Disclaimer: Guess what! I don't own jack! You know the drill, so why are you reading disclaimers?
AN: For unknown reasons, I thought about Julia Wright and I thought about how much more interesting her character and story could have been. It could have been pretty damn vicious. Then I thought about what a really good writer could do with her story. And then I was sad because I don't know any really good stories written with her character and I'm not a very good writer. Then I decided to hell with it: I'm going to be the shitty writer that flails widely in a pathetic attempt at a good story based around this character. I've got trigger elements in this story, likely screwed up and written elements that are completely inappropriate and crossed lines that should probably never be crossed. My apologies. At the very least, I am really trying not to be too offensive but I suspect plots that I actually find interesting have a high probability of upsetting someone somewhere. So I'm rating this story with an M. Feel free to berate me in your reviews. Maybe I'll learn a thing or two.
And that's a sizeable rant about nothing. I should stop there. Julia was in season 5 of Supernatural. I've made her Sam's age which would have put her at 14 when she was possessed. And that's where child abuse lines start getting crossed. I thought I'd make her demon more sinister and start her out more hostile. So, my apologies that she is most definitely, out of character. There's a lot of swearing to start with but it will lessen.
August 1999
Padding up as silently as possible from downwind, I approach the cabin clutching my .22 tightly in my hands. I'm too stiff. Trying to remember my shooting lessons, I take a moment to relax my shoulders and unclench my jaw. I take deep quiet breaths. When my heart rate has returned to a reasonable level, I take a peek in the open window.
He is in the kitchenette area opening a beer with his back turned to me. I need him to face me to make sure the bullet pierces his heart. I'm not a very experienced hunter or a particularly good marksmen. I need this to be over in one shot. There isn't any room for mistakes. I probably shouldn't even be doing it. I should have called Martin and told him about the hunt. He would have come out to hunt the pack of skinwalkers or sent an experienced hunter. But then I wouldn't be here getting this opportunity to learn. No hunter will agree to apprentice me. None of them approve of a teenage girl hunting. Hell, maybe they're right. I'm 5'7" and underweight.
I cut my thoughts short before I spiral into self-doubt. Rather than prepare myself any more than I already am, I move before I can over think this any further than I already have. Standing up, I brace the butt of the gun in my hand as I hold the handle, body positioned as I was taught, safety off and ready to fire.
Only, when I stand up a face is inches from mine and I'm not sure who is more freaked out. Him or me. I aim and squeeze the trigger at point blank range where he stands at the window looking out at me. I can tell by the genuine surprise in his eyes that he didn't see that coming. My gunshot cracks and rebounds all over the forest in the black of night.
He looks down at the hole in his chest and then he drops like a ton of bricks.
My breath comes out in short gasps. I killed him. I killed him. Was he really a skinwalker? Little late to be second guessing that. My hands tremble and I'm having a hard time thinking clearly. Then I remember. I only have minutes until his pack comes. They will be coming for me. I read there is probably some type of psychic connection because when something happens to the leader, they all come out of the woodwork. That's why you're warned off of shooting the leader first. Because you will have to deal with the rest of the pack all at once. But I'm more worried about missing the leader than I am about the rest of the pack. My concerns are ill-conceived.
I walk into the cabin and set up ready for the coming battle. I don't need to make peep holes. The old cabin has lots of gaps in the walls. I open my canvas bag of weapons with my stolen silver melted down into bullets. I was pretty scared to take this on, so I stole a lot of silver. A lot of silver makes a lot of bullets. I'm good with that. I'm so scared, but it sort of feels good. I'm scared but I have some sort of control over this situation. I'm not helpless. I'm not tied up. I'm not trapped.
I unload the rest of the guns and lay them out, safeties off so I can grab them off the table instead of reloading. I have my doubts I can reload a gun with trembling hands.
This was an incredibly stupid idea. I see that tiny little wretched face in the back of my mind. This isn't a bad idea. This is so much better than being helpless and impotent. I have to do something. I have to fight something. I need to feel powerful again. I am right where I am supposed to be. I take a spot where I have a good view and wait with my .22 in my grasp.
I'm not sure what I was expecting. I suppose strategy. I thought there would be a build up. Warning. What I get is a bunch of dogs going nuts I unison attacking the rickety old cabin. I try to aim and shoot but they don't hold still long enough to aim and shoot.
"Hey Cujo!" I make eye contact with one through a gap. When it stops to look at me, I shoot it in the chest off centre directly in the heart. It drops. Damn, I'm good.
"Any more rabid dogs to put down?" That causes another to pause just long enough for me to take aim and shoot. I exhale, ready to move onto the next.
"Does your pack have any bitches?" Aim and shoot another silver bullet.
"Bitches love silver." I shoot but miss as the next skinwalker breaks rickety old wood apart. I fire repeatedly, hitting the beast but missing the heart. A much louder gunshot cracks as I'm taken to the ground. I curl in a ball as a bunch of shots go off. And then there is silence.
Who was that? No one knows I'm here. I shove the skinwalker off of me and scramble to my feet, clasping my gun suspiciously. Hyper alert, I make my way to the door and see three unfamiliar faces.
"Bitches love silver?" A man a few years older than me says. He is pretty enough that I feel my face blush just because he's looking at me. As if anyone would want me.
I'm not laughing. "What're you doing here?" I demand to know.
An older man steps in. Tall, imposing and stern. "What do you think you're doing out here all alone huntin' an entire pack of skinwalkers alone?"
"You're not my father." I narrow my eyes at him. More hunters telling me what to do.
"Where is you family? Your father would love to know what you're up to."
"This was my hunt. You had no business cutting in on it."
"You almost got shredded by-"
"Dean." The older hunter barks his name like an order and the young man goes silent instantly.
"You won't tell me where you family is, Martin will."
Fuck. "He's been tracking me? Doesn't matter. Best he can do is fuck up my hunts."
"Watch your mouth!"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck you!" I turn my back on him and suddenly I'm whirled around and he's grabbing hold of my forearm in a tight grasp.
"Kid don't make you spank me."
As much as I want to cry, I replace grief for my family with equal quantities of venom. "As much as I love a good spanking, don't you think you're a little old for me?" He looks stunned by my insinuation. "If you'll let go of my arm, I'll go get my shovel and bury the bodies from my hunt." How am I ever going to get any good at hunting if Martin continues to keep tabs on me and uses other hunters to cockblock my hunts?
"Dean, Sam, bury the bodies." He orders as he keeps his eyes on me. I notice the third man isn't really a man so much as a teenage boy. About my age. I take it this hunter has two sons that he hunts with. He pulls out a cell phone and makes a phone call. Martin's going to tell him everything, isn't he? So much for privacy.
"Creaser, I got the girl. Picked a fight with an entire pack of skinwalkers. She's got one hell of a mouth on her and a death wish. Where's home?" I struggle to slip out of his grasp. He shoots me a deadly warning look, mixed with disbelief. Then as he listens to Martin his brow creases and his mouth turns down either side. "What happened to her people?... Then who's her guardian? … And she just keeps runnin' away? Why haven't you taken her in?" Because I just run away. "No, you need to tell me what exactly happened to her... possession? … Why do I get the feelin' that's not all of it? … Then what do I do with her?" He holds the phone back from his face in confusion and I hear the dial tone. I almost laugh that Martin hung up on him.
Do what with me? Anyone that tries to take care of me will be made to regret it. Just then Sam and Dean return with shovels. His next move shocks the hell out of me. He pulls out zip ties and traps my hands in them with my arms locked around a tree.
"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" I rage at him.
"My name's John Winchester, these are my sons' Sam and Dean. Sam, Dean, meet Julia Wright. Julia's stayin' with us for awhile until we can find her a home."
"Like hell I am!"
"Julia when was the last time you got a good nights sleep and a meal?"
"Fuck you!"
John's eyes narrow. "What we have here Dean, is a girl who was possessed by a demon for the better part of a year when she was 14. No family left."
"You dick! I don't want your help."
John continues. "Demon left quite the mark on you."
"Taught me everything I know."
"You been through a lot, but you will be respectful while you live with us."
"Live with you? I'm gonna corrupt your little boys John. I'll teach them language the likes of which they've never heard before. I'll show them I can suck the chrome off a ball hitch." I tell him in a low dirty voice with a lascivious smile. I've never had sex in my life, but I got enough filthy information from the demon in my head to fill a book. "You should let me go and your boys can keep what's left of their innocence old man. Or were you thinkin' of keepin' me to play hide the sausage with later?" I sense he's going to be uptight enough to take exception to that innuendo. If that doesn't make him dislike me enough to ditch me, I don't know will.
His eyes harden. "You catchin' this Dean?"
"Yeah, I'm seeing it."
"Remember it. This is just the emotional trauma left from demon possession. It's rare for anyone to survive. This is why it's so important to find 'em before they can switch bodies. I don't have to tell you not to accept anything she's offerin'. She's Sam's age."
Dean grunts and the two young men start digging.
"This is kidnapping! Let me go or I'll kill you in your sleep, mutilate your remains in the most humiliating way possible and leave your corpse on the most horrific display I can invent." I'm disappointed when John gags me with a handkerchief. I stare at him imagining horrific deaths for him that would have made Bruno proud.
Bruno. The demon who used to possess me. Taught me everything I know. Even how to shoot a gun. Well, not literally. I learned it from his head. Close enough. I'm a well trained thief and educated in filthy thoughts that no one but a sadist would ever want to know. I don't want most of my thoughts.
Embarrassingly, John is right about me being tired and hungry. I focused my efforts this past week on stealing silver for bullets. And survival is hard enough as a homeless teenage girl. There's a couple of orchards near the stairwell I've been sleeping in. Most of my diet this week has been apples and pears from that orchard. I probably should have taken better care of myself because I fall asleep hugging the tree very quickly. That isn't a good way to prove that I can take care of myself.
When John cuts the zip ties around my wrists, I jerk awake. I take his legs out from under him where he crouches before I'm even aware of what I'm doing. But he recovers quickly enough, forcing my nose down into the dirt as he twists my arm up against my back. I sense his sons are watching me.
"You've got decent skills but you're underfed and weak. Now, you want to sit in the car or do I need to hog tie you and hide you in the trunk?" He says in a low steely voice.
I don't want to co-operate. Martin didn't tell John everything. But he told him too much and he in turn told his son's too much. It makes me vulnerable. Still, I don't want to be hog tied. When he undoes my gag I answer: "I'll sit in the car."
"Watch your mouth around my sons."
I want to go with the tried, tested and true 'fuck you' response. But I get the impression that saying that, would get me hog tied.
On the ride back to their motel in the next state (one hell of a drive to head me off, Martin must be a very good friend) the tension is palpable. The younger son, Sam is sleeping in the front seat, I suspect to keep him away from me. And the older son, Dean is sitting on the other end of the bench style back seat keeping a close eye on me.
"Why are you holding onto me?" I finally ask John. "Why don't you just let me go? No one can stand me. I'm fucked in the head, dude."
"Language."
"I can't! I can't watch my language. I've been thinking it for a very long time!"
"You won't be much of a hunter if you can't talk civilly to people." John points out.
"I don't plan to be a good hunter. I just need someone I'm allowed to shoot at."
"You're angry."
"Damn right I'm angry." A tiny face flashes before I shove it aside.
"What's your story."
"Demon possession," I answer unhelpfully.
"I can't help you if I don't know it."
"I've been fucked five ways from Sunday-"
"Language."
"Shit." I forgot.
"Language."
"Cocksuc-" He shoots me a look from the front seat. I can't think of a word that isn't more cursing but expresses my frustration. I take a breath. "Demons in your head are deleterious to your vocabulary." I tell him caustically.
To my surprise, he laughs. "So I gather. But you can do it. What's the last grade of school you completed?"
I have to stop and think about it. "Grade 8. I completed Grade 8. I got some killer lessons on the sex trade though, so I'm primed and ready for life as a working girl. Put that in your pipe and smoke it." I dig in knowing he won't approve of that idea. His hands tighten around the steering wheel. I grin.
"Stop with the innuendo's little girl." John orders me.
"Innocent school girl is what floats your boat? I can pretend to be one of those." I purr.
"You're starting your first day of school Monday. Dean's going to spend this week helping you clean up your language for it."
Dean's eyes widen in alarm. John raises an eyebrow. "Yessir," Dean responds submissively.
"I'm not gonna be your bitch!"
"Language."
"You think you can house train me? I'll blow every boy in school until I get kicked out for it and bring attention to your family."
John looks at me through the rear view mirror. "Then Dean's got his work cut out for him." I don't miss Dean gulping in the seat next to me. I don't usually make so many innuendo's, I usually prefer to threaten with violence. But John is clearly not a man to be frightened off by threats of having his balls cut off and fed to him by force.
"You're wasting your time. I died the day that demon took me. He is my identity. You wanna be kind, shoot me in my sleep." I turn my back on him and rest my head on the seat back going off to sleep.
Soft. I feel something soft in my sleep. That is so not what I expect, I jerk awake. "Where am I?" I'm not in the black car any more. I'm on a bed.
"Back at the motel honey."
I look around and see there are only two beds. "Someone else can have the bed." I say getting up.
"I'll get more beds tomorrow, they'll survive without a bed one night."
"Four walls and a roof are a step up, don't waste the bed, I won't sleep in it."
"I'm tying you to the bed so you don't run away during the night."
My mouth falls open as I realize he sees through my plans. I close my mouth and narrow my eyes at him. "You do realize this is kidnapping?"
John and Dean wrap my wrists in soft material and then tie my wrists to the bed. It's unsettling two have two grown men strapping me down.
"Father and son gang bang? Kinky." If I'm going to be made uncomfortable with the situation, I'm going to make damn sure they're uncomfortable too. Unfortunately neither responds to my goading.
"You need the bathroom?"
"No. Why?"
"Goodnight Julia." John says with finality before he gags me.
I watch etched tired faces in the low lamp light as the three take turns in the bathroom.
Intellectually, I know there isn't any danger here. Still, I saw Bruno's memories and I watched his lackey's kidnap, rape and torture victims. I've watched a girl like me tied down to a bed while men took all week to kill them. I'm trapped in my body and watching passively as strange men control me. I feel expressly threatened by the situation. I do my best to fake indifference. I can't let John know that this is getting to me. I can't let him know that I'm scared of anything. I can't show vulnerability.
Dean gives up the couch to Sam because he has school tomorrow. I look at the clock and see it is 3am. School in the morning? John can't seriously expect Sam to go to school tomorrow. But then I see he does. He dragged the guy across state lines to catch someone else's daughter in the middle of hunting? Why didn't he leave him alone at the motel to sleep? I thought parents took education seriously?
The lights turn out at they lay down to sleep. I hate the black.
"Julia! Julia, stop!"
I'm choking on salt. Bruno's returned in John Winchester's body and he's pissed. He has me tied to a bed and he's a huge bag of salt down my throat as his subordinates hold me still. My legs are flying out and my body is arching off the bed as I try to turn away from the salt. I can hear my muffled screams and feel hot tears on my face.
My mouth breaks free. "I didn't mean it Bruno!" He's going to skewer me. I know it. He was skewered in Hell and he has shown me exactly what that feels like. "I'll tell you where he is! Let me make it up to you! Please Bruno!" Pain screeches through me and a throttled scream is torn from my throat as I re-experience the sensation of being skewered from ass to throat with an iron bar. Passing through critical organs and soft tissues the pain is so bad when I finish my scream I can't inhale my next breath. I can hear the airless gasp as I fight for air that my closed throat and seemingly collapsed chest can't allow in.
"Julia!" I see John's eyes filled with fear and concern.
His voice cuts through to me and the next breath comes gushing in. I'm panting and sweating and terrified. "Where'd he go? Where's Bruno?"
He shakes his head. "No, I'm not Bruno. What in the hell was that?"
"He showed me what it felt like being skewered when he was in Hell. Untie my hands. I promise I'll stay. I'll do anything you want. I'll kill, maim and fuck whoever you want if you don't tie me down." I've completely lost it and I can't collect myself. I don't even have a hope of it. I'm having a complete meltdown in front of strangers and I'm too upset to care.
To my surprise, John pulls me into a hug. I haven't cried since... tiny face looks up at me. Grief floods through me. Instead of getting better, I cry harder. I cry until I'm spent and he just holds me tight. "Can I die yet?"
"Not yet. Lots of good things still to come." He coaxes in my ear.
"Death is a good thing." I tell him. He doesn't say anything to that.
I must have fallen asleep again, because I wake up curled in a tight ball at the end of the bed. That's how I've slept ever since I got free of Bruno. I start at the top of the bed but wake up in a ball at the end of the bed.
"Morning Wildcat." Dean offers a lopsided grin.
My body is worn out from heavy crying. From taking on a pack of skinwalkers. From living. "Go blow yourself."
"Language." I hear John's voice from the bathroom.
"Where's Sam?" I see no sign of him.
"School."
"So... what's your chosen method of torture?" I ask stretching out the ligaments in my body.
"Breakfast." Dean points to cereal, milk, bowl and spoon waiting on the table.
"I don't want any."
"That's where the torture comes in," he says with a smirk.
I pull a face at him and take a look at the mirror hanging on the wall. It's a travesty. "Holy shit! I look like a dead rat."
"Language." John says with Dean's mouth moving in time to John's words looking thoroughly amused.
"He must like you. He hasn't taken soap and a scrubbing brush to your mouth kid."
Amusement falls flat. "I haven't been a kid in a long time." The tired words escape my mouth before I get a chance to examine them.
John walks in and nudges me to the table. "If nothing else, I'm going to put 20 lbs on you." His low voice rumbles against my back and suddenly I'm feeling my father at my back and his voice in my ear. I feel that sense of well being and protection my father once afforded me and feel a moment of weakness in my knees. It's been so long. I grab for the dresser for balance. As though the orientation of the planet just shifted.
"You okay?" John looks at my face.
Having to rapidly blink back tears, I nod. Reality returns as quickly as the dream appeared and the world throws back to chaos. I'm a street kid without a future and it's probably just a matter of time before I turn into a meth head or crackwhore blowing balding old white guys with missing teeth. Why? Because that's what monsters like me really deserve. Reality's a bitch.
What little appetite I had is crushed before I even sit down at the table. The frog in my throat certainly doesn't help. How do you get food past a frog in your throat? To my surprise, Dean takes a seat across from me. I stare at him. He looks pretty damn comfortable sitting there watching me. "What are you doing?"
"Doing what I was told to do."
"What's that?"
"Stick to you like white on rice."
I can feel my face darken. I look at John who is putting his jacket on and heading out.
"Where're you going?"
"Get documentation for you placing me as legal guardian."
"Make me their sister and when I ride Sam's bicycle, the school can get their knickers in a twist over incest and sexual abuse. Sounds like fun. Can't wait."
Dean snorts but quickly stops when he sees the look John shoots him.
"You have two jobs today." John stands domineering over me. "Dean needs to see you eat 2000 calories and help Dean move rooms. He's in charge, do as he says. Cause a raucous with social services getting' involved and we'll have you in a straight jacket and locked up faster than you can say it's not fair." Disturbingly enough, his eyes are serious and I get the odd sense that he isn't bluffing.
"Uh, sure."
"Yessir," he says.
"What?"
"You'll address me as sir as a sign of respect."
"I don't even respect me, why'd I respect you?"
He stares at me for a minute. "You gotta start somewhere. Dean," he says the young man's name loaded with meaning. Dean gives a short nod that gives the full impression of competence.
John leaves locking the door behind him unnecessarily and Dean nudges the bowl on the table toward me.
I look at him and calculate what I think I can get away with. "You always do what you're told? You his cocker spaniel?"
"I hear talkin' when I should be hearing cereal crunching." He pours the cereal into the bowl for me. He hasn't given me anything to work with.
A dirty idea occurs to me. "I have better ideas for how to spend our time. We could play pirates. You could be the captain and I'll be-"
"You're down to skin and bones. Until you put some weight on, ain't no one gonna wanna sleep with you." He snaps impatiently at me.
"Ouch!" I mock him. "Only, I've been given enough offers in the past week that I do know that there are men who wanna sleep with this bag of bones."
"You take any of them up on that offer?"
"Hundreds."
"Then that settles it for me. I definitely don't want you sleeping with my baby brother. Now eat your breakfast."
It only takes twenty minutes to move the Winchester's belongings to the new motel room. A two bedroom suite with a cot in the living room. When we finish, he tells me it's time to go get something to eat. Under the hot sun, we walk on the shoulder of a narrow highway into town. He ties his shirt around his waist giving me a good view of in his toned arms and shoulders and slim waist wearing just a white undershirt.
I look down at my own body. I did develop some curves before but I never manage the appetite to get the slight curves that I once had in my 14 year old body. I can't measure up his body. I guess he's about 20 years old and extremely fit. I didn't get a good look at Sam but he's probably just as well fed and fit.
Feelings of inadequacy rear up. I'm a stupid, uneducated homeless kid with sadistic tendencies. What on earth are the Winchester's doing wasting their time on a lost cause for?
"How did you... you know? Get out." Dean asks awkwardly.
"I really don't know. Get out of what?"
"How did the possession end? Did it just move on? What happened?"
I shrug. There's a subject I'm never, ever going to talk about.
He senses I'm not going to answer him and moves on. "What was it like?"
"Like being reprogrammed to be a sadistic serial killer. You know your Dad's completely crazy keeping me in that motel with you?" I feel a trickle of sweat run down the side of my face and swipe at it with my shoulder.
"John's pretty good at judging people."
"I'd never keep someone like me around my baby sister."
His next step pauses slightly before he continues beside me. "You have baby sister?"
"Had. I used her intestines for party streamers around our living room."
"You didn't do that. The demon did that."
"The line between that demon and me faded a long time ago, Dean. Those monsters you hunt, I'm more than halfway there. Don't trust me."
"I hear a lot of talk about how evil you are but I don't see any symptoms."
I snort. "You think everything I did wrong is while I was a possessed? Other hunters don't give up on teenage girls for nothing."
"Alright, what'd you do to Martin to get him to give up?"
"I slipped him cyanide." I just wanted to scare him. Make him sick. Instead, I put him in hospital. I honestly didn't expect him to track me down after that, let alone send someone to stop me from getting myself killed hunting.
Dean comes to a dead stop. "You are never going to be left in charge with the food. You hear that?"
Shrugging, I walk ahead of him. "Anyone that's tried to help me has regretted it." Dean takes on a more serious tone and doesn't speak for the rest of the walk. It hurts. But it's better he knows the truth. It's a matter of time before I stop killing monsters and start killing people. A tiny face flashes before I shove it back down. If I were smart, I'd kill myself. But it's a lot harder to do than you'd think. Even for a murderer. Murder doesn't feel like a bad thing to do until I'm faced with other peoples reactions. Then it seems so startlingly obvious, I wonder how I got confused.
Dean pulls out a five dollars and looks annoyed at it. "Forgot to get cash off him before he left." He mutters. He leads the way in and buys fresh bread rolls, deli cut salami and a bottle of coke. We sit outside the grocery store on a knee high brick wall and he splits it with me.
When we finish, he throws the garbage out in a trash can. "Leave now and we'll be the High School before Sammy gets out."
"Sam can't walk himself home?"
"Usually I drive but Dad's truck is in the shop right now."
"So, why are we walking a sixteen year old home?"
"I'm not sitting in the motel room staring at ugly wallpaper for any more hours than I have to. If you weren't here, I'd play pool or pick up chicks or target practice. Those options aren't on the table right now. Why? Are you tired?"
"No! I'm not tired." I'm not weak or helpless. I'm never going to be helpless again. I'm never going to be to weak to take action again. If he can keep going, so can I.
"Okay then, now that we have that cleared up. Let's go."
I'm pretty gross by the time we reach the high school. I haven't had a shower since I broke into a house in a bedroom community a few days ago. My bag was left in a stairwell, so I don't have my deodorant or toothbrush and toothpaste. A couple of hours walking in the sun, pouring with sweat and I'm embarrassed by how filthy I am. I regret refusing to take a shower earlier. Now I'd be willing to do it even though I don't have a clean change of clothes.
As we stand in the parking lot, I realize I don't remember what Sam looks like. Brunette. Um... Was he taller than me? Maybe? When the bell rings my eyes dart everywhere trying to find a familiar face.
"You coming?"
I look back and see a skinny guy about my height is standing next to Dean. Right. Sam. Okay. "Yeah," I agree.
They look amused. "You couldn't remember what he looks like." Dean smirks.
"I'm not very good at remember names and faces." I admit.
"So if we ditched you in a crowd right now..." Sam leaves an open ended statement.
"I don't remember what my family looked like." I admit.
"You don't remember?"
I change the subject. "Can we go already? I need a shower. I'm starting to smell like Jenna Jameson's crotchhere."
Dean chuckles and Sam blushes and ducks his head. He's really cute. I consider that I'm going to a much better job of remembering his face in future.
"Look at that, Sammy knows who she is." I tease and start walking ahead.
"Julia!"
I stop and look back. Dean smirks. "That way."
I look where he's pointing and realize I'm going the wrong way. "Fuck."
"Language." Dean answers and starts walking with Sam in tow.
I mutter explicit curses under my breath to myself while Sam tells Dean all about his world politics class on the way back to the motel.