Sheriff Mills looked at the body. Casey had been a nice girl. "I need to know if it was murder or suicide, doc." It hadn't looked like suicide to her, but then she was old and suspicious and tired. She pulled a small leather bound diary from her pocket, flipped it until she found Casey's name. Demon

So maybe it had been a kill. She hoped that one of those bone-knuckle hunters like Gordon or Garth or even the Harvelles God forbid hadn't gotten it in their head to go investigating. They didn't believe her anymore. Didn't believe they were safe.

She needed to find out what happened. Find out who'd seen her, who she'd spoken with. She figured she might as well start with Father Gil. He was a demon too, after all. Said he appreciated the irony of it.

Well, she'd appreciate it a lot more if she didn't have to deal with this bullshit.

"I'm gonna kill him," Abbie said, pulling on her boots, the ones with the steel toes, the ones that hurt like hell, the ones she was gonna use to stomp someone's face in, she didn't care who, just as long as it was a hunter, a hunter with nice, breakable bones. And a nice, mortal heart that she could squeeze in her fist.

"You need to chill," Mike said, elbows on his knees. "Do you even know who 'him' is?"

"I'll figure it out," Abbie said. Her red lips curled around her teeth. "I always do."

"Don't you want to make sure that you catch the real killer?" Mike said. "You're going in guns blazing. We need to be smart."

Abbie punched the mirror she was admiring herself in, broke it into shards that fell at her feet, broke her knuckles bloody. "Do you know the last time I went on a rampage?" She turned, red lips snarling. "Two hundred years ago. I'm due for another."

"You must have been so pissed when Azazel drew the short straw, weren't you?" Mike laughed. "God, I would have done anything just to see your face."

"I can still kill you, you know," Abbie said. "So don't tempt me. You know how demons are with temptation." She shrugged into her leather jacket. "We're either really, really bad at it, or really, really good at it."

Someone whistled outside, and Abbie's head jerked toward the sound. "Hello," she whispered, darting to the window, pulling the fringe of dirty curtain away, sucking on her lip as she watched Adam go down the muddy road, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-big hoody. She pointed her fingers into the shape of a gun aimed at his head. "Gotcha."

Mike was instantly at her shoulder. "No," he said immediately. "Don't."

"Last time I checked, you weren't my boss."

"Not, not Dean's brother," Mike said.

Abbie made pouty lips at him. "Oh right. You like Dean. Wanna keep him all for yourself." She leaned forward, red lips right next to his cheek. "Well, too fucking bad. We don't always get what we want. Didn't your Daddy ever teach you how to share?" She smiled, hard and cruel. "Oh, wait."

Mike stepped back, muscles cording and flexing. "You go too far this time."

"Calm down. Nobody's scared of you. You haven't been scary for like, a millennia," she said, punching him lightly on the arm. She leaned down, whispering in his ear. "But I am going to kill Adam, slowly, very slowly. Slow enough to send a message to any other hunter thinking about breaking this patchwork truce that that damned sheriff rag-tagged together."

"Do you honestly think," Mike said, voice steady and earnest as he switched tack-so obvious that Abbie just had to roll her eyes- "that any kind of truce will hold together if you kill the sheriff's son?"

"By adoption. Nothing's real unless by blood."

"Well, I always knew that this truce would never last forever and was shaky at best but if you are seriously going to tell me that you're even remotely ready for it to come tumbling down, then-"

"What, because you losers aren't ready? We're demons, honey." She reapplied her lipstick. "We're always ready." She stepped back again, looking out the window but Adam was already gone. "Good," she breathed. "I always liked a good hunt."

"Careful. You're starting to sound like a real hunter. Speaking of whom, you should let the sheriff handle this."

Abbie gawked around. "Yeah. Because she's so doing that."

"How would you know," Mike said quietly, "when you're too busy in here looking for revenge." His eyes caught hers. "I'll stop you."

Abbie's eyes flipped black. "New plan. I really don't feel like killing you, at least not yet. Not without a grand army behind my back, first knight in Lucifer's army. But let me pose to you this scenario instead." She pushed Michael into the couch, crawled onto his lap, hands heavy and hot against his chest. "I kill Adam to send a message. Poor Dean is distraught with grief and guilt - Oh, Mike, I should never have left. I should have been the brother that Adam deserved. I should never have really given up the hunting life. I should-I should-I should-blah blah blah." She gripped Michael's chin, hard and cruel. "Who else is there to pick up the pieces, but you? The jilted ex boyfriend who still loves Dean even after all these long years." She bit her lips. "Play your cards right, he'll say yes to anything."

He tensed, thinking about it, but he was already sold. She knew he would be. The thought of Dean eating out of his hand would be too much for him.

"Fine," he muttered back, sullen.

She patted his cheek, insolent. "I knew you would see it my way."

As her coup de grace, Abbie borrowed Michael's truck because, in this one specific instance, it would serve her better than her motorcycle.

It was almost too easy to gun down the road, full throttle, metal music blazing as she banged the dash in beat with the bass, singing not necessarily along with the lead vocalists, but a shear-hearted scream that cracked the windshield before it fully shattered as she ran Adam off the road, bumper crunching against his soft human body in a way that was hugely satisfying.

Music still blaring, reverberating in her bones like her own trapped voice, she stepped out of the truck, prowling towards Adam's prone body, sun glinting off her red, red hair, circling, circling, circling, admiring the way the blood seeped from his scalp, the crooked set of his shoulders before she shrugged and heaved him up by his armpits and stuffed him in the bed. She threw a dirty, blue tarp over him so no one would see and ask questions.

In a spit of mud and gravel, she flipped a u-turn, turned the music up even louder, and sped back to the shack that had been home for way too long.

Sheriff Mills clipped her shades to her glasses and drove a steady thirty miles per hour down the dirt road that lead up to Abbie's place of residence. When she stepped out of the car, she gagged on the stench of deer carcass.

It'd been a long time since she'd gone hunting, but she was pretty sure that this qualified more as a slaughterhouse than a hunting lodge, which is what Abbie claimed it was. She shook her head in disgust, unpopping the snapped collar on the butt of her gun and-

"Oh, you won't need that, Sheriff," Abbie said behind her and, to what Sheriff Mills thought was to her credit, she did not fling herself around, gun sharpshooter ready.

"And why's that?" Jody said, turning around in her own good time.

"Because I'm a good girl, I am," Abbie said, smiling, wiping deer's blood from her hands with a stained, torn cloth.

Jody glared at the rag. "Like hell you are."

"Why are you actually here, Sheriff?" Abbie asked, yawning. "Because I gotta tell you, you being here is kind of a huge drag. You know, one of my friends died so I have some issues to work out. Stages of grief to grieve through-I'm particularly fond of the anger one."

"That's actually what I'm here about," Jody said. "Just want to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Abbie raised her hand like she was swearing a vow before a judge. Dried blood crusted her wrists. "Cross my heart and hope to die, I won't do a damn thing until you've figured out who killed Casey." Her smile vanished, she stepped up close to Jody and it was all she could do not to flinch. "And then I'm going to do what I do best-and you better not try to stop me, even if it's one of yours."

"I'll hold you to your word," Jody said. "Good day." Then she got into her police jeep and drove away, heart rabbiting against her chest as she wiped the fear-sweat from her eyes.

It was only when she disappeared around the bend that Abbie dragged Adam from the bed of the truck, and strung him up in chains at the back of her slaughterhouse.

Dean hadn't been able to sleep that night, hadn't been able to do much of anything really. The sheriff had shown up because someone had called the police and they had-they had ushered everyone out, and the Sheriff had pretended that it wasn't him who was there which was, which was well, it was just great.

Then they had sent everyone home and he had tried to sleep but he kept seeing Casey swinging, and swinging-he closed his eyes tight, tried to think of anything else, of but it was too hard, those red eyes, and then-

Dean shook himself, took a hot shower until the water turned cold. He shaved, this time with his straight razor instead of the disposable razor blades so that he would be forced to pay close attention, to the shape of his face, the tender yield of his throat, scraping all that white foam away, leaving his skin soft as he touched it with his knuckles.

Maybe he should see Mike. He bit his cheek because he'd told himself that he wouldn't do that, it was too dangerous, it was too nice seeing Mike. "Screw it," he said, pulling on his simple white tee and shrugging into a jacket.

It was only then that he realized he couldn't remember where Mike lived. But that was okay. All he needed to do was to find someone who knew everyone in this small, little island. He retraced his steps back to the Roadhouse. It wasn't open, technically, but he saw Ellen in there, cleaning the countertops, so he tapped the window gently.

She jerked her head up, hand going to the small of her back until she aborted the movement when she saw who it was. "Hey Dean," she said, after she unlocked the door. "It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think?"

"I didn't come for that," Dean said. "I came for information."

"Oh." Ellen laughed. "Well, that I got in spades, but it really kind of depends what you're looking for."

"I just need to know where Mike is this time of day?"

"Asscrack of dawn you mean?" Ellen asked.

Dean looked up at her, a little sheepish. "I just."

"Yeah, I know, hun. I get it." Ellen wiped a glass clean of water and then set it on the shelf behind her. "He's probably hanging with Abbie right now."

Dean didn't quite stop the unhappy eye-roll that took over his face

"Yeah, that I don't get," Ellen said, nodding her head. "But hey, who am I to judge the company a boy keeps?"

Dean kicked the edge of the bar. "So where am I gonna find her?"

"Up north. In her hunting lodge." Ellen said. "Just find the dirt path and trudge on up. Everyone hates going up there-except for Mike, I guess."

Dean walked around the bar, elbow leaning on the bar. "Thanks, Ellen, you're the best."

"Oh, c'mere, Dean," Ellen said, bringing him close into a bear hug. She hugged him tight, and Dean closed his eyes against her shoulders. "I'm so glad you're back."

"I can't-stay." His voice came through muffled and a little wet against her shoulder.

"Yeah, I know, hun, I know. Too many bad memories here."

He nodded, and she smoothed her fingers through his hair, tracing the flow of his cowlicks.

"You get gone now," she said. "I'm busy." But she still held him a little longer before she pushed him away.

"Thanks, Ellen," Dean said, on his way out.

Ellen hadn't been kidding when she said the road was dirt and that it was terrible and that it was no wonder that nobody ever went up there. He would never bring his baby up here, not on his life. Grimacing in disgust, bundling his fists up tight in his pocket, he trudged his way up the path, and he climbed and climbed until his legs got sore, until he thought that maybe this was the wrong path, and it was then that he saw a ribbon of smoke that he made his way towards.

But then there was the smell, and Dean pressed his palm against his mouth, biting the inside of his wrist to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

Did Mike like actually come up here, regularly?

Well, he always did say that he had a stomach of steel.

"Mike?" he called. Then, "Abbie?"

But there was no answer. In fact, there was nothing but silence. Not the sound of the birds or the whisper of insects. Danger crawled up his spine, and the old instincts began to settle in, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, and every sense that screamed to run away and to not look back, to not come back.

This was a bad place.

He licked his lips, desperately wished he had a weapon, but he was on vacation.

Why the fuck would he need a weapon on vacation? To see one of his best friends get married?

He shook his head, disgust seething and roiling in his stomach as he rounded the corner and came upon the dump, the same, dump in fact, that was currently spewing the ribbon of smoke that had originally guided him here in the first place.

There was no fire, that he could see.

"Oh, Jesus," Dean said. Then, once more, cautiously this time, "Mike?" He licked his lips, nervous. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Oh fuck this." His danger, danger will robinson sense was overwhelming, and he figured it was about time that he started listening to it.

A muffled scream pulled him short, and he cursed himself quietly. "I swear to god, Mike, if this is you and Abbie having some weird fucking sex thing-" as he found himself a nice heavy piece of wood that weighed good in his hand.

He pushed his way into the lodge, and pulled up short when he saw Adam. Blood crusted his face, chains, chafing his wrists, held his arms above his head, stretching his bare torso, hollowing his gut so that each scraping breath fluttered through him frail and fragile as his feet scraped for purchase on a wobbly stool.

"Hey," he said, "It's alright-" as he dropped the wood and stumbled towards him, towards Adam. "God, what the hell-" as his fingers fumbled with the chains.

Abbie stepped from the gloom. "Sorry, Dean. God's not at home right now." Her hair, usually so neatly pinned up, hung in a hazy gleam of flyaways around her cheeks. Her red lipstick was smudged around her lips-not so much like a clown but like she'd forgotten to wipe her mouth. Her black, the devil-made-me-do-it shirt was ripped and stained with blood-deer's blood? Adam's blood? Dean didn't know, just that the mere sight of her made him sick.

Adam's dull eyes caught sight of Dean, and he swallowed down a whimper, trying to find that devil may care grin, the one that said eat shit and die.

"You're probably thinking you shouldn't have dropped that piece of wood right now," Abbie said, as she reached out quick as a viper to kick it away.

"Let him down," Dean said. "Let him down, now!"

Abbie exaggerated a double take. "On whose authority? Yours?" She laughed. "You can't even fight me in a bar what makes you think you can take me down in my own home?" She didn't do anything as stupid as turn her back on Dean, but she tutted warily, "No, no, no. Adam's mine, and you best go home, big brother, so that I don't make mincemeat of you too."

"You can't just take people and call them yours, Abbie," Dean said.

She stepped in close, almost close enough to strike, almost. "I can when they kill my friends."

"You have friends?" Dean said. "Who fucking knew?"

"Very funny, Dean. But yes, Casey was my friend, and a hunter killed her, so I'm going to kill a hunter."

Dean's eyes shifted, searching her face, looking for answers underneath the grime and the blood and the smoke. "Casey was a -"

"Oh, you don't know, do you, lost little lamb? Sent away so that you don't get involved in all these sordid, little affairs, of shady deals with devils." Her white teeth sank into her lip, smearing her incisors red. "There are all sorts of things that go bump in the night here. Hunters too, sitting tight on their knives and their guns and their salt, just waiting for one of us to toe a line, to cross it. Or maybe-they just got bored, and decided to do Casey in." Her head fell back, neck double jointed as the curve of her spine bent backwards under the force of her laugh. "Not that I blame them." Her body snapped upwards, back into offensive stance, prowling around them both. "Even I get a little bored too, sometimes."

"What are you, a demon?" Dean snarled. He wasn't prepared for a demon. There hadn't been demons on this island since-

Something hard glinted in her eyes, and she refocused them sharply on Dean, shaking her head. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Dean raised his hands, stepped between her and his brother. "Listen, Abbie-or whoever you really are-I may be out of the loop about what's going on on this island. But I do know two things. Casey's death-wasn't a hunter kill."

"Unless they were trying to pretend they weren't hunters," Abbie bit out.

"Two," Dean went on, resolute, "I swear to god and the devil both, that if you kill my brother, you're next."

Abbie rolled her eyes, hand fluttering over her heart. "Oh, Dean. Stop. You're scaring me."

The soft click of a gun and Jody stepping from the shadows interrupted them. "You should be scared, Abbie. You lie to my face? Take my son?"

Dean took his cue, rushing to Adam, and unlooping the chain from the rafters. Adam cried out as Dean gently lowered his arms, and guided him from the rickety stool.

Abbie raised her arms in a half-surrender, half-conciliatory way. "Whoa, Sheriff. Let's not be hasty." She sucked on her lips. "Those trapped bullets you got in there?"

"Gunpowder and salt from holy water," Jody said. "Think fast and hard, Abbie, because I'm taking you in, one way or another."

"Oh," Abbie said, with relish. "I just love a good threat-" she got down on her knees, hands clasped behind her head - "when I know you have the punch to follow through. Don't hurt me too much, Sheriff, even though I think you might want to. Wouldn't want me to like it too much, would you now? 'Cause that'd be more like a reward than a punishment, right?"

Jody walked behind Abbie, still not taking the gun from her. "Get Adam outside, Dean."

"We need to talk," Dean hissed.

Jody looked up at him, and he was stunned by how old she seemed. "We will. I promise. But get my son to a hospital." She tossed her keys to him. "Take the jeep. Turn the sirens on." Then she pressed the radio pinned to her collar. "This is Sheriff Jody Mills requesting backup at-"

Her voice faded away as Dean headed on out, half-carrying, half-dragging his brother.

"Is he gonna be fine, Doctor?" Dean said, head in his hand.

Tessa flipped her sheet down. "Yeah, he will."

"Well, can I see him?"

Tessa looked at him, and sighed. "He might not want to see you. He's just been through a traumatic experience, and from what I understand, you two aren't on the best of terms."

"Yeah well, I need to make sure he's okay. I need to be there for him." Dean lowered his head, shaking it, hoping that the tremor he felt in his throat and his lip was his imagination. He should have been here. He should have come back sooner. And it didn't matter how much he told himself it wasn't his fault, he was only a teenager when Sheriff Mills had sent him away, what did she expect him to do just come back when she never reached out when she never even responded to his emails or his texts or voicemails-

"You okay, Dean?" Tessa said. "If you need to see someone about what you saw, I can refer you to someone."

"What?"

"Seeing something like that is also traumatizing, Dean," Tessa said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No, I'm fine-I'm totally fine. Thanks, Doc."

"Yeah. No problem, Dean. Just. Make sure you take care of yourself, okay?"

Dean jerked a wave and a half-hearted thumbs up in reply and made his way towards Adam's room, swiping green and orange jello cups as he did so. Adam's eyes were closed when he came in, so Dean came in quietly, setting the food on the counter by the bed. An IV was plugged into his arm, dripping fluids into his system.

He wondered how long Abbie had had him, and felt sick.

"I know you're here, Dean," Adam said through cracked lips. "But you can go now. It's what you're best at."

Should he slide closer? Keep his distance? "I don't want to fight, Adam."

"Good. Neither do I. Had enough of that for one day. So why don't you leave, so that we won't end up fighting."

Dean forced himself to breathe slow, to breathe evenly, but he pulled at his lips with his teeth, and he said, "Okay." He found a piece of paper and scribbled the number to the phone in his room. "My number since the cell reception's so bad here. In case, you know."

Adam didn't answer, and Dean slipped out the door. He paced the halls, hands behind his head, heart rabbitting against his chest, refusing to calm the fuck down even though the danger was past.

He needed answers. He needed to know what the hell happened and why he was being kept in the dark. He knew what was out there, he knew that his whole family had dedicated their life to keeping this island safe from those who would do them harm-human or otherwise.

If Abbie really were a demon-and if Sheriff Mills knew that, then-why? Who else was out there?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted under his breath.

He had to go home-someplace he knew he didn't want to go back to, a place he'd once wanted to go back to for so long, it had hurt so bad, but then that want had grown cold, so cold when nobody told him to come back, they wanted him back, they loved him, and it'd turned into this thing with sharp edges that just hurt and hurt and sometimes he'd forget about it but it would never ever really go away.

He forced himself to breathe, just breathe, and looked at the Sheriff's keys, jittering in his shaking palm and decided that he should probably just walk instead.

When he came to the house, he paced in the driveway, rubbing his palms, reciting the pep talk he used to have to give himself every day just to get back out of bed, when it got real bad those first few years. "You can do it, Dean. Just gotta get up-up and at 'em. You're Dean Winchester. This is what you do. You do the thing that needs to be done. Because you're brave, and you have to keep on being brave because that's what she'd want you to be."

Short, sharp exhalations out, long, deep inhalations in. One, two, three. He raised his knuckles to the door, and knocked.

Nothing. No answer.

The let down after the build up left him feeling on edge, worked up, belly perpetually taking a nose dive. Then he remembered that this wasn't LA anymore, and he kicked at the mat and looked under the flower pots clustered at the door until he found the spare key, which slid in smooth as anything, and unlocked the bolt with a soft click like it wanted him to come in.

He swallowed and looked around the living room. There were pictures. Pictures of Mary and the Sheriff and Bobby-and Dean and Adam-some even of Dean and Sam together. There was a recent one of Adam, arm around a goat. He looked out the back window-there it was, grazing on the grass. It must have sensed Dean, because it looked up, and bleated sadly before returning to the dash.

A goat. Weird kid.

He looked back at the pictures, thinking how the Sheriff hadn't even given enough time to really pack up the things that mattered the most to him.

He shook his head, and out of morbid curiosity, he thought he'd go ahead and check out his room. But then, his way was blocked by the ladder leading up to the attic being let down, without anybody putting it up again.

Unless-"Mom?" he called as he started to climb up the ladder. "Mom?"

But there was no one up in the attic, and Dean looked around, deflated, sad, and wondering if he should wait or if he could, just go, and this time not come back, like really not come back, when he saw the pictures pinned to the walls.

Pictures of John Winchester-and not family pictures, either. Pictures that were dated after the slaughter, pictures of places where John Winchester would never be-pictures of him in San Francisco, Denver, and, with a sickening lurch in his belly, Los Angeles.

And then there he was, John Winchester with his yellow eyes, a camera flare thing written in red and question marks, even though she knew, she knew that it wasn't a camera flare thing it was a demon thing, a devil thing, and she'd put him down, she'd put him down like a hunter put down a wild thing, and it was done it was over, it was supposed to be over-

but it was all coming back.

it could all happen again.

and again.

and again.

His tried to catch his breath, clutched the table for support, breathed in John Winchester's stale air and saw nothing but his cold, dead brown or yellow eyes like they were the only thing in the whole wide world that mattered, all consuming now in the day and not just his dreams and his nightmares and his memories.

He stumbled down the ladder, his bones shaking, his teeth chewing up the inside of his mouth like meat.

He never should have come back, Jesus Christ.

And then, as he stumbled down the drive, he remembered what Tracy had said. That she'd been seeing John Winchester. He wondered if the Sheriff knew. If she had let Tracy think she was imagining it.

What had happened in the years since he'd been gone? What the hell had happened?

Ruby and Meg looked down at Casey's corpse, the sheriff behind them, arms folded. "I really, really hope you can explain this, Sheriff Mills, because it doesn't look good that a demon just died."

"Hunters don't have the ability to kill demons," Jody said. "You know that."

Ruby smiled, soft and sly. "Not without help, at least."

"Does it look like they had help? Strangulation only kills the host, not the demon." Jody unfolded her arms and stepped up close to Ruby and Meg. "And you know that. You know. There is absolutely no way any of my hunters had anything to do with this because we simply don't know how."

"But I bet you wish you did, don't you?" Meg said. "I bet you've been working on something like this ever since you made that little deal." She flicked some dust from her leather jacket. "Feeling a little bit dirty?"

"You know the thing about demons?" Sheriff Mills said, "is that they just never stop coming back. They're worse than bad pennies."

"That's what I like best about us," Meg said. "We're forever."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Do you have any suspects, Sheriff?"

"Well, I did lock up one person today." Jody looked them both in the eye. "You know what that person did? She took my son, strung him up like he was one of her goddamn deer, and thought to make an example to us all, on my son." The last words came out with spit as she pounded a finger into Ruby's chest. Ruby looked down at the finger like it was some kind of bug.

"We'll take care of it," Meg said.

"As I said, I've already locked your attack dog in the cell. You can have her back when we've got this whole thing figured out."

Ruby and Meg took a step back, their leather jackets tight across their shoulders as they folded their arms across their chest, leaning in close as they whispered to each other.

Jody rolled her eyes.

"We're okay with that."

"Good, because you didn't have much choice in the matter," Jody said.

Meg exaggerated a shiver. "You're so scary when you're angry, Sheriff." She curled her tongue around her lip, smirking.

"Shut up," Jody said.

Ruby leaned in on the other side of her, and whispered, "Make us."

Jody pushed them away, a fist buried in both their guts, but they didn't even pause, didn't even double over. They both shook their heads, then lifted a single hand over their heads in mocking farewell as they left.

Their smiles faded though as they went out of sight and hearing of the sheriff and her offices.

"This is bad," Ruby said. "Sheriff was right. There's no way one of them did it, even if they've been itching to do it for years." She looked up under her lashes at Meg. "But you know who could have done it."

"Angels," Meg said.

Ruby nodded, an already raised eyebrow rising even higher.

"Cas?" Meg asked, then laughed. "I'd like to see him grow the nerve to do something that rebellious. Besides I'm pretty sure he was having his daily dalliance with-" she coughed into her palm. "I mean. You know. You must know."

"Know what?" Ruby said.

"About Cas and Lilith. Duh. Everybody knows. Apparently, Cas is feeling little league and is trying to make it with the big boys or something." Meg rolled her eyes. "I honestly don't know why she indulges him. It's pathetic really." She sighed, chewing on her lips.

"Does it bother you?" Ruby said.

Meg shook her head. "Not really. He's got an itch. Not that I blame him for that one. We used to prowl the world like lions, and now we're here, stuck until the last play's been made for this whole house of cards. We're practically hostages. Making sure both sides play nice until the grand finale because of the meddling of that damn sheriff." Then she laughed. "Isn't it funny, how she still managed to get the drop on the angels? Tried to get it on us too but we were too good for her." She bit her lips. "If it wasn't us, and it wasn't hunters, then it probably was angels-but if I were you, I'd be looking at Michael, and not Cas."

Ruby nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Michael's chafing. I'd love to see our -" she made air-quotes with her fingers - "attack dog's face when she found out that instead of her making a tool of him he'd made a tool of her." She licked her lips with relish. "Classic."

"Should we tell her?" Meg said.

Ruby smiled and slung her arm around Meg's shoulders. "No. I don't think so. Let's tell her when we can really target that anger and rage, already simmering and about to boil in the pit of that jail cell."

"We should probably figure out if there's been any other unexpected deaths on the island. Might help us figure out who killed Casey."

"I haven't heard anything. But I'll keep an ear out." Ruby frowned. "You know who I haven't seen sliming his way through the joint? Crowley."

"Who cares if that creep is dead," Meg said. "I'd thank whoever did it personally. Almost sad I didn't do it myself."

Ruby side-stepped a puddle. "Yeah but if Crowley is missing because he's dead, then that means that that's another demon targeted-which would be bad for us. At least, when we still have to worry about hunters and angels. Once they're out of the way, we can take care of our own internal squabbles, as bloodily and ruthlessly as we like."

"Alright. I'll keep my ear to the ground."

"But not right now," Ruby said. "It's dark and cold, I wanna get home. I might hit up Anna later if I can find her. She might know something. Hell, maybe that's why she came back, because she knew something. And she's not on anybody's side, not anymore."

Meg's eyes widened as her mouth dropped into an o. "Right, Anna. Hitting her up for information. That always goes so well."

Ruby pushed Meg hard. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"But I just like it there so much."

Boy howdy it had been a day, Garth thought as he slipped through the rooms with his duster and his cleaning rags and his salt and his holy water hidden under the laundry hamper he rolled around.

Though why they should be concerned about some dead demon was more than he could muster, but still, he did as Jody asked, cleaning up all the rooms and snooping and spying to see if everything was on the level.

Of course, it was a little hard determining that since he wasn't quite sure what was going on but then, who ever was, right? But he figured that a brief-case full of cash in Mr. Crowley's room was plenty suspicion enough, so he hid that too and finished his rounds and, just as the cold was really beginning to set in, carried it from the premises like it was his and no one stopped him and said boy where you going with all that cash because he was just that smooth.

It also helped that he did not see a single soul, considering they were either partying it up still or turning in early because of the death which, judging from the whispers he'd heard, most folks were deeming a suicide.

He shook his head. Guess it was nicer being in the dark anyway. He took a few more steps when a shadow crossed his path. His face lit up. "Oh, hey friend-"

Nobody heard the gun or the bullet shattering Garth's skull. Nobody heard the dead whump of the body as someone hauled it into one of the boats, and set it adrift.