Can't have 'em if they are already owned…
Supernatural
Dean scrambled to his feet, the sudden movement making the room spin. His right palm found the wall, steadying himself. Sam rushed forward to help, but Dean threw out his other hand stopping his brother in his tracks.
"Stay away from me," Dean snapped backing up until he was pressed against the wooden wall. He still held his arm out, keeping his faux brother at bay.
"Dean, I'm not Lucifer," Sam said keeping his distance. He tried to flash Dean one of his signature looks, the puppy dog look that always made Dean crack, but the older Winchester knew his brother wasn't real. Not real meant his brother's look would not work on him.
"Oh, yeah, because a few days ago you were possessed by him," Dean spat trying to back up more. The solid wall pretty much held anymore retreating at bay.
"Has it ever occurred to you that I am a hallucination?" Sam asked letting his puppy dog look drop. He was giving Dean the full on "bitch face" now.
"Hallu… what?"
"You know, something that isn't there, but you think is there." Sam was amused again, a small smile on his face.
"I know what a hallucination is," Dean snapped wondering why he was arguing with his brother. His brother that may or may not be his brother. "So, I'm making you up?"
"Sure, if that's how you want to look at it."
"Damn, my hallucinations suck," Dean muttered pushing himself away from the wall. He stepped toward his brother, lightly pushing Sam's shoulder with his hand. His brother moved slightly, making the younger Winchester glare.
"This is strange, really bizarre…"
"Let's marvel on how your mind works later, shall we? Right now, we have to head to Chicago." Sam headed towards the door. Dean quickly followed asking, "You honestly want me to go up against Lucifer?"
Sam stopped, spinning around and throwing his arms into the air, "Dean, you have to save me. KILL ME." Those two words made Dean flinch. Sam's voice softened as he continued, "I mean do you honestly want Lucifer hanging out in my body for the remainder of his existence. If you don't kill me the angels will. Do you think I would want some unknown, unemotional creature killing me? I would rather have my brother do it."
"You're a figment of my imagination, what do you know?"
Sam scoffed and continued to the Impala. It was almost like old times, except Sam was an imagined participant and Dean would have to kill the real one. Definitely like old times, Dean thought sarcastically.
Sam was already sitting in the passenger seat, flipping through the paper Dean had nearly forgotten he stole. The older Winchester sighed, wishing more than anything that the Sam in the passenger seat was the actual Sam. Knowing wishful thinking was for optimistic idealists, Dean decided to take what he had and pray he actually trusted himself and not some mind trick from Lucifer.
SUPERNATURAL
Chicago was a bust and Dean was tired. He had stopped at Rigley Field, now a pile of ashes. Firefighters were trying to put the fire out, but having several others to worry about they weren't doing such a great job.
"Well, this is just great," Sam muttered looking up at the smoldering remains.
"Well it was a long shot anyway," Dean said quietly putting the car back in drive and driving away from the field. He drove past broken buildings, dead and dying people sprawled across the street, abandoned cars. It looked just like Ohio, and Dean could feel the never ending nausea roaming through his body, the bile creeping up his esophagus.
"Maybe we should get a room somewhere away from the city," Sam suggested looking at the darkened city limits. No one was on the road; a place like Chicago was normally full of traffic. It was almost like a zombie movie. Oh, yeah Dean, think about zombies now. That's what I really want to deal with now, zombies raised by Lucifer coming after me.
"You aren't funny," Sam muttered sounding as freaked out as Dean was.
"You're reading my thoughts again," Dean snapped. The entire car ride was the same, Sam reading every thought Dean had. Every thought. It sucks having your brother as a hallucination, crossed Dean's mind and Sam glared.
Both brothers fell silent, Dean concentrating on driving and Sam looking out the window. They drove out of Chicago, continuing to drive until Dean pulled into a smaller Illinois town. Lucifer hadn't touched the town, yet, the place actually looked like it had been taken from a hallmark card. The place was probably close knit, three-hundred plus people who knew each other and disliked strangers. Lucifer was one stranger they seemed to have missed.
"For now," Sam muttered. Dean decided to ignore his faux brother's comment, pulling up to the only motel in town. Dean opened the car door, the hinges loud amongst the silent night air. He stepped out of the car, breathing in the clean air that probably wouldn't be clean for long, and headed toward the office.
He opened the door, a small bell signaling his entrance, and stared at the desk. A small, wispy haired woman came out of the backroom holding a cup of steaming liquid.
"It smells like chamomile tea," Sam whispered in Dean's ear, causing him to jump.
"Oh, sweetie, did I scare you," the woman asked obviously not paying much attention.
Heart jumping like a scared jackrabbit, Dean walked up to the counter. The woman set her mug of tea down, giving him a warm, friendly, mothering smile. Her eyes were trying to mask the concern as she looked at him closely. He didn't even want to think how bad he looked. Bruised up, dark circles ringing his eyes, pale: he probably looked like a walking corpse.
"Not even close, Dude," Sam muttered. It took all of Dean's self control not to roll his eyes and glare.
"Are you okay, honey," the woman asked snapping him back to reality.
"What," Dean said looking at the woman. Her nametag declared her name was Pearl. Dean had never met a Pearl before, he figured since the world was ending he'd be meeting a bunch of people-with names unfamiliar to him-he'd never met before. Like a Meryl or a Carver or a Philip… so many names that existed, so many people he never met.
"Getting sentimental in your old age, bro," Sam said a smirk on his face.
"Um," Dean started clearing his throat. "Can I get a room?"
"Yes, Dear," she said and pulled out her guestbook. "You can pick any room you want, not many people want to stay here. All of my guests up and left after what happened in Chicago a few hours ago. It's a tragedy."
"Yeah, I saw," Dean whispered as he signed his name. He didn't even pay attention to what name he signed, he could have used his real name for all he knew. The woman took the book from him, saying, "Winchester?" So he did use his real name. Crap, he thought. "My husband used to have one of those rifles, hunted everything from deer to bear. Used to have a stuffed bear in our living room, scared the crap out of me…
"Anyway," Pearl sighed shaking her head slowly, "two queens or one king?"
Automatically Dean said, "Two queens." He almost hit himself in the head, the fake Sam tricking his already exhausted brain. Instead of correcting himself, he just accepted the key Pearl held out to him. He paid for the room, in cash because he had no credit card with Dean Winchester on it, and headed outside.
Before the door could close behind him, Pearl called him back. Dean turned, looking into the woman's pale, blue eyes. She gave him her warm smile and said, "God works in mysterious ways, Mr. Winchester." She then nodded at him, almost like dismissing him. Eyebrows rising in curiosity, Dean let the door close behind him.
"That was weird," Sam muttered as he headed to the passenger seat. Dean nodded, but silently wondered if he was dealing with another damn angel. They seemed to be everywhere these days. Uriel, Anna, Castiel, Zachariah… just thinking of the balding angel he wondered where he was.
"Probably hiding," Sam responded looking over the car's roof. His arms rested on the paint, his chin lying atop his hands. He was studying Dean, like he always did. It was irritating, even if he was a hallucination.
"Who knows," Dean muttered getting behind the wheel of the car. Sam slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. The older Winchester started the car and drove closer to his room, room eleven. He stopped, turning his Impala off.
"So, Lucifer will be in Lawrence in a few days," Sam commented. Dean could feel his brother's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze out the window.
"Yep," he replied opening the car door. Not only did he not want to talk about Lucifer's next escapade, he didn't want to talk about it to his faux brother. So he headed to the trunk, unlocking it. He extracted his bag, his hand brushing against Sam's.
"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back," the words circled his head. Each one another blow to his already battered psyche. He took a deep, shuddering breath, grabbed the weapons bag, and slammed the trunk closed.
"I know you didn't mean that," Sam said, appearing at his side. Dean jumped, wondering if he'd ever get used to his brother appearing out of nowhere.
"Did you get used to the angels appearing out of nowhere?" Sam asked a smirk on his face. Like always, Dean wished he could slap the smirk off his brother's face. That thought only made hallucination Sam smile wider.
"I got used to Cass," Dean muttered and headed toward the passenger seat. He pulled Sam's computer-correction, my computer-out of the passenger seat. He was awaiting his brother's whiney tone, his face set in the full on "bitch face" mode, saying, "Don't be looking up porn, Dean. If I have to get one more e-mail about Busty Asian Beauties, I am going to change all my passwords. I mean it."
"Would you like me to say that," Faux Sam asked softly.
"No, you aren't him. It wouldn't be the same," Dean replied slinging the messenger bag over his shoulder. He locked up the Impala and headed toward the room. With his hands full, it took a few tries to get the room unlocked. Sam offered, but Dean merely glared at him. Finally he was able to get inside the room.
The place was clean, bright, the walls painted Lavender. The carpet was a darker purple, closer to violet. The bedspreads matched the carpet, just like the table against the only window. Three lighter purple chairs surrounded the table, and a lavender couch sat a few feet from the table. The TV was setting on a dark purple television stand, the remote lying on a coffee table.
Dean set the weapons' bag and Sam's messenger bag on the table; he dropped his bag by the couch. He turned back to the green weapons' bag, pulling out the canister of salt he kept in it. He salted the door and the window. He headed deeper into the room, putting a salt circle around the beds. After that, he headed into the bathroom.
Flipping on the light revealed a contrast from the front room. Where the front room was dedicated to the color purple, the bathroom was a bright orange. Everything was orange, down to the tiles spread across the floor. The tiles were set up in almost a checker board pattern: dark orange and light orange.
As Dean crossed the room, he couldn't help counting the tiles. Light orange, dark orange, light orange, dark orange… fifteen tiles brought him to the bathtub. He climbed into it, salting the lone window. It looked large enough for him to fit through, just in case he ran into trouble.
Once the entire room was salted to Dean's liking, he headed back into the front room. Stashing the salt into the weapons' bag, he pulled his jacket off and threw it over the couch. He picked up his duffle and carried it to one of the beds. He dropped it onto the purple covers, opening it to reveal his meager belongings.
He was digging through his stuff, looking for clothes to sleep in, when his phone rang. Before he could pull the electronic out, he heard a voice say, "Dean, turn on the news.
He spun around, heart pounding so hard in his chest he was sure it was about to pop out, and saw Anna standing next to the television. She had it on, flipping through the channels. She stopped on a news station, the reporter standing out front a very familiar house.
"…cause of the fire is unknown. The police are reluctant to give any more details on the situation. More at eleven." The camera flicked back to the station and Anna turned the television off. Dean settled onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. He was vaguely aware of his phone ringing again, but he just didn't want to deal with it.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Anna said quietly sitting next to him. There was nothing else to say, he was dead and Dean didn't stop it. The man was a great hunter, Dean knew him for a long time. He had taught the young hunter how to fight; he had twenty years experience on John. Tears formed in Dean's eyes, stinging as he tried to hold them at bay.
"Death is just the next step…"
"Don't give me that angelic Yoda crap," Dean snapped jumping to his feet. The room was blurry, unshed tears still holding on for dear life. He started pacing, wringing his hands. His phone started ringing again. He pulled it out, reading the caller ID.
"Yeah," he snapped wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Yeah, I saw." He listened to the other voice, "Of course it was Lucifer or his demon minions." More listening and finally he said, "I am going to kill him. Sam doesn't deserve to live like that. Thanks." He hung up tossing his phone onto the other bed. He randomly yanked out a set of clothes and headed toward the bathroom.
"What are you doing," Anna asked sounding worried.
"I'm going to shower, get a couple hours sleep, and head out before sunrise," Dean replied and closed the door behind him.
SUPERNATURAL
Anna heard the water start running and settled back on the bed. She volunteered to deliver the news, Cass said he would, but she turned him down. She just wanted to make sure Dean was okay, he hadn't called since he left. Cass told her it was because Dean needed to do things alone, that he didn't need help. But Anna wouldn't hear it. Now, seeing how torn up he was about His death, Anna wished Cass would have taken the job.
Castiel would have delivered the bad news, gave some angelic wisdom, gotten yelled at, and left. Anna, on the other hand, felt obligated to make sure Dean was okay. She just couldn't let Dean be alone; he would probably try something stupid without her there.
Ten minutes later, the water turned off. It was quiet for a few moments then the door opened and Dean walked out. His hair was wet, glistening in the motel's fluorescent lights. He had changed into a clean pair of holey jeans and a gray tee-shirt. He carried his dirty clothes to his bag, stuffing them amongst the mess.
He threw his boots and bag onto the floor and crawled past Anna, onto the bed. She stayed where she was, listening to him feign sleep. It was a full twenty minutes before his breath evened out and he actually fell asleep.
There was a light knock on the door, Anna slowly stood up and walked toward the door. She looked through the peephole, Castiel standing behind the door, and she opened the door.
Castiel crossed the threshold, stepping over the salt line without a problem, and gently closed the door behind him.
"Why are you knocking," Anna asked quietly knowing for a fact that Cass never had a reason to knock before. He never really thought about appearing out of nowhere, either.
"I didn't want to disrupt anything," Castiel said crossing the room to sit on the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking at the blank television screen.
"You're funny, Cass," Anna responded sarcastically, crossing her arms. "So, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to make sure you delivered the message."
"Yes, I did. I don't see why he had to know now."
"It was to fuel his anger. His death, that blow, should be enough to get Dean to do what has to be done. He was a friend of theirs, a good friend."
"Which is why you should've waited to tell him…"
"No, that is why I had to tell him. Or we had to tell him."
"Hasn't studying the human race taught you anything, Cass? Especially Dean. Going in angry will only get him killed. Blind anger is the downfall of most people…"
"I think pride destroys souls quicker than anger," Castiel muttered averting his eyes from Anna's glare. She sighed, mumbling, "Why does he need an angel posted here? Why can't we watch over him?"
"Because we have other work to do. If The Colt doesn't work, we need to have a backup plan…"
"If The Colt doesn't work? Castiel you were so sure The Colt was going to work two days ago."
"The Colt," Castiel started. He sighed and said, "The Colt kills anything evil. Lucifer is evil, but for all intents and purposes he is also an angel. The Colt doesn't work on angels, so it may or may not work on him."
"What do you plan to do if it doesn't work? Do you plan on having Dean get out of that situation by himself?" Anna was slowly starting to get frustrated with her 'brother'. The way he was talking, the way he was thinking, sounded like he was suggesting he'd rather see Dean die than have Lucifer live.
"I don't want to see Dean die. Far from it, but I can't face Lucifer again."
"Then I'll save Dean, I'll make sure he doesn't die. If I have to, I'll hold Lucifer off as long as possible. Just so Dean can get away."
"Anna," Cass started in a warning tone.
"Is that all you wanted, Castiel," she asked walking to the door. She had her hand on the knob, ready to open it, but Cass's voice stopped her. "Don't stay with him too long, we have to be ready for anything.
"Oh, and he'll probably need this," Castiel set something onto the coffee table. The sound of flapping wings was the only indication of Castiel's departure.
Anna turned around to see him gone, no trace of the dark haired angel anywhere. He had left Ruby's knife on the coffee table, the blade shining in the light.
She sighed locking the door. She picked up the knife, stashing it in Dean's weapon bag. Afterward, she crossed the room to the beds, pulling the blankets off the unoccupied bed. She threw them over Dean and settled at the foot of the bed.
In sleep the older Winchester looked a lot younger than his thirty years. He also looked less burdened, less wound up, more human. But only in sleep. It killed Anna to see the hollowed look in Dean's eyes, to know that he had to do something he didn't want to.
Getting sentimental in my old age, she thought getting to her feet. She crossed the motel room, stopping in front of the television. She wondered what else was going on in the world, what else Lucifer had done, but was too scared to find out. Knowing no one ever got anywhere being scared, she flipped on the TV and began to watch.
SUPERNATURAL
Dean stood in the pit, knife in hand, looking at his brother. Sam was strung up, his arms and feet chained to a wooden cross. Dean looked into his brother's once bluish-green eyes, but they weren't his anymore.
"Do it, Winchester. Kill the only person you've ever truly cared about," Sam's voice snapped. It wasn't even him speaking anymore; the voice was too brutal, too evil. Dean felt his hand tremble, but he managed to slam Ruby's knife into Sam's heart.
Sam gurgled, blood dripping onto the cement floor as his head fell forward. Dean pulled the knife out, his brother's blood coating the blade, and let it fall to the floor. He couldn't believe he did it, couldn't believe he murdered his own brother…
"Not quite, Bucko," Lucifer snarled looking up. The room flashed pure white momentarily and when it all settled, Dean found himself chained to the cross. Sam was standing next to him, Ruby's knife held firmly in his hand.
"This is for stabbing me," Lucifer said slamming the knife into Dean's side. Dean cried out, white hot pain erupting all over his body. Lucifer yanked the knife out, wiping the blood on Dean's shirt.
"And this is for the hell of it." The knife was thrust into Dean's chest, inches from the heart. He coughed, blood coating his lips. "Any last words, Dean," Lucifer asked his eyes flashing from blue-green to bright white and back again.
"Sammy, please," Dean begged.
"Sammy doesn't live here anymore," Lucifer murmured and shoved the knife through Dean's heart…
Dean jerked awake, the word "NO!" barely escaping his lips. He pushed the blankets off of him, limbs shaking like crazy, and raced into the bathroom. He fell to his knees, skidding to a halt in front of the toilet. He pulled the lid up and dry heaved, bringing up bile. His stomach had nothing else to bring up, having not eaten an entire meal since before his and Sam's fight.
He felt a pair of hands rubbing small circles into his back, the touch vaguely familiar, but not the one he wanted. When he could no longer bring up the nasty yellow liquid, he pulled away from the porcelain puke bucket. The warm hands helped him lean against the wall, her voice finally breaking through his muddled brain.
"…okay. It's going to be okay," Anna kept muttering. She was still rubbing his back, trying to slow his breathing down. They sat like that for twenty minutes as Dean slowly calmed down. His nightmare was still etched into his mind, but he was more able to cope with it, Dean pushed himself to his feet.
"Are you going to be okay?" Anna asked quietly, getting up herself.
"Honestly," he responded as he flushed the toilet. He headed toward the sink; avoiding his reflection, he turned the water on, "No." he rinsed his mouth out and twisted the faucet off. He turned to face her, his hands still shaking slightly.
"I hate to leave you while you are this upset, but I've got to help Cass," Anna said sounding disgruntled with her departure. Dean could tell that she'd rather stick with him, watch him like some vigilant baby-sitter. It took all his self-control not to snap at her, to tell her that he hadn't needed a sitter since he had been seven. But, he knew she cared for him-that very few people did now a days-and refrained from screaming at her. Instead he said, "Leaving so soon?"
"I won't be far," she replied crossing her arms. "Just call if you need me, I'll be there in a flash."
"Okay," he muttered leaning against the sink. She nodded and then disappeared, her wings as invisible as most angels' emotions. Dean took a deep, shuddering breath, and headed toward the front room. It was still dark outside, a quick look at his watch claiming he only gotten a few hours sleep. How he could sleep at all was bewildering to him.
Dean settled on his bed, pulling his boots out from under the second bed. He pulled them on, wondering when his hallucination was about to show up. He wasn't about to mention it to anyone, but he would rather talk to the fake Sam than be by himself.
"Oh, I missed you too," Sam said making Dean jump. He turned around, faux Sam lounging on the bed opposite him. He was smirking, hands behind his head, looking directly at Dean.
Sighing in annoyance, not even wanting his hallucination to know how sappy he was, he crossed the room stopping at the table. He settled into one of the seats, pulling Sam's computer out of its bag.
"What are you doing," Sam asked curiously, settling in the chair next to Dean.
"I am going to try and track Lucifer down," Dean muttered booting up the laptop. He waited the few seconds it took for the computer to come to life, and then logged onto the internet.
"How do you plan to do that?"
"You can read my mind, you tell me," Dean snapped typing in Google's web address. Sam huffed in frustration, but didn't say another word. Dean was thankful for the silence, sorta, and typed in Country Wide Destruction. Several things popped up, most as recent as two hours before hand. Dean clicked onto the recent stuff, the screen popping up on a news site.
He skimmed the articles, wondering how so much damage could be done in such a short time. When he came to the ending of the last one, learning that Wisconsin and Michigan had been nearly wiped off the map, he learned that Lucifer was headed west. He, of course, already knew what direction Lucifer was heading; he just didn't know the state.
"Iowa," Sam muttered leaning over him.
"Are you sure?"
"Either that or Missouri," Sam muttered. When Dean gave a questioning glare, he continued, "Both are the closest to Illinois. Unless he plans to teleport-or whatever he does-to Minnesota, I'm betting he's heading to one of those states."
"I can't check them both," Dean said starting to feel a pit of hopelessness settling in his stomach.
"Narrow it down," Sam responded going back to the search engine. He typed in Recent after what Dean had already typed in and the searches narrowed down to almost an hour ago. "Missouri it is."
"Let's go," Dean said pushing himself to his feet. He closed the computer lid, stashing it back in its bag. He headed toward his bed, nabbing his duffle bag off the floor. He pulled out his blue shirt, threw it on and zipped up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He picked his phone up, off the nightstand-figuring Anna had moved it while he slept-grabbed his keys and the motel key from the coffee table by the couch, picked up his jacket, and headed out.
"Dean, are you sure this is a good plan?" Sam asked trying to keep up with his brother's quick step.
"What other choice do I have? Wait for Lucifer to destroy more lives until I can meet him in Kansas? No, I want this over with as soon as possible." Dean stashed his stuff in the backseat of the car and drove it toward the office. The light was on, revealing that either Pearl was still working or someone else had taken over.
"Yes, I get that, but you are essentially going in blind," Sam tried to argue. Dean merely ignored him as he exited the car; he made sure he had his Colt 1911, The Colt, and Ruby's knife on him. He couldn't remember packing the knife, but there it was in his weapons bag.
He walked toward the office, wondering if he could persuade Pearl to leave and go home. To be with her family. Lucifer was probably saving the small town for later and it probably would do Pearl some good before the inevitable happened. Dean opened the door, knowing something was wrong without seeing anything.
He rushed toward the desk, looking over the edge to see Pearl, the wispy haired woman who he believed may or may not be an angel, lying in a pool of her own blood. It looked like something was shoved through her windpipe, killing her almost instantly.
"Holy crap," Sam muttered appearing at Dean's side. Dean didn't have time to be startled as he stepped around the desk. He crouched down next to Pearl, wondering what had killed her.
"That would be me," a familiar voice said. Dean stood up coming face-to-face with the one angel he didn't want to see.
Zachariah was standing in the office doorway, still wearing the balding man's body, his arms crossed. He looked slightly more harried from the last time Dean saw him, almost four days before hand.
"What the hell did you kill her for," Dean snapped glaring at the man.
"She was working for Castiel, she was about to call him, I had to stop her," Zachariah replied. "Besides," he was wearing the most psychotic smile Dean had ever seen him wear. "I couldn't quite let you kill Lucifer, yet. He hasn't even gotten started."
"What do you plan to do, Zach, hold me captive again?"
"Something like that," Zachariah said and he was standing directly in front of Dean in seconds. He reached out, laying his hand on Dean's forehead. Unlike getting the sleeping mojo from Cass, the one that just knocked him out, he started to feel a deep pressure building in the back of his head. He knew something was up, that Zach was planning something.
Dean fell to his knees, the pressure getting worse. The room starting to dim, the hunter knew he was about to pass out. Before that could happen, however, a loud intake of breath filled the room. Zachariah's hand left his head, sending Dean to his side. He scrambled up in time to see Castiel, standing directly behind his superior, holding a long sword like knife. The knife was dripping blood, the blade protruding out of the older angel's neck.
Cass pulled the blade out, causing Zachariah to fall to the floor. A bright light started to erupt out of the older angel's eyes. Dean knew, from his many dealings with angels, that closing his eyes would be a good idea. It wasn't until Castiel had pulled him to his feet and yanked him out the door that a little eye covering wasn't what was needed.
They were barely ten feet from the entrance when a bright light exploded throughout the building. Dean mostly saw the light between closed eyelids, the back of them turning a brilliant orange before going dark once more.
"W…what the hell was that," he asked opening his eyes to see Cass staring at him.
"That was the death of an angel," Castiel replied and disappeared before Dean could say anything else. Breathing heavily, still not sure what happened, Dean got behind the wheel of the Impala and took off. He had a fallen angel to catch and a disobedient angel to grill once this was over.
SUPERNATURAL
It was mid-afternoon by the time Dean had searched both Iowa and Missouri. Except for a pile of dead and dying bodies, a few burning establishments, and a lot of desolation he found no sign of Lucifer. He was heading toward Minnesota when his stomach growled. He dug around the backseat, finding a half eaten bag of Funyens. He had no idea how long they had been back there, but he was hungry and had no time to stop and get something to eat. One bite told him they were at least a week old.
"Nothing like stale snack foods to keep you going," Sam said from the passenger seat. He was just as bad as the real Sam, sulking when he found out his theory was a dead end. Dean couldn't help but give his brother a ghost of his old smirk.
"I am not sulking," Sam grumbled crossing his arms and staring broodingly out the window. They drove in silence the rest of the ride, not really sure what to say to each other. When they reached Minnesota, it was their first break. The first few miles of the state were about as bad as the east, but deeper in showed them how close they were. It was only the start of the destruction.
"I think we found him," Dean muttered. He was coasting through the state, hoping he wasn't spotted by any demons. Several things happened at once a few seconds later. Two people jumped out in front of his car, Dean squealed to a halt before hitting them, and Sam disappeared.
Before Dean could even wonder where his brother had gone, he noticed the black flashes of the two demons' eyes. Crap, he thought as he threw his car in reverse and tried to back up. Whatever powers the demons had, kept his car from going anywhere.
"They get a power boost," Dean mumbled still trying to move his car. "That is so not freaking fair." He never got any more chances to complain about how powerful the demons had gotten. His car door was wrenched open and he was flung, unceremoniously from his car. He landed onto the ground, the road cutting up his arms.
The two demons were heading toward Dean; both looking like Christmas-or in their case Halloween-had come early that year. This just sucks…