"Winchester," Reggie growls, and I feel my blood turn to ice.
Holy shit. He's a demon. I read about them in Bobby's journal, and Sam told me stuff. I need holy water. All that crap is upstairs.
Holy shit. Holy shit. They were right and I didn't listen.
I'm going to die. I'm going to fucking die.
I stumble back from Reggie, more afraid than I can ever remember being. My boot slips on the blood-slick surface of the garage floor, and I overcompensate and lose my balance, ending up on my ass.
Reggie looms closer, an evil grin on his face.
"The mighty Dean Winchester, flat on his ass, cowering in fear. This is almost too sweet. If only old Yellow Eyes was here."
Reggie reaches down and grabs the front of my shirt, and yanks me to my feet. He pulls me in close, and there's a weird smell around him, sulfur? God, he stinks!
"Dean, Dean, Dean, what am I gonna do with you?"
"Stop breathing on me maybe? Dude, your breath stinks like ass." Sassy probably wasn't the best course of action, I tell myself, as one of Reggie's meaty fists attempts to take my jaw off.
I stagger backwards, dizzy from the punch, and the next thing I know, I am flying backwards and landing on one of the work benches.
What the fuck? He didn't even touch me!
I scrabble around on the bench, trying to find something to use as a weapon. My fingers find a tire iron.
Iron! Sam mentioned that once, maybe it'll help. Quickly sliding off the bench, I charge Reggie, but I don't make it, I'm flying again, and my head connects with the concrete block wall.
You know, I didn't realize the cartoons were serious when the characters saw stars.
I lose time, next thing I am really aware of is Reggie standing over me, a hammer in his hand. It hits me then.
I'm really going to die.
…
Dean destroyed my tomato.
I sigh as I drop the miserable thing in the trash. So much for that salad. I grab a yogurt instead as I'm not all that hungry, and plop in the chair by the window.
I'm pretty psyched that Dean figured out I was here, and doesn't seem annoyed anymore. He seems like he's pretty happy to have me here. Maybe we could go somewhere this weekend. Maybe catch a Pirates game or something.
That would be cool, I'm definitely going to suggest that later.
My eyes travel across the street, and I'm looking at the garage, and something makes the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.
That's weird, all the big doors are closed. It's the middle of the day, why would they…
Oh my god.
Even from here, I can see the blood smeared on the windows.
I jump up out of the chair, accidentally drop the yogurt, but fuck the yogurt, I reach under the bed for my duffel, and yank out a Beretta, salt, and a monster jug of holy water.
I don't know if it's a demon over there, although it seems the most likely, but at any rate, I'm not taking any chances, so I grab a silver knife, and a sawed-off preloaded with salt rounds.
I don't even stop to think, just haul ass down the stairs and across the street, and barge in through the front door. The front office is quiet, empty, and my guard goes up, and I move quickly through the displays of tires, keeping my feet as quiet as possible. There's a muffled grunt, then a heavy thud, and my heart pounds against my chest as I hear my brother cry out in pain.
That's a sound I have heard way too often in my life.
Carefully easing around the front of the desk, I slip quietly against the wall, and move silently towards the door leading into the work bays.
…
I stare up at Reggie, or what used to be him, and he grins down at me, and it's the most horrible expression I've ever seen on that man's face.
I'm hurting. He hasn't used the hammer on me, but he's sure had fun flinging me around with his weird telekinesis shit.
God, I wish I'd have listened to Sam and Bobby. If I'd just gone back with them, none of this would be happening. All these people this thing killed, Reggie, their blood is on my hands. I as good as killed them myself.
I'm on my knees, and I'm dizzy, and my vision's starting to blur around the edges. I don't think I can take too many more hits.
There's movement in the doorway behind Reggie, and I catch Sam's eyes for a moment, and I know he's here to help. Gotta provide a diversion.
"Hey ugly," I gasp, "that the best you got? 'Cause I feel fine, bitch. You hit like a girl. C'mon, give me your best shot this time!"
Yeah, maybe I went a little too far, and I'm flying again, and the back of my head connects with something heavy and solid and the last thing I see is Reggie screaming as Sam upends a jug of water over his head.
I slump to the ground, and everything goes black.
…
The demon in Reggie screams loud enough to crack glass as I dump the jug of holy water on him.
Dean's on the ground, he's not moving, his eyes are closed, and there's a growing puddle of blood under his head.
Shit.
I start chanting the exorcism, keeping the demon at bay as best as possible, using salt and holy water, and he's screaming and fighting me, but I manage to get through the entire thing.
Black smoke screams out of Reggie's mouth, and then the man's body slumps to the floor. I look closer, check for a pulse, but he's gone, probably had a heart attack.
I stand, and move over to Dean. He's still not moving, but his pulse is strong. The back of his head is bleeding, but head wounds are notorious bleeders, so I'm not worried about the blood loss, and the flow has already started to slow.
There's one hell of a lump on the back of his head, so he's probably got a concussion.
Dean's going to be ok in the long run, so I take a minute to look around the garage.
Fuck.
The demon tore all of Dean's coworkers apart. There's blood and body parts everywhere, and it occurs to me suddenly, I have to get him out of here.
Leaning down, I scoop Dean up in my arms and carry him back out to the main office, and lay him across the desk. I run over and lock the front door and put the "Closed" sign in the window, and pull all the blinds closed. I don't have much time, I need to hurry.
Rushing upstairs, I grab the first bag I find and upend all of his dresser drawers into it. I grab all his toiletries, his sneakers, anything personal.
I leave all the books and TV behind, and don't bother to lock the door, snagging the Impala's key off the hook on the way out.
Back downstairs, I run out to the Impala, and toss all his stuff in the trunk, then go grab Dean, and settle him in the back seat. Firing up the car, I drive to the back of my place, park in the alley, then run upstairs and strip the place of my stuff, leaving the key and the rest of the rent, in cash, on the counter. I don't even take the food.
I do steal a pillow and blanket for Dean, and throw an extra $20 on the counter.
Then I get in the Impala, and get the hell out of Dodge, and not a moment too soon, because I can hear sirens heading this way.
Pointing the car west, I put the pedal to the floor and head for Bobby's.
…
My head hurts.
Am I on a boat? What the hell?
Why won't the world stay still?
God, I'm going to vomit.
Sam?
What's going on?
I don't understand.
What's…ugh.
Sleep. Going to sleep.
…
I drive the rest of the day, finally stopping somewhere near Indianapolis.
I find us a motel, pay cash, and get Dean settled in bed.
I'm exhausted.
A quick shower, and some delivered take-out, and I'm ready for bed. So of course, that's when Dean wakes up, freaked out, and I barely get him to the bathroom before he throws up.
I run a washcloth under cold water and wring it out. Dean's leaning up against the bathroom wall, his face white, and he looks like he might hurl again.
Sitting down across from him, I gently run the cloth over his face, then do my best to rinse the blood off his neck.
He's shaking.
"Dean? You ok?"
"No."
"Want a shower? I brought all your stuff." He startles a bit, and looks around, green eyes wide and fearful.
"Where are we?"
"Just west of Indianapolis. I'm taking you to Bobby's."
"Sam…they were all…that thing…he…my fault."
"Your fault?! Dean, none of that was your fault!" He looks up at me, and I can see tears welling in his eyes. "It's not your fault, Dean, I swear it."
I don't know if he accepts what I am saying or not, his face darkens, and he closes his eyes.
"My head hurts. I just want to go back to bed, I just want to sleep."
I sigh, but help him get to his feet. I can't believe he actually thinks this is his fault. Dean crawls under the covers, and I make sure he has everything he needs, then crawl back into bed myself.
It only takes about twenty minutes for me to pass out, falling asleep to the comforting sound of my brother's soft breathing.
I don't know how long I am out, but I'm suddenly forced awake.
The room's dark, but someone's in pain, or terrified, I'm not sure.
It's Dean.
Dean's screaming.
