"Mystic palm, gem, and tarot
A few escape your magic arrow
I saw you reel them in for miles
Each captivated crooked smile"
- "Magic Arrow" by Timber Timbre
"Backfire"
"Chapter Two: Crooked Smile"
After the chilling voicemail left by his mother, Dean was in the Impala and speeding down the highway. He would not stop, would not slow down until he got to his mother's house. His heart ached painfully in his chest, eyes prickling with a hated foreign substance. It would be his fault if his mother were gone. He was the one who left her unprotected.
The car ride to Ainsworth, Nebraska had never felt longer. The road seemed to drag on forever with no signs of an end. When he finally saw the "Welcome to Nebraska" sign, Dean's knuckles were pure white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. It seemed like the ride was three times as long when he pulled into the driveway of his childhood home.
The front door was unlocked, which was the first sign that something dreadful had happened. His mother was anal about keeping all doors and windows locked at all times. The second clue that something had happened was the floorboards were ripped up just in front of the door. His mother had placed bags of salt underneath the floorboards to ensure a demon could not cross. The third sign was the lines of sulfur that covered nearly every inch of the house. It only made Dean think that multiple demons had come.
Demons had gotten into the home – that much was clear. They had obviously kidnapped, killed, or possessed his mother. Each of the outcomes did not contain a happy ending. The reason of why was still unclear. Sure, a demon had killed his father, but why come back for their mother? She was a passive hunter – if even that. She went on maybe five hunts tops a year, and that was merely to keep her skills sharp. When she did go on hunts, they were mostly salt and burns with a werewolf or vampire thrown in for a change of pace. She had never dabbled in demon hunter, because there was no way to kill a demon. All a hunter could do was piss it off and send it packing back to hell. Sooner or later, it'd crawl out of the pit and seek revenge. His mom said she'd only go on a demon hunt if she knew how to kill the sonofabitch.
Dean's phone rang. The sound vibrated in the empty house. Digging it out of his pocket, he barked "What?" into the receiver harsher than he intended to.
"Where the hell are you, boy?"
It took Dean a few minutes to realize who the man on the phone was and what he was talking about. Upon hearing his mother's voicemail, nothing else mattered. He forgot about the hunt and the people dying. Honestly, it didn't compare to what was happening to his mother.
"I'm in Nebraska," he replied.
"You're where? What the devil possessed you to up and leave a hunt? There are people dyin' here!"
"I don't got to explain shit to you," snapped Dean.
"The only reason I can see a hunter leaving in the middle of a hunt is because of family. If you're in Nebraska, there are people who can help. There's a bar in Dunning called the Roadhouse. There's a lot of good hunters there who can help ya out if you need it, son."
"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm sure as hell not your son, and I don't need your advice."
Dean snapped his phone shut and ran a weary hand over his face. He had a good twelve hours to do research on his own before Sam would arrive. He couldn't catch an earlier flight out for one reason or another. Maybe it was the first flight out – that's what chose to believe.
The bar in Dunning seemed appealing to say the least. Even though his mother's warnings rang in his head, he needed help. Maybe one of the hunter's could tell him how to kill a demon or at least track it. Another appealing reason to go to Dunning was the fact that he did not want to spend the night alone. He couldn't go to his mother's house and spend the night. A room in some seedy motel would just drive him up the wall. Driving an hour for a bar seemed like something that could keep him from crawling the walls. He needed to wait for Sam. If he didn't, he knew he'd do something stupid and risk never finding his mother.
Dunning was a little over an hour south of Ainsworth. When he entered into the town, the welcome sign said that the population was just over a hundred. Continuing south, in the boondocks of Dunning, was a bar that stuck out like a sore thumb. Cars were parked everywhere and music wafted outside. Dean's mouth went dry, and he suddenly doubted his decision.
Upon entering the bar, Dean immediately noted the bar was packed with gruff hunters. The clanking of beer bottles and voices booming about their latest hunts could be heard over the jukebox in the corner of the room. Dean scanned bar, his eyes landing on a pretty blonde bartending. Narrowing his eyes, he immediately recognized her.
Ambling towards the bar, he kept his eyes glued on her. She had on a tight white T-shirt and jeans. Her midriff was showing just above her apron. Several beer bottles dangled between her fingertips as she cleared the bar. She looked beyond bored, her eyes glancing up and ears twitching at several tidbits of the stories wafting through the air.
"Barbie," Dean greeted as he leaned his upper body onto the bar.
She whipped around, her blonde ponytail bouncing. Her unusually pale face drained of what little color she had. Her chocolate eyes glanced from him to an older brunette woman talking to a booth of hunters. A faint smile graced her features but disappeared just as quickly as it came.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a hushed whisper as she hastily dropped the empty bottles into a trashcan under the bar.
"Looking for a beer," he replied with a shit-eating grin. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here. My mother owns this bar," she hissed. "Listen, if she asks, you're an old high school friend. I never went on that spook hunt. Got it?"
Dean glanced over at the mother whose attention was now focused on them. She looked suspicious as she nodded her head to whatever the hunter was saying to her. Dean definitely wished he had never drove to Dunning. Turning his attention back to the blonde, he forced a tight smile.
"Well, then, I should probably stop callin' you Barbie."
"Name's Jo."
"Dean."
As soon as they got the familiarities out of the way, the mother walked over to Jo and Dean. She stood next to her daughter behind the bar, a stern look crossing her face. She stood tall and crossed her arms across her chest. Dean glanced nervously at Jo.
"Who might you be?" she asked.
"We went to high school together," Jo said in a rush. "Old friend, Mom, you know how it is."
She glanced at her daughter with an eyebrow arched gracefully. The look she gave clearly read shut up, Jo. Then, she turned her attention back to Dean.
"What are you really doing in this bar and with my daughter?"
"I'm a hunter," replied Dean as Jo rolled her eyes. So much for being in cahoots. "I heard through the grapevine that you might have some information for me."
"What grapevine is that?"
Dean did not have to turn around to know that some of the bar patrons were staring at the interaction. The chatter grew softer and Dean felt a prickling sensation on his neck.
"Can we talk somewhere in private?"
The woman motioned for him to follow her outside. They went around to the side of the building. Dean stuffed his hands into his leather jacket pockets and officially realized this was his worst idea in a while. Under any normal circumstance, he never in a million years would have thought about asking another hunter for help. Except, this was his mom. He needed to get the demon out of her or kill the demons that took her. He needed to get her back. He had already lost his dad to a fire and lost his kid brother to college. He could not lose his mother as well.
"Who sent you here?"
"Bobby."
"Bobby who?"
"Old, bearded, trucker hat Bobby. I don't know his last name, lady."
The woman uncrossed her arms, but the stern look failed to leave her face. Dean felt the urge to look away from her. Her expression reminded Dean of his mother whenever he went off on a hunt. His mother would get a pissy look on her face, and Dean usually ignored it. Hunting was what he wanted to do. For the first time in his life, he was mad that he went hunting instead of staying at home.
"Any friend of Bobby's is a friend of mine," she spoke in a gentle tone. "Stay away from my daughter though."
"Trust me, I don't mess with hunter's daughters. They own guns."
"What do you need help with, honey? You must have come in for a reason."
Dean nodded his head, because he didn't know what else to do. He decided against asking the hunter for help. It was a family matter. Sam would know what to do. He was the smart one in the family, Mister AP Classes and Valedictorian.
"You know what, nevermind. I got it covered," he replied.
was no point in spilling his sob story just yet. He'd have Sammy in less than twelve hours. His brother would help him figure everything out. He didn't need some psycho hunters. He would just rely on some psycho hunters' company. That wasn't crazy or anything.
At the end of the bar, Dean nursed a glass of scotch. By the time last call was called, he was on his third glass. Nobody had talked to him the whole night. The other hunters stayed their distance. Jo's mother, Ellen, had come over a few times to see how he was doing. Jo stayed her distance mostly, although she supplied him his alcohol. In fact, the first one was on the house. If Dean weren't so upset about his mother's disappearance, he would have tried to sleep with her.
Most hunters had left the bar. There were a couple hunters in a corner booth who were still talking to Ellen. Jo walked up to Dean and leaned across the bar. It took everything Dean had in him not to look down her shirt. Instead, he focused on her pale nose and dark eyes.
"You seem real cheery tonight," she commented.
"I just enjoyed watching you do something," he replied with a soft smirk. "Last time I saw you, you made me do all the hard work. Nice to see you actually do contribute. Even if you do get paid for it."
A smile crossed her features, a soft chuckle escaped her ruby lips. It disappeared as quickly as it came. A scowl twisted its way onto her features instead.
"We're not to talk about that," she said in a playful whisper. "My mom hates that I want to be a hunter."
"Why?"
"Um… my dad's why."
Dean licked his lips and looked down at the remnants of his scotch. Swirling his glass, he absentmindedly watched the coppery liquid slosh from side to side. He didn't mind the young blonde's company. Hell, even if he never got any sex out of her, he wouldn't mind calling her from time to time to chat. There was something about her that Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, he kind of liked it.
"I won't judge," he decided to say. Making the Boy Scout's three-finger salute, he added, "I've been told I'm a great listener."
"You were a Boy Scout?"
"Boy Scout? Fuck no. My little brother was, so I can do their salute through association."
Jo laughed, her head shaking. Dean smiled too, a weight lifting off his shoulders.
"I don't think it works that way."
"Shut up. Tell me about why your mom hates you hunting when she runs a bar for hunters."
"He died when I was sixteen. He took me on my first hunt – a spook a few towns over. The body was buried in the basement of the house that was haunted. Some sick fuck killed wife, and she liked to kill the husbands that moved into the house."
Dean glanced up at Jo. She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixated on something beyond him. Her voice had become monotone, a frown etched into her forehead.
"My dad dug up the body, and I was supposed to watch his six. Shoot the bitch if she came near him. I got her good a few times full of rock salt. My dad had her bones exposed, just needed to get the damn match lit and thrown in. She came back… that's when my shotgun jammed. She pushed me aside and went straight for my dad. I remember hearing his neck snap and his body thump lifelessly on the floor. The bitch was gone. I scrambled and burned her fuckin' bones."
Jo's bottom lip found its way between her teeth. Tears burned the brims of her eyes, but she wouldn't allow a tear to drop. Instead, she cleared her throat and kept staring at whatever she was staring at.
"I tried everything I could to save him, but he was dead the moment the spook got the drop on him."
"It's not your fault, you know," commented Dean.
For the first time since she started the story, her gaze snapped towards him. A sneer worked its way on her face that clearly read I've heard that a million times you jackass.
"A demon killed my dad," he changed the topic. "I was four."
"What happened?"
Dean inhaled a long breath as his eyes looked down at his scotch once more. His fingers tightened around the glass as he remembered his father. His dad was the best man he ever knew. He couched his little league team, threw around the old pigskin every Saturday morning since he could remember, took him to car shows and baseball games, took him to work and showed him all the parts of a car, always read him a bedtime story at night. Then in a flash, he was just gone.
His dad was his best friend. His dad would do everything he could with his son. Whenever he had to work late and missed a bedtime story, he would wake Dean up in the morning before he went to work to read him a book. He was the best dad. Nothing ever felt right since he died. It felt like there was a hole in Dean's soul where his father once occupied.
"Demon entered the house and killed my dad. Started a fire. My mom gave my baby brother to me, told me to get him out of the house. My mom barely got out before the whole place exploded. A piece of glass nicked me real good in forehead. I still got a scar."
Dean pointed to where his forehead met his hairline. There was a long, thin white scar parallel to his hairline. He didn't even remember the glass puncturing his head. He remembered the blood though. It was all over his mother's nightgown as she held him close.
"How do you know it was a demon?"
"My mom grew up a hunter."
At the mention of his mother, Dean's heart twisted. He already lost his dad. He couldn't lose his mother as well. Dean drained the rest of his scotch in one large gulp. Setting the glass down with a clank on the bar, Dean looked up at Jo.
"Does she hate you being a hunter?"
"Listen, Barbie, I'm done sharing. This conversation only got as far as it did, because scotch is my weakness."
"Why don't you have another glass on the house then?" she suggested with a wide smile with her pearly whites blinding him.
"Nah, I can't have a hangover tomorrow."
The bell to the front door rang. The final two hunters left the bar. Ellen locked the door before taking a seat next to Dean. She gave him a once over, no doubt evaluating whether or not she was going to allow him to drive.
"How many of those did you have?"
"Three," Jo supplied.
"If you don't feel good enough to drive, you can stay here for a few more hours. I don't want your mangled car and your dead body on my conscious."
"I'll sleep it off in my car," said Dean.
Standing up, Dean reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He rummaged through for a twenty and threw it down on the counter. With a nod at each lady, he ambled out of the bar and made his way towards his car.
He didn't notice any other cars in the parking lot, so he wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't even see the guy lurking in the shadows behind him, wasn't really listening for footfalls behind him. The guy got the drop on him quickly, a cheap shot to the back of the head with something hard and metal.
Dean found himself on his knees in the dirt parking lot. His hand reached behind him to run through his hair. Sticky blood covered his hands as the pounding headache started throbbing. Two pairs of strong arms hoisted him up and held him tight. Dean struggled against the two beefy arms but found his efforts fruitless.
Some big shot stepped in front of him. The kid was muscular – looked like an old jock with his too small T-shirt. He reeled a right hook at his face. An irony-tang filled Dean's mouth. Gathering the blood up in his mouth, he spit it out right on Beef Head's nice white shirt.
"Sorry, I had a little blood in my mouth. Didn't see ya there," commented Dean with a smirk.
"Stay away from my girlfriend," Beef Head barked out as his fist plastered against Dean's other cheek.
His whole jaw throbbed, and a tooth wiggled dangerously in his mouth. With a little help from his tongue, he dislodged the tooth and spit it onto the dirt pavement. Luckily it was a side tooth, so he wouldn't have to get a gold tooth in the front of his mouth.
"Capiche?"
"Capiche? Really, Bruce Banner is capiching me?"
That might have been the wrong thing to say, because Beef Head let a punch rip right into his lower abdomen. Dean suppressed a groan as his eyes skewered shut. He wanted nothing more than to curl up into a tiny ball on the floor, but the two lackeys held him up right. The bastards.
"Okay. Okay. Capiche isn't that douchey of a word. Capiche, Bruce, capiche."
The two lackeys let go of his arms, and Dean fell into a heap in the dirt pavement. He stayed on his hands and knees for a few seconds to compose himself. He spit out more blood before looking up at the three beefcakes skip off into the moonlight. Assholes. Struggling to stand up, Dean made his way over to the Impala and slid in the front seat. Locking the door, he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Blood caked his teeth and lips. The right side of his face was red. The left side looked like it was already developing a bruise.
Lying down onto the bench seat of the front seat, Dean welcomed some sleep. A few hours later, the sun intruded into his car and woke him up. Instead of sticking around, Dean turned over the engine and drove straight to the airport to wait for his kid brother's plane to come in.
Upon arriving in the airport, Dean cleaned up in the public restroom. Instead of waiting around inside, he sat in the Impala and waited for three o'clock to roll around. When it did, Dean stood in the airport waiting for his brother to get off the plane.
Sam exited the terminal looking haggard. Dark bags resided under his eyes and his face was drawn. As soon as he spotted his big brother, a sigh escaped his lips. Dean's smile faded at that.
"You look like hell, Dean," commented Sam.
"Says the crypt keeper," Dean responded snidely. "Dude, show a little respect here. I'm your big bro."
"I tried to call Mom several times after you called," Sam changed the subject. "Straight to voicemail. You find anything at the house?"
"Besides a shitload of sulfur and the salt underneath the floorboards ripped up? Not much."
Sam ran a hand through his hair as he sighed deeply. Their mom always liked Sammy's long hair. She thought he looked handsome that way. Several time, she tried to convince Dean to let his hair grow out a little bit. He always refused and kept it trimmed short.
When Sam was six years old, their mother had let his hair grow out so that it was nearly touching his shoulders. Dean had called him Samantha for a month. The kid would pout and frown at the name. Then, one day, he just cried until his mom dropped everything and took him to get his hair cut. Dean was forbidden to ever call him Samantha again.
"Where do we go from here?" asked Sam.
"Honestly, I don't know."
"You're the hunter in the family. Shouldn't you already have a plan?"
Dean looked up at his little brother and shook his head. Sam always thought he was stupid for wanting to be a hunter. Countless amounts of times, Sam had told him he was breaking their mother's heart by going to hunts. Now, the kid expected him just to know what to do to find their mother? No pressure or anything, right?
"I dunno where to go from here, Sammy. I was in Wyoming during the attack. I was on a hunt. A witch… bitch was moving town-to-town killing all her new neighbors. Shame too, she was a hot piece of ass."
"It has to be the demon that killed Dad, right?" Sam asked and ignored his brother's comments.
"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Dean with a frown.
The brother started to walk out of the airport and towards the Impala.
"Mom always said demons leave omens behind, right? Different demons leave different residues behind. What if we dug into everything unusually that happened here in the past month and then track the omens?"
Dean let out a whistle. A grin crossed his features as he unlocked the trunk to the Impala. Sam threw his bags in.
"Looks like somebody paid attention in Mom's Sunday School of Monsters," commented Dean.
"You're the one who took notes," he snapped back.
Dean let out a chuckle and made his way to the driver's seat of the Impala. Sliding behind the wheel, he turned over the engine as Sam climbed in next to him. If they were going to omen hunt, then they could do that from a motel. There was no way that Dean could stay at his mother's house when she was missing.
"That should have been Mom's first clue that I was going to become a hunter."
"Yeah, she should have seen that one coming. You never took notes in school."
"I took notes," Dean defended himself.
"Yeah, on all the hot girls and which ones would be easily bangable."
"I was very interested in my sex education," he replied with a wide grin.
At the motel, Dean and Sam shifted through all the weather reports and weird occurrences that had happened in Ainsworth in the last month. They found a huge pile of nothing. Dean threw his journal across the room after three hours of searching. Sam glanced up at him for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the computer screen. Dean stood up, his back cracking loudly.
"Where are you doing?" asked Sam.
"To get some damn air. Is that alright with you, boss?" Dean snapped back.
Sam didn't say anything, so Dean made his way outside. Leaning against the railing, Dean dug through his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. It was a nasty habit he started when he was fourteen years old. The only reason he started to smoke was because his mother hated it. He was going through puberty and was willing to do whatever he could to piss off everyone he could think of. Sadly, he got addicted.
After he let the tip, Dean grabbed his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he came across the name Bobby. Hitting send, he sighed deeply and listened to the ringing.
"What?"
"Morning to you too, Sunshine. How's the hunt?"
Dean wanted to get his mind off his mother. Knowing that she was out there and in danger, it was too much to bear. He needed to think about other things or else he would explode. A hunt was a perfect, temporary distraction to get him back in gear.
"I got a call today from Ellen Harvelle. Said some kid named Dean showed up there last night. I told her I didn't know a Dean. When she gave me the description, I said I thought your name was John. So, what is it, kid? You gonna keep making up aliases?"
Dean sighed and took a drag of his cigarette. Whatever, he'd tell trucker his real name so he could calm the hell down a bit. Maybe, he could save him from an earlier heart attack.
"My name's Dean Jonathon Winchester. You happy now?"
"Ecstatic," he replied sarcastically.
"You going to tell me about the hunt or not?"
"Turns out you were wrong about Savannah being the witch."
"How do you know?"
Dean's brow furrowed. He was nearly positive that she was the one they were looking for. All of the information seemed to fit. She had witch paraphernalia, and she lived in each and every town that the attacks happen in.
"Well, you asked me why would a nice, normal girl go Cujo on all her new neighbors. That got me thinking maybe I should follow her a bit before offing her. I'm sitting outside her apartment complex when an attack happens. The guy just started bleeding. No one else was there. No one touching him - obviously, it was witchcraft at play. Then, little Savannah comes running out screaming at the air to stop hurting him. She was crying up a storm."
"So… you think someone is following her town to town and murdering her neighbors to make her go back to Rawlins?"
"The first attack happened in Rawlins and she left a few weeks later. I'm thinking she was running away from murderer, and the witch has been following her all over Wyoming."
"Sounds like a psycho ex-boyfriend."
"I agree with you there. Question is how do we find the psycho ex-boyfriend?"
Dean threw the cigarette onto the cement and stomped it out with his boot. He looked down at the parking lot, watching a man in a suit and a scantily dressed woman walking across the pavement. He looked nervous and tried to keep his distance from her. She only moved closer.
"Gotta get her to tell you."
"Oh yeah, like I could easily do that."
"What? You tellin' me you're not a secret Don Juan?" Dean asked with a smirk.
"I think you're more her age and could have an easier time getting her to talk."
"I got a bigger case I'm working on now. I think you got it covered, Casanova."
Bobby snorted over the phone.
"Whatever you're hunting, I can help ya out. Just get your ass to Casper and find the damn witch."
The line went dead. Dean snapped his phone shut and glanced back at the motel room where his brother was sitting. They were having shit luck about their mother. Maybe this Bobby guy might be able to help them. He looked at least fifty years old, probably had a good twenty plus years of experience on his side. Maybe Casper, Wyoming was the answer they were looking for. Now, the only thing he had to do was convince his kid brother it was the right move to make. That was easier said than done. Sam's as stubborn as a horse.
Stanford University
Jessica Moore sat at the kitchen table with her psychology textbooks sprawled out in front of her. Glancing next to her cognitive psychology book, she checked to see if there were any new messages on her cell phone. A frown worked its way onto her pale features, but she tried to push her thoughts away and concentrate on the school material at hand. She had a test at the end of the week. She needed to concentrate. Sam would call if he needed anything.
There was a knock at the front door. Thankful for the interruption of silence, she made her way to the front door. Upon opening it, she was standing vis-à-vis with a familiar, older blonde. Jessica's brows furrowed in confusion.
"Mrs. Winchester? What are doing here?"
"Can I come in?"
Wordlessly, Jessica stepped aside to let her enter the apartment. Closing the door, the younger blonde let out a laugh of disbelief. Her mind was reeling.
"Sam went to Ainsworth. Dean said your house was broken into and you were missing…?" Jessica's eyes narrowed.
"There was a break in, and Mary is missing."
Jessica could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Licking her lips, she thought about last semester when she took a class on psychological disorders. Quickly, she concluded that Mary Winchester had a psychotic break. She tried to remember if Sam said anything about mental illness in his family.
"You know, you really shouldn't let strangers in. I could be some kind of freak for all you know."
"Mrs. Winchester-"
"Oh, she's left the building."
With a smirk, Mary's fist connected with Jessica's head in one fell swoop. The twenty-year-old fell into a heap on the hardwood floor with thump. Her blonde hair was sprawled all around her in an almost angelic way.
"That's all it takes, Blondie? One hit? How pathetic."
There was a hiss from the right. Mary didn't need to look to know what was going to happen next. Black smoke seeped out of the register from the floor and found residence in Jessica's body. As soon as the black smoke had completely disappeared in her, Jessica gasped and sat up.
"Guess, I got the better end of the deal," Jessica said with a smirk.
"I don't trust you," Mary said plainly. "If you pull any of your little tricks, it won't end prettily."
"We're on the same team, Debbie Downer," she said as she stood up. "God's honest truth… or whatever."
"Listen, my daddy thought you'd be useful in this role. He dragged you out of the pit, he can put you back in."
"Guess Daddy didn't think his little girl was quite good enough for the part."
Mary grabbed Jessica's throat, eyes glossing over black. A smirk worked its way onto Jessica's lips.
"Ah, ah, ah, don't wanna ruin the meat seat. I got a date with a very tall man." She lowered her voice to a whisper. With a wink she said, "Just between us gals, I've got a thing for tall guys.
Mary's fingers unlatched from the younger girl's throat. Reaching behind, Jessica let her hair down. Fluffing the golden locks, a smirk never disappeared from her face.
"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille."
"You know why you were picked for the part. Don't act like you're something special, because, baby, you're not. I call the shots. I tell you what to do. You don't crap without my permission." Mary leaned forward to the point that there was clearly a violation of personal space. "You're going to go to classes, go to all the club meetings, and girls' barf nights. You're going to wait around for that one little call. Don't blow your cover. You let those skanky black eyes of yours show, you're dead."
"Whatever, I know the drill, Cruella."
"Don't fuck it up," she spoke in clipped tones. "If you do, I'll make you think Alistair's handiwork was just child's play."
"Yeah, I'm sure you will."
"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less. Don't think I don't know how to make it hurt."
With that, the demon possessing Mary Winchester exited the apartment without looking back. Jessica merely rolled her eyes, a sneer working its way onto her face.
"What a bitch," she said to no one in particular.
The demon inspected its new body, a smirk creeping its way onto Jessica's pale features. This was going to be fun.
Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. I'm sorry that it took longer to get the new chapter up. I hope it was worth it. For a fun tidbit, I pictured that if this was a real episode "Magic Arrow" by Timber Timbre would be playing in the background in the Stanford scene. In fact, I listened to it on repeat as I wrote that scene. Anyways, please leave a review. If you took the time to read, take an extra minute and write a short review. They mean the world to an author.
