Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. He lowered his reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. This Men of Letters job is giving me chronic migraines , he thought. He looked up from his table which was filled with scrolls, books, at least three laptops streaming data and a Kindle. And I need a secretary, he wearily resigned, standing up and stretching.
He glanced once more at the catastrophe that was his work place, scanning the ancient tomes once more and wondering if he had left anything out. Nope. This was truly all of it. Not that he expected anyone had kept a lot of notes during that time.
He had spent the last week and a half going through anything that they had on the Old Ones, after the incident in New Orleans that Charlie had reported to them. They were a bastion of the Darkness that might have been left behind after they had locked it back away. He sighed again. They were so sure they had banished it all. And now, this zombie outbreak in Baltimore...
Dean came into the library with a sandwich in one hand and his smartphone in the other.
"Yeah, no problem, man, stay in touch," he mumbled as he hung up and took a bite. He looked up at Sam and shook his head, chewing.
"Yeah, so, that was Garth," Dean said, swallowing. "Turns out that the regular news has actually got it right this time. Baltimore is shutdown. Zombies everywhere." He illustrated his point by waving his sandwich in the air. Sam winced.
"Total loss?", he asked.
"Yep," Dean replied, taking another bite. "Damn, Sam, you look like hell," he said, raising his eyebrows. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"
Sam shook his head. "We have other things to worry about, Dean. Like the whole damned world coming apart at the seams."
Dean shrugged. "Same story, different day. And are you sure we can't help those two? I mean, I hate being cooped up in the Bunker all the time on the sidelines here, Sammy, I need to get back in the game."
Sam looked at him sternly. "Yeah, because that always goes so well." Dean glared at him and took a violent bite. Sam sat back down heavily and let out a breath. "Look, Dean, you know how this works, Cas and Crowley have to handle this. We were specifically warned not to get in the way this time. Maybe we should, I dunno, listen to the advice from on high for a change?"
"Yeah, why, Sam? No one ever said why we can't do anything. It's all prophecy this and portent that. I am sick of being kept on a leash. We handle crap like this all of the time, Sam, and Cas...he gets stuck with that maniac Crowley. How the hell do we know he's not the one causing these disasters in the first place, man?"
Sam leveled his gaze at him until Dean turned away. "Seriously? Dean, let it go man. You know just as well as I do that Crowley has to play nice this time. There's too much on the line for him."
Dean waved him off, annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, Sammy, I know. I'm just...frustrated is all. I mean, can't we get out of here even for a second? A movie? A bar? Anything?"
Sam shook his head. "You know the rules, Dean, we can't even accidentally interfere. The only way we can get out of here..."
Dean's ringtone started playing "Carry On my Wayward Son" and Dean looked at his phone like it had bit him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Sam, who returned the same look.
"Cas?", Dean said tentatively, answering the call. He nodded a few times. "What?! Are you frikkin' serious?" Dean groaned and sat down in one of the big leather chairs, his hand wiping over his brow. "OK, man, Cas, you just hang tight. We're on our way."
He hung up and looked up at Sam, who was watching him expectantly.
"Sammy, Cas needs our help."