For Icebox, who encouraged me time and time again to pursue a creative bent in the fabulous world of Supernatural.
Also, for the countless slew of Nate Winters' out there in the world. May we find the closure that we seek through less extraordinary means.
Denver, Colorado. November 2020.
Rain drizzled and thunder clapped boisterously through the scorched and angry sky that hung over the city of Denver. The streets were empty of all save the homeless and the junkies looking to pump their next big hit.
A grisly, bearded man in a torn and faded tux sat on the corner of an abandoned church building that had been torn to shreds by a blast of some kind years before. The former chaplain stared vacantly into the distance, pupils dilated, then blinked ignorantly at the dusty, leather-bound book in his thin, pale hands.
A sudden shadow stole what little warmth his threadbare overcoat was affording him, and the man glanced up through glassy eyes at the figure standing over him. Another blink, heavy and slow-lidded, and the man let out a slight rasping cough.
"Hello, Padre." The voice was young and unmistakably female, though possessing a very faint, almost undetectable rasp. "Nice book you got there."
The man's gaze remained fixed upon the object clutched in his hands, but his lips began to move in whispered mutterings.
"Sorry, Padre. Exorcism ain't gonna work on a lil' home grown human." A hand reached down and snatched the book from the Father's hands, replacing it with a pile of blankets and a bag of food, "However sinful she might be. Here," A pocketbook followed the generous (and scarce) donation of the blanket and food, "Get your act together. Oh don't worry," The voice added as the father finally snapped out of his drug-induced stupor long enough to stare dumbfounded at the amount of money in his hands, "the book's worth far more then what I gave you…in my hands, not in yours."
A pair of legs clad in dark denims and feet shod in sturdy-looking ankle boots stepped purposefully over the father's outstretched legs as the female strode away, the marred and bullet-ridden wall behind her sporting a single word scrawled into the cement…
Croatoan.
SUPERNATURAL
"And The Little One Said Roll Over"
Denver, Colorado. November 2015.
The tolling of the bell in the same church- very much intact and swelling with people, in fact - echoed dismally through the street down which the sleek Chevy Impala cruised to a halt.
Dean pulled the handbrake and squinted at the church from under his rearview mirror. "So why are we here again?"
Sam threw him a somewhat amused warning glance as he yanked open the passenger door, "Dean, we've been over this a hundred times. You want a blueprint?"
"No, I just wanna hear one good reason besides 'it's Sunday' for this total waste o' time." The older brother retorted snippily, slamming his door with a little too much gusto for his usual temperament and digging his hands into the warmth of his jacket, "Hey," Dean raised his eyebrows in response to Sam's huff, "You're the one who decided to drag me all the way to some deadbeat, Episcopalian…"
"They're Apocalyptians - it's some fast-growing new movement." Sam corrected haughtily, his hazel eyes now focused entirely on the church building as they headed inside.
"A little behind on the times, if you ask me." Dean grumbled. Truth be told, though, he was overjoyed at the opportunity to hunt with Sammy after years of domestic bliss (not so much). The security he had established in his life with Lisa and Ben had its merits - especially during the critical two and half years during which Dean had suffered under the impression that Sammy was still in the hole.
When his not-so-little brother had finally shown up at his doorstep, bloodied and nearly beaten to death from a hunt gone sideways, Dean hadn't known which of the myriad of reactions churning inside his gut to allow for. Complete shock. Ecstatic relief. Deep perplexment. And of course, once he'd realized that Sam had been alive all along and simply unwilling to ruin what he deemed to be Dean's 'apple pie life' with his presence…
There'd been wrath. Righteous anger, as Dean had called it.
But now the two were hunting again. Sam had been against it - stubborn as ever, of course. But Lisa had, oddly enough, chosen to back Dean in his earnest stance that Sam either hunt with his brother or refrain from hunting altogether. She'd remembered the gentle, brooding-faced giant of a man, and somehow the peaceful sombreness that emanated from Sam seemed to kindle Lisa's maternal instinct.
So here they were - back on the hunt once again. Sam had budged only as far as allowing Dean to accompany him when the situation was hairy enough. A couple of demons or the odd Wendigo didn't qualify.
But this hunt was a favour to Bobby. And the older hunter seemed to think it was pretty darn important.
Dean forced a nod at the stone-faced pastor standing at the door and received 'the evil eye' in response, "They're creepin' me out. Not even Hell was this unwelcoming."
"I'll bet." Sam didn't feel it necessary to comment on the irony of the statement, "Anyway, Bobby said their own personal Bible's more like Lucifer's own personal itinary of evil spells. One of the priests is sitting on it somewhere in this church." The broad-shouldered man ducked under a drooping arch that seemed specifically designed to catch those over six foot two square in the kisser.
"Yeah I get the memo. Go in, grab the big, bad book and bail. Ugh," Dean blinked away wide eyes of horror as one of the milk-white, sunken-faced old ladies in a pew to his right bared toothless gums at him, "I am lovin' that last part."
"Look just…" Sam turned on his brother as the lady hissed in response, flashing her a tight nod of apology before raising stern yet pleading eyes on Dean, "try to concentrate on finding out who has the book, alright? I'll take of care of everything else."
"Are you…" Dean lowered his voice at a brief flash of the whites of Sam's eyes at the noise level, "Are you kidding? What the hell else is there to do besides sniffin' out Satan's dear diary?"
"Keeping people off your back." Sam smiled humourlessly at the floor as he spoke, "Unless of course, you wanna draw the short straw."
Dean smoothed his ruffled feathers as Sam glanced back up at him, eyebrows raised triumphantly, and the older Winchester sighed with an air of resigned martyrdom.
"Fine. Meet me outside the door in ten - just keep Nanny McFreaky off my tail. Oh, and…" He removed one hand from the safety of its pocket to poke a finger at his not-so-little brother, "Don't take candy from strangers."
Sam rolled his eyes and waved Dean off before turning to scan his own playing field for potential dangers.
The toothless lady glared at Sam with a ferocity that led him to believe she was somehow vocally impaired, as the quivering of her lip and the snarl in her eyes was clearly the result of having seen Dean slip through a wooden doorway marked 'Authorized Personnel Only'.
Sam tried to squelch the grimace overtaking his features and turned his attention elsewhere.
Winchesters were always authorized personnel.
"Hello?" Dean poked his head around a bend and, upon seeing the hall dead as a doorknob, stalked cautiously through the corridor, his boots thudding with the rhythmic lit of his bow-legged walk. His green eyes peered curiously under a stairwell to find an old broom closet with peeling paint on its door, and he raised his eyebrows as he took in the rest of the hall.
"Anybody in?" Dean heard his gravely voice bouncing sharply off the walls and winced at the eerie silence that followed, "I guess not."
Suddenly the sound of a second set of boots - ones that clicked sharply and far too quickly - had Dean ducking behind a pillar. He pressed his back to the stone and inched his head out slightly to catch sight of a bearded, black-suited man disappearing through the only other door in the hall.
One quick manoeuvre later and Dean was traipsing confidently on the man's heels, walking through the doorway (which he now noticed had lettering for 'Bathrooms' on its flank).
Sure enough, a chaste-looking porcelain sink and a lone toilet stall did little to distract from the (Dean assumed) official of the church as he sniffed a long line of white powder from the counter. Dark brown eyes, beady and bloodshot, snapped up at Dean as he stood in a moment of surprise.
"Whoa." Dean flashed his million-dollar smile (the one that said 'I'm a friendly dude', not 'I want into your pants') as he held up his hands, "Just…lookin' for the John."
"You're not a member of staff." The man informed him coldly, one hand falling inside the large sleeve of his robes, "Or the congregation."
It sounded more like a command then a statement. Dean quirked his eyebrows.
"No, but my uh….cousin…works the janitor shift and…shit!" The hunter found himself crushed a good few feet off the ground against the wall as the chaplain held up his palm with narrow, angry eyes.
"You're a Winchester." He snarled and then spat on the ground, "I should send you right to Hell." The hand inside his robe sleeve whipped out a brown, leather-bound book which Dean determined to be his quarry.
"Been there," He gasped out with a smile even through the pain of his crushed windpipe, and the chaplain followed Dean's line of satisfied sight just in time to catch the butt of Sam's handgun straight to his temple.
Dean was unceremoniously dropped to the floor but managed to land on unsteady feet, choking down air in great gulps as he glared at the man's unconscious body and bent down, snatching the book from his hands.
"Done that." He caught his breath fully before waving the book at his brother, "This it?"
Sam nodded and Dean shoved it inside the fold of his jacket, "Good. Let's get outta here before this douchebag comes to and brings the whole toothless army on our heels."
Sam complied and headed down the hall after the older hunter, stopping only to cast a deadpan glare and stave off a retort as Dean grumbled something to the effect of 'What took you so long?'
Brothers.
Bobby looked turgidly at the large, heavy book as Dean tossed it down with a slap onto his desk.
"There. And I had to let Sammy get fingered by Grandmother Wolf for that, so I hope you're satisfied."
"Dean…" Sam stammered briefly in frustration before clamping his jaw shut with a huff of annoyed silence.
"It's okay, Sammy - nothin' to be ashamed of." Dean assured him with a dismissive smile before he wrinkled his eyebrows at Bobby's perusal of the book, "So? What's so damn important about this old thing anyhow, huh?"
"This old thing ain't as harmless as it looks." Bobby ascertained as he leafed through the tea-colored pages, "It was written by Egyptian priests back when the Pyramids were the new hot thing. These are ancient hieroglyphics if my sources are anything to go by." He raised his eyes at Dean as the hunter leaned over to sneak a peek before smirking.
"Hey Sammy check it out - this one totally looks like some dude is getting head…" Dean paused at the vicious glare on Bobby's face and promptly cleared his throat, "So what's it say?"
"Oh I got no clue what's in there." Bobby admitted, "Just thought it might be best if anyone was gonna have the damn thing, may as well be the good guys."
"Any word from Cas?" Sam spoke up at last as Dean handed him one of the three beers he had pilfered from Bobby's fridge, and his older brother frowned at the cap he was twisting off.
"Ah he sends a postcard every now and then. Damn near scared Ben to death when his ugly mug started flickering on the TV screen."
"Any chance he's managed to locate Adam?" Sam spoke the name of their little brother with a very slight croak., "I'm pretty sure he got Michael yanked outta his meat same way Lucifer got torn outta mine."
"I dunno. Maybe." Was all Dean had to say about it, but there was a stiffness to the otherwise noncommittal words. Sam understood all too well. For the first time ever, he was sharing the title of Big Brother along with Dean…and wasn't sure at all that he liked it. It took familial responsibility to a whole new level that Sam just wasn't sure if he was ready for right then.
"In the meantime," Bobby broke the broody silence that had overtaken both Winchesters at the mention of their baby brother, "I think we'd best torch this evil thing before it gets into the wrong hands."
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." Dean countered the proposal as he edged closer to the desk, beer still in hand, "I mean we still don't know what's in there. Might be somethin' we could use."
Bobby's brow arched towards the baseball cap atop his head as he glared at Dean, "You read Hieroglyphics, kid? Cause the last thing I got time for right now is another dead-end translation job."
Dean caught an eye-roll midway and pursed his lips as Bobby continued.
"You boys have any idea how dangerous this book is? This is first-rate black magic in here, the dark arts all rolled into one sweet package o' death and damnation. We're probably already cursed for life just from touchin' it."
"All the same, Bobby, I think Dean's got a point…" Sam began, but a sudden booming sound filled the air and sent all three men flying until they made contact with whatever object managed to break their violent falls. The room went pitch black, and menacing howls whispered in circles in the air for a moment as Dean, who was the least injured of the three, attempted to pull himself to his feet.
As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The dull, grey sky appeared through the windows once more and lit up the damage done. Bobby had been thrown against the wall behind him. Sam had managed to collide with the fireplace grate and had a trickle of dark blood down the side of his face. Dean clutched his left shoulder, which had had a brutal union with the bookshelf and taken the whole thing down with it, as he staggered to his feet.
"Sam? Bobby?" He coughed at a foul pong in the air - the reeking stench of sulphur - and limped over to his younger brother as Sam came to, "You okay?"
"What the hell was that?" Sam ground out in disorientation, taking Dean's outstretched hand and pulling himself into a standing position.
"I dunno, but I'm guessing it wasn't Doc and Marty comin' back from the future." Dean muttered as the two ran to Bobby and eased him to his feet as the older man checked himself for injuries.
"Nope - but you're not far off there, Dean."
The voice was unfamiliar and caused both brothers to start and turn around.
The girl was young - late teens, maybe, although the weight in her grey-blue eyes spoke of more years then her face. Dirty-blonde hair flowing in razored layers down her shoulders, full, pale lips and a soft jawline - the almost picturesque innocence of her features defied the dark denim bootcuts, faded grey sweater and cliché leather jacket she was sporting.
"Sorry about the bookshelf." The girl grimaced at the mess as she stepped over it with what looked like sturdy hiking boots - and all the grace of an African elephant, "Should've asked about the landing strip before I booked the ticket, but I guess it's not my strong point."
"What the hell are you?" Dean queried sharply, his stance matching Sam in its thick rigidity, every muscle in his body coiled to strike.
"Human." The girl informed him reassuringly as she held up her hands in a gesture of surrender before rolling her eyes, "Okay, and bulimic, but that's just what the jealous people are saying."
"So what, sulfur's just your aftershave?" Dean's eyes were narrow, dangerous, and somehow (Sam knew better then to mistake his brother's naturally-lethargic attitude for slow reflexes, but damn) he had drawn the demon-slaying knife which had been tucked into his belt without anybody really catching on.
"Aftertaste, actually. And it's not even mine." The girl sniffed a whiff of air and then cringed, wrinkling her pint-sized nose in protest, "Guess his exhaust needs a clean."
"Who? Who are you talking about?" Sam moved closer to Dean as the girl continued to advance slowly.
"The demon I rode through five years of real big screw-ups to try to warn you." She looked serious now, large eyes pinned on Dean - who exchanged a confused glance with his brother before the latter spoke up.
"Wait - are you saying you're from…"
"The future? Yep." The girl flashed a wan smile which faded as swiftly as it had entered, "Trust me, it ain't a pretty sight. You're lookin' at Resident Evil meets I am Legend ten years from now - and that's just Colorado."
"So who's the new bad guy in town?" Dean, who clearly wasn't buying the tale, scoffed, but Bobby and Sam appeared at least mildly curious.
"I don't know." The young girl stated, shifting her footing slightly as she tucked one hand into the pocket of her jeans, "But whoever he is, he's damn hard to find. Believe me, I would've ganked his past self a whole lot sooner if I'd been able to find him."
"Oh really? So what, you're just gallivanting through time and space with some continuum transfunctioner?" It was Sam's turn to be the voice of scepticism now as he raised his eyebrows, prompting the girl to roll her eyes with a surprising amount of hostility.
"Yeah - my DeLorean needs a tune-up. What's it to you how I get around?"
"What's it to you if I ask?" Sam replied in an almost snippy tone of voice which seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth as he winced slightly after the unprecedented event.
"It's none of your business." The girl responded curtly before turning her focus to Dean once more, "Look, my name's Nate Waters. You can either Google me in five years time or you can drive to my home in Peak Mont and sneak a glance in my window, though right now I'll be a twelve year old with a snarky mouth so I wouldn't advise it."
"Yeah, send me to peek on kids why don't you." Dean shook his head and swivelled to look down at Bobby, "You guys buyin' what she's selling, or should I go for the Holy Water?"
"I'll save you the trip." Nate interjected matter-of-factly - as though she had already been expecting the challenge. She pulled a small flask from the pocket of her jacket and waved it beside her head with a raise of her eyebrows, "See the symbols? Enochian - holier then Pope John Paul, and a silver flask to boot."
"Why don't you just tie an anvil around your ankle and jump into the nearest lake while you're at it?" Bobby was less then impressed with the girls theatrics, and she pressed her lips together and titled her head at him with cold eyes.
"You know, I'm doing you a favour, Bobby. A little thanks would be in order, though I gotta say it's fair enough to not expect too much from you right now."
"Oh you can expect a whole lot from me, darlin'." The older hunter groused, and to her credit, Nate smiled almost…endearingly.
"Good to see someone's got these idiots' backs. I'll jump through whatever flaming hoops you got for me."
"Why don'tcha start with downing a swig o' that Holy Water?" Bobby leaned back on his heels expectantly, and Dean and Sam watched with caution in their eyes as Nate dipped her head obligingly and proceeded to swallow a gulp from the flask.
"Mm…" She cringed for a moment as she smacked at the aftertaste, "nasty stuff, even for a human. Maybe you hunters oughta think about spiking it with Jack Daniels or something when you force poor innocent people to down a swig."
"You mean you're not a hunter?" Sam queried, and Nate shot him a heavy-lidded expression of boredom at the insinuation.
"No, thankfully - though I know enough to get around. Everybody does though; I mean, it's Demonville back in 2020…or, forward or, whatever." She flinched to herself with a befuddled blink, and Sam shot Dean a tight-lipped, tight-jawed expression which demanded whether his brother was going to attempt Bad Cop at any time during the Sammy-imposed interrogation that had now commenced.
Dean, for his own part, narrowed his eyes sceptically (but not suspiciously) at Nate as he took a few steps forward, continuing to close the gap between them, "Alright, so…assuming you're not lying or insane…"
"Uh let's not make any assumptions regarding that last one." Nate cracked a grin and he continued, unamused.
"You're actually from the future." Dean stopped dead and raised his eyebrows at her, "You know, as in flying cars and plastic jumpsuits?"
Nate raised one eyebrow to match Dean's as she paused to rest a hand on the table beside her and twisted the tip of her boot against the floor with an almost sad expression, "Nothing so wonderfully eighties, I'm afraid."
"Well at least there is one." Bobby piped up as he took a pace forward and looked over at Dean, "This is good news."
"Good news?" Nate raised her eyebrows with a slackened jaw, "You guys are in the eye of a freaking storm that never blows over. Stuff's about to get so much worse."
"Well aren't you just barrelful of optimism?" Dean crossed his arms as he leant against the edge of Bobby's desk, "How about you tell us why you rode some demon's coattails five years into the past?"
"In time." The girl responded before glancing around circumspectly, "Which is something I don't have much of. We got six months to sort things out before I blow a fuse, so let's get started if that's alright by everybody."
"It's not." The fluttering of papers scattering from Bobby's desk combined with the deep gravelly voice that spoke confirmed one thing: Castiel had finally decided to call.
"Where the hell have you been?" Dean was the first one to ride the angel's case, and Castiel cast him a deadpan glance.
"After extensive research on the subject, I've come to conclude that it is only appropriate for parental authorities or high-ranking employers to voice such a question in your particular tone of voice."
Sam stifled a snort of amusement while Dean merely raised his eyebrows in bewilderment as Cas continued.
"You are neither." The angel turned to face Nate, who was looking as though she'd seen a ghost.
"Castiel." She breathed, eyes full of what appeared to be a flurry of conflicting emotions as he suddenly vanished and then reappeared behind her, whirling Nate around and placing two fingers on her forehead. She crumpled to the ground without a sound.
"Her very presence in this time frame is disrupting the universe." Castiel explained coldly as Sam and Dean flashed him questioning expressions, "A hole has been torn in the veil of time and space with very little precision."
"Wait, you mean like a portal?" Dean queried, and Castiel shook his head.
"More like a leak in a ship."
"What's leaking exactly?" Bobby demanded in a somewhat harsher tone, stepping forward to lock eyes with Castiel, and the angel swallowed before responding.
"Time."
Dean blinked and locked his jaw as the suddenly-ominous word sank into the air like rancid water into a sponge, absorbed into the atmosphere that was suddenly reeking of doom.
"Well that can't be good." The older Winchester finally managed, and Sam, lips pressed tightly together, paced a few steps to and fro before resting one hand on his head and the other on his hip.
"There's gotta be someway we can reverse it, you know - send her back to where she came from."
"Not alone." Castiel knelt down over Nate's unconscious body and lifted her wrist, pulling back the jacket and sweater sleeves to reveal a wicked-looking burn.
Bobby rolled closer, "What in the hell?"
"Hell is correct." Castiel muttered, glancing up at the man, "These hieroglyphics match the symbols in the book you acquired - let me see it."
Sam complied, snatching up the offending item and handing it to Castiel, who flipped through the pages with all the enthusiasm of a vegetarian choking down chicken.
Dean's eyebrows narrowed and he looked over at his brother, who shrugged in frustration as the minutes ticked by and the angel continued to engross himself in his research.
Finally he ran his fingers along a page of text before his face became even grimmer.
"Cas, what is it?" Dean asked cautiously, and Castiel looked up at the group of hunters.
"Did she state the purpose of her visit?"
"What, you mean like 'business or pleasure'?" Sam groused and flashed a challenging head cock at the warning glance Dean sent his way.
"Somethin' about wanting to stop whatever crap was comin' our way in six months." Said Bobby, "But other then that, she weren't too forthcoming."
"She is human, for a fact." Castiel examined Nate at a closer range, "We have to question her." His fingers moved towards her forehead when Dean intervened.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cas, hold on for a second."
"Her mind is closed to me in its unconscious state, Dean." Castiel didn't spare a glance in his direction, but his fingers were frozen a centimetre from Nate's skin, "Once awakened, she will tell us everything regardless of desire or intention."
"Yeah well maybe, but honestly it didn't seem like her intentions were all that deadly." Dean protested, and Sam stepped in at this point, jaw clenched and brow set in stony determination.
"How are we meant to know that for sure, Dean? I mean all we've got to go on right now is her word for it, and how often has that worked out for us?"
Dean paused mid-retort and gave his brother a neutral once-over, determining the root of Sam's evident distrust and even malice towards Nate to be the experience he had undergone ala Ruby.
"Fine." Dean stabbed a finger at Castiel as he moved in once more, "But she's what, ninety pounds? And she hasn't made a move on us yet, so nobody muscle her around."
"Nothing of the sort will be necessary." Castiel assured him in a somewhat grouchy (well, the closest an ethereal being could come to grouchy) manner as he pressed two fingertips against Nate's forehead.
No sooner had he done so then she jerked violently awake, her head colliding with his own as she sat up before she fell back on the ground, clutching her temple and pulling into a less-then-graceful somersault just in time to avoid Castiel's sweeping hand.
"Okay, everybody just take it easy!" Dean raised a hand at the angel to prevent him from the forward dash he was about to make. Nate had drawn a long blade from the inside of her jacket and was clenching it tightly in a fist beside her ear. Closer inspection revealed it to be an angel-slaying weapon.
Dean tilted his head, "Where'd you get that?"
"The convenience store." Her eyes never Castiel as the angel straightened his coat and graced her with a hard expression, but it was clear the young woman was terrified instead of confident.
"Dean, wait a second." Sam stepped forward with a long breath, "Look at the handle. That's our knife."
At that Nate's head whipped up to look at Sam, and her eyes grew slightly wider as she stuffed the blade back inside an inner pocket of her jacket, "Finders keepers, Sam."
"Oh really?" He raised his eyebrows and reached behind him briefly, "Cuz in that case," A brief second later and an identical knife was being brandished in his large, firm grip, "I'd say we had it first."
Nate shrugged, "Well now there're two, so let's just call it even."
"So lemme get this straight." Bobby paused just a meter off from the girl, incredulity written across his features, "You came all the way back from the future to stop what exactly?"
"A Croatoan epidemic." Nate stated flatly as she gave the three men in the room a once-over before pinning a scowl on Sam's disparagingly tight-lipped visage, "What? You think just cuz Satan's back in the cage, he doesn't have folks outside on his payroll? Prison rules - he gets his phone call."
"Okay am I missing something here?" Dean squinted at the pair, "I mean you guys just met and already it's World War Three?"
"Pretty right on there, Dean." Nate acquiesced, and he maintained his frown.
"Right so what's the deal with the Hate Sammy club? What'd he screw your sister or something?"
"He screwed the world, Dean." She fairly spat the words in Sam's direction, prompting an instant pang of guilt to take centre stage on the hunter's face, "If you think opening the cage was a slick move, you're just gonna love the other tricks he's got up his sleeve."
"Enough with the cryptic insults already." Bobby placed a calming hand on Dean's arm as the younger hunter started forward angrily, "Either you tell us exactly why you're here, and I mean you get real specific, or you ain't getting nothin' from us, y'understand me?"
Sam face was tense and bordering on distressed. Clearly this girl had shaken him somehow, worried him sufficiently to have it flood his features. Dean's eyes were cold and angry, jaw clenched and face stony at the upset she'd caused his little brother. Castiel was, as always, unreadable, but his piercing blue eyes spoke of some deep suspicion that was beginning to dawn on the angel but that would remain safely tucked away until he was certain.
Nate sucked at her cheeks before nodding icily. "You aren't going to like this, but…fine." Her long eyelashes swept the hollows under her eyes before she sighed at the men.
"You remember Meg?"
"Name rings a bell." Sam said shortly, and Nate raised her eyebrows.
"Yeah? Well she's the new Hell Bitch in town. Somehow got an upgrade to Yellow Eye status. And she's got anger management issues." She rubbed at the back of her neck unconsciously, and Dean graced the gesture with a curious frown, "Anyway she's the one behind the virus, a hundred percent."
"Right and lemme guess; you're gonna stop her." Dean threw out the speculation, and Nate responded with a dismal grimace.
"No - you're gonna stop her, before she stops you."