Dean stopped the car, resulting in the siblings to lurch forward in their seats. Emily took her earbuds out and wiped her eyes aggressively. Sam and Dean looked at each other, unsure what to do.
"Only if you tell us who's been contacting you." Dean looked back at her.
Sam seemed to have a change of attitude, suddenly appearing more supportive to his younger sister. She looked at them and nodded. Dean proceeded down the road, looking back to wait for Emily to talk.
"The people from my colony have been trying to get through to me." She started.
Sam kept looking at her through the mirror. "How many people are in your group?"
She counted on her fingers. "Five. Not including me."
Sam looked at the road, it would probably take an entire day to reach Pennsylvania. No breaks either, by the expression on her face.
"What's the issue, though? Why now are you going back?" Dean gripped the wheel.
She was silent, she clearly didn't want to answer. A notebook and a pencil were pulled out of her backpack. It was opened, she wrote down an address on a piece of paper. Tearing out of the notebook, she passed it up to them. She obviously wanted to dodge the question for now. Dean decided to ask again later. Sam took the piece of paper and pulled out their road map.
"You know we have to know eventually, Emily…" Sam said.
She nodded and spoke softly. "I know…" she looked up from her lap. "I want to wait until we get there, so I can have you soak it in yourself."
They both nodded. Sam cleared his throat. "Alright. Next stop: Topton, Pennsylvania."
The night was long and painful. But it was only that way for Emily, who laid in the backseat with tears streaming down her face. She was a Capricorn, so naturally she thought of worst case scenarios. Her head was filled with blood, but not in the literal sense. The images were bloody and sad. The last person she truly loved to death was on their death bed. She covered her eyes with her blankie, she didn't care if her brothers saw it whipped out now. She didn't let her nose blow those bubbles you get when you're crying for a long time, she kept her stuffiness to a minimal low. Smiles flashed by; group photos, birthday parties, school, father's day, picnics, her first driving lesson. She allowed herself to roll into a ball to try and cry herself to sleep, but that obviously didn't happen. She tried to focus on her brothers talking, which eventually stopped her tears. She uncurled herself, allowing herself to stretch out. She supported her head with the blankie now, using it as a pillow while she looked out the window across from her. Soon she would see a new highway, or possibly a new constellation pattern. She forced herself to think of the present, not the looming future. She yawned, she hadn't slept in what seemed like days. She finally allowed herself to sleep.
Six hours later, Emily's eyes popped open as the Impala went over a pot hole. Half of her body, her upper half, fell out of the seat. She heard Dean growl something up in the driver's seat.
"God damn country roads, fix these holes in the god damn…"
"Well, if we couldn't wake her up, that must have." Sam laughed.
She pulled herself back onto the seat, stuffing her blankie back into her backpack. She stretched and let out a yawn as Sam looked back to her. She waved, rubbing her one eye.
"We're almost there, you woke up just in time." He turned back to the road.
"Oh did I now? Fantastic." She cracked her back, then her neck.
"Morning, sunshine. Or should I say Country Bumpkin?" he smirked.
She faked puking noises. "Ever call me that again and I'm running you over with Grant's motorcycle."
"I thought you said you stole it…?" Sam asked.
"He called dibs, so we kept it as his…" she lost her sentence.
She rolled the window down, getting the lovely scent of corn fields. Delicious. The wind felt good on her face, she knew they had purposely gone the back way to get to Topton. At the moment, they were going through Amish country. There were little shops everywhere that sold sick kittens and lovely handmade cream and cheese. There were houses in the near distance, they were getting close. She brushed through her hair, trying to look like she didn't just sleep on a car seat. They went over another pot hole and Dean started to swear again. There were plenty of people out in their yards, even some teenagers that could have recognized Emily. She kept her face hidden, she didn't want anybody to see her. The set of familiar, winding turns was up next. Across a corn field to her left was a brick high school, not too incredibly fancy. Finally, before their eyes, was a busy bustling street. There were one way signs everywhere, but Emily guided the Impala to safety. There was a left, two rights, around the block one time, then to the gas station to get a hotdog. From there on, it was a straight road across the railroad tracks, then another right. In front of them was a parking lot to a type of flat, a house that was split for two families. Dean parked the car and Emily got out first. She looked up to the porch; there was a chair sitting on a roofed porch, the chair was next to a door that led inside. Interesting how nobody was sitting in it. She slowly approached the door, well, one of the doors. There were two of them. But she knocked on the screen door that led to a wooden door. There were footsteps racing down a staircase, and then some sort of screaming. The main door opened to reveal a short girl with even shorter blonde hair and a paisley shirt on. She looked like a Beatle in a way. Her eyes widened a bit and her mouth opened. She turned to shout upstairs.
"OI! SHE'S HERE, SHE'S COME HOME!" she raced back up.
Taking that as their invitation, the brothers stood on both sides of Emily, letting Emily step into the home first. She walked into the main room that was next to a kitchen, a medium sized dining area. More thumping was coming from upstairs, most likely from the others. She led the way just as the girl came back down, suddenly surprised to the sight of Sam and Dean at her sides. She backed up the stairs, not knowing what else to do.
"Who are they?" she asked sternly.
"Just let me call a meeting." She escorted Sam and Dean to the living room, couches to their leisure.
She stood on top of the coffee table and cupped her hands around her mouth.
"ISN'T ANYBODY HERE GONNA GIVE ME A HUG?!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
A door opened down the hall, a ginger boy who looked about eighteen ran into the room and beamed at the sight of her. From upstairs in the attic, a boy came running down who looked about twenty, his hair was black and spiked, not severely spiked, just enough. The girl sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. From outside, there was a boy who ran up the stairs, off the porch, from the other end of the house. His hair looked like Dean's, only black with blue streaks in it. His toothy grin revealed his sharp teeth, like a shark. Emily hopped down from the table and made them all take a seat.
"Guys, this is my colony. Colony, Sam and Dean." She introduced them, like a proper host.
They all said hello, except for the shark looking one.
The girl spoke first. "The name's Ringo. If you go in my room next to the stairs, I'm gonna punch you in the throats." She was not kidding around.
The ginger boy spoke next. "I'm Steven."
The oldest boy stood with his arms crossed. He had a scar running down his face, his eyes looked dangerous. His voice matched his eyes' description.
"I'm Shawn. Don't fuck around with the stuff in my room or your body will go up in flames."
The shark one stepped the closest to Emily, who crossed her arms now. "And I'm Kyle. The one who probably is the only concerned one of the bunch. But then again, which one'a you was the one I heard over the phone?"
Dean stood up. "That'd probably be me." He sounded a little too threatening.
"Then I'm gonna repeat what I said on the phone: Who the almighty fuck are you?"
Sam stood up too. "We're the Winchesters." He put his hand on Emily's shoulder. "And she's our sister."
The rest were silent, Ringo dismissing herself to her room. She closed the door behind her and muttered "I won't be part of this".
Steven and Shawn looked at each other, uneasy. Kyle just began to laugh at the top of his lungs.
"So you found them, huh? You don't need us anymore then." He turned to walk away.
"Kyle—'' she was cut off by a hand on her shoulder. It was Sam.
While looking down, Dean spoke. "I thought you said there were five members in your colony. Where's number five?"
Kyle looked back, eyes wounded suddenly as he looked to where he came from, outside.
"Follow me." He ordered.
Emily was shaking. Kyle had not explained well enough over the phone what was wrong, why exactly she needed to come. She was thinking of the worst case scenario again. Following Kyle out the door to the porch, he led the way down the steps and around the house, to the back. There was a whole other section to the house, and Emily knew it. She knew the house like the back of her hand. The house was all to themselves without another flat next to them because the other family was dead. Sam was in the back of the line out of the four of them, Emily following Kyle the closest. The door to this end of the house was opened, exposing a different layout. There was a set of stairs to her right.
"You know where he is, Em. He's in the same room." He told her.
She nodded, scared. She didn't want to go up the stairs. She breathed slowly, in and out, taking each step one at a time. Each step was like a mountain, but she traversed it like a champion. At the top of the stairs was a hallway. One room was to her left at the end, while two rooms were to her right. The room closest to her on her right had light creeping out from under the door. She pushed the door open and she felt the footsteps of the boys behind her. Her face sunk, her heartbeat skipped and she almost stopped breathing.
"Marcus…" she whispered, walking in the room.
In the room, which was dimmed, was a man lying on a bed. He was incredibly built, he made the twin bed bend a little. There was a desk and a television on the opposite wall from it. A closed laptop sat on the desk, along with pictures. She didn't want to get distracted by that, she had to keep walking to him. His black t-shirt was stained, she couldn't tell if it was his tea or his blood. His face read that he was incredibly worn out. His black hair was incredibly messy, it must have been two days since he last showered. His right eye was covered by an eye patch, which is why his room was always dimmed. His boots were by his bed, so was the blanket that must have been covering him up. She kneeled down and sat on her knees, taking his hand. It was clammy, unpleasant to hold.
"Why does everyone here have black hair…?" Dean thought aloud.
"Dean!" Sam hissed.
Kyle walked up behind her. "He broke into this after Grant…and after you—''
"Shut up, Kyle…" she whispered, cutting him off.
She rubbed his hand, trying to get him awake with possibly warmer hands.
"We might have hit a breakthrough, though. That's why I called you here." Kyle seemed more chipper.
Instantly, she popped up like a daisy. "What? What can I do?"
"We need demon blood. We gathered the rest of the stuff for the potion, so it seemed fair that you would get the last ingredient to save his life." He explained.
"How long do I have?" she was incredibly serious.
"Three days."
She clenched her jaw, looking back down at Marcus. "I'll go at nightfall."
Dean stepped forward. "Hey whoa, can someone tell me what's going on? Demon blood? What's a demon?"
Kyle laughed. "What's a demon he says."
"Get out."
The three of them looked at Emily. "What?" they asked in unison.
"Get out." Her shoulders bunched together, her body shuddering from crying.
Kyle pushed the brothers out of the room. He gave them both a threatening look. Leading them back down the steps, he pushed his hair back nervously. From the steps, he turned right, leading them to his room. Sam was stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking back up at the room they left her in. He sighed and followed Dean, who looked at Kyle with such a hate it was incredible. Even though Kyle seemed like a bad person, his room was wonderfully gigantic. There were weapons hanging from the wall all over the place, a flat screen on one wall, and some naughty magazines...which he stuffed in a drawer. He pulled out two chairs from his closet for them to sit on.
"The group is touchy with this subject. So I'll tell you what I know." He explained, pulling out an old coffee from the gas station.
The two sat down in the chairs. Dean looked pissed off, while Sam looked incredibly confused.
"Marcus, the guy up there? He's our leader. And she's like his daughter. She dated his son for god's sake, they were the closest family here. I'm assuming she spilled the beans about Grant, which explains the looks on your faces. After Grant was killed and she went to the asylum, Marcus went into an instant downward spiral."
"Wait, asylum?" Sam stopped his story.
Kyle's mouth slowly evolved into a smile. "She didn't tell ya."
"Tell us what?" Dean was leaning front, hands on his knees.
"The asylum came to get her after Grant was killed. She seriously didn't tell you this? I figured as much."
Sam looked at Dean, wide-eyed, then back to Kyle. "She was at an asylum. For what, she clearly isn't crazy!"
Kyle, ignoring Sam, continued his story. "When Marcus fell into this spiral, he got sick more often. He still tried cases and stuff, but he wasn't the same. His kids were down for the count and he felt like it was his fault. This illness he has now though, this is new. The diagnosis was in Greek, and we don't know Greek, we were just able to pick out ingredients to a medicine. Em is the last step."
Dean stood up. "I've heard enough from you. I want to hear the story from everyone else."
Kyle shrugged. "They'll tell you the same things. Ringo won't talk much though. She hates conflict. Get out of my room, you smell like gas-station hotdogs."
Dean led the way out, waiting for Sam at the foot of the stairs. Sam joined him after the slam of a bedroom door.
"What do you wanna do?" Sam asked with a sigh.
"We'll confront Emily about the asylum later, but for now, we need to talk to the rest of the Scooby gang here."
"Sounds like a plan." Sam put his hands in his pockets.
They each left that section of the house, Sam closing the door behind him. They ventured back around the house, Dean upset that there were more stairs to climb. When they went through the door, they were only greeted by Steven, who was sitting on the large couch behind the coffee table. He had a cup of something in his hands, looking expectantly up at the door.
"You're the only guy with not black hair. I'm very glad for that." Dean gave him a thumbs up.
"If I cared about my hair color or what people said about it, I would have dyed it black a long time ago. It isn't ginger either, just look at it. It looks orange." He replied.
By closer examination, Steven was right. His hair had some sort of an orange glow to it, something that didn't make it seem just ginger. He took a sip of whatever was in the cup.
"Steven, we wanted to ask you a couple things. You know, about…what's going on?" Sam stepped forward.
"I figured." He sat back. "The famous Winchester boys and their dad, John. You would just hate to be left in the dark about the newest edition to the family."
"Wait, did you know?" Dean asked.
"Marcus told us when we first brought her in. We were all about thirteen, except for Shawn of course. He was fifteen, very emotional time for him." He looked up, seeing they didn't really care about that last part. "Anyway, yea, we all knew."
"Tell us about…what happened that night." Sam proceeded.
Steven winced slightly. "With Grant, am I right? Fuck, guys…"
"We know you were close to him too, and we're both really sorry for your loss, we just…want to know." Sam went on.
"Grant knew their plan wasn't gonna work." He looked at his cup.
"Really? How do you know?" Dean sat on the table and folded his hands over his lap.
"He left me a note. It was written in, like, wet pencil or pen or something…he knew it on the battlefield. He knew he made a miscalculation and it all went to shit."
"The note was for you?"
"In the coat pocket. I still have it, I kept it…nice and safe…" he took another sip.
Dean looked to Sam. They were thinking the same thing, but Sam asked it.
"Does Emily know?"
"No. I couldn't hurt her like that. There was another letter too, but it was addressed to her. For when she was happy again. She'll find it if she goes in his room, which she might."
Dean got up. "Awesome. I'll go stop her from walking in the room of the deceased." He left out the porch door again.
As Sam was getting up, Steven stopped him.
"How is she?" he didn't look at Sam.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
Steven grabbed his arm. "Has she moved on?"
Sam shook his head. Steven didn't see, but he could tell what his answer was. He let go of his arm and set the cup on the table. It was empty.
"There's me when she's ready. Sam, if anything happens…bring her back here. Okay?" he looked up at him finally.
Sam nodded, slightly confused at what he was getting at when it came to her moving on, but he promised to bring her back if something happened.
"You better." The look in Steven's eyes was terrifying.
Dean headed up the steps to the hallway of rooms where Marcus and Emily were. The door to Marcus's room was still cracked open, so he went past that and went to the room on the right of it. The room down at the very end of the hall was locked, he assumed that it was Grant's room from when he was still alive. He pushed open the door, to which he was greeted to a plush cylinder with a plunger and whisk for hands.
"YOU ARE AN ENEMY OF THE DALEKS, YOU MUST BE DESTROYED!"
"What the hell?!" the plush toy was talking in his face.
"Aw man, I wanted it to say 'EXTERMINATE!'." Emily pouted and pressed the plush again, trying to make it say what she wanted.
"I thought you were with Marcus." He stepped into the largely-scaled room.
"I wanted to let him sleep. And hey, I haven't visited my room for a while." She threw the plush on the queen-sized bed.
The room was lined with…stuff. Posters, band t-shirts, drawings, picture frames that were broken or the pictures had been cut out. There was a walk-in closet which held plenty of plaid and striped shirts. There was the occasional graphic t-shirt in the lines of hangers. The desk had a lot of drawing supplies and papers. There were little doodles hung up, along with lists of anime references. Snow globes and trophies lined the top section, beginning to cover in dust. She put her hands on her hips and waggled her eyebrows at him.
"Whaddaya think? Cool room huh?" she smiled.
"It's very…detailed." He crossed his arms.
"Yea. We all had good times and I just kinda…kept the memories. All over my walls. We went to a lot of concerts, hence the shirts. And I like television."
"Good, we need more of those around here. All we've got is Sam's research-hungry head that doesn't appreciate fine cuisine such as television." Dean explained.
He walked over to the wall and pointed to a yellow and white shirt, it had the logo of a band that he hadn't heard of before. It must've been newer.
"That's from the Rise Against concert." She said, her tone dropping to a depressed mumble.
"Never heard of 'em. When was this?" he wasn't looking at her, keeping his eyes on the shirt.
"A year ago when Grant took me to it."
Dean turned from the shirt to look at her. "Oh."
She started pointing to shirts around that one. "Steven took me to a Bad Republic concert, Kyle took me to a Disturbed concert, and Shawn and I went to an Offspring concert." She started to smile again.
"I've heard of Offspring." He crossed his arms. "You're more metal than I am."
"I want to take Ringo to something she likes. But she likes Beatles and The Doors, you know, oldies. I can't find stuff to take her to. So I buy her mugs."
Dean was suddenly on the fence about this confrontation. She was walking down memory lane with him, in which he didn't know if that was good or bad. Bringing up the asylum could ruin her spirit, especially before allegedly going to hunt a demon, which Dean still needed more information on. The whole situation has been confusing since they stepped foot in the door.
"I know why you came up here, Dean."
He swallowed. "Oh do ya?"
"Yea, you're curious about Marcus. You think the group is sketchy, you wanna know about who leads us."
An unfamiliar voice to Dean spoke at the door, it was deep and gruff. It also caught Emily by surprise.
"And who better to tell you than the man himself?" it was a male who spoke.
Leaning against the door was Marcus, clearly unhappy and uncomfortable in an upright position. He looked Dean straight in the eyes for a long time, to show that he wasn't welcome in his household. Dean was transfixed on his height; the man's head could touch the top of the doorframe, which is when he realized that he was hunched over so he could fit.
"What are you doing awake?! Get back in bed, lie back down, you need rest! You need it now!" she was doing her best not to panic.
"You know better than to yell at me. And calm down, I'm not dead yet." He said 'yet' to clearly get her back into perspective.
"So you're the big man. I figured we weren't going to get a talk with you." Dean countered Marcus's eye contact with his own.
"Emily, I want you to help me get your brother to understand what's going on here. Come along now." He turned to balance on the hallway walls now.
Emily followed him like a dedicated soldier, straight faced and serious, arms at her sides. She even wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him to walk by adjusting her shoulders beneath his armpit. Clearly, with how tall he was and the amount of muscle he had, she had to have an incredible amount of strength. Dean followed behind them with a challenged look on his face, his teeth grinding together until the slow commute to Marcus's room was finished. She helped him sit down, too. He looked more comfortable sitting down, he even breathed as if he had just ran a marathon. Emily was between them, leaving enough space for them to make more eye contact. When Marcus had established regular breathing again, he asked Dean to close the door.
"First of all, Emily, tell me how much you told them." He was perfectly calm.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but she ignored that and told him what information Sam had taken from her laptop.
"Sam found the file on my computer you passcode protected, they also looked through my ID's and credit cards. I told them about how I had amnesia at age ten on a mission."
He sighed irritably. "If you keep talking, you're going to confuse the story. You're leaving holes again. Don't talk again. In fact, go back downstairs and tell Kyle to arrange a discussion with Sam. One brother should be briefed on where they're staying the next three days."
She nodded and a bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face. The door was closed behind her, leaving Dean and Marcus alone.
"We're not staying here for three days. That's nuts. She's gonna get whatever job she has here done and then we're leaving." Dean challenged, chin raised to look superior.
"Idiot, she won't feel secure until I'm completely cured. If you want to know the story, you best be quiet and let me tell it."
Dean cleared his throat and remained quiet.
"Thank you." He coughed, then wiped his hand on his pants. "It is in fact true that she developed amnesia on a mission. When she was only ten, the orphanage she was staying at allowed her to do her hunting activities; with a guardian of course. The guardian was a hunter from the church to watch her progress. On the mission, she was bonked on the head by the same person that killed her guardian in those woods. I know because I took the same mission. I found the guardian's body, so I went to investigate. A man was standing with her, more like over her, and he was trying to act nice. She was upset about her head hurting and not knowing where she was, I decided to remain in the shadows so I wouldn't be noticed. The man had black eyes, that's the only unnatural thing I got off of him. He handed her a wallet. Not his wallet, it must have been her guardian's. It had her papers inside it, so he told her her name, age, birthday, where the orphanage was, anything he got from those papers. One thing that was strange was that he asked where her brothers were. That was fishy, because brothers might care for a ten year old sister instead of leaving her in an orphanage. He took her back and left her there, while I went home to do some research. That man was a demon, he had black eyes and, well, reeked of sulfur. Eight months later, I returned to the orphanage to check on her, I thought she was dead in all honesty. It turned out she made monthly trips to that forest. I returned every few months, suspecting that she was some sort of demon prey. Or something worse. Finally Grant noticed I was taking trips out in a pattern, so he said to bring the job home with me so we could deal with it. That night I went into the woods to see the demon, and hopefully kill it. I arrived to see them waiting for me, he said he expected me to come. He had a knife up to her, she was clearly very scared but she knew how to keep calm. She had learned in two years. He smiled at me, with this horrible grin. It was disgusting. Then I felt like I was having a heart attack, my chest burst into pain and I could only fall over and struggle. I thought I was about to die. All for a child I thought was demon prey, whom I didn't even know. That's when she spoke. She told him to stop whatever he was doing. But he said the damage had already been done…which I know now will be the end of me in three days."
Dean interrupted. "What do you mean?"
"The demon gave me a warning before he released her to me. He said when she realizes her blood I will die. That she was a Winchester. That she was going to be great. I didn't know what that meant but it didn't matter, he had vanished with that horrible grin. I was able to stand and I took her home with me, which began her stay with the colony. She attended school with everyone else, she made friends. But she was also a hunter, it was in her blood. Then Grant took a romantic liking to her and I saw her blossom with him. She's like my daughter. I know who she is but I don't understand why you don't. Then I remembered that your mother is dead. So it is still scientifically puzzling to me."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Marcus looked Dean in the eyes. "Because you need to know what she is capable of. You need to find out why she was inseperable with that demon and why it took a liking to her."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because it didn't matter then. It matters now."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to die."
In the living room, Sam was chilling on the couch while Emily was in the process of biting her nails. Kyle was examining the whole process, whole-heartedly wishing she would leave her nails alone. The only thing that could truly be heard, besides her teeth chipping the nail, was Shawn's music coming from upstairs. The bass shook the picture frames on the walls, Kyle's eyebrow's creasing in utter annoyance.
"So what's this about?" Sam broke the ice.
"You have to know where you and your brother will be sleeping." Kyle explained, not taking his eyes off the stairs to the attic.
"Sweet, and where is that?" Sam clapped his hands together.
"The basement." Emily answered for him.
There was a pause. "The basement?"
"There's no other free rooms." Kyle said.
It was obvious that Sam wanted to protest to the idea. He almost did until Kyle growled and made his way upstairs. Kyle's complaints such as 'you know I have sensitive ears!' and 'turn the damn music down!' were able to be clearly heard over the large amounts of bass. Kyle's footsteps roared above what was left of the lowering music.
"Now then, I can tell you have questions." Kyle rolled his eyes.
"Yes. May I see this potion recipe?"
Kyle's eyebrows raised, obviously not expecting a research question. He nodded and took him downstairs, to the main room that paralleled the kitchen. As Sam walked down the stairs, he glanced to the side to see Ringo looking through her cracked bedroom door. She pulled away immediately. He turned his attention back to Kyle, who took him through the kitchen.
"The book is in here, which will be your room." He explained.
He opened the door and turned the light switch on, the room flooding with light. The room looked like it used to be an old food storage freezer. The shelves were converted into book cases and there were plenty of books to choose from. Two cots were set up in the center, obviously for Sam and Dean. Kyle took him to the closest bookshelf and pulled out a thick and heavy book. Clearly it was old, it even smelled of aged paper. There was a ribbon as a bookmark, dictating the page the potion was on.
"Alright, come to papa…" Sam muttered as he took the book in his hands.
He opened the book to the marked ribbon. An escapade of Greek laid before him, causing his stomach to drop. He only knew some Latin, not Greek.
"Are you guys set up for wifi?" He asked, eyes squinted at the characters of letters.
"Yea."
"Good. I'll be using it." He walked out of the room, into the kitchen.
"You gonna get the info on this potion? It was a shot in the dark, nothing else matched the diagnosis."
Sam turned around. "You're guessing."
"Yes, we're guessing with this."
"Why does this require Emily's help? What can she do?"
"Em can track demons with her eyes closed. She knows where all the nests are, who the vessels are. Why? It's like a personality test. If they reek of sulfur when they hit the john, or their eyes fluctuate when they sneeze, she knows it."
With the last bit of too much information, Sam made his way back upstairs to begin his research.
Marcus's door was still closed, she could still hear them talking. In front of her was a closed door. It hadn't been opened in eight months. Her heart was beating fast, clenching her hands into fists multiple times in order to calm her nerves. The golden doorknob awaited her hand, she reached out to greet it. That's when she heard the door behind her open, so she spun around in surprise, trying to hide her hands behind her back to conceal what she had almost done. Dean nodded to Marcus, closing the door behind him. He was surprised to see her when he set eyes on her.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." She shrugged, hands still behind her.
They locked gazes, Dean trying to crack what secrets were left stored away inside of her. She held her eyes steady. He knew she was trying to get into Grant's room.
"Marcus and I had a long chat. Including that potion we're making." He continued his gaze.
"I'm going to get the last ingredient." She suddenly turned harsh.
"We just got here, Emily. We should wait a little, you know?" that was a wrong move.
"Excuse me? Wait? When he has two and a half more days to live? No fucking thank you, I'm going after that demon blood." Her eyes were vivid and angry.
"Not tonight. You have to promise you won't go after it tonight, I want to know what you're up against."
She glared and squinted her eyes at him. "Sounds fair."
She continued to stare him down as he slowly made his way down the stairs, instructing her to come with him. It was four-thirty.
"I'll get there." She hollered.
She looked at the door again. Just one twist of the knob and it'd be open. In her peripheral vision, she saw him leave through the door. She twisted the knob with a fast motion, fingers hardly gripping the sleek golden surface. The door flew open, a wave of axe deodorant wafting into her nostrils from the left over canisters laying on the floor around the bed. Her eyes beheld the dark room of Grant. A lot of black, but not the 'goth black', it was just the 'boys' obsession with dark colors black'. Plaid comforter and pillowcases with posters lining the walls. Rifles and hand guns were held in a trophy case, along with souvenirs from hunts. Pictures lined his walls between the shirts and fake wolves tacked to the plaster. The photos were taken by a mixture of everyone. The door creaked to a close behind her. Across from her at the end of the room was a desk. There was a closed laptop. The blinds of the above window were cracked open, so the rays of dimming sunlight shone through, the little dust particles were seen drifting through the air. The dust made her sad. The jacket hanging on the bed post made her even sadder. The rough but soft material felt familiar on her palms. The interior was covered in fuzz. That soft and warm fuzz that makes the jacket also look cool. The pockets were buttoned shut, making her even sadder because her man-hands were no match for feeble buttons. She lifted it off the bed post, holding it close to her. On the bed post was 'scarecrow' engraved into the wood. She smiled because she understood the reference. He named his guns, and Scarecrow was his first. She slipped the jacket on. It was about a size too big, but she liked that. She forced tears back and forced a strategy to come to mind. Acting quickly, she closed the door and pushed the lock in. Nobody could get in until she got back, not that anybody besides Marcus would want to come in. She opened Grant's closet and flipped the light on. The demon arsenal was straight ahead of her, along with a devil's trap on the floor. She grabbed his old duffel bag off the floor and loaded it with everything she needed, that being his old purple war paint. She lined her cheeks with purple before leaving what was left with the knives and ammunition. She already had plenty she needed. Opening the gun cabinet, she looked at Scarecrow. It was a hunting rifle, which was perfect.
"I'm using Scarecrow, okay? I'll save him for us…" she whispered aloud.
She grabbed it and tucked it in the bag, along with a liter of holy water. Swinging the bag on her shoulder, she walked to the window and pulled the binder's cord. The shades flew up and the sunlight burst in with a blinding shock of white light. She pulled the window open and perched herself off the edge of the second story window. The phone in her pocket vibrated with the alarm. Five-o'clock. She leapt off the perch and onto a delivery truck delivering for the pizzeria across the street. From there, she jumped onto the street and made a mad dash for main street, which would be the ticket out of Topton. The sun was setting and field hockey would be ending soon at the high school. She ran across the railroad tracks and passed salons and elderly people smoking cigars on their porches, tossing a wave to them as she ran past. To the right was the elementary school, but she decided to make a swift left instead, which was the one way street to her one way ticket. Past a bar, she turned right and began to sprint up main street. She moved from the road to the sidewalk as cars began to come up behind her. At the gas station they were at earlier, she made another right past the eye doctor and one of her friends watering the flowers. She didn't see her, thankfully. At the T intersection, she ran across the crosswalk and finally up into the back roads where the trees started. The rest of this run would be uphill. At this point, she understood that Dean and the others were suspecting her absence with cooking dinner. She didn't care if Dean and Sam were mad at her, they were hardly a part of this story between her family. Up a portion of a hill, there was now a straight away along Woodside road, only a few more minutes away from the home of the demon she was planning on killing. She slowed to a jog, her breathing was beginning to take advantage of her. There was just one more turn and a slope down to the driveway. She paused to catch her breath, checking the time. It was five-thirty. Sweat was dripping down her face, so she pulled it back into a high ponytail. She began to run again, taking the turn uphill with a sprint and jumping off the hill to land on the lower terrain. She turned into a different driveway than her target's, it would be too simple to just waltz into the home. Lucky for her, the home had a staircase up the back to the target's porch, allowing her to sidle her way into the bedroom. Before taking initiative, she took a stash of bullets out with the holy water. She dipped each bullet into the water, then filling them into the barrel. Grant did this all the time with demons, and it worked almost half the time. Those were statistics she was willing to take. Her weapon now prepared, she made her way up the stairs and onto the porch. Now the porch also held a large glass door, where those on the first floor could see up. She didn't take chances sidling around the easy way, past the door, she went the long way around the house. She gripped the siding to keep her balanced on the wood line that lined the house on all sides. She saw the neighbors on her side pull into the driveway. They were bound to see her through the thicket of trees, so she tried to go fast. She felt a corner and precariously sidled around it. There were two more sides she had to sidle on. Her hands were beginning to blister from the dirty siding. Around the other corner, she was almost home free. Suddenly she felt the window. She looked in, target was on her bed on her ipad. Using the butt of her rifle, she smashed the glass and broke through into the room. Surprised, the girl jumped off the bed and dropped her technology. Now scraped with bits of glass, Emily pointed the rifle to her target.
"I knew it, I knew it!" Dean repeated while pacing around the dinner table.
"I figured at this point you would know enough to understand she does what her heart tells her to." Steven responded, cutting into his steak.
"What was I supposed to do, just tell her that she should ignore her dying adult?!"
"You've done worse." Sam looked him in the eyes.
After a threatening yet alarmed glare, Dean zipped his lip, allowing Sam to go back to reading. Everyone at the table was quiet, except for the clinking of silverware. Ringo and Sam were the only ones with large salads, the rest of the group digging in on steaks and macaroni and cheese. The only place at the table that was empty was Marcus's spot. Dean peered up the steps, thinking that maybe Emily or Marcus would make a sudden guest appearance. Perhaps there was some possibility she hadn't gone to kill herself for a dead man. Kyle had finished devouring his steak first, dabbing his mouth after letting out a large burp. Suddenly, the sounds of coughing could be heard upstairs. Ringo dismissed herself to check on Marcus, disappearing up the stairs. Dean hadn't sat down nor touched his food. Shawn, sensing his lack of hunger, stole the steak from his plate and began eating it himself. Dean, appalled, gawked at him with wide eyes.
"Do you mind?" he asked.
"Yea. It's cold enough dude." Shawn replied.
More violent coughing could be heard upstairs. This time, Steven went to go take a look, and he was back down the steps in a matter of seconds.
"Guys, he's coughing up blood."
They had moved Marcus to the living room for easier access to his dinner, which was now soaked in blood on the wood floor.
"Em isn't back with the blood yet, we have to stall!" Kyle shouted, skipping three steps at a time going upstairs.
Sam was flabbergasted. "I thought he had three days?!"
Dean knew, but he couldn't say anything. It wasn't his place to.
Shawn stood up. "His pills?"
"Back in his room, now what?" Steven answered, stepping aside for Sam to dash upstairs.
"We gotta get him back to his room, we can't have blood get all over the living room. And plus, his pills are there." Shawn replied, now disappearing upstairs.
Dean followed Shawn and Steven followed Dean. Marcus was coughing up blood all over the floor, but they all knew they had to get him back to his room. Kyle picked up is phone and dialed the only number that he could. Emily's speed-dial.
Not knowing how else to react, the girl raised her hands above her head. "Em, what the hell?"
She scoffed. "Please, is that some sort of pun?"
The girl sighed and blinked, her eyes turning completely black. Letting her arms down to cross over her chest, she smiled smugly.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"Since Sydney Oswald suddenly became left-handed. And you gave yourself away that one time in art class. During the oil painting? That wasn't paint you were talking to, dude."
Sydney shrugged. "So what do you want? I've kept this pretty down low. I didn't do anything wrong."
"I need demon blood." The rifle was pointing at the head.
Sydney started to laugh. "The only blood you're receiving is yours down your throat. You see, this girl is a vessel. Still as human as it gets."
"That may be true, but the dad isn't."
With that, the door was swung open by a tall, muscular man who looked a lot like Wolverine. Eyes pure black. Emily moved the rifle from Sydney to her dad.
"Dad, this is Emily," Syd looked to her. "The hunter."
Like a bull, her dad ran forward. Out of muscle spasm, Emily pulled the trigger and watched him fly back. Steam wafted out of the chest wound, causing some serious pain to the now wounded demon. The target was no longer Sydney.
"Shit…" she whispered, sensing her dad was falling to another teenager.
Emily whipped the bottle of holy water out and splashed it on her before she could escape. She splashed some on the dad while she was at it. Seething with pure, agonized anger, Sydney's black smoke escaped through the mouth of the vessel.
"Fuck." Emily whispered as the smoke evaporated into the ceiling.
The father, now lost without his daughter, made another mad dash at her. Emily dodged it this time, the trigger wasn't pulled. However, this demon was stupid. Strong, but incredibly, stupidly slow. His recoil gave her enough time to aim and fire at his head, a small squeal coming out of her mouth along with it. That rifle had quite the kick-back. The demon flopped to the ground with a thud, black blood pooling out. Emily grabbed a vase off Sydney's desk and used it as a container to hold the blood. Instead of sidling back around the house, she ran down the stairs to go out the front door. Without a doubt, the neighbors heard the noise and gunshots. On her way out, she progressively heard the Oswalds' phone ringing. She was too focused on being seen. The answering machine held the strangest voicemail.
"Tonight is the night." Then the end tone beep.
Eyebrow raised, she dashed out the door and answered her own cell phone, running around frantically to find a bicycle. Stealing a car was too obvious.
"Thank god you picked up." It was Kyle.
"What's up? I got the blood."
"Marcus. He's shutting down."
Heart stopping, she almost dropped the blood. Bicycles were simply not fast enough, she needed to steal a car.
"I'm on my way, you have to stall it!" she practically screamed.
"He says it's his heart? His heart is killing him. Emily, you have to bust your ass."
She hung up and broke into the demon dad's vehicle. She wired the engine on and revved out of that goddamn driveway. Around the corner and back down the mountain she went.
Sam was trying his damndest to get a grip on the situation. The potion made no sense, the symptoms were supernatural, and everyone wouldn't stop panicking. All he knew at this point was that the mixture had to get put together. He stopped Steven before he could run past him.
"Steven, you have to get the ingredients ready. When Emily comes through that door, she has to add the final thing and she'll be like a rabid wolf."
Steven nodded and passed the message onto Shawn, who also nodded and went through with the request. Marcus was in agonizing pain. It looked like he was having a heart-attack, but more gruesome. The pills he took stopped some of the bleeding, but his agony was still apparent. The book read, he guessed, that the potion would cease heart seizes and should calm the tissues in the organs. So far, Sam figured that was the best help Marcus could get right now. He couldn't stay in that room, Dean wasn't even in there. Dean was sitting on the floor next to him.
"How did we get into this, man…" Dean asked, looking down the steps blankly.
"We got a sister." Sam answered a bit sassily.
"What if the guy doesn't make it? Then what?"
"What did you do, Dean?"
"What do you mean?"
"When mom died, how did you grow up?"
Dean didn't answer. He used the groans from in the room to act 'horrified'. Kyle stepped out, cleaning blood off his hands.
"We need that potion made. Now." He said to Sam.
"I think Shawn's on it." He responded, looking up from the book.
Grant's room opened, revealing Emily holding the vase full of blood. She was on the fast track now, looking in on Marcus only to go faster. She paid no attention to her brothers, she ran down the stairs to meet up with Steven and Shawn. They were both mixing the ingredients in a big wooden bowl.
"Thank god." Steven smiled.
She didn't say anything, the crease her mouth made was not broken in any aspect. She dumped the blood into the bowl and all three of them stirred. Shawn read out a scrawl of words, making the potion complete. Steven held a cup for Marcus to drink from, Shawn and Emily poured the concoction.
"Emily." Kyle stepped in. "He's shouting for you."
That broke her. She took the cup and sped back upstairs and nearly ran over Dean and Sam. There was Marcus, lying in bed, gripping his bandana in his mouth to try to get through the pain.
"Marcus, Marcus, here, I brought the potion. Here, give me this…" she took his bandana.
Everybody packed into one room, waiting.
He was gasping. "Emily…"
"Sshh, no, drink this." She tipped the cup at his mouth. "Drink it, dammit."
He drank until she allowed him to stop. "Sam, how long?"
"What?"
"How long until it fucking kicks in!?" she screamed.
"Right away. I think." He no longer held the book.
Marcus was no longer bleeding, he no longer wailed in agony. He looked up at her with a redeemed peace that made his heart swell, metaphorically.
"I'm…I'm so proud of you…" he touched her face.
She let a few tears out and grabbed his hand gently. They were freezing.
"You'll be fine now, okay? You're gonna be okay." She forced a smile.
When she said that, the light in his eyes turned dark. Even from a distance, everyone else could tell he wasn't going to be okay. There was no hope inside his body.
"No…" he whispered.
Her stomach flipped. "What?"
His finger traced her tears. "Sorry…"
She placed his hand down and felt for a fever, if that would help anything. He was smiling. Emily's heart picked back up into a panic.
"Marcus?" her eyes were wide open.
The muscles in his face were loosening, smile fading away.
"Marcus? Marcus, hey. Hey!" she started slapping his face to keep his eyes open. "Come on now. Stay awake." Her voice was giving out.
His voice was cracked and soft. "So proud…"
This made every sensory nerve, every organ, stop functioning. Her hands shook.
"Hey! Nononononono, Marcus, hey!" she shook him now, looking around. "Do you need more blood, huh?" she took a knife from her coat pocket and slit her wrist. "I'll give you more blood! Hey!"
Kyle spoke. "You're not giving him anything…" he tried to touch her.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" she punched Kyle while getting him off. "MARCUS! YOU CAN'T FUCKING DIE! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME ALL ALONE!" she wailed.
Shawn turned, head hung low, and walked out. Ringo followed, along with Steven.
"DADDY NO!" she began to sob into his chest, clutching his shirt.
Sam couldn't take it. He left the room with Dean, leaving Kyle alone in there with her.
"Em…" he was so choked up.
"GET THE FUCK OUT!" she wailed, slamming her fist against the wall.
He jumped in fear and swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Sobbing, she clutched his shirt tighter and held his bandana. She had been holding it the entire time. She screamed so high-pitched, nobody in the world should be able to scream that loud.
"DADDY!"
Everyone sat in the dining room. Their plates still had food on them, but it was freezing cold. They evacuated that side of the house because the sadness was unbearable. Steven was shedding tears, Shawn had his arm wrapped around him to give him some sort of comfort. Ringo had evacuated into the kitchen, trying to fight the urge to burn herself on the oven while making a pie. It was one of those misery pies, to ignore what had happened for as long as possible. Even Kyle had to wipe his tears away so he would look more manly, or at least somewhat more put together.
"What now?" Dean had his head hung.
Kyle stared him down. "You think I fuckin' know what to do?"
"No. I don't. But this case is over. We'll rangle her up when she's done and we'll go."
Kyle was bewildered. "CASE? Do you have no fucking sympathy? She just lost the closest thing she'll ever have to a father. Your dad is fucking alive; this man was her real dad. Not that faggot that you all are related to. Winchester my ass. That girl deserves to be a Wilson, more than a fucking Winchester."
Dean looked up threateningly. "Our dad isn't a faggot. Don't insult him."
"Or what, Ken doll? You gonna kill us too? You know what, get out of our house first thing tomorrow morning. Get the fuck out and never come back." He threw a plate of food at him.
Sam was spectating until the plate of food. "Hey now. Kyle, we'll sleep out in the Impala tonight. If Em wants to come with us tomorrow, she can. If not…take care of her." He turned Dean towards the door.
Unwillingly, Dean let Sam take him to the Impala. When the door closed, Kyle let his emotions leak out, breaking plates and screaming at the ceiling.
Some farm down the road had a rooster that obnoxiously cock-a-doodle-dooed when the sun came up. It wasn't like anybody was really sound asleep anyway. Ringo's pie was sitting on the table, where she also sat with her Gameboy color. Pokemon Crystal sat in the cartridge slot, but the cartridge was broken and there was no save feature. She never asked Emily to fix it, because she didn't even know if she wanted it fixed. Sometimes she liked playing the same hour or so over and over again. It didn't bother her much. In May, it's hard to distinguish how far into daylight savings time the world was. Are the days getting longer or shorter? Either way, it was hard to get out of bed any day, daylight savings or not. Her fingers tapped on the table to Pink Floyd. Listening to 'The Wall' before going to sleep causes vivid dreams, so nobody should have to bear an experience like that. Experiences like that aren't different to any event in the real world, everything mixes together. Has she told her best friend this? Yes. However, Emily had this spiritual sense that she belonged somewhere else, always having a song from 'The Last of Us' in her head and thinking she meant something. Ringo knew she herself didn't mean shit. Neither of them did. They both faced loss, they both are meat suits walking around on some planet that was meant for apocalypse when someone went all biblical and released Satan or something. That cherry pie sure looked good though.
"Ringo." Said a voice at the door.
She turned to see Sam. He looked tired, but then again, most people did. He looked up the steps, hoping to see his sister, no doubt.
"Getting ready to leave?" she asked.
"Yea. I figured I'd say goodbye and then we'd leave. You guys have been…nice. Well." He arched his brows, indecisively.
"I have something for you before you go." She said, standing up.
While Sam put his hands in his pockets, Ringo rushed back to the kitchen to retrieve a folder. She placed it on the table when she returned. Sam looked at her curiously.
"What is that?"
"Her medical records. You two never solved your mystery." She set the pie plate on top of it, as if to conceal.
Sam nodded. "Of course." There were creaks upstairs.
Ringo, whilst handing him the pie and folder, leaned in and whispered, "When she's busy, she forgets over time."
"What?"
"The pie is for Dean. He looks like he'd have a sweet tooth." She glanced up the stairs.
"Okay, are we ready…?" squeaked a fragile voice from the top of the stairs.
Sam turned to see his sister with an additional backpack, along with another duffel than the one she usually owned. She looked so tired.
Ringo helped her with the backpack as she came down. Emily looked so different. Any spunk in her face had disappeared, being replaced with a ghastly look of despair. Her hair was up, not down.
"What is that? In your hair…" he asked.
A whisper. "His bandana." She walked past him and out to the car.
It was too early for this. Well, it was always too early. It was too bright to keep her eyes open all the way. Well…it was always too bright, too. In the world, there are certain people who beg for mercy in their lives. They want people to help them. Sometimes, those same people want to be in the dark because a cloud is more peaceful than the light. Clouds are an easier cushion. Though made of water, there is still something there to catch them, so they drown. Sometimes that's the easiest option of them all; to drown. The Impala's trunk now had several more bags to carry. Now she had more clothes and things to read, now she had things to do. She walked around with her mouth partially open, her eyes low and her posture wrong. All was wrong. She seemed to stumble, that kind of stumble when the body is weighed down by disbelief.
Are you sure I'm not dreaming?
A voice in the back of her head always answered this question with "I'm sorry." It was never hers.
Ringo stood there. She was never good at goodbyes. Or talking. But that was okay, because neither was Emily. She gave her friend a hug.
"Come back soon, please." Ringo asked, clearly uncomfortable. She didn't like hugs.
"Okay…"
"We're both a little crazy." She added when she pulled away.
Emily nodded and took that as an opportunity to get in the car. Dean had been ready to go with only one goal in mind. John.
"Okay, Sam. Time to go find dad."
Sam nodded.
As the car rolled away, Emily's head rested against the window. She attempted to wave, but Ringo gave her one handed attempt.
Emily smiled and cried.