Chapter 3
Dean wasn't entirely sure what had compelled him to ask Lydia to come to the bunker. He knew she was good with research, but pulling her into witchcraft and angels seemed like more of a fall off a cliff then a jump to the next level of knowledge. Her run in with a doppelganger had been her first taste of the world of monsters. That one hunt had gotten her chased and nearly killed. Now, he was dragging her back in, deeper, and into more dangerous territory.
But he needed the help. He needed someone who could help Sam scour the books, who was familiar with the lore and could help them put together the pieces. It was only a matter of time before Cas's vessel gave out under the stress of the curse and he wasn't about to let that happen.
Tucking his phone in his pocket, he pushed himself up off the fender of the Impala, where he'd been leaning after stopping for some food. A thumping sound echoed through the empty diner parking lot and Dean rolled his eyes. His hand went to the the Angel Blade, tucked into the back of his jeans. Pulling it out, he popped the trunk and stared down at the demon bound in the trunk, glaring through the sudden light at Dean.
The meat suit this particular demon was sporting was young and gangly. Short-cropped and mousy hair and ashy skin. He was sweating profusely, turning pink in the cheeks.
"If you dent my trunk, you'll be drinking holy water till judgment day." Blade pointed menacingly at the Demon's throat. "Got it?" The demon said nothing, but shifted his position where he couldn't kick at the metal framework.
Satisfied, Dean slammed the trunk closed, dropping the devil's trap painted on it down closer to his cargo. His phone buzzed in his pocket he pulled it before climbing into his driver's seat.
I'll take the first flight out. Address? Lydia had answered. A smile crept onto Dean's face.
The house creaked and groaned as the wind whistled by. It was condemned and falling down, but serving it's purpose. The demon, Mickey, was now tied down to a chair, with a Devil's trap painted on the ceiling above him. He was wet, smoking from Holy water, and panting in pain. His once pink cheeks were nearly purple from the blood rushing to his head as he screamed and begged. Cuts marred most of his exposed body, bloodying the suit he wore.
"Tell me!" Dean bellowed, temper lost. "Tell me where Crowley is looking for Rowena!"
"I-" Mickey panted "-don't know. He doesn't tell me."
"Where?" Dean asked, voice dropping to a menacing growl. He dropped his body down, arms resting on Mickey's bound wrists so that he was face to face with the Demon.
"I don't know." Dean moved quickly, stabbing the Angel Blade through Mickey's wrist. The bones shifted and cracked around the blade and Mickey screamed endlessly, high and keening.
"Where!" Dean pulled the blade out slowly, spinning it as he did. Mickey screamed, no intelligible words coming out. Frustrated, Dean gave up. He ripped the blade the remaining inch out of Mickey's wrist before turning and slamming it into his chest. Light flashed in Mickey's veins and he slumped in the chair, finally quiet.
Demon's weren't loyal. He knew that. So after torturing six and getting no information, it was easy to come to the conclusion that no one knew where Rowena was. Still frustrated, Dean cleaned the blade off on Mickey's clothes and headed out for the Impala.
Nearly half way to the bunker, Dean got a text from Lydia.
Got a flight into Hays. Be there by 11am tomorrow. Dean furrowed his brow. Twelve hours of travel over night, he was asking a lot out of her.
Are you sure you don't mind?
Shut up, Dean. I'll be there soon.