Chapter Fifty-five.
I want to apologize profusely for such a long wait. I know it's been around 9 months? or so. I cannot give you enough reasons for why this was not done earlier. Just know that I hope to have more time now. I am all done with school and I hope to keep up better than before. I will try my absolute best.
I want to thank all of you who have continued to add Becca to your lists of follows and favorites! And those of you who have continued to not only review but PM me! You make me definitely want to get back to you. I know this has been a long time waiting, and I hope it quenches your thirst.
I am going to go ahead and shamelessly plug the story Not Our Emily as well. PLEASE be sure to check that out if you haven't already. It is located in sweetkiwi604's endless number of stories-and you can find it by either filtering through her stories or you can find it in my favorites, or there is a nifty little quick-link in the 'Bio' section on my profile. I co-wrote that story with her and it was forever being worked on and we are pretty proud of it. Be sure to let us know what you think.
Extra thanks and shout outs to my loves who have beta-ed this and helped me through all my struggles. This is for you. For listening to my endless complaints about school and life. I owe you so much. Know that. Please.
I think that is all I have to say! Be sure to check out my profiles on the social media tags in my Bio, and to follow Becca's playlist on Spotify!
READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)
Disclaimer.
At what point is it okay to begin calling someone obsessed with something? When they can't help but to insert it into every day conversation? When they start to forget that a life exists outside of their obsession? Or when they have an entire room set up as an ungodly shrine to the thing? Good lord. I think at this moment my father was not only obsessed with this demon, but he'd gone full blown insane. I couldn't even take everything in, that's how much stuff there was. Weather charts, hieroglyphs from multiple languages I couldn't name, pictures, drawings, newspaper articles, printed articles, maps, hand written "notes"—I like to think of them as jumbled messes but apparently they actually make sense, books, and so much more that I might not even really know what half of the things are.
All I could do was stare at them with an open mouth and wide eyes. I didn't know how to ask when my dad went crazy or how much time he'd put in over the years on this, because part of me was concerned that this was all recently accumulated stuff. And I think that worried me more. I mean, yeah, growing up my dad was always on the search for what killed our mom, but he never really knew what it was, you know? He just told us he found out it was a demon. How he could have come up with this much stuff so quickly? For how much there was I really wanted him to say that he secretly had, it all stashed in a box under his front seat—but I knew that wasn't the case. As I slowly turned around, I saw my dad was still sitting at the table that was covered in its own papers and the Colt while Sam leaned against the counter that held the provided coffee pot and other "quality" motel essentials. Quality if you sometimes like finding mold, bugs, animal poop, or other fun gifts when you open those essentials. Ah, I love life on the road.
I closed my mouth and my face furrowed into a concerned, constipated duck as I watched Dean pace the floor in front of me. He lifted his arm up to wipe his hand around his mouth and nearly caught my boobs with his elbow. He was definitely focused on something.
"This is it," my dad explained with a sigh as he gestured to everything. "This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we been searching for this demon right? Not a trace, just…nothing. Until about a year ago. For the first time I picked up a trail."
A year? This is everything he's found in a year? How did he keep all this information hidden from Dean and me for a whole year? "And that's when you took off?" Dean's voice broke through my thoughts as he passed by me once more and almost caught my chest again.
I stepped away and stood directly in his path after he turned. He luckily caught himself before he ran right into me, and I didn't miss the friendly little glare he gave me as he towered over me—but at least I didn't have to worry about catching an elbow to the boob anymore. Win.
"Yeah. That's right. The demon must have come out of hiding, or hibernation."
Huffing as he turned away and didn't get whatever result he clearly wanted out of me, Dean faced our dad. "All right so what's this trail you found?"
Dad leaned back and sighed. "It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us."
"Families with infants?" Sam questioned.
"Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday."
"We were six months old that night?"
"Exactly six months."
The room went quiet then as we all processed what just happened. It was a pattern, obviously. There was no real way around that one. Meaning that this demon left a trail…well, sort of. I mean, but why was it going after the families? What was the point? Okay, yeah, to be fair, it is a demon. They really don't need a motive outside of they're just strictly the definition of evil, right? But why these babies? And then the moms? I know you've heard me say that this demon thing came after my family and all, but now? Now it seemed much more…deliberate. We weren't just some random family that was attacked. We were hurt on purpose—and the realization made me both furious and physically sick. With the sudden churn to my stomach, I swallowed in an attempt to keep it all down.
"So basically," I began to draw out as everything worked its way around my mind, "this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for Sam? So Mom's death…Jessica—"
"It's all because of me," Sam interjected, cutting me off completely.
Getting instantly defensive, for him, I shook my head and faced him head on. "I wasn't going to say that Sam."
"But it's true, Becca. Everything that happened was my fault," he argued, obviously already having decided on what he was saying to be fact.
"We don't know that," Dean added immediately after.
"Oh really?" Sam spit towards us, towering over me as he neared and his shoulders shook in anger. "'Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure, guys."
Getting frustrated, Dean seemed to have been harboring some sort of issue with Sam blaming himself because he snapped all over our brother, and I didn't even see it coming. "For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault." His finger was directed straight at Sam's face and the way his eyebrows were knitted together told me that he was on his last nerve with this subject.
Sam began shouting and I took my spot between them—but on the side of them because they're massive and will squish me and I will die. "Right. It's not my fault but it's my problem," Sam bit back.
"You guys," I called, trying to divert their attention before it got too heated. Dean was now standing directly in front of Sam, the anger just flying off him while Sam's body went into defense mode. I felt like someone was going to pounce, punch, or do a titty twister or something. It was intense. "Come on, guys. Dean, relax," I tried to tell him as I put a hand on his arm and attempted to get him to turn away. When he whipped his arm away from me, I moved forward and tried to press myself between them. I could tell he wasn't going to just let it go on his own. This was too sensitive of a subject at this point and unless someone stopped him, I didn't see a positive end coming. I turned to see Sam clenching his jaw and his neck turning red. He visibly shook and looked like he was ready to explode in a matter of seconds. The anger of one was feeding the anger of the other and it continued to just swell and move between them. Someone had to stop them. "Sam this isn't your problem—"
"No, it's not your problem, it's our problem," Dean cut me off. Because apparently that's what all the cool kids do. Interrupt me. Join the club. Cheesus Crust.
I turned to Dean after his remark. "It's not a problem! Stop it! You're only gonna make it worse by acting like it's any of our faults. Take that back," I snapped, gaining a glare of my own from him.
Just as he went to respond, the barking of my dad's "Okay that's enough!" broke through the room and made us jump and then go silent. I had completely forgotten he was even there if I'm being honest. Dean and Sam took deep breaths and I bent back to holding a stern glare at Dean while he waved me off and turned back to face our now standing father.
After another moment, Sam's voice began to get antsy when he blurted, "So why's he doing it? What does he want?"
I wanted to turn around and hug Sam. Assure him that it was okay, that we would find the underlying cause of it. Solve all his problems to prove that none of this was his fault. It isn't fair that he was putting this on himself. What could he have possibly done at six months to upset a freaking demon? What could any of them babies done? I mean, they were six months. There is no way any of this was his fault. It didn't make sense. I wanted to have done all that, and I would have…had my father not been standing five feet away. Trying to show sympathy wouldn't gain me any points with him. It'd be a "weakness" that only proved I wasn't ready. It would be a sign to him that Sam was breaking, that whatever was going on with his son was affecting all of us and that he needed to keep more eyes on us. It'd show that none of us were capable.
"Look I wish I had more answers, I do. I've always been one-step behind it. Look, I've never gotten there in time to save…" I couldn't help the swallow that fought its way past the lump in my throat. Even after all he did to follow and hunt this thing—my dad…failed. That's exactly what it was. He failed. He didn't beat the monster and he couldn't save the lives. It felt weird, but for the first time in a long time, I think I saw my dad as…human.
Sitting in the truck with my dad after the last case wasn't exactly refreshing. It was tense and awkward. Neither of us really spoke outside of the directions I was there to give or the quick questions we felt needed to be asked. Thankfully, his music played, soothing me, and I stared at the scenery. When his phone rang, I just molded myself deeper into the seat and braced my chin on my hand of the arm that was propped up on the door. I didn't think there'd come a time when I'd miss the stupid banter of the Impala. Even if right now I knew, it wasn't just banter. It couldn't be. Not with all of this that was going on. Sam had so much on his mind and even more on his conscious that I knew deep down he just wanted to get it out and into the open. He was probably still throwing a thousand questions at Dean about how it wasn't his fault, or what could have been the motive, or what it all meant. I smirked at the irritated look of Dean's face that I was sure was there. He'd probably just repeated to Sam that it wasn't his fault a thousand times and that none of it mattered because we were going to find the demon and we were going to end it all and then Sam would see that nothing had been his fault and that it wouldn't happen again. In the end, Dean would make it out that Sam had stopped it—that Sam had been the hero to the people that hadn't been saved by our father. Sam would be the one to have done what no one else could have.
Deep down that's probably what Sam needed. To know that it would be over. That after this no one else would be hurt or dead and no more innocent babies would have been affected. No other kids would have to grow up and know that something horrific happened on the night of their six-month birthday. There would be no more guilt in any lives about a mother's death, and maybe even then after the demon was killed Sam could go back to college and be okay. No more visions, no more having to not keep in contact. He could be like a normal big brother becoming a lawyer. Maybe he was right back at that campfire. After this was all over, it could be normal. Things could be better and Dean could get his wish of being a family again. Everything would be fixed and it would all be over.
When the truck suddenly lurched to the side of the road, I had to brace myself against the dash. My father threw the shifter into park and I felt the panic rise in my chest. Something had happened and I had been so wrapped up in my own thoughts I wasn't even ready or prepared for it.
"What's wrong?" I quickly yelped while unbuckling and opening the glove box for the gun inside.
Without a word, he leapt from the car and started towards the Impala behind us. Even more afraid now that something had happened to my brothers, I practically sprinted from my seat to see them emerging from the Impala unharmed.
"God damn it!" Dad hollered before slamming the door shut.
I stopped after rounding the bed of the truck and waited. "What is it?" Dean voiced. I couldn't tell if he was asking me or asking Dad with how the worry that laced his eyes ran over my body. Both of them met me in front of the Impala so we could see Dad on the driver side of the truck bed.
"Son of a bitch," Dad continued.
"What is it?" the three of us demanded in unison.
Facing us, Dad took a deep breath and looked at his feet before meeting our gazes. "I just got a call from Caleb?"
"Is he okay?" I inquired, ignoring the looks from Sam and Dean. Yeah, I was technically in the truck when he got the phone call. So what? These fools know as well as I do that you don't just eavesdrop on John Winchester's conversations. Not if you don't want to be in trouble afterwards.
"He's fine. Jim Murphy's dead."
"Pastor Jim? How?" Sam insisted after the news.
"His throat was slashed. He bled out. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place."
"A demon?" I mumbled before receiving a nod from my dad. My breath left me in a slow whoosh. Pastor Jim used to take care of us sometimes as a kid. He'd preach God's word and explain that we could be saved if we believed. I don't know why it struck me as such an odd irony to hear that he was killed by this demon, but it did. And it kind of made a heavy feeling settle in my stomach and chest. Things weren't going to end well and this was the first sign to prove it. This wasn't a six month old child, this was a grown man; a man that knew heavenly ways to protect people while being able to hunt the things that his flock didn't even know about. A man of God. If this demon—the demon—went after him, it was for a reason.
I was in my own little anxiety freak out when Dean spoke from beside me. "The demon?" So I wasn't alone in the idea.
"I don't know," Dad answered. Could be he just got careless he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."
"But then why go after Pastor Jim? Why not come for us? How does killing him help at all?" My words were rushing out of me just as quickly as my thoughts were running in my mind. None of this happening made sense. I needed answers. I needed to understand why. If the purpose was children, why a grown adult? If the purpose was Sam, why not someone closer to Sam? Why not Sam himself?
No one answered me—and I don't think they really knew how. Sam dropped a hand on my shoulder from where he stood at my left while Dean nodded towards our father, his hands going into his pockets. "What do we do?"
Dad's gaze settled on me for a second longer before turning to Dean. "Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up. Cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week."
"Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?" Sam tried, his brain trying to find the logic in the plan.
"We check 'em, that's how. You got any better ideas?" The way my dad answered proved he was getting agitated. He'd already added Pastor Jim to his list of people he hadn't saved. It was like I could see the guilt being physically laid on him and weighing him down. No. This demon was definitely something bad.
Removing his hand from my shoulder and straightening up a little bit, I heard the resignation in Sam's voice when he recited out the, "No, sir," that was to be expected.
It only took a nod and we were all moving back to get in the vehicles. I desperately wanted to be in the Impala, if only just to scream for a moment to release tension inside of me. Instead, I walked back around to the passenger side of the truck. I had my door open and was already climbing in, pulling myself up by the provided handle when Dean called out to our dad. Stopping, I looked back over the bed of the truck to see what was wrong.
"Yeah," I heard my dad answer from the other side of the truck. "It's Jim. You know, I can't…. This ends now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes." Then his door opened. I swallowed once more as he started the vehicle. Dean's eyes caught mine and I felt my face go into an expression I was hoping he hadn't recognized. The flash in his eyes told me he did though, and he was feeling the same thing. Fear.
Do you know how many people don't put birth announcements in their town newspapers? A lot. Like most of you jerks probably didn't have your birth in the paper. And do you know who that is helping? Not me, that's who. So now, I have to get a headache as I sit in front of Sam's laptop and try to track down every available record of a birth in this place from exactly six months ago, and I'm struggling. I have been obeying the command of sitting here in this stinky, too warm, broken radio having motel room for what feels like days researching and looking up anything and everything, I could think of. Of course, I was here while the three of them were off playing "Guess if My Badge is Lying or Not". Because even when things change, they don't actually change. I mean, heck I only basically rescued both Dean and my dad, but what use was I out there "in the field"? What could I contribute besides "just sitting and looking pretty"? I can stand and look pretty, too, you know. I can even run, fight, jump, and pretend I know how to shoot a gun— all while looking pretty. So ha. Ranting to myself, I ended up throwing down my pen after its deciding to spaz out and skip half the letters I was trying to write when my phone rang again.
Seeing Sam's name appear on my screen I sighed and leaned back, putting my feet up on the table. "Sam, if this is another call about where a specific address is in town, plan to have a map study sesh when you get back. You really gotta learn how to do this on your own," I teased as I referenced our earlier discussion.
Ignoring my obviously delightful sense of humor Sam just hissed. "Becca, is Dean back at the room with you yet?"
"What?" I asked confused. "No. Why? What's wrong, you sound like you've been running or something—like you're in pain. Are you okay?"
He groaned on the other end before speaking again. "It's just…ahh—"
I dropped my feet back to the ground and stood up, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. "Sam, where are you? "
"No, I'm fine, I just need—"
"You need to tell me where the hell you are before I call Dean and we both come kick your ass. Now tell me."
After continuing to argue about whether or not he was going to tell me where he was and then locking myself out of the motel room Sam finally relented and gave me the same address of the house I'd directed him to earlier. It didn't take me too long to arrive but when I got there, he was doubled over and bracing himself on the sidewalk as the pain passed over his face.
"Sam," I called as I ran forward and bent down to try and get him to look at me. "How many is this now? What do you see?"
"It's Monica," he breathed through clenched teeth.
"Monica?" I asked. Lifting my head up and swiveling it around, I searched for some sort of response to the name and there wasn't one. "Okay, come on," I tried as people began to watch us as they got home from work and left their cars. "Can you walk?"
He did his best to push into a standing position and although he wobbled, he did it. Securing one of his arms over my shoulders as I wrapped my own around his waist I sighed and began walking him back towards the direction of the motel. We only made it a few blocks before his hold on my shoulder increased and I thought he would either pop the thing out of its socket or bring me down with him as he began to drop to his knees. Doing the best I could, I felt my legs begin to buckle beneath me and I slowly began lowering him to the cement below us. "All right. Easy," I tried to reassure. There was no way I was going to be able to get him back to the motel quickly if things continued like this. I was going to need help. Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I held the assigned key until the line started to ring. "Dean? It's Sam."
I thought I heard an annoyed sigh when he first picked up but I pushed it from my mind as he then clipped out the, "What's wrong" that I expected.
Sam's pain didn't subside and I could hear the worry beginning to fill my voice when his hand kneaded into his hair. "I think it's another vision. He's either having the same one over and over or it's a bunch of them in a row. He's in a ton of pain, Dean, and I tried to get him to the motel but I can't—" The words spilled from within me so fast I wasn't even aware of how upset I had become. I was out of breath by the time Dean cut me off with his own concern-laced voice.
"Whoa, whoa, Bec, take a breath. It's gonna be fine. Where are you guys? Is he awake?" Following his instructions, I placed a hand on my hip and closed my eyes before inhaling. The air left me in a shaky breath and I could feel the anxiety beginning to claw its way up my insides.
"Yeah, yeah, he's awake, but he's in a lot of pain," I tried to slowly explain. Assuring myself that I had to calm down for Sam, I continued in a slower speed. "He can't stand up straight on his own right now and I can't get him more than a few blocks at a time. I just really need your help before people start to see and get worried."
"Are you at the motel?"
The question threw me off for a moment. I knew the rules of not being allowed to leave and yet I hadn't even thought twice about it when I got Sam's phone call earlier. If my dad was back at the motel and saw I wasn't there… "No, Sam called and I left to find him. I…I didn't even—"
"You're gonna be fine," he assured in a tone that told me that his mind went directly to where mine had. My worry was justified—but my "pact" with Dean was secure. If Dean said I'd be fine, then I would be. My dad wouldn't be a problem. "Where are you?"
I looked up at the street signs to make sure I told him the right intersection. Hanging up after he said he'd be by my side in less than five minutes I stuck the phone in my pocket and bent down so that I was balancing on my toes. "Sam? Are you okay?"
He wasn't breathing heavily or shaking or anything else that indicated he was going through the vision still, but he hadn't stood up or made any move towards me to show he needed some sort of help. "We have to stop it, Becca." His voice was quiet to the point of if I hadn't been right in front of him I don't think I would have even heard him.
"Stop what? What did you see?"
"The demon."
I swallowed. Sam saw the demon? I was suddenly happy that he wasn't looking up at me because I was sure he'd see the new worry on my face. I felt the tears prick my eyes and I looked up to the sky to try and stop them from falling. If Sam was seeing the demon, that meant he was connected. And if he was connected then that meant…it meant…it meant that a lot of the things I knew about my past could change. It meant that Sam was a part of…. "We will stop it, Sam," I managed to say almost normally in spite of the large lump in my throat.
"Tonight. We need to stop it tonight. Before it gets Monica."
I ran a hand through my hair as he lifted his head. Quickly blinking and trying to act as if I hadn't just almost broken down, I met his eyes. He looked so…broken for a moment that I almost forgot how large of a person he was. He seemed small and was holding so much pain and anger that it was starting to show through in his eyes. "We'll find Monica, I promise. We'll protect her, okay?"
Sam's eyes searched mine looking for something I wasn't sure I could provide him. After another moment, he used my shoulders and stood before pulling me to my own feet. "We need a plan."
"Dean's on his way. Once you tell us what you saw I'm sure we will come up with something and then we can go from there."
"No. I mean we as in us and Dad."
I didn't know how to respond to him. He wanted to tell our Dad about his visions. I felt my face go slack but Sam didn't say anything at the obvious new rigidness that I'd taken on. I couldn't even imagine how my dad would react hearing that Sam was having visions. And that's if we just stuck with the visions from before. Where random things unrelated to whatever were happening. But now, now, he said that he saw it was the demon I didn't know what would happen. "We need to talk to Dean first," I told him. Dean could help. Dean would be able to make sense of this and give the reassurance that everything was still the same. Sam wasn't different just because now we knew that he was somehow connected to the demon. Everything was still not Sam's fault. Yes. Dean would be able to fix it all.
"We need to tell Dad, Becca. We know where the demon's going to be. He has to know."
"I know. I know. But…Sam, don't you…I mean. The demon? You know for sure it's the demon?"
"I'm sure."
"That's not good, Sam."
He was angry now, his hazel eyes flashing a deep almost brown as the anger passed through them. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know that this means there's something wrong with me or that—"
"We don't know that there's something wrong with you," I shook my head at his accusation. I wasn't ready to admit that Sam wasn't Sam. The idea was there in the front of my mind, but I didn't want it to be spoken, because then it was real.
Scoffing, he immediately made the tears return to the edge of my eyes. "You know, before I told you it was the demon you would have acted like it was fact that there was nothing wrong with me. Now you don't know. Face it, Becca. It's me."
"It's not you. Don't say that."
The familiar growl of Dean's car sounded as he turned the corner a block away and I quickly sniffed and wiped my eyes. Neither of us said another word as the Impala stopped at the curb and we crawled inside.
Leaning against the counter, I scratched at the side of my thumb and chewed on my bottom lip while my eyes darted around to each of them. Sam was sitting at the table, his eyes shut and a grimace across his face while he rubbed his temples. Dean and my dad were both sitting on the ends of their beds, watching Sam. Dean's jaw was clenching and unclenching repeatedly as we waited. His eyes flicked back and forth between Dad and Sam, his finger tapping against his knees while he clenched a large hand on each leg. I could see the anxiety just seeping off him in waves and spread throughout the room. He was on edge, and I'm not even sure for what. We were both just bystanders in this game and it was obvious that neither of us enjoyed it much. Dad looked confused, unsure, and as though every wheel in his mind was spinning at the slowest possible pace to try and accept what it was he had been told. After the bickering in the car, it was decided that Dad had to definitely know what was going on with Sam and that we needed to inform him immediately. What hadn't been mentioned to Dean or Dad was the fact that Sam saw the demon this time—for sure. No. That tasty tidbit was saved special for me when I picked Sam up after the phone call. It also didn't help that Dad and Sam hadn't been on each other's buddy lists lately so I really didn't want another moment where I thought one—or both—of them looked like they were actually going to kill the other. I could only handle that kind of anxiety once a week and I think I've clearly exceeded my limit.
So now, with what had been shared, we waited. For a reaction. For a blow up. For anything. And it was making me crazy. So crazy that my thumb was beginning to actually hurt which meant that I was either cutting into deeper levels of my skin or that this was taking too damn long for my dad to wrap his head around. I began to bounce my leg and finally couldn't take it anymore. "Well?" I bit in an irritated voice before I could tell myself to shut up.
"A vision," Dad stated flatly with absolutely no emotion whatsoever.
Groaning I slouched against the counter, causing it to dig harshly into my back. Luckily, as my knees buckled and I began my descent, my elbows jutted out and caught me as I dramatically rolled my eyes to the ceiling. That's really all he was going to say? Cheesus Crust. I could get more emotion out of a freaking bug.
Sam looked nauseous as I peered at him from the corner of my eye and I felt my mouth go into a frown. He was obviously in pain as he fought out the, "Yes. I saw Monica burning on the ceiling," which in itself is a little more than completely terrifying.
"And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because…"
"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them."
Squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth was all it took for Dean to finally cut in and help. Breathing a sigh of relief, I straightened out, made my way to the first aid "kit", and dug around for some medicine to help Sam. "I started out as nightmares," Dean began.
"And it then started happening while he was awake," I added while shaking out more pills than the recommended dose. Hey, he was in a lot of pain, okay? He needed them. Don't you judge me.
"Yeah," Sam continued after setting his coffee down and then wincing more. "It's like the visions get stronger any time I get close—"
"Here," I cut him off, afraid of what he was going to say. Lifting a brow as I shoved the pills into his hand, I gave him a questioning look. Sam hadn't even told Dean that he saw the demon in the vision. Telling Dad before we were "prepared" didn't exactly seem smart. Or safe. Handing him the bottle of water I'd collected, I watched his face. He attempted a smile in thanks but all that came across was a deeper grimace of pain before he swallowed them.
Dean moved to pour his own cup of coffee before leaning against the counter beside me. I went back to biting my lip as our dad just stared at the three of us like he was still trying to figure everything out.
"All right," he nodded allowing me to relax a little more…until he opened his mouth again. "When were you going to tell me about this?" His tone was agitated and he was clearly upset that he didn't know anything. Excuse me, el father-o, but exactly when would we have told you, hmm?
I exhaled through my nose as Dean and Sam just got straight confused. "We didn't know what it meant," Dean shook his head with knitted brows before turning and adding more coffee to his cup. Who can drink coffee that fast? What, does his esophagus just not burn from the lava like liquid? What is he?
Pushing himself up by his knees, Dad stood and put on his "I mean business" face. "All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me."
HOLD. THE. MOTHER. LOVING. PHONE. Just as I opened my mouth, I heard that pot and cup behind me drop to the counter and there was a hand suddenly slapped over my mouth, muffling any sound I was attempting to make. Sam was up and making sure to pin me to his chest and I don't think either of us missed the super pissed off glare from our dad that I'm just sure would come to bite me in the ass later on. It always did.
"Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence all right. Sam called you when I was dying. Who the hell knows how many times Becca called you. I mean, getting you on the phone? I gotta better chance of winning the lottery." Dean was moving so quickly to our dad that I thought for sure he was going to punch him. I wanted to. Dad, not Dean. Not right now anyway. Probably later.
"You're right," he responded. What? He's right? You're damn straight he's right. We've been calling you left and right. This goddamn rollercoaster needs to pull the eff over so I can get off. "Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, or your attitude," he shot to me with a finger pointed directly to my face, "you're right. I'm sorry."
Sam dropped his hand from my face and set it on my shoulder as he moved around me. "Look guys, visions or no visions, fact is, we know that Monica is supposed to die tonight. And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through."
And there is the guilt that we were missing ten seconds ago. I'm seriously going to look into a book on how not to be a party pooper for Sam. The guy needs a better hobby. "No they're not," Dad bit in and cut off my thoughts. "No one is, ever again."
I could see the sheer determination on his face. He looked beyond pissed off. If the guy has ever been on a mission, it's now. And I don't want to think about what will happen if he actually loses. I ran a hand through my hair as Sam's phone started ringing.
Sam sighed as he brought the phone to his ear. There was obviously something on his mind and he didn't seem to be too happy at the interruption. I mean, he could always, you know, not answer the phone. Bet Gigantor never thought of that though, since it's the obvious other choice. "Hello?" I began to once again scratch at my thumb at the new silence in the room. It's like none of us knew how to talk to each other with Dad around, and I didn't like it. It only took another minute before Sam practically spit out the name "Meg" and we all turned our attention to him.
"Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window," Sam sneered. There was a pause as my mind whirred. She did fall out of a window. A window over two stories. A long way above two stories. There is no possible way that she could have survived that—unless she wasn't human. "Just your feelings?" Sam continued, his words bringing me out of my thoughts. "That was a seven story drop." Sam then turned and his eyes went round as he faced Dad. "My Dad? I don't know where my dad is." When he visibly swallowed and his face fell, I felt my own follow suit. There was something in Sam's eyes that told me Meg knew. She knew what was going on and she knew where we all were. She was keeping tabs on us—and it made my skin crawl. It suddenly felt like I was being spied on and I felt all anxious and violated. Crossing my arms over my chest I hugged myself, afraid that if they knew we were here, they knew what we were feeling, how we were acting—what we were thinking. It was as if the Winchesters had finally become the ones that were under investigation and having to watch their backs…I didn't like it. Sam hesitated but then handed the phone over and I think we all took in a collective breath.
I don't think I really breathed as my dad brought the phone to his ear and slowly eyed each of us. "This is John," he heaved a sigh before sticking his hand in his coat pocket. "I'm here," he continued after what seriously felt like thirty-two years. Then Dad's face went white and I saw panic appear; making my chest tighten in response. "Caleb?" he barked into the speaker. Caleb? Caleb was another person who'd helped my dad—and us—out on more than one occasion as I grew up. He was a hunter. Someone who could teach and aide. Someone like us. If Meg had Caleb, that meant she knew his ties to us. She was hitting us where it hurt—again. Or…she was hitting my dad where it hurt. She was out for him specifically.
I think that's when I realized that something wasn't right all together with what was going on. It hit me really quick and it was almost like the room around me disappeared. This wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be. If Meg survived that fall, she wasn't human. She was supernatural—meaning we needed to hunt her. I didn't know what she was yet, but I had no doubt that one of us would find out. But the fact that she was going after soft spots for my dad—for my family—that means she has a tie to us. Something that keeps her on our tail. Like she was specifically the one following us, searching for us…like we were her take home pet project. And she found Sam. So, she knows there's something with him, right? Right? Or am I getting ahead of myself?
My breathing was becoming labored and I could feel the panic rising inside of me. "Dean," I called out, reaching a hand towards him to grab the fabric of his shirt so he would face me and pay attention. "Dean," I tried once more as my mouth failed to find a way to explain what wasn't even coherent in my own mind.
I wasn't even looking up at his face to see what his reaction was. I was too focused on my feet as my mind spun around everything. I could hear pieces of my dad on the phone as he tried to stop Meg from doing whatever it was that she was doing to Caleb and my heart began to pound harder in my chest, causing my breath to hitch. Suddenly I made sense of Dean's voice being there—but it was muffled. I could hear him trying to call out to me, but I couldn't respond. I needed to understand what was going on with Meg. I needed an answer for Sam, about Sam. I needed the justification that Sam was okay and that my family wasn't being targeted by other powers outside of this demon—the demon Sam was now seeing. I needed to know what it all meant. I needed air.
The room began to grow blurry and I felt the panic rush from my chest to my voice as I called out Dean's name once more. "I can't..I can't see…" My words were thick with the emotion that caused the tear to slip down my cheeks. My body jerked and then the world went gray around me.
When I opened my eyes next the world was still a little out of focus and it took me a moment to try and even register where I was and what was going on. My mind felt completely blank and I ended up having to mentally run down a checklist of things. What happened? What did I remember? When did I end up on the ground? Was I breathing? Could I move? Was I even alive? Why was I cold? I didn't move my body, unsure for a moment how to even make myself blink.
"Sam, you got that rag yet or what, man? Come on!" I heard a voice bark.
Dean. I knew the voice belonged to Dean. Somewhere beyond him there was a muffled growl, almost hidden or purposefully lowered—private. Sam and Dean continued to talk back and forth over me, as though they didn't even know I was laying there. That meant I must have been dead.
"Oh no," I whispered out in a despressed huff.
"Becca? Hey," suddenly there were boots and blue jeans in front of my eyes and then someone was crouching down in front of me.
"No, no, no," my mouth continued to push the word out from between my lips, my eyes closing again. I didn't want to be dead. Who wants to be dead? What was I going to do now? I don't want to be a ghost. Ghosts get hunted, and that sounds like a lot of running and I didn't even like running when I was alive. I am not ready to be dead. There is absolutely no benefit from this whatsoever. No.
"Sit her up."
"Dude, you're supposed to leave her be. You can't just move her."
"I said help me sit her up."
There was pressure and then I was moving. It was only a millisecond and then my back was up against something solid and my legs were pulled out straight in front of me. Tightening my eyes I felt a tear slip down my cheek and I inhaled shakily. "I don't wanna be dead," I spoke so quietly I barely heard myself.
"Come on, Becca, open your eyes." Doing as I was told I saw a watery Dean in front of me. "Good. How do you feel?" his voice was deep and gruff, but I could tell he was anxious by the way his eyes weren't blinking. Everything about him said that he was internally shaking.
"I…"
"You what?"
"I…I don't want to be dead," I choked out, staring straight at him.
Dean made a face and rolled his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about? You didn't die." I shot him a confused look, not understanding. "Bec, you fainted. You didn't die."
Then there was a bottle of water in front of my face. "Drink this," Sam said before ripping open a protein bar and then shoving that in my hand. "And then eat this." When I didn't move to immediately do either of his instructions he hissed out a, "Now," and then pushed my hands closer to my body.
I sent him a glare before biting into the bar. "When I do die, I'm haunting you first," I promised. He rolled his eyes and pushed off the ground, turning to my dad. I slowly finished my bar before sipping on the water. Both brothers were up and talking with my dad, going over what ever it was that he had been doing. By the time I decided I wanted to be up and moving, Dad was there and helping me to my feet.
"How you feeling?" he asked while running his eyes over me.
"Weird," I admitted. "What happened?"
Sam sighed and Dad smirked a little. "You fainted," he answered as though I should have had a clue. I probably should have. He's right. I mean, I freaking worked myself up enough that I fainted. Good job, Bec. You're a dumbass.
"Are you alright?" Sam's voice cut in, his eyes finding mine and running over my face for any sign that I was going to pass out once more.
"I think I'll be fine. What did Meg want," I questioned while trying to lean back against the counter.
Dad explained how Meg told him she not only knew about the colt, but wanted him to bring it to her—tonight.
"What do we do?" Dean questioned afterwards, crossing his arms over his chest.
Dad sighed before facing us all. "I'm going to Lincoln."
"What?" I yelped out, taken back by just how much I had missed. "You can't be serious! You're just gonna hand over the gun?"
"We're not going to hand over the gun," he explained with an aggravated sigh. "We're going to give her a fake."
"We don't have a fake," I seethed.
I caught the eyes from each of them as they all disapproved of my words and tone. They were making my head hurt again and I was suddenly very annoyed. Then Dad relayed his brilliant plan. Apparently he was going to send Dean to an antique store and see if he could somehow come up with a good enough fake that Meg wouldn't know that we hadn't given her the real gun. Feel free to color me skeptical, because I freaking am.
I held the gun in my hand, slowly trying to remember everything about it. Deep down, I knew this wouldn't work. If the colt was important as everyone was making it—there was no way that Meg would believe that my dad would just hand it over like that. Not with Caleb already gone. Not with no real promise to her side of the bargain. Him going alone meant no backup, which meant that regardless of the outcome, my dad could still end up dead. Plus there was the fact that Sam was seeing the demon in his visions now—and he was keeping it from Dad. Not for lack of trying, fair enough seeing as I'd been the one to stop him—but we didn't know Meg was going to be demanding the gun at that point. Right now, Dad not knowing meant that we would be just as far from catching the demon as we were now. We needed the colt to kill the demon and if we didn't have it tonight, that would never happen. It was almost like a huge conincidence—one that half the family didn't even know existed. Except how? How was this a coincidence? None of it made any sense and it was making me itch.
"Sam saw the demon in his vision," I blurted out in a loud voice. I wasn't sure what made me do it, but I felt a ton better after I did.
The car lurched to the side of the road so quickly I thought that we were going to go right down into the ditch. Grabbing the door and trying to brace myself, my body whipped forward and flew back into the seat with a hard thud as Dean slammed on the brakes. The engine cut off and then Dean was turned and looked at me. He had that fake "try me" smile and it was faltering as he tipped his head. "I'm sorry, what?" he questioned. His voice was disbelieving and too light for me to continue thinking that this was a good idea, but it was too late now.
I swallowed and only gripped the door tighter. "I…I…" I cracked, unable to find words all of a sudden.
"Tell me what you said, Becca," he growled out in anger.
"He saw the demon, Dean, in his vision."
"Which vision?"
"The one he had today—where Monica dies in the fire…on the ceiling."
"How do you know this?"
"He told me."
Leaning away from me, Dean groaned out, "Son of a bitch," before facing forward again. "Son of bitch," he then yelled, causing me to jump. "SON OF A BITCH," he shouted before he began to pound his hands against the steering wheel.
I watched him with wide eyes completely unsure of what to do. I didn't want to just reach over and pat his shoulder—he wasn't Kate, he might actually eat me. But sitting there in the silence was awkward. Plus he was physically attacking his car, so he may have lost his mind this time and now here I was stranded with him. Good job, Bec. Way to think things through. Starting to think maybe I should have just died earlier…
"Dean," I finally tried after he grew quiet and just leaned back in the seat, slouched and upset. His head was tipped back and his hand was perched and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't really answer, just instead took a extremely loud and deep inhale. "Dean…I…I'm scared," I admitted through a small breath. "If Sam's visions are getting worse the closer he gets to the demon… what does that mean? And what about Meg?"
"What about Meg?" he bit.
"You really think that this isn't all related? Meg is tracking us, Dean. I don't know how but I know that she's doing it. She's hitting Dad where it hurts—killing off his friends, coming after us—she wants him gone, because he's a threat. And she just so happens to want the colt? The only thing that can kill her or the demon? You can't believe that it's just some weird sort of coincidence, can you?"
Huffing and roughly running his hands over his face he let out an exaggerated and tired moan. "What are you saying?"
I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm saying that Meg and this demon, the demon, are connected. And they're drawing Dad away—tonight—because…because I don't know why but they are. They don't want him here, which means that Sam's vision is right and the demon is coming. Tonight. And if the colt is gone, then we can't stop him."
"That's why we have the fake."
"You really think Meg is gonna fall for this? For some fake gun when she knows that we have the capability of using the real one on this thing? Come on, Dean. Give her some credit. She might be a evil blonde bitch, but she's smart."
He went quiet, just sitting there and thinking. My mind was whirring so I don't see how his was going any slower than mine, but I needed him to say something. He couldn't seriously deny what I'd just told him. I know I'm not Sam and I didn't go and attend Stanford or anything, but I know how to connect the freaking dots in front of me. "You don't think Dad should go."
Biting my lip, I felt the tears well up. "I don't know," I groaned, shoving the stupid fake gun to the seat between us. "If he doesn't go Meg is just going to hurt someone else, and next time it could be one of us, and call me sentimental, but I'm not exactly ready to have you or Sam die just yet—and you sure as hell aren't allowed to be killed by anyone but me….but if Dad does go, and he takes the fake gun, and Meg finds out…I just…I don't…."
"You don't see him coming back."
My head shook while my eyes closed and a tear escaped. A breath shuddered through me. "I don't know how we're all going to make it through this one. If the three of us go after this demon, and we don't get it, then what? It knows we have the colt, it knows we know where it is—what if it comes after us later like back in Chicago when Meg sent those jackass shadows after us? There are just way too many negative outcomes to this story and I'm not liking it."
Dean's face was upset when he turned it to look at me. "So what, you wanna give Dad the gun so he can kill Meg?"
"I don't—"
"What about the demon then? The thing that killed Mom? You wanna just let that go too? We could end this tonight, Bec. Tonight. We kill that thing and it's over."
"It's never going to be over, Dean," I shrieked as all of the anger and resentment came pouring out of me. "Dad is never going to stop hunting monsters. He is never going to give up drinking away his memories and pain. Sam wants to go back to school, and you can't say that's some shock because he's been talking about it since Jericho. Just because the demon would be gone doesn't mean our shitty lives would be fixed." A dark laugh left me then and I faced him with an almost sarcastic, sadistic look. "And say we do kill this demon. That means that Dad gave Meg the fake, and there's no way she won't know it's a fake. You really see him coming out of that alive?"
"He's good at what he does—"
"He's still human." The heavy silence after my words hung there for a moment, seeming to choke us both. "He can still die. And what if he does—are you gonna just walk away from all this? Just let him go without trying to make it right?" He didn't answer me outside of a harsh glare and I knew. "See? Face it. This," I motioned to everything around us, "will never end. Not like this. If we really want it to all be over, we need to to figure out a way to do it…but tricking Meg and going after this demon without Dad aren't the ways to do it."
When we finally rolled back to where Sam and Dad were at the motel, Dean and I shared one final look before I exhaled and we left the car. I had a plan, and regardless of whether or not Dean was going to approve of it, I was going to follow through. Closing the door behind me, I adjusted my shirt and stepped around the front of the car. My eyes swept over the truck beside me and I took an inhale as we entered the room. "You get it?" my dad immediately asked the moment the door was open.
Dean produced the paper bag that I'd handed over in the car and Dad opened it to reveal the decoy gun. "You know this is a trap don't you," Dean questioned, bringing forward all my concerns that I'd told him in the car. "That's why Meg wants you to come alone?"
"I can handle her," Dad assured him with a chuckle. "I got a whole arsenal loaded. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets…"
"Dad—" I began, wanting to ask him to forget going alone. To take us with him, to realize just what it was that I was so certain was happening.
Yet, when his eyes met mine and he gave me his full attention and asked, "What," I was incapapble of telling him what it was I wanted to. The words caught in my throat and my mouth went dry.
"Promise me something," Dean saved me—as always. He cleared his own throat and then drew all of our attention to him.
"What's that?"
"This thing goes south just…get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed all right, you're no good to us dead."
The words seared against my skin, melting away all the way straight to my bones and cutting deep into the marrow. If Dean was telling Dad that there was the need to give up and get out—then that meant he heard me back in the car—and that I'd gotten to him. He understood my concerns and he was agreeing with me. And if we're honest, I don't really know if it made me feel better or not.
"Same goes for you," Dad nodded to him before a pause swept over us—really only making the moment that much worse and hard hitting. Thanks, world. That's what I totally needed right now. The verification that not only my dad, but also my brothers and I, might actually die tonight because of what we were going up against. I just don't know what I would have done if that silence hadn't been hovering. "All right, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count."
"Yes, sir," Sam agreed almost immediately. His eagerness for the whole thing made me uncomfortable.
I watched as Dad handed Dean the real colt and then clapped him on the shoulder. Sam seemed to catch the severity of what exactly was going on. Dad wasn't just saying, "I'll see you when this is done," it was like he was saying a permanent goodbye.
"We'll see you soon, Dad," Sam cut in, nodding his head as though there was no need for argument.
Dad gave a small smile and nodded his own head once in return. "I'll see you later."
I felt the truck slow and my heart started pounding so hard in my chest that I was sure my dad would hear it thump against the bed of the truck. When the engine cut off my eyes instinctively clenched and I was certain that he either knew I was back here, or he would find out very soon when he came to get a weapon. The door creaked from where he sat in the driver's seat and then it shut and I took a sharp inhale—waiting. When nothing came I won't lie, I got a little worried. I mean, he should have been back here by now, right? What was he waiting for? I know he didn't open the tailgate so he didn't find me and wasn't expecting some sort of explanation; and we didn't veer off to the side of the road at any point so to be honest I don't know that my brother's even realize where I am. Oh no. They don't know where I am. Crap. Pulling my phone from my pocket I checked the display and found that I had three missed calls and another incoming one. Guess that's what you get when you put your phone on silent. Oops.
"Hello," I croaked into the receiving end of the phone.
"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed out on the other end. "Where are you? You went to get food like an hour ago. Did you forget we need to get a move on to take this freak out?"
Whispering harshly, I bit my lip for a moment. "Yeah…about that… Uh, Dean?" He didn't respond but I know he heard me. "Um, well, I'm not gonna be able to make it. You should just go without me."
His voice was definitely harsher and he was kicking into defense mode now. "What do you mean? Are you okay?"
I could hear Sam in the background asking what was going on and then his voice was suddenly louder—speakerphone. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm probably the safest I've been in a long time considering where I am."
"Where are you?" Sam's voice was cutting in, demanding an answer and not really sure what kind he would be getting.
"Um, well, remember how I was saying that Dad shouldn't be going to take on Meg alone?"
A couple long, "Yeah,"s were dragged out on the other end of the line and I took a breath.
"Well, I kind of tagged along…with him…Dad. The him is Dad."
The silence was short lived before the eruption. "Are you insane, Rebecca? God damn it, do you know what you've done? Does Dad even know you're there? Where are you? Jesus Christ, he's gonna kill you and then he's gonna kill me. This is the stupid shit he's talking about when he says that you aren't ready to go out hunting. I'm gonna kick your ass when you get back here—"
"Okay, okay, I get it!" I barked over their nonstop spew of honestly too dramatic words. I mean, come on. It's not like I stowed away to like…Cuba. I'm in the back of Dad's truck. Theres a crap ton of weapons back here, and I'm with Dad. I mean, the guy is a beast. I don't think I'm in a lot of danger right now…currently…maybe…crap. "Look, I just don't think that it was a good idea for him to come out here alone. I told you, Meg is part of this. Especially since Sam, you saw the demon in your vision. There's no way that her wanting the gun isn't linked. And I couldn't just watch him walk away into a possible ambush or worse. He needs backup."
I could almost see the frustration on Dean's face as he ran his hands over it. "What did Dad say?" I just pulled my lip in between my teeth. "I swear to God, Becca, you better have a freaking answer for me."
"Uh, see, he kind of… um…he doesn't—"
"Dean, he doesn't know she's there," Sam answered for me.
"Son of a bitch!" I heard Dean yell before slamming what I assume was a hand on the table.
"Hey," I snapped. "It's too late to get upset over now. I'm already here and wasting time by having you yell at me isn't going to help either of us. Now I'm going to go find out why the hell we've pulled over and what is going on. I will see you two later."
Before either of them could respond I closed my phone and kept it on silent before sticking it back in my pocket. The minute my feet hit the ground a hand was smacked over my mouth and I was pulled in tight against a body. I wasn't even able to fight against the arms restraining me and my feet fought for hold on the even two seconds into the freaking game and I was already taken out. Maybe I really shouldn't be hunting. My eyes searched the area—but before they got to take in too much, Meg stood there in front of me, smirking, and looking beyond pleased with herself. So much so that I really didn't think it was fair for how smug she was. I mean, yeah, okay, you caught me. What now though, huh? Come at me, bitch, fight me. Let's go. When my dad finds out he will—oh.
"I love how easily the Winchesters deliver themselves to us," Meg spoke to whoever had a hold on me. "You're just a little insurance I need with your dad." I attempted to bite the hand that was clamped over my mouth when I saw Meg coming near and her smirk turned into a full evil grin.
I came to, still restrained, although this time I had a gag around my mouth instead of a hand. My head hurt like a beast and I was sure that whatever doctors had released me from the hospital from when I had my coma, would not be very happy right now to know that I had just been knocked unconscious—again. Then again, I can't really say that my brothers would be too happy to know that either. Maybe we won't tell them. We won't. Remember: snitches, stitches, ditches. Don't be a snitch.
"Where am I?" I groaned, or tried to considering there was what I hope was a clean rag not only stuffed into but wrapped around my face. A tightened grip on my arms and a hiss to "shut up" only furthered my belief that I was still with Meg. Well, that and the fact that I could see her standing in the middle of whatever room we were in.
She was just standing there, slowly turning in a circle, seeming to take in everything around her. The room wasn't so big. Okay, yeah it was, it's a freaking barn. But, I mean, there's only so much to take in, Meg. Stop spinning. Or was my vision spinning? God, I have got to start wearing a helmet. Oh no. Don't you dare tell my brothers I said that!
There was a creak and my eyes flashed behind her and I saw my dad walking towards her. I felt my eyes go round and I wanted to yell out to him, let him know I was there, that I knew something was wrong. That I had been right. The tightened hands on my arms and the gags didn't let me though—that and I knew better. I didn't want to die. Not tonight.
"John," Meg, I don't want to say "greeted" because that makes her sound like she has manners… Hmm.. Meg… purred. Yeah. That will work. She's an evil broad. Purred. "John," Meg purred, "you made it. Too bad really, I was hoping to kill more of your friends."
"Sorry to disappoint," Dad responded with an even voice.
"I can see where your children get their good looks. Though I must admit, considering what they say about you I thought you'd be…taller."
What is this chick going on about? Taller? What because he's a shrimp? I mean, yeah, everyone is gonna look short after you've met Sam. What did she think, that my parents were giants? Just 'cause their sons are freaks and taller than necessary doesn't mean everyone is. Apparently my dad thought she was equally dumb because he didn't say a single thing to her. He just stared at her like the un-amusing roach she was.
"Well aren't you the chatty one," Meg continued. "You wanna get to business? Fine. Why don't you just hand over the gun."
"If I give you the gun how do I get out of here?"
"If you're as good as they say I'm sure you'll figure something out."
"Maybe I'll just shoot you."
"You want shoot me, baby? Go ahead. There's more where I came from."
Oh, we're moving now. Got it. I was being pushed forward from the shadows—how cliché—and into the light so that my dad could see both me and my captor. I caught his eyes and I know mine were wild. He had no clue I was even here, and now I was not only standing in front of him, but I was screwing everything up. I threw the biggest effing chink in the plan.
"Who the hell's that?" his gravelly voice questioned.
Meg let out a chuckle that made my skin crawl. "Why, John, that's your daughter."
"I meant him."
"He's not nearly as much fun as I am I can tell you that. So I suggest you give us the gun," she mused, her stance changing and taking on an arrogance.
Dad watched me for a long moment. His eyes were assessing the entire situations. From my restraints to the guy behind me. I could see his mind working to try and figure out what would be the most effective and quickest way to not only save me but get us both out of here without any prior deal being affected. It wasn't until Meg shouted out, "Now!" that he moved his eyes back to her and then handed over the gun. The fake gun. The gun that I told him would not work and that he shouldn't have brought.
Meg took the gun, turning it over with her hands and inspecting it. "This is the colt?" Dad nodded and when Meg turned to face the guy behind me, I nodded my own head to try and play along. I didn't think my heart was beating anymore as her thumbs ran over the cool metal and then she handed it over to the guy before taking hold of me. "What do you think?" she asked him.
He didn't move from the close space between Meg and me and I watched as his scrutinized it before pointing it at the ceiling and cocking it. Then in a swift movement the gun was pointed at towards Meg and me, and the trigger was pulled. I screamed against the rag in my mouth, freaking out as my body lurched forward and I was shoved to my knees. I was shaking, I could feel my bones inside of me rattling and I thought I was going to throw up. Meg was yelling behind me. Shouting, "You shot me! I can't believe you just shot me!"
The gun was thrown in front of me, and I was panting against the rags in my mouth. "It's a fake," the man hissed before he moved passed me to start towards my dad.
"You're dead, John. Your boys are dead. Your daughter's dead." I was then being pulled up by my hair, her nails scraping against my skull as she latched onto the roots. The gun was up and against my head and I feel the fear in my eyes as she forced me to face my father.
He didn't move, just put his hands in the air in surrender. "I've never used the gun. How could I know it wouldn't work?"
Meg pitched us forward, cocking the gun as she did so. "I'm so not in the mood for this. I've just been shot."
"Well then I guess you're lucky the gun wasn't real," my dad bit back.
Okay, new Winchester rule! When someone has a gun to your kid's head, you don't get to be a sarcastic asshole. Who is this benefiting, Cheesus Crust. "That's funny, John. We're going to strip the skin from your bones but that was funny."
Out of no where the sound of gas escaping from somewhere sounded and I felt Meg jerk me as she turned to look at it. Before I knew what was happening, my dad had reached out and snatched me out of her hands and pushed me forward in front of him into another room. He slammed the door shut and locked it and began working quickly at the ropes around my wrists. The minute I was able to get the gags off of and out of my mouth I was apologizing, trying to explain—and my dad cut me off.
"We don't have time," he pressed before leading me down a hatch that ended in an alley. Reaching the end of the alley, he spun and turned on a valve to a tap. Water gushed out in front of us, flooding the floor. Neither Meg or the other guy moved for a moment, before he started towards us. My heart was pounding and I didn't understand why we were just standing there like waiting ducks. Suddenly the guy's feet started to steam and he jumped back, yelling out in pain.
"Holy water, John?" Meg yelled over the sound of the water. "Real cute."
Holy water? So Meg was a demon? Like the demon? I didn't have long to dwell on, because a moment later, my dad was shoving me ahead of him, and we were running. Reaching the truck, he stopped me with a pull to the arm. "Damn it," he barked, running a hand through his hair. With a tug, he lead me around the side of the building.
We sprinted down another alley, only to come to an dead end, completely out of breath. "Phone," my dad panted. "Gimme your phone." I reached into my pocket for my phone and lost control of my body as it was flung into the side of the building. Groaning in pain, I lifted my head to see my dad beside me and the guy demon from before emerge. My throat was growing tight and then I was moving up the wall so that my feet weren't touching the ground—a situation I am increasingly finding myself to be in, but still not enjoying.
