Supernatural - Chapter 40: Trouble at the Auction (Patreon)

On the morning of March 7, the three of them left Sioux Falls.

The auction was the following day. Murphy had spent the past week preparing the bank accounts, addresses, and backgrounds for their assumed identities. Bela had secured their introduction, and Sam had passed the screening as Murphy's supposed fiancé.

For their false surname, they'd chosen Campbell.

Their invented romance didn't need an elaborate history. The auction house only wanted evidence that they had known one another for some time. Murphy created several records that could be verified, went over the timeline with Sam, and considered that part settled.

The brothers were far less comfortable with the maximum sum she'd reserved for bidding.

It was considerably more than the auction's minimum proof of funds, and they couldn't imagine how long it had taken her to arrange. Sam held his map in silence when he heard the amount. Even Dean stopped complaining about the slow driver ahead.

"It's a ceiling, not a target," Murphy explained. "If somebody bids that much for one old book, I'm going to check whether the person opposite me has lost their mind."

In the end, Sam only made her promise to stop if the price went too high.

Dean offered no opinion, though his eyes briefly met Sam's in the rearview mirror.

It was only a moment. Murphy noticed anyway.

She had a strong suspicion that if the book became too expensive to buy, the Winchester brothers might start considering less conventional hunter methods of acquiring it.

That night, they checked into an expensive hotel north of Chicago.

Bela had recommended it. A woman who could produce proof of six-figure assets without blinking, she'd pointed out, shouldn't be discovered spending the previous night at a motel charging forty-nine dollars for a room.

Murphy could see the logic. She just wished paying the hotel bill didn't hurt so much.

Baby had barely stopped outside the entrance before a valet in uniform stepped forward to open their doors.

Dean looked at the outstretched hand. He hesitated, then reluctantly surrendered his keys.

"Treat her right."

The valet gave a perfectly professional nod.

Dean watched Baby being driven away for several yards before following Murphy and Sam indoors. His attention soon shifted when he saw the lobby.

They'd stayed in countless places over the previous six months, nearly all motels, apart from the occasional chain hotel. They knew moldy wallpaper, broken air-conditioning, towels washed so many times they'd turned stiff, and windows overlooking parking-lot dumpsters.

This was another universe altogether.

The lobby ceiling seemed impossibly high. The polished floor reflected the people walking across it, and somewhere in the distance, someone was playing the piano. Sam remained composed while completing the check-in form until he noticed the nightly rate. His pen stopped for several seconds, as though he'd forgotten how numbers worked.

Dean leaned over to see.

"That's for one night?"

Sam checked again. "One night."

They fell silent together. Even their breathing grew cautious.

Murphy stood behind them and tried to fit in by breathing just as quietly.

Their disbelief was soon overtaken by fascination when they reached the suite.

There was a living room, dining area, and bar, plus three separate bedrooms with their own bathrooms. The bathroom adjoining the largest bedroom was nearly half the size of one of their usual motel rooms, with the shower and bathtub on opposite sides and two sinks besides.

Best of all, each of them could have a bedroom to themselves.

Murphy thought nothing of it. Sam, however, found it strangely unsettling. After so many years of automatically sharing motel rooms with Dean, it rarely even occurred to either brother to book separately when they could afford to. Being given a whole bedroom of his own left Sam with an odd sense of empty space.

He didn't stay uncomfortable for long.

He chose the bedroom by the window. When he pulled back the curtains and discovered a view of the lake, he stood looking out for quite a while.

Dean settled in much faster.

Almost immediately, he pulled a bathrobe from the wardrobe to hold against himself, then discovered an unfamiliar row of switches beside the bed. By the time Murphy came to look in on them, he'd run the lights through a complete cycle and raised and lowered the blackout blinds twice.

Sam finally asked, "How old are you again?"

"Checking for damage," Dean answered with complete conviction, pressing the bedside lamp switch once more. "Suppose something was already broken and they tried to charge us for it when we leave?"

"..." Murphy and Sam exchanged a look. They were equally speechless.

For once, they'd arrived with a whole day to spare, and none of them brought up the old manuscript again that evening.

After nearly ten hours on the road, they changed and went to the restaurant downstairs. Dean had been eyeing it since they entered the hotel, and the meal lived up to his expectations. He enjoyed every course, from the steak and wine through the final dessert.

Sam initially claimed he wasn't especially hungry, yet cleaned his plate. Murphy decided not to worry about tomorrow's auction either. They were here already. She might as well enjoy dinner.

Even afterward, none of them was eager to go to bed. Sam took a long, hot shower, emerged in the hotel's robe, and sank into the sofa by his window without wanting to move. Dean investigated the television channels and the bathtub, then stretched out on the mattress. He stared at the ceiling and decided that eight hours in a bed like this couldn't possibly count as the same kind of sleep as eight hours in a motel.

Murphy enjoyed a shower of her own. The hotel's steady, luxurious hot water was nothing like the temperamental showers at their usual motels. She lingered longer than normal, then considered the inviting bathtub. Remembering the time she'd fainted in one, she wisely decided not to risk another attempt.

She emerged in a bathrobe. The room was so quiet she could hear the air-conditioning, and Chicago's distant lights shone outside. Murphy threw herself onto the bed, sank into its outrageously soft covers, and decided that no visitor on earth would persuade her to get up tonight.

All three slept late the next morning and even spent extra time lounging in bed. The auction didn't reclaim their full attention until the afternoon.

When Murphy came out dressed for the evening, the brothers were already waiting in the corridor.

Her gown was champagne-colored, long and almost entirely backless, with no unnecessary ornamentation. For once, she'd pinned all her hair up, leaving only a few loose strands by her cheeks. Sam broke off in the middle of speaking to Dean when he saw her. Several seconds passed before he managed, "You look beautiful."

Murphy was delighted by the compliment. She stepped closer and finally took a proper look at him.

His black suit was tailored far better than the ones he wore for FBI impersonations, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs. With the champagne-colored tie she'd chosen for him two days earlier, he looked considerably more mature than usual.

When she'd selected the tie, her only thought had been that an engaged couple ought to look like they belonged together. Now they were standing side by side, the effect was even better than she'd hoped.

"You look great, too."

She reached up to straighten his tie. Sam lowered his head to help, watching her face. He seemed to notice for the first time just how well the colors of their outfits matched.

Murphy stepped away and admired the result, thoroughly satisfied. Nobody looking at them tonight would guess the happy couple had only finished memorizing their relationship history yesterday.

Then she glanced sideways and realized Dean was wearing a suit as well.

His was black too, though he'd kept a conventional dark tie. He often wore a suit while impersonating a federal agent, but today he'd taken much more care. There was nothing to criticize about his hair, shirt, or jacket.

Murphy stared at him for a moment.

"What?" Dean asked.

Her thoughts suddenly became a ridiculous tangle of what had been said at Bela's party and the compliments she'd given Dean on her birthday. One train of thought was decidedly adult. The other seemed almost embarrassingly romantic.

"Nothing." She quietly averted her eyes.

Dean scratched his head, confused, but didn't pursue it. Still, his gaze kept drifting toward Sam's champagne-colored tie.

They had more than twenty minutes before their arranged departure.

The original plan admitted only Murphy and Sam to the auction. Dean would remain outside as backup. He'd raised no objections and, after changing, went downstairs ahead of them, announcing that he might try the fancy restaurant next to the hotel while the others were at the sale.

"We hardly ever stay somewhere this nice. Might as well have a proper dinner."

Murphy agreed wholeheartedly, even asking him to report back on whether the food was any good.

After Dean left, she and Sam stayed in the suite a little longer, checking their invitations, identification, and everything they needed to carry. Only when the front desk called to say their car had arrived did they head downstairs.

There was no sign of Dean in the lobby.

Murphy didn't think anything of it at the time.

...

The auction took place on a private estate in the northern suburbs of Chicago.

Only after passing through its iron gates did Murphy realize that their astonishingly luxurious hotel might be considered fairly ordinary by the people here.

The drive from the gate to the main house took several minutes. Manicured lawns stretched beyond the trees, with a lake visible in the distance. The gray-white stone mansion blazed with light, and cars Murphy had only ever seen online lined the drive.

As they approached the entrance, Sam was already studying the security personnel and exits through the car window. Murphy followed his gaze, and they quietly confirmed several possible routes.

Apparently no amount of luxury could cure hunters of the instinct to find an escape route first.

Staff escorted them into the entrance hall. There weren't many guests, and most spoke in subdued voices, punctuated by the occasional unmistakably rich-person laugh. Paintings hung on the walls, and antiques stood in display cases without even a barrier around them.

Murphy and Sam reached the registration desk and presented their documents. Their identities and invitations passed inspection without trouble, until the receptionist came to Sam's name.

The woman checked her computer again, then looked up to ask whether another member of their family was attending.

Murphy thought she'd misheard. Sam frowned.

Then the receptionist spoke a name they knew all too well.

"Mr. Dean Campbell has already arrived."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Murphy's ears seemed to ring.

The woman looked from Murphy to Sam and quickly realized neither of them had expected this other guest.

Her expression turned guarded. She spoke briefly into a radio beside her.

"Where is he?" Murphy asked.

A few minutes later, staff led them to a private lounge off the hall.

The door had barely opened before Sam strode inside.

Dean sat beside a window, drinking coffee as though he belonged there. An auction catalog lay open on the table. He set down his cup and greeted them with easy familiarity.

Murphy's eyes went straight to his tie.

It had been dark that afternoon. Now it was the exact same champagne shade as Sam's.

He'd even prepared for that? Murphy didn't know what to feel.

Sam shut the door behind them and crossed the room in a few strides. "When did you call Bela?"

Dean put his coffee down. "Last night."

Of all possible answers, that might have been the worst.

They'd eaten together downstairs last night. Sam had slept in the next room. The three of them had shared breakfast that morning. Right up until Murphy and Sam left the hotel, Dean had acted as though he intended to wait there quietly for their return.

In reality, he'd already worked out an entirely different plan.

Sam stared at him for a long moment and kept his voice low. "You were right next door to me last night."

Dean frowned. "Bela hadn't confirmed she could get me in yet."

"And? What about this morning? When did she confirm it?"

"Around noon?" Dean scratched his cheek, looking distinctly guilty.

Sam was so angry he turned away. He paced across the lounge before facing Dean again. "Noon. You knew before we left that you were coming here. You stood in the hotel, watched us get into the car, and didn't say one word."

"Sam, I only..."

"I know why you wanted to get in," Sam interrupted. "Security's tight, and you couldn't stand the thought of us being trapped inside while you waited outside unable to help. I understand that."

Dean's carefully prepared explanation died on his lips.

But Sam wasn't any less angry.

"You do this every time. When we can still discuss something, you say nothing. You wait until you've made the choice and carried it out, until nobody else can change it, and only then do you decide I deserve to know."

Murphy had been standing near the door. She fell quiet as she listened.

Dean dropped his casual manner too. "I just wanted us to have another option."

Sam gave a short, incredulous laugh. "That's not the point."

His voice rose, then he remembered the staff waiting outside and forced it down again.

"You've got two months, Dean. The last thing I need is to wake up one morning and discover you've done something else behind my back because you decided it was better that way."

Dean didn't argue this time.

He understood what was making Sam so furious. This had never been just about the auction.

After a moment, he said quietly, "I should've told you."

Sam still looked grim.

It was an acknowledgment, at least, but far from the end of their argument. Just then, someone knocked on the lounge door.

Sam closed his eyes and slowly released a breath. He straightened the cuffs he'd crumpled during the argument and checked his tie. When he looked up again, he'd managed to hide his anger for the time being.

Murphy approached the door. Her hand had just touched the handle when a thought struck her.

Bela might be clever enough to get Dean admitted, but the auction house wasn't doing anyone a favor. He still needed some official relationship to the registered buyer.

She turned around. "Wait. How exactly are you listed in our party?"

Dean's expression changed in a distinctly uncomfortable way.

Murphy could tell immediately that there was something else.

"Husband," Dean blurted, as though the word had burned his tongue.

For two seconds, nobody spoke.

Sam had already been seething about his brother's secrecy. Now he seemed unable to decide which part of the situation ought to make him angriest. He simply stared at Dean.

Dean hastened to explain that the choice of identity hadn't been his.

When he'd called Bela the night before, he'd only requested a way into the auction. Bela had laughed at length when he admitted he planned to sneak in without telling Murphy or Sam. And she already knew what sort of relationship those two were claiming.

The papers she ultimately delivered listed both brothers as Campbells.

One was the fiancé and the other was the husband. They were still brothers, too.

Murphy could almost picture Bela's delighted expression as she prepared the paperwork.

"And after seeing it, you didn't think about refusing?" Sam finally asked.

Dean's reply was unapologetic. "So I should've gone back to the hotel and waited for you?"

Another knock sounded at the door.

Murphy had no patience left to argue about this right now. Before opening it, she said, "I'll sort it out."

She would soon discover she'd spoken much too confidently.

Two employees had come to perform the final review. At first, they merely confirmed the accounts and each guest's authorization. Then one reached the section explaining their relationships and visibly slowed down.

Husband: Dean Campbell.

Fiancé: Sam Campbell.

Biological brothers.

The young woman taking notes had been writing steadily. Her pen stopped against the paper.

Murphy could feel sweat starting to form on her exposed back.

The senior reviewer somehow maintained a professional smile, but she examined the claim that the two Mr. Campbells were brothers far more carefully than anything else on the forms.

Sam confirmed it without hesitation, as though being engaged to his brother's wife required no explanation at all.

At that point, Murphy abandoned any hope of making the arrangement sound normal. She was about to assure the staff that their family circumstances wouldn't affect the auction when Dean took over.

He launched into a complete family melodrama.

According to him, he and Murphy had once enjoyed a wonderful marriage. They'd separated after some difficulties, but never filed the divorce papers. Later, Sam had stayed by Murphy's side, and their long companionship had naturally developed into a relationship.

The longer Murphy listened, the more outrageous it sounded.

Then Dean claimed he and Murphy had never truly stopped caring for each other, and turned to look directly at her.

The look was so convincing that her heart gave an unexpected thump. For a moment, she even lost track of the sarcastic remarks she'd been composing in her head.

And then Sam joined the performance.

He'd evidently decided the story was beyond repair, so he might as well help Dean invent the rest. He even slipped their argument from the lounge into it. "We've talked about this over and over. You told me yourself you could accept it."

Dean turned toward him.

Sam met his eyes with an expression of perfect sincerity.

Murphy was still in the room, but her mind had gone somewhere far away. The brothers seemed to be enjoying their invented drama far too much.

Naturally, the story only grew more elaborate. Whenever Dean tried to make his position sound reasonable, Sam added another revealing detail. One brother made things up, the other played along, and eventually even Murphy couldn't tell whether they were deceiving the reviewers or continuing the argument they'd started in the lounge.

The note-taker was completely engrossed.

She even gave the slightest nod when Sam mentioned a supposed incident from their past, as though she'd already chosen a side.

Her colleague took the screening much more seriously. She waited for the tale of a failed marriage, a brother's involvement, and lingering affection to conclude before returning to the question of how the three were involved now.

Dean considered that for a moment.

The look on his face filled Murphy with dread.

Sure enough, he soon found an answer.

"I'm happy to let Sam have the ring," Dean said. "I'll settle for being the one nobody's allowed to know about."

The note-taker pressed her lips together sharply. Even the senior reviewer's professional smile nearly broke.

Sam simply stared.

He clearly hadn't imagined his brother would sacrifice quite this much dignity just to attend an auction. The absurdity of it scattered some of his remaining anger. It took several seconds before his face settled into an expression of disbelief.

Dean, meanwhile, was fully committed to his role.

Sam could have the official title. Dean would keep his distance in public. As long as Murphy was willing to let him have some place in her life, he could negotiate the rest.

Finally, he looked at Murphy again.

"I'm not asking for much." His voice grew quieter. "Just let me stay."

The smile faded from Murphy's face. She knew the entire story was a fabrication, yet that one sentence still managed to hurt in a way she couldn't explain.

Dean kept looking at her. For a moment, it was impossible to tell how much of the emotion in his eyes was part of the act.

She was about to answer when he destroyed the atmosphere himself.

"And I get to keep our beloved car," Dean added with perfect seriousness.

Sam dug his nails into his thigh so hard he almost lost his composure.

That snapped Murphy back to reality. She shot Dean a glare. "We'll discuss the three of us when we get home."

At last, their ridiculous screening interview reached a conclusion.

The accounts belonged to the person listed, Sam had valid authorization to accompany her, and Dean's admission was properly arranged. How they planned to settle their marriage, engagement, and the husband who'd volunteered to remain a secret was entirely outside the auction house's responsibilities.

Three admission passes were issued without further delay.

The young woman taking notes still seemed reluctant to let such a fascinating story end. As Murphy passed her on the way out, she looked at the brothers ahead and then raised an eyebrow ever so slightly at Murphy.

The shock in her eyes had disappeared. If anything, she looked impressed.

Murphy had no idea how to respond. She maintained her polite smile and kept walking.

All three of them had humiliated themselves tonight. None was getting away clean.

...

Once bidding began, the disaster of their screening interview was soon pushed aside.

They were seated together, Murphy between the two Campbells. Nearby guests occasionally glanced in their direction. She couldn't begin to guess how much of their family drama had already circulated.

Paintings, jewelry, and antiques sold for increasingly outrageous sums. Six-figure prices barely attracted notice. After several rounds, Murphy understood why they demanded evidence of wealth just to get through the door. The funds she'd documented were barely enough to prove she had a right to sit in this room.

The book they wanted was scheduled far down the catalog.

When On Oaths, Bonds, and the Ownership of Souls finally appeared on the display stand, it looked almost shabby beside the earlier lots. Its cover was badly worn, its spine had been repaired at some point, and the auctioneer offered little more than a description of a Latin occult manuscript dating from the sixteenth or seventeenth century.

Sam checked the actual volume, then touched Murphy's arm.

That was it.

They'd prepared for fierce competition, but the bidding proved unexpectedly easy. After Murphy raised her paddle, only one other buyer bid against her, and that person quickly lost interest. The next time the price came to Murphy, the auctioneer brought down the hammer.

The winning bid didn't use anything close to the budget she'd set aside.

Dean studied the final figure for several seconds. "So after all that trouble, the hardest part was getting through the door?"

Murphy offered no answer.

Payment and handover proceeded without incident. By the time the ancient manuscript was placed in its protective case and given to them, night had fallen. They stayed another night in Chicago before setting off early the next morning in Baby, heading back to Sioux Falls.

They arrived at Bobby's place on the afternoon of March 9.

Most of the following hours disappeared into the old book.

Murphy and Sam worked carefully through the text, while Bobby filled the gaps with information from his hunting records. Much of the manuscript was scattered and poorly organized, but the section dealing with soul contracts was sufficiently complete. Together they pieced together a ritual circle they could actually use to sever such a contract.

The required materials would be troublesome to acquire, but everything was obtainable. No essential step was missing.

Dean finally allowed himself to relax. Then he asked the question that mattered most. "When can we start?"

That was the one problem the manuscript couldn't solve for them.

The ritual's final severing step could only be performed after the contract had entered its enforcement phase.

The book was uncompromising about the timing. Before midnight at the beginning of the contract's expiration date, the agreement remained fully valid. They could prepare the circle, gather the components, and align everything with the contract, but they couldn't touch the bond that attached it to the soul.

At midnight, Hell would acquire the right to claim the soul, putting the contract into effect. Only after that instant, and before the soul was actually taken, could the final severing step work.

Sam checked the passages again. Bobby compared them with his own reference material. Both reached the same conclusion.

They still couldn't test the ritual on Dean's contract ahead of time.

When his last night arrived, they'd have a single chance to discover whether it worked.

The mood in the room, briefly lifted by the prospect of a solution, darkened again.

Dean picked up the list of materials and read it from the beginning. "So the one thing we don't know is whether any of this actually works."

"Right," Sam said.

Murphy wasn't especially surprised.

From the moment she'd decided to search for a way to break the deal, she'd never intended Dean to be their first test. Bela's contract would expire sooner than his. If Bela agreed to cooperate, she was the obvious person to try the ritual with.

Now there was an additional problem of timing, nothing more.

"Then we need the exact date Bela's deal comes due," Bobby said.

Murphy was already reaching for her phone.

Bela answered promptly. When Murphy told her they'd extracted a complete contract-severing ritual from the manuscript, Bela fell unusually quiet.

"There's something I need to ask," Murphy said, studying the pages spread over the table. "The ritual only works during the final enforcement window on the day a contract expires."

For several seconds, there was no response.

Bela clearly understood the implication.

"So," Murphy continued, "when exactly does your contract expire?"