigarette and starts lighting another. The demons nonchalant behavior makes Sock Sam’s stomach twist like a snake had made its bed there. Perhaps they don’t know who he is or what he can do to them.

The one rolling the cigarette finally spoke: Well, well. The prodigal returns. How are you feeling, Sammy?

Sock Sam swings his leg off the bike at the first one’s words. He pulls Ruby’s knife from his jacket: I’ll feel better once you’re dead.

He laughs: Did ya hear that, Makah? The wise guy Sockchester thinks he’ll kill us.

Makah grins through her clenched cigarette: I’d like to see ‘em try, Berith. Just for kicks and giggles, ‘course.

Sock Sam clenches the demon-killing knife, and leaps for Berith. 

He lands a lethal slash at the neck and plants the knife into its heart. Before he can contain himself, Sam gulps the red fuzz rushing out the side of the demon’s neck.

The thrill of power shakes his core once again. Sock Sam feels larger, stronger than ever. He kicks Berith back and grabs his spare angel blade to point at Makah. 

Makah: Go on then. 

Sock Sam lifts his hand toward the demon and pulls from the hungry corners of his mind the power lying dormant in his blood. He channels it and directs it to destroy the demon before him. Blood drips down his nose at the effort.

A snap follows as the power breaks and shatters Sock Sam’s focus. He blinks.

Makah raises her eyebrows: All out? 

Sock Sam gapes: What? How?

Makah points at herself: No soul to suck out or destroy. Not very wise there, Sammy-boy. 

Berith sits up, healing his wounds with a touch of his hand: Probably famished again, though. You want a bite of Makah before we go see Ash and N’ushtan? 

Sock Sam shakes his head, but his ears are ringing and his head is pounding far worse than before. The demons hum a jovial tune as they drag him back into the cave.

Ash: You came back! I knew you would!

N’ushtan raises a beer bottle in salute.

Ash takes Sam’s hands and swings to the side to see Makah and Berith.

She grins, waving at the red fuzz around his mouth: I see you got a snack.

Sock Sam glares: You lied to me. You said I could kill your kind of demon.

Ash giggles: Uh, first off. Demon. When we lie, we speak our native tongue. Second, sure, but it was fun to watch you try to kill us.

Sock Sam: Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…

N’ushtan sits back and starts reciting it with Sam.

Ash: You do realize that won’t do anything to us.

Sock Sam presses his hands to his throbbing head. If only his brain would stop pounding so he can remember what word Cass told him to use back when they fought the first original demon, Adrammelek, in Hinnom, Virginia. It wasn’t Christo, that was just a title, and rarely worked for them before. It was something ancient.

Sam coughs and mutters: Y-Yeshua.

Ash: What’s that? Did you sneeze?

Across the room, some of the demons gawk with dread lining their faces.

Sock Sam swipes his red fuzz-covered hand across his lips: Yeshua. C’mon! Clear it out!

After a beat, the serious faces the demons had quickly broke back into smiles. 

N’ushtan stands and slaps Sam’s back: None of that, now. You’re too dirty to call down that kind of power.

Ash grabs Sam’s hand: Now, would you like your old room back?

Sock Dean holds on to the reins as the American quarter horse gallops over the wasteland and bush. The machete is poking into his side, and will likely result in a bruise on his thigh, but his brother is foremost in his mind.

He pulls up for a moment to slow the horse: Woah! Woah!

He scans the surrounding area and locks onto the dusty tread of multiple motorcycles in the packed earth. With a kick, he canters the horse to stay on the trail. 

Soon the alcove in the cliff face opens and brings Sock Dean a rush of relief. Sammy might still be alive. 

The entrance is unguarded, so Sock Dean slides off the horse, dusts off his chaps, and straightens his hat. He steps into the mouth of the cave with the late evening sun beams illuminating his figure behind him. 

Ash’s eyes light as she moves across the cave to N’ushtan’s side: Two for one deal, every time. You’re as consistent as a wash cycle, Dean. Don’t you think this is getting predictable?

Sock Dean sets his hands on his hips: What have you done with Sam?

Ash and Bull exchange looks: Well now, Sammy went crying to his room. We might have to give him a spanking later.

Sock Dean: Let him go.

N’ushtan gnaws on a stick of jerky as he steps forward: I don’t know if you realize it, but your Sockbro has a little issue set in like a stain on him. So I think we’ll be keeping him for a bit. It don’t hurt to have a Sockchester in your pocket. So, don’t you worry! We’ll take real good care of him.

Sock Dean: Like a laundry chute you will! 

N’ushtan raises an eyebrow: You want to settle this? Fine. High noon. The Asherah pole in Truth or Consequences. Best be telling no lies between now and then. 

The demon chuckles and waves his hand. Sock Dean is thrown out of the mouth of the cave and tossed into the tumbleweeds collecting by the bikes. His hat lands a foot behind him.

He spits as he stands up and dusts himself off again. Sock Dean sets his hand on the handle of the machete. Best not to show all his cards, just yet. Instead, he reaches down and slaps his hat against his thigh. 

Sock Dean replaces the hat and yells back into the cave: Fine! But if I win the duel, I want your whole posse of demons to clear out of Dodge!

Ash laughs: Silly puppet, we ain’t anywhere near Dodge City!

Sock Dean yells: Get outta Dodge!

Sock Sam is delirious. He knows somewhere in his mind that the vision of Jess, frozen on the ceiling, dripping blood into his mouth from the wound on her stomach isn’t real, but he can’t keep himself from catching every delicious drop. He tells himself he is just keeping each drop safe until somehow he can get her down and save her, but his mind is still fuzzy on those details.

Suddenly there is Sock Dean, shoving him away. But the blood is still falling and now no one will be there to catch Jess if she falls. 

Sock Sam moans softly. Why is Dean taking him away from the blood? He doesn’t understand how important it is. He needs it to save Jess. To save them all.

Sock Sam’s vision shifts and suddenly it’s Mom above him. Perhaps he can save her. He opens his mouth and the coo of a baby comes out.

Sock Sam: Neh! Neh!

He wiggles his arms, and fat little fingers wave at the edge of his sight. He still can keep hold of Mom’s blood though. He only has to wiggle up an inch. 

The first drop zings through him and he settles. The constant drop on his tongue pacifies him. Peace and euphoria zips up and down his tiny fingers. 

Sock Dean is at it again. Scooping little baby Sock Sam in his arms and kidnapping him away from Mom. Sock Sam struggles, but his tiny body is useless. He tries to speak, but the words come out wrong.

Sock Sam: Geh! Geh! Heh!

How could Dean pull him away from them? Didn’t he understand what Sam was doing? Dean keeps getting in his way.

Sock Sam blinks away the tears and Jess is now the one trapped on the ceiling again. Maybe this time he can save her. Maybe Dean won’t mess things up for him…

Sock Dean is asleep on Silas’s worn leather couch when Sock Cass lands with a clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. Silas pokes a six-shooter out the bedroom door in four seconds flat. 

Silas: Oh. It’s that there nutty-looking angel.

Sock Dean rubs his face and mumbles: What time is it?

Silas: Hey, Hey Dean, there’s something wrong with your friend.

Sock Dean staggers off of the couch. Sock Cass is prone, clinging to the cabinet closest to him to hold his head up. A couple pans litter the ground beside him.

Sock Dean: Cass! What happened? Are you alright? What is that ungodly smell?

Sock Cass swallows: Tuna, I think. I believe I was in a fish market in Korea, they kept calling me a ghost or gwisin. The old women in the market threw salt on me. 

Sock Dean: Huh. Not bad. C’mon, get up.

Sock Dean helps Sock Cass to a chair. Silas folds his arms and leans on his door frame.

Sock Dean: So I guess that warding really did it in for you without your mojo.

Sock Cass chuckles which quickly becomes a cough. He disappears into the bathroom. 

The angel returns a moment later, wiping his mouth. 

He winces: I forgot what it is like to be… almost human again.

Sock Dean: Well, at least it wasn’t for nothing.

Sock Dean pulls the sharpened machete out of the sheathe and sets it on the table. Its bluish hue is magnified by the moonlight filtering in the single pane windows.

Sock Cass clutches the blade and visibly straightens. He slides his felt fingers across the surface.

Sock Cass: It worked. My grace and blood are living in the blade.

Sock Dean: Good, because we’re going to need it to get Sammy back.

Silas shakes his head and walks back into his bedroom mumbling about fiddle-headed folks.

Sock Cass sighs: The demons have Sam again?

Sock Dean stares at the Formica countertop where Sam made the angel warding sigil: Yeah. They’ve got him all drugged up on their blood too. He isn’t going to want to make it back to Bobby’s panic room to detox. I guess these original demons have real distilled blood or something.

Sock Cass shrugs: In comparison to Lucifer’s created demons, I’m sure true fallen angel blood is far more refined.

They sit still for a moment, then Sock Dean taps the machete: That’s why I’m going to need this. Tomorrow, at high noon, I’ll face N’ushtan in the town square.

Sock Cass’s mouth drops open: Dean, that’s not wise. N’ushtan was his garrison’s tactician. He knows exactly what will make you fail and will use it against you.

Sock Dean takes the blade from Sock Cass: Well, he doesn’t know about this.

Sock Cass presses his lips together: Please reconsider. I will return tomorrow. 

The angel stands, swaying dangerously, closes his eyes and vanishes.

When Silas helps Sock Dean load all the tack and gear on the brown quarter horse he is using that late morning, he is the first to speak it. Castiel still hasn’t returned.

Sock Dean pushes aside his uneasy feeling as he waves to Silas and mounts the horse: Well, I guess it’s time we set things right in this town.

Silas nods: Well, you ain’t been the most touched in the head folks I’ve ever met, but I’m betting my silver dollars on you. Don’t take any wooden washboards! Godspeed!

Sock Dean canters the horse to the main road and checks the machete. Still no sign of Cass. Fine. His watch informs him it’s ten minutes until high noon. He kicks the horse and gallops into downtown Truth or Consequences. 

As Sock Dean rides toward the square, he sees a shadow peel off the boardwalk near the bank and step out into the road, blocking his exit. Soon a second demon in the same kind of jean vest follows the first on his tail.

Sock Dean tips his hat to cover the back of his neck. The hairs there are itching uncomfortably.

When he reaches the town square, N’ushtan stands straddling his motorcycle. Sock Sam sits behind him glaring with red-rimmed eyes at Sock Dean.

Sock Dean: Sammy! You okay?

Sock Sam: Sure. No thanks to you. This is a new level of stupid for you, Dean. Go take Cass and get back to Bobby’s. I’ll handle this.

Sock Dean spreads his arms: Really? You’re handling this?

N’ushtan clears his throat: This is all really touching, but I think Dean and I have an understanding to come to, unless you’d like to take care of it, Sam?

Sock Sam swings his leg off the back of the motorcycle and takes a step towards Sock Dean.

Sock Sam: I can handle my brother.

N’ushtan sidles toward the street curb, sits on it, then stretches his legs. The other demons take resting postures to enjoy the show.

Sock Dean: Whoa. Hey. Ease up. Sam? What’s come over you?

Sock Sam: You keep holding me back, Dean. That’s the problem.

Sock Dean slides off his horse: Okay, I don’t know what they’ve been telling you, but–

Sock Sam steps forward and socks his brother in the jaw.

The original demons all lean forward in their resting states. A few start passing out cigarettes and a lighter.

Sock Sam: They haven’t told me anything. You have. All my life you keep shoving me away, and running my life for me. Well, that ends. Now.

Sock Dean holds his forearm in front of his face after wiping some blood from the corner of his lips. He turns back to his brother: Sammy! You’re not you right now. They’ve got you hopped up on demon blood crap and they’re manipulating you.

Sock Sam eyes the blood on his fist: Yeah? It’s their fault? It’s not. This has always been me, Dean. I’ve felt this way for years, and I’ve just met these demons a day ago. You’re the one who’s been manipulating me.

Sock Sam blinks for a moment as if he questions his own logic, but shakes his head again and swings for his brother’s stomach. 

Sock Dean jumps away from the strike, but Sock Sam’s other arm catches his chin in an uppercut. 

Sock Dean tastes blood and spits it on the ground while seeing stars: See. Right there. Look, we don’t always agree. Most of the time we don’t. But get your head on right, Sammy. This isn’t about you and me. There’s a job here. Remember? Demons – bad? Noose on a pole? Any of that ring a bell?

Sock Sam squints: That’s why we’re here? 

Sock Dean: Yeah man, they’re messing with your mind, and I need you Sammy.

A suspicious look crosses through Sock Sam’s button eyes.

Sock Sam: You better not be short washing me.

Sock Dean points at the Asherah pole: Can’t lie here, C’mon.

Sock Dean wipes his bloody lip and climbs back on the horse, waiting for his brother to get behind him.

The demons rouse from their posts and Sock Dean spots their eyes turning toward the Asherah pole.

Sock Dean: Crap! Sam!

He turns to see the noose snatching Sock Sam and dragging him toward the pole.

Sock Dean kicks the horse and pulls the reins to the right. The horse stutters a step, but circles.

Sock Dean points the horse to the Asherah pole and yells: Hyah!

Sock Sam clings to the rope around his throat as it yanks him across the pavement, over the curb, and along the grassy embankment toward the pole itself.

Sock Dean taps his spurs into the hind of the quarter horse, racing alongside his brother on the ground. 

Sock Dean draws the machete as a silent executioner, as the Asherah pole looms closer with each gallop . The rope pulling Sock Sam is too far for Sock Dean to reach atop the horse, so he keeps on the course for the pole. 

With as much strength he can muster, Sock Dean swings the machete through the pole shattering it into splinters. A shockwave blast recoils through his arms and unseats him from the horse, who canters on fifty more feet. Sock Dean uncurls from rolling and stands slowly.

Sock Dean: Sammy? My arms are numb. Sammy!

Sock Sam lays on the ground on his back, pulling the rope from his neck. The raw marks are purple around his neck. 

He coughs and gulps air as he turns to get up on his knees.

Beside them the Asherah pole smokes. The top part connected to the rope is several feet away, it lays decaying like spent embers. The bottom still stands like a tree wiped out in a forest fire. The place where the burnt angel wings once were emblazoned is imperceptible from the complete burn from the blast. The grass a yard around the pole is charred to the roots, like a mark of unholy ground.

Sock Sam gasps words between coughs: Yeah. I’m here.

Sock Dean wiggles his arms and fingers until feeling comes back in them. 

A slow clap brings both Sockchesters to their feet as they turn toward N’ushtan who slowly prowls toward them. The other demons close in from each side. 

Sock Sam: Dean?

N’ushtan: Impressive Sockchesters. Impressive. I gotta say, I wasn’t sure you’d be able to save the girl in time, Dean. But that was some brilliant execution. 

Sock Dean keeps his eyes on the demon while he reaches for the machete.

Ash prances forward: And be a dear and show us your blade. Just where did you pick that up?

Sock Dean shrugs: It’s amazing what you can buy off of Amazon these days.

Sock Sam steps back as he sees the nine original demons surrounding them. He presses back to back with his brother. 

Sock Dean passes him a gun: Angel-killing bullets. That’s all we got.

Sock Sam points his gun at the demons. They smirk back at him.

Sock Dean raises his machete. On a second thought, he tugs the crucifix out of his jeans pocket and holds it toward the demons. They avert their eyes. A train horn whistles in the distance.

Sock Cass and Jordan appear on either side of them. Sock Cass flicks his angel blade out of the sleeve of his trenchcoat.

Sock Dean: Cass! Are you alright? You’re late to the line dance.

Sock Cass: The what?

Sock Sam turns his face back and forth while leveling his gun at the demons that move the most: Still. Nine of them. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. Any ideas?

Sock Cass: Don’t be afraid. There’s more with us than them.

Sock Dean: What?

Sock Cass glances at Jordan and nods toward the Sockchesters: Let them see.

Jordan lifts up his voice with only a small crack: Manifest! Host of Heaven!

Sock Sam notices that now that the demons are shifting and spinning around to face four companies of angels. They appear in the town square surrounding them. Each angel is wearing a different vessel. Some wear PTA moms, IT workers, construction crew vests, nurse scrubs, elderly grandmas in knitted yarn sweaters, college students, cashier in vests. Each angel produces their own angel blade and set resolve in their blazing eyes.

Sock Cass levels his angel blade and gaze at N’ushtan: Flee or die.

Jordan speaks: Do not return to this area again or we will vanquish you.

N’ushtan sneers at them: Just remember if you ever feel low, Sammy, I’m only a prayer away. 

He winks and vanishes. 

Ash pouts at her ruined pole for a moment, then she and the other demons fly away.

Sock Dean breathes easier and slides the machete back in its sheath. 

Jordan’s bright eyes scan the area, then he commands: At ease! Fall out!

The angels disperse one by one.

Sock Sam rubs his neck and kicks a piece of the burnt Asherah pole. It flakes into ashes on the toe of his shoe.

Sock Dean: Sam. Are you okay?

Sock Sam nods, flicks the safety back on, and tucks the gun into the small of his back.

Sock Cass looks at the damage to the Asherah pole: Good. The angel warding was burnt with the pole. That’s why we could finally come this close and fight with you.

Jordan raises his golden sword-like angel blade with both hands and plants it in the core of the pole. Pure white light shines from each burnt crevice and soon it crumbles, leaving only his sword.

Jordan spoke: Rest now Raguel, our brother and friend.

Sock Cass stands silent. He swallows before he turns back to the Sockchester brothers.

Sock Cass: N’ushtan and his gang won’t return unless they want to be slaughtered by Jordan and the host of angels who will come at his command.

Sock Dean rubbed his hands together looking at the four of them: Well, I don’t know about the rest of you but I think I’m going to need a drink. Maybe we can find some sarsaparilla for the little guy.

Sock Sam continues itching at his neck: I think I’m going to need tweezers to get all the fibers out. It feels like it’s still there, but I’ll take you up on that drink.

Sock Dean gestures to Hanes Bar and Grill on the square and sets off that direction.

Sock Sam looks back toward the ashes where Jordan kneels pouring holy oil on a cloth. Jordan uses the cloth to oil his sword and remove leftover soot from the blade.

Sock Cass stands nearby, speaking in lowered tones.

Sock Sam rejoins the angels as Jordan finishes oiling his blade and slides it into an invisible sheath at his hip. 

Jordan finishes his conversation as Sock Sam steps forward: I will return.

He nods smartly at Cass, then makes eye contact with Sam. Compassion lit Jordan’s eyes this time. Underneath that, a steely determination. Jordan lifts his eyes to the clear blue sky above, and disappears.

Sock Sam itches his neck again: So, is Jordan the angel’s new leader then?

Sock Cass squints his eyes and tilts his head: Yes and no. He doesn’t demand we follow him. He simply is who he is. He isn’t concerned about taking sides. If he calls on Angel Radio, we come because we know him. 

Sock Sam frowns: Huh. Uh, Cass. Look, I wanted to ask you. When I was in that cave and tried to kill the demons, it didn’t work, so I used that name, Yeshua, and that didn’t work either. So what did I do wrong?

Sock Cass glances back at the pile of ashes and rope: He doesn’t always work the same way in every instance. Not the way you expect usually.

Sock Sam: So you’re saying it did work?

Sock Cass: The demons are gone. Aren’t they?

Sock Sam nods: Yeah. Okay. Do you want to get a drink with Dean and me?

Sock Cass shakes his head: Go on. I need to recharge in Heaven for a little while. Pray if you need help.

Sock Sam: Got it. He makes his way back to the bar which was barely open. Sock Dean has the entire bar to himself, but a bartender walks out of the kitchen carrying a large red tray of freshly washed mugs.

Sock Dean looks up from his whiskey when Sock Sam settles on the stool beside him: So. What are you thirsty for?

Sock Sam turns to look at Sock Dean. His brother is calm. Perhaps too calm for the veiled question he posed.

Sock Sam: Alright, I get it. I’m sorry. I was out of line. Here. Pick a side. You can sock it to me.

Sock Dean: Nope, just call us even. Just don’t go running out on us for go-juice again.

Sock Sam clears his throat: Uh, well. I’m not really thirsty for, uh, that, right now. But I know I will want it again. Soon. So Bobby’s panic room. Whatever we gotta do.

Sock Dean shakes his head: I can’t do that to you, Sammy. Not again.

Sock Sam accepts the beer the bartender pushes in front of him, and gulps down a mouthful: So what? Twelve step program it? Stick some sort of angel blood patches to get me off it without going cold turkey? When I was drinking blood to kill Lillith, that was like gasoline, this is like motor oil. It’s a whole new level of intensity. I can’t do it alone.

Sock Dean leans back in the stool: We can fight it. We always do.

A buzzy warble tone breaks through the quiet bar.

Sock Sam draws his cellphone out of his pocket and stares at it.

Sock Dean: What is it?

Sock Sam: I’m not sure. Rowena said she needs us to come to the United Kingdom straight away.

Sock Dean: What? Does this have to do with digging up Crowley’s bones? Because I’d rather not do that again.

Sock Sam: She says a friend of hers needs serious help.

Sock Dean: Alright. We’ll get Baby a new set of wheels and grab our passports. But, man, can we not fly?

Sock Sam bites his cheek: I’ll see if Cass will take us.

Sock Dean tosses a few bills on the counter, downs the last of his drink, and the boys head out together.

* The End*

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Sammy and Dean Sockchester action figures created, staged and photographed by Marion.

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