The Wheels On The Bus (CHAPTER 21 SCRAPPED SCENE)

Jack knocks on the Hunters’ call center’s open door softly, not wanting to disturb anyone’s calls more than he already has. The Hunter closest to him - Erik, he thinks is his name - looks up from where he’s typing names into his laptop.

“Kline?”

“Is Dean here?” Jack asks.

“Went out to get a drink, he should be back soon.” Erik motions to the empty desk at the front, laptop open, a stack of papers right next to it, and an open, half-eaten chip bag.

“Thanks,” Jack says.

Erik nods, going right back to his work. “No problem, kid.”

Jack quietly makes his way to the front of the room, grabbing one of the spare chairs in the corner to set it down gently beside Dean’s desk. He takes a seat, still mindful of being quiet, and looks out at the room full of people, either on call or typing away at their keyboards. It reminds him a bit of the days when they still had a bunker full of people being led by Sam, before it all went to shit.

He misses them. He hadn’t spent a year in that alternate universe without making some friends.

Dean walks in the room, several cans of redbull in hand. He spots Jack sitting by his desk and raises a hand - which is still holding a can - in acknowledgement.

Jack laughs softly as he makes a show of sitting down on his desk and lacing his hands together after he sets the cans aside. Leaning forward, he says, “What can I do for you today, Mr. Kline?”

“Doesn’t suit you,” Jack says.

“I sure hope it doesn’t,” Dean says, cracking a grin. “I’m not made for this shit.” He slides one of the redbulls over to Jack.

“Thanks,” Jack says, “Have you slept?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “But sometimes I need a little kick.”

“Uh huh, how many energy drinks have you had?”

“Not enough,” Dean says. “But really, did something happen?”

“Uh.” Jack picks up his drink and stares at it. He pops it open. “Belphegor tried talking to the Shedim.”

“Did he pass out?”

“Well, he’s sleeping now, but no, he didn’t,” Jack says. He hesitates again, before deciding that ripping the bandaid off would be better for everyone, especially since they don’t have time to dither around. “The Shedim wanted to negotiate the terms of their cooperation.”

“Of course,” Dean mutters.

“They want their freedom.”

Dean stares at him - or rather, beyond him, like his brain blanks out for a second, like Jack’s had once he’d registered exactly what Belphegor had said. For a moment, there’s nothing but the background noise of the ongoing calls and the keyboard clacking.

Then, Dean says, “Well, shit.”

“Yeah, we thought to talk it over with you guys first, before we did anything. Bel’s taking a nap,” Jack says.

Dean nods, slides his office chair to the table of phones behind him and picks up the one that connects him to Sam’s office another room in the building. “Hey, bad news.”

Jack’s hearing is good enough to pick up Sam’s voice from the phone.

“Is any news good right now?”

“Funny,” Dean says. “Belphegor tried talking to the Shedim. They want their freedom in exchange for their help.”

“Well shit,” Sam says, just as articulate as his brother. “Did he say yes?”

“No, they sent Jack to tell me.”

“Good, good. We’re gonna - we’re gonna need another meeting for that - uh, let me call Cas - “ There’s a crackle, the sound of a few things being knocked over, and a very sigh and an apology.

“Busy day?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually gotten requests from people ‘cause they want to return to town,” Sam says. “I’m thinking it over since Hell’s already under control anyway.”

“How about we just get to the War Room in a few minutes?”

“Five?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, War Room in five minutes. Hopefully Rowena’s not busy.”

“Alright.” Dean puts the phone back down on its receiver and slides his office chair back to his desk, which is the only action that he seems to get any joy from, from that whole exchange. He looks down at his table for a moment. Then he sighs.

“Yeah,” Jack says, sympathetically.

“Well, it is the apocalypse,” he says, and he sounds so weary that the joke lands on its face instead of its feet.

“We might have to say yes,” Jack says. “It’s the apocalypse. If we don’t do anything, we’ll still lose.”

Dean runs a hand over his face. He looks like he wants to yell at something, or go to sleep, which Jack perfectly understands. It’s been a tough few weeks.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, standing. “Let’s get this over with.”