AN: Remember to make sure you've read chapter 28. I posted it simultaneously with this chapter.

John's stolen car creaked and moaned the entire drive back. His mind was plagued by that angel—Naomi. There was something underlying about the angel, sinister and snake-like. It smiled a lot, but John had seen through it. It made his skin clammy.

He couldn't remember the angel from before. He tried, searching and digging through every part of his mind, but there was nothing. Nothing but flashes of Hell, and blackness, and waking up in the dirt.

How could he forget someone as sinister and malevolent as Naomi? Forget making a deal?

And it was an angel.

Maybe it was good that Mary never lived long enough to see and meet angels. Her heart would've been shattered to learn that they were nothing more than monsters.

He crossed the city line into Kansas City just as the sun began to rise. He continued driving, the creaking and moaning of the car louder in the city streets without the speed of the Interstate to distract him.

He pulled into an alley way and stared at the warehouse. He put the car in park and got out, and stared at the warehouse again.

It seemed so small, suddenly. John walked, his boots scrapping against the asphalt. His eyes trailed, remembering every footstep. He could see small droplets of blood sunk into the ground. It was like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading to the door.

He opened it. The door whined. John didn't remember it being this heavy.

His footsteps echoed inside. The smell of ash still lingered in the air. John could see the outline of the circle. It stained the ground. John bent down and touched it. The ground was completely dry, but the circle was darker than the concrete.

John was unnerved. He felt like something was staring back at him.

He stood ramrod straight and clenched his fist.

It was something about this place, John thought. The angel's presence still permeated here, still affected the air.

Or maybe it was Naomi still in the back of his mind.

John dusted off his jeans. His back ached from driving, he was so tired, and truth be told, he was terrified. For his sons and for himself. Angels were no different than demons; he had another demon on his back, but this time, John was the prey.

His boys needed him. He didn't want to go back to Hell. He had no choice, but to do whatever it took to appease this Naomi. He had less than three days to track down Magnus and the angel, and kill it; save himself and his sons.

He knew he better get started.

John left the warehouse. He didn't look back.

He counted off enough change for the pay phone. He had to search and search the city to find it, and finally did at a bus stop. It was dirty and worn, its disuse obvious.

John dropped the coins in and punched in the phone number. It rang. He coiled the phone cord around his finger.

It rang.

And rang.

There was a click.

We're sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and—"

John slammed the phone down onto the receiver. Of course he should've known the sniveling coward would change his number.

John's knuckles were white.

What did he do now? He had nothing. Nothing. And he wasted nearly a day for nothing.

John pressed a finger to his forehead. What was he supposed to do now? He didn't have a picture of the man, and Magnus was obviously a fake name. He couldn't ask around, see if anyone knew him.

John shuddered. He wasn't out of options just yet. He still had time. Just a little over forty-eight hours.

He'd use every second of it.

He stalked back to the car. Even if he had to go through every square inch with a fine tooth comb, he'd find Magnus and the angel.

Phantom pains of hellfire nipped at his skin.