Who the Hell Are You?
Rating: T
AN: Big thanks yous to ks90, AshlynPaige92, angeleyenc, greentoothbrush, deargoodbye, SPN Mum, Madcapmax, Nelle07, BlueEyedPisces, 69camaro and ColtFan165 for all the reviews!
Chapter 59: Devil's Trap
Dean wheeled the Impala recklessly onto the dark, empty road, tires squealing, and pumped the gas, tearing off down the highway and through the patches of fog coming off the marshy grass on either side of the road. He was clinging too tightly to the steering wheel, hunched over in his seat, his eyes darting frantically from one side of the road to the other. Ever since he'd hung up the phone on Meg, he'd felt physically sick.
You're never going to see your father again…
"We could have taken them, Dean," Sam spoke from the passenger seat, sounding every bit as moody and petulant as he had since they'd failed to kill the demon. He was still on about the damn demon and the freaking Colt. He wanted to stay in Salvation and let the demon come to them.
A very stupid idea. Dean wasn't having it.
"What we need is a plan," he said, pretending Sam hadn't spoken. "They'll be keeping Dad alive; we've just got to figure out where. They'll want to trade him for the gun."
Sam shook his head, scoffing under his breath.
"What?" Dean snapped.
"Dean, if that were true, why didn't Meg mention a trade?"
His stomach turned to stone, a cold hard rock sitting uncomfortably in his gut. "Dad," Sam pressed, shaking his head again. "He might be…"
"Don't," Dean cut him off severely.
"Look, I don't want to believe it anymore than you," Sam returned. "But if he is… all the more reason to kill this damn thing! We still have the Colt; we can still finish the job!"
"Screw the job, Sam!" Dean exploded. He'd had enough of that kind of talk. His head was spinning with fear and anger, and he kind of wanted to throw up. As it was? If Sam kept talking like that, Dean was going to punch him in the mouth.
"Dean, I'm just trying to do what he would want!" Sam argued. "He would want us to keep going!"
"Quit talking about him like he's dead already!" Dean barked. "Listen to me! Everything stops until we get him back. Do you understand me? Everything."
Sam fell silent, but the way he was still shaking his head and huffing under his breath made it clear he wasn't happy. Dean shook his head too, glaring at the road. Another wave of nausea swept through him.
"So how do we find him?" Sam asked.
"We go to Lincoln," Dean replied. "We start at the warehouse where he was taken."
"Come on, Dean, do you really think these demons are going to leave a trail?"
No, he didn't, not really. Dean swallowed, hard, trying to calm the jumping jittery feeling in his stomach. "You're right," he admitted. "We need help."
"I'll call Lynn."
"What?" Dean demanded, frowning briefly at his little brother. "I didn't mean them, Sam!"
"Why not?" Sam retorted. "They told us to call, Dean. They said if something happened to Dad…"
"Look, they have their own shit to deal with," Dean insisted. "They left a few hours ago anyway, and they're probably halfway to Kentucky by now!"
"So what?" Sam snapped. "They said they'd help! They told us to call!"
"And we will," Dean growled. "But they can't help us right now, not with this. We need someone who knows a lot more about demons than we do."
There was a short silence. Sam was staring at the dashboard, looking like a light bulb had just gone on over his head. "Bobby Singer," he said. It wasn't a question.
Dean nodded. "Bobby Singer," he affirmed.
It was early morning when the gray pickup finally rolled to a stop outside Hannigan's Pub. Jayne parked the truck on the side of the dead end dirt road, sighing as she shut down the ignition. On the other side of the road, her brother had parked his bright orange Superbird, which stood out obnoxiously from its dreary surroundings. The sun had just risen, casting gray light across the Hannigan property, and she could hear birds chirping in the trees nearby.
She hopped down from the cab and slammed the door behind her. Lynn met her by the back bumper and the two of them marched for the pub doors. Lynn's arms were folded tightly across her chest. "I feel guilty," her sister admitted in a small voice.
Jayne took a deep breath, the long front porch creaking under her weight as she reached the entrance. "We have to help Deedee. If something's happened to Rufus…"
"I know," Lynn cut her off. "But still."
Instead of answering, Jayne just sighed again and pushed open the door to the pub. It was dark inside, with only one light on behind the bar, and all the chairs were up on the tables. "Hello?" Jayne called. "Deedee? Steve?"
There was a small noise from behind the bar, and then Steve appeared with a coffee mug in his hand. "Hey," he greeted them, lifting the mug in their direction. "Coffee's fresh."
Lynn squealed and rushed around behind the bar, throwing her arms around Steve's neck. He groaned jokingly, hugging her back with one arm. "Good to see you too, Lynn."
Jayne smirked, coming around the counter too. Lynn pulled away and Steve opened his arms for a second hug. She embraced him briefly, and then leaned back against the counter. "When did you get in?" she asked.
"Few hours ago," Steve shrugged. "Deedee ought to be up soon."
"She managed to sleep?" Lynn asked incredulously. "Well… that's good."
Steve shrugged again, taking a gulp of his coffee. Jayne bent over the cooler under the liquor shelf and grabbed herself a beer. Steve snorted as she popped the cap and took a long swig. "Bit early for that, ain't it?"
Jayne glared at him. "You do not want to be starting shit with me right now, kid."
He laughed, and then ducked his head. Lynn leaned against the counter, staring at the floor. Jayne took another sip of beer. "So… I'm guessing the demon…"
"Got away," Jayne grunted.
Steve didn't look surprised. He just nodded, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. They fell into a long, tense silence. Then Lynn sighed heavily and marched to the cooler, yanking out a beer of her own.
"You too?" Steve asked, raising his eyebrow.
Lynn shrugged. "Do you blame me?"
He sighed and put his coffee on the bar. "Fuck it," he said, grabbing the whiskey off the shelf and splashing a generous amount into his mug.
They fell silent again. It was way too early in the morning for beer, but Jayne drank heavily anyway.
"What happened to this magic gun?" Steve asked suddenly.
Jayne shrugged. "Dean has it."
"Are you kidding me?" Steve retorted. "You left it with the Winchesters?"
She nodded. Steve shook his head, slamming his coffee down on the counter. "Worst idea you've ever had," he announced. "You find a gun that can do what you claim this Colt can do, you hold onto the damn thing!"
He was seriously annoyed with her, but Jayne didn't care. She shrugged again and gripped the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "I thought they might need it more," she replied. "John took off to give a fake version of the gun to this demon that was threatening us and… well, he never came back. They needed it more."
Her brother had nothing to say to that, but she could tell by the way he shook his head that he was still pissed. Jayne sighed and leaned her hip against the bar. "Any idea where Rufus disappeared to?"
"Nope," Steve returned, taking a huge gulp from his mug. "Deedee was practically hysterical when I got in."
"I'll bet," Lynn said, setting her beer gently on the counter.
"What exactly happened with the demon?" Steve pressed. "Did you find it? How'd it get away?"
"We found it all right," Lynn sighed. "Sam even got a shot off, but the thing just disappeared on us. You know, like a ghost. Then the house we'd traced it to went up in flames and we had to get out."
Steve nodded silently, studying the floor. "Good," he murmured. "The last thing I needed was you two killing yourselves going after the damn thing."
"Nice to know you care," Lynn smirked.
"Of course I care. Quit digging for compliments."
"Thing had yellow eyes," Jayne announced.
Steve gawked at her. Lynn took a swig of her beer. "Yellow eyes?" her brother repeated.
She nodded. "Yep. Yellow eyes. What do you make of that?"
There was a long silence as Steve absorbed the new information. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."
The back entrance to the bar creaked open just then, and all three of them whirled around. Deedee poked her curly red bob through the door, squinting into the dimly lit room.
"Hey, Deedee," Lynn greeted her.
Deedee stepped inside and shut the door gently behind her. She forced a smile and crossed the room. "Hey. Thanks for coming out."
"Not like we could say no," Jayne pointed out. "It's Rufus."
The petite, red-headed woman nodded, sliding a mug out from under the counter and grabbing the coffee pot. "Still, thanks. I appreciate it. I'm just… I'm worried."
Jayne watched her pour the coffee, drinking from her beer. Deedee leaned against the counter and took a sip of her coffee, wincing as it burned her mouth. "Where'd you find the car?" she asked.
"Out by Trevor's place," Deedee replied softly.
Lynn choked on a mouthful of beer. Jayne glanced her way, and then back at Deedee. "He went back out there?"
Deedee nodded. "Daddy was determined to hunt down whatever demon was responsible for Trevor's death. I mean, the whole town's pretty shook up about it. You know we don't get many murders out this way. Of course, Daddy and I are the only ones who know the truth about what did it."
Her voice caught on the last few words and she swallowed a gulp of coffee to hide it. Jayne watched Deedee blink furiously and take a deep, steadying breath. "It must have gotten to him," she finished.
Jayne wasn't so sure. Meg had supposedly killed Trevor, and last she checked Meg was in Lincoln, screwing with John. What could still be lurking in Stamping Ground that would have taken Rufus?
"I found sulfur around the car," Deedee was saying now. "I did a sweep of the area, but I couldn't find anything else." She took a deep breath, shaking her head and blinking furiously. "I don't know what to do."
She looked totally helpless, and it made Jayne's stomach clench. Her brother shifted uncomfortably by the counter, putting down his coffee cup. He darted a look at Deedee out of the corner of his eye, like he wanted to do something for her but he didn't know what.
"All right," Lynn spoke up, inhaling heavily. "Here's what we're going to do. You and I are going to do a little research, Deedee. We'll look for demonic omens in the area; see if we can't track whatever's hanging around town. Jayne and Steve will go driving around to see if they can find Rufus. They can start with Trevor's and move out from there. Sound like a plan?"
Deedee nodded, forcing a smile. She did look slightly relieved, Jayne noted. Lynn had taken charge of the situation and outlined a plan of action, which helped. Steve cleared his throat. "Sounds good," he announced. "Jaynie, let's go."
"Right behind you," Jayne agreed. The two of them marched out of the pub, calling goodbyes over their shoulders and leaving Lynn and Deedee alone in the bar. They crossed the dirt road to the Superbird. Steve slid behind the wheel of his car, and Jayne climbed into the passenger seat.
The engine turned over, and Steve's horrible music blared out the speakers. Jayne cringed at the sound of mainstream rap, giving him a sideways glare. Steve shrugged and smirked. "Don't be an old lady," he said, shifting out of park and turning around in the grass.
She flipped him off, and then folded her arms over her chest, slumping in her seat. This was going to be a long day.
The last time Sam had been to the Singer Salvage Yard, Bobby had chased his father off the property with a shotgun. It was for this reason that he doubted how welcome he and Dean would be when they showed up on Bobby's doorstep. The junkyard looked almost exactly the same now as it had then. His house was the same shade of blue, the grass was still patchy and brown, and there were still hubcaps hanging off the house's exterior walls. Rusted out, junked cars stretched as far as the eye could see. Parked by the front door was a large blue tow-truck, and Bobby's Rottweiler, Rumsfeld, was camped out on the hood, a long chain attached to his collar.
Surprisingly, Bobby had welcomed Sam and Dean into his house happily, claiming he'd be more than glad to help them find their father. That had been a couple hours ago, and now Sam was seated at a desk in Bobby's cluttered living room, leafing through one of the large demonology texts that filled the house from bottom to top. Behind him, the walls were papered with news clippings and drawings torn from old books.
Bobby's house looked the same, but Bobby didn't. The hair under his dirty baseball cap was gray, and so was his beard. The faded, grease-stained sweatshirt was stretched over a newly developed beer gut.
"Here you go," Bobby announced, drawing Sam's attention away from the book. He looked up to see the older man pass Dean a small metal flask.
"What is this, holy water?" Dean asked.
"That one is," Bobby replied, revealing a second metal flask still in his hand. "This is whiskey."
Sam smirked as Bobby took a drink. Dean scowled, and then took the flask from Bobby, sucking down a gulp of his own. "Bobby, thanks," Dean said. "Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure we should even come."
"Oh, come on. Your Daddy needs help."
"Yeah, but the last time we saw you, you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. You cocked the shotgun and everything."
"Well, what can I say?" Bobby shrugged. "John just has that effect on people.
Sam smirked again from his corner of the room, his eyes scanning the odd symbols emblazoned on the page before him. "Yes, yes he does," Dean agreed, and Sam wondered if Dean was remembering what he was thinking about – Jayne threatening to hunt their father down like a dog if he even tried taking the Colt and running with it.
He suddenly really missed Lynn and Jayne. He had a hunch that they would get along with Bobby really well.
"All that matters is that you get him back," Bobby was saying now.
It seemed like a good time to interrupt, judging by the tension in Dean's shoulders. "Bobby, this book," Sam said admiringly. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Key of Solomon?" Bobby asked, sauntering over to the desk. "It's the real deal all right."
"And these, uh… these protective circles, they really work?"
"Hell, yeah. Get a demon in one; they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a Satanic roach motel."
Sam laughed at that.
"Man knows his stuff," Dean added. Sam looked up, seeing his brother tuck his phone into his jacket before crossing the room.
"I'll tell you something else, too," Bobby went on. "This is some serious crap you boys stepped in."
"Yeah?" Sam asked. He couldn't help swallowing nervously. "How's that?"
"A normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions? Maybe four tops?"
"Yeah?" Dean prompted.
"This year I've heard of twenty-seven. So far."
Again, Sam swallowed. He looked back down at the book. "You get what I'm saying?" Bobby pressed. "More and more demons are walking among us. A lot more."
"Do you know why?" Sam wanted to know.
"No," Bobby shook his head. "But I know it's something big. Storm's coming. And you boys? Your Daddy? You are smack in the middle of it."
The words barely had time to sink in when Bobby's dog started barking up a storm. "Rumsfeld," Bobby exclaimed, jumping to his feet as the dog let out a howl. All three of them peered out the shuttered window to see the chain broken, and the dog gone.
"Something's wrong," Bobby said.
That's when the door flew open, the wood frame splintering as the lock broke. Standing in the doorway was a petite blonde woman in a red leather jacket. Her hair was longer now than the last time Sam had seen her – almost past her chin – but it was undoubtedly Meg.
Sam tensed up behind the desk as the demon stalked into the room. Dean reached for the holy water.
"No more crap, ok?" Meg announced.
Dean marched right for her, holy water in hand. Meg flicked her wrist and, without even touching him, sent Dean flying across the room and into a stack of books. Sam watched his brother topple to the floor, swallowing painfully. Without thinking, he darted out from behind the desk and shoved Bobby behind him.
Meg glowered at him, tilting her head dangerously to the side. "I want the Colt, Sam," she said. "The real Colt. Right now."
Sam backed away, towards his fallen brother, dragging Bobby behind him. "We don't have it on us," he stalled. "We buried it."
Meg advanced on them, her dark eyes murderous. "Didn't I say no more crap?" she snapped. "I swear, after everything I've heard about you Winchesters, I've got to tell you I' m a little underwhelmed. First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lackluster, man."
They had backed all the way into the main living room and ended up against the fireplace. Sam's back hit the mantel, Bobby beside him, both of them staring at Meg, who officially had them cornered.
"I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?" she asked.
"Actually, we were counting on it."
Meg whirled around at Dean's voice, her expression growing angrier by the second. Sam looked up to see his brother leaning against the doorway, smirking at Meg. She glowered at him a moment, silent, until Dean slowly looked up at the ceiling, his smirk darker and more satisfied than Sam had ever seen before.
She followed his eyes. Sam smirked too as Meg belatedly realized her predicament. Painted on Bobby's living room ceiling was the large, ornate protective circle from the book on the desk: the Key of Solomon.
Both shocked and angry, Meg lowered her eyes and glared at Dean.
"Gotcha," Dean quipped.
The sun was high in the sky now, and Lynn rubbed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. She and Deedee were seated at a table in the Hannigan's bar, Lynn hunched over her laptop and Deedee perusing several newspapers she'd picked up from downtown. The bar was empty except for the two of them, Deedee having kept the Closed sign on the door.
"I've got reports on lightening storms and cattle deaths," Deedee murmured. "Maybe something is here."
Lynn nodded, keeping her eyes on her monitor. "Well, you did say Rufus found sulfur out at Trevor's."
"Mm-hmm."
They lapsed into silence again. Lynn drummed her fingers on the tabletop. There were a million things swimming in her head right now, and she was having a hard time focusing on one at a time. Rufus was missing, that was priority number one. The man had been around ever since she was small, and she and Jayne and Steve had practically grown up in this bar. They'd graduated from the local high school. After her father had died, Rufus had been a rock.
Now he was missing – he could be anywhere – and there was this panicked little voice whispering in her ear find him, find him, find him…
Lynn gave her head a shake and frowned at her laptop. Rufus was not the only man on her mind. The demon was still out there. It knew what they had planned for it. More importantly, its lackeys most likely had John, and Sam and Dean were probably freaking out.
She remembered her promise just then, and reached for her phone. She felt nothing but empty air and the smooth surface of the wooden table. Frowning, Lynn searched first the table, then her jeans, and then checked under her seat.
Her phone was missing. Shit. Lynn checked the pockets of her coat, which she had hung on the back of her chair. Nothing. "Deedee?" she asked, trying to keep the high pitched note of hysteria out of her voice. "Have you seen my phone?"
Deedee shook her head, looking up briefly from the newspaper. "No. Where'd you have it last?"
Lynn frowned, trying to think. "I'm not sure. Maybe the truck?"
Deedee shrugged. "Damn it," Lynn hissed, getting to her feet and grabbing the keys to the truck. "I cannot have lost my phone, not today. Shit, shit, shit!"
She stormed out of the bar and marched for the truck. If Jayne could see her now, Lynn was sure there would be hell to pay, but she honestly didn't give a damn. She flung open the truck door and began tearing apart the cab, searching under the seats and in the seats and behind the seats, rifling through the glove compartment and the cup holders, tossing trash and papers and other random things out of the truck and into the dirt road.
Several minutes and a totally trashed truck cab later, Lynn slumped to her knees in the dirt and slammed the cab door shut. Her phone was not in the truck, and it wasn't on her person, and she never left the thing in her luggage. How the hell could she lose her phone now? Of all the possible times to lose the damn thing, she had to pick the worst one.
She leaned against the truck, sitting in the dirt and not caring that her jeans were getting dusty. In the cab, she'd found her lighter and a near empty pack of cigarettes. Trying to fight back against the tears stinging at her eyes, Lynn lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The burn tingled all the way down her throat and Lynn squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a tear pool on her eyelashes and drip down her cheek.
Honestly, she couldn't even imagine how things might get worse.
Dean leaned on the table in the corner of Bobby's living room, arms folded over his chest. Meg was still trapped in the circle, tied to a chair, but that didn't seem to wipe the smirk from her face. Sam stood behind him, hands tucked in his pockets. He could feel Sam's nervous energy bouncing off him, but Dean didn't care. The demon bitch in front of him knew where his father was, and he was going to make her talk, no matter what he had to do.
"If you wanted to tie me up," Meg drawled, still wearing that evil little smirk. "All you had to do was ask."
Neither Dean nor Sam responded. Bobby came out of the kitchen, a large canister in his hand. "I salted the doors and windows. If there are any demons out there, they ain't getting in."
Dean nodded and pushed himself off the table. Bobby took his seat, and Dean advanced on the smug little bitch sitting in front of him. She leveled her proud, amused, evil brown eyes at him. He smirked back. "Where's our father, Meg?"
"You didn't ask very nice," she replied in a sing-song voice.
"Where's our father, bitch?"
"Ooh, geez. You kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, I forgot… you don't."
He lost it, marching towards the trapped demon. "Hey, you think this is a freaking game?" he bellowed angrily. "Where is he? What did you to do to him?"
"He died screaming," Meg returned. "I killed him myself."
Every muscle in his body tensed. Dean glowered at her, breathing heavily, his vision clouding. He couldn't control himself. He hauled off and backhanded the demon across the face. There was a satisfying crack as his hand made contact with her face, but nothing was more satisfying than the pained yelp that escaped her lips.
She recovered quickly, though. "That's kind of a turn on," she said. "You, hitting a girl."
"You're no girl," he retorted.
Meg smirked up at him. "Dean," Bobby said suddenly, taking him by the arm. He let the older man drag him away, directing a murderous glare at the demon still in the chair. Sam followed them into the next room.
"You ok?" his brother asked.
"She's lying," Dean insisted. "He's not dead."
John Winchester could not be dead. He wouldn't believe it until he saw the body for himself.
"You got to be careful with her," Bobby informed him. "Don't hurt her."
"Why?" Dean demanded.
"Because she really is a girl, that's why!"
"What are you talking about?" Sam frowned.
"That's a human possessed by a demon," Bobby said incredulously. "You can't tell?"
Dean frowned too, glancing back at Meg. The blonde woman leered at him. He returned his eyes to Bobby. "You trying to tell me there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there?"
Bobby nodded. Dean glanced at Meg again. "That's actually good news," he announced.
Mere seconds later, the three of them had a new plan. Dean reentered the room, Sam and Bobby following behind him, Sam carrying their father's journal. Meg raised an eyebrow. "You going to read me a story?" she asked in a little girl voice.
Dean smirked at her. "Something like that. Hit it, Sam."
His brother swallowed nervously, but Dean barely noticed. Slowly, Sam began to read aloud the Latin exorcism rite from the old, leather-bound journal.
Meg scoffed, turning amused eyes on Dean as Sam continued to read from the rite. "An exorcism?" she asked. "Are you serious?"
"Oh, we're going for it, baby," he spat. "Head spinning, projectile vomiting… the whole nine yards."
Sam continued reading. Suddenly, Meg flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and making a pained noise in the back of her throat. Dean smirked again. It was working.
Meg opened her eyes and glared at him. "I'm going to kill you," she said mildly. "I'm going to rip the bones from your body."
"No," Dean retorted. "You're going to burn in Hell – unless you tell us where our Dad is."
She just glared at him, panting, and said nothing. Dean shrugged. "Well, at least you'll get a nice tan. Sam?"
His brother stared at him. Dean stared back. Finally, Sam began to read again, pacing the room. Meg was shuddering violently, her breathing coming short and fast. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Sam read. "Omnis Satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomine et virtute…"
Meg cried out in pain, flinching. Sam stopped reading. "He begged for his life with tears in his eyes," Meg spat from behind her pained grimace. "He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat."
Dean felt cold. He stood still, staring numbly at the demon who was glaring up at him, panting and snarling. Sam began to read the rite again. Dean hunched over the chair, glaring into Meg's eyes. "For your sake, I hope you're lying," he hissed. "Because if it's true, I will march into Hell myself and slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God!"
Sam was still reciting and Meg was still flinching. A strong wind began to blow around the room, turning the pages of an open book on the desk. Dean paid the phenomenon no mind, but Sam hesitated, glancing nervously at the book even as he continued to read. As his brother chanted, Dean glowered down at the demon. Meg glared back, and then suddenly cried out again. Sam stopped.
"Where is he?" Dean demanded.
"You just won't take dead for an answer, will you?"
"Where is he?"
"Dead!" Meg shouted.
"No, he's not!" Dean thundered, losing it again as he leaned into her face. "He is not dead! He can't be!"
Meg was still shaking and panting, but a small smirk played on her lips as she stared at Dean out of the corner of her eye. Dean tried to regain his composure, his chest heaving. Sam was staring at him.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped. "Keep reading."
Sam stared at him only a moment longer. Dean turned away, putting some distance between him and Meg. Sam got out only one more word of the rite.
"Hey, didn't there used to be more of you?" Meg interrupted breathlessly. There was a wry, knowing lilt to her otherwise raw and raspy voice. Dean paused in his pacing, and Sam stopped reading immediately. "A blonde girl? And a brunette?"
He could feel Sam's eyes on him, but Dean didn't look at him. He ignored the jibe. "Keep reading, Sam."
"Let me guess," Meg hissed, her voice pained. "They went to Kentucky, right?"
Dean stiffened, slowly turning his head towards the demon. Sam swallowed, glancing nervously at his brother. Meg was still wearing that evil little smirk, her eyes fixed on Dean. "That's right. I know," she taunted him. Somehow she was smirking even though her face was contorted with pain and a line of sweat had developed on her brow. "We know. I bet the others are already halfway there. I wonder which one they'll kill first."
Dean clenched his fists at his sides. Meg seemed to gain better control over her shaking body as she took in the glower on his face. "I'll bet they do Blondie last," she cooed, still staring straight at Dean. He swallowed around the suddenly developing lump in his throat. "Nice and slow."
His fist was tightening, the muscles in his arm tensing, and it was all he could do not to haul off and slug the bitch again. He wouldn't hurt the demon, he tried to tell himself. He'd hurt the innocent girl that the evil skank was possessing.
"I bet Blondie will be real fun to play with."
His stomach rolled. Dean snapped. His fist cocked and he nearly hit Meg again. Miraculously he pulled himself away, propelling his fist into the nearest stack of books and knocking them to the floor. Sam flinched, and Dean turned around, glaring at him.
"What the hell are you waiting for, Sam?" Dean demanded, ignoring his throbbing knuckles. Sam just stared at him. "Read!"
Sam dropped his eyes and began to read aloud the next passage of the rite. Dean turned on Meg, who was panting and sweating again. "I wonder how they'll kill her?" Meg pressed relentlessly, talking through the pain. "Same way I killed your Daddy?"
Dean glowered at her, frozen in place, trying desperately not to do something he'd regret. Sam faltered, but kept reciting the exorcism. Meg groaned and rolled her eyes, twisting her head sharply to glare at Sam. "They'll finish off the brunette first," she hissed, her eyes large and black now, and fixed intently on Sam. "She won't last long. Looks like the sort that cries easy."
Sam stopped reading. Dean watched him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably. He turned to Dean with big eyes, his grip loosening on the journal.
Meg grimaced. She lifted her head with great effort and delivered a shaky smirk at Sam. "Let's hope I'm wrong. Let's hope she lasts, and they can take their time."
"Keep reading, Sammy," Dean ordered.
"Yeah, Sammy," Meg whispered, still wearing that shaky smirk.
Sam looked helplessly from Meg, to the book, and then back at Dean. "Read, damn it!" he shouted at his brother. Sam flinched again, but did as ordered, reading from the rite. The wind picked up again, and Meg returned to groaning wordlessly, her head lolling.
Dean was shaking, and he could feel a stinging in his eyes. He glowered down at Meg, who glared at him. She was just a demon – demons lie. He had to hold onto that – he could not let her get under his skin.
Except she already had. So now he had to hide it.
Meg cried out loudly, and the chair she was tied to moved of its own accord, the legs squeaking on the hardwood floor. Dean glanced at his brother, who paused only briefly in his reading before going ahead and continuing the rite.
The chair jerked noisily all around the floor, never leaving the circle. Meg groaned and screamed and shook with the chair as it darted around, scraping to a stop, and then starting up again.
"He's not dead!" she shouted suddenly.
"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, pouncing on the words. He waved at his brother to stop. "What?"
"He's not dead," Meg breathed, her hair sticking up wildly as she glowered up at him. "But he will be after what we do to him."
His stomach turned again, half in relief and half in fear. "How do we know you're telling the truth?"
Meg was panting heavily, and her eyes were tired as she looked up at him. "You don't."
"Sam!" Dean barked.
"A building!" Meg cried out before Sam could start reading again. "Ok? A building in Jefferson City."
"Missouri?" Dean demanded. "Where? Where? An address!"
"I don't know!"
"The demon?" Sam asked. "The one we're looking for? Where is it?"
"I don't know, I swear!" Meg insisted. "That's everything! That's all I know!"
There was a long silence in the room, broken only by Meg's heavy breathing. Dean stared at her for a moment. "Finish it," he ordered.
"What?" Meg exclaimed. "I told you the truth!"
"I don't care."
"You son of a bitch, you promised!"
"I lied!"
He leaned in her face, glowering. She glared right back, every line in her face swearing retribution. "Sam," Dean prompted. His brother did not start reading again. Dean tore his eyes from Meg and glared at his brother instead. "Sam! Read."
Sam grabbed Dean by the shirt. "We can still use her," he insisted. "Find out where the demon is."
"She doesn't know!"
"She lied!"
"Sam, there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there and we've got to help her!"
"You're going to kill her."
It was Bobby who spoke, coming in from the other room. Dean and Sam turned to the older man in surprise. He'd made himself scarce during the exorcism, but now he had something to say. Dean frowned at him. "What?"
"You said she fell from a building," Bobby reminded him. "That girl's body is broken. The only thing keeping her alive is that demon inside." Dean stared at him. Bobby pushed right along. "You exorcise it? That girl is going to die."
"Listen to me," Dean snapped. "Both of you! We are not going to leave her like that!"
"She is a human being!" Bobby insisted.
"And we're going to put her out of her misery!" Dean retorted.
There was another silence. Dean peeled his glare away from Bobby and leveled it at Sam instead. His little brother was glowering back just as hard. "Sam, finish it," Dean ordered.
Sam glared at him a moment longer. He glanced back at the demon, looking torn. "Finish it!" Dean said again.
His brother still looked reluctant and pissed off, but he took the book and began to read again. As the Latin rite echoed through the room, Meg began to groan and quake all over again. The wind blew through the room once more, howling all around them and scattering papers everywhere. Dean watched the demon writhe in the trap, his stomach turning over. It was the right call, he told himself. Dead or not, the girl would be better off without a demon inside of her. He made the right call.
"Benedictus Deus!" Sam bellowed over the roaring wind and the moaning demon. "Gloria Patri!"
Meg screamed, her head snapping back in the chair. As the three hunters gawked at her, a cloud of black smoke came funneling out through her mouth, billowing up at the ceiling. She was still screaming as the black smoke emptied her body and vanished, electricity crackling against the ceiling as the demon was sent back to Hell.
The blonde girl's head tipped forward. For a long moment, she didn't move or make a sound. Dean swallowed, his stomach rolling over, certain that she was dead. He had killed her – he was guilty, he'd insisted…
He made the right call… he made the right call…
Blood dribbled from the girl's mouth and nose, landing with a splash on the floor. Sam gasped, staring at the girl with wide horrified eyes. Dean looked over at Bobby, whose eyes were fixed on Meg.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
"She's alive!" Dean exclaimed in disbelief. "Uh… call 911! Get some water and blankets!"
He rushed to the girl's side as Sam knelt on the other end of the chair. Together they untied her as quickly as possible. Bobby vanished into the back of the house. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Shh," Sam shushed her. "Take it easy, all right?"
The ropes came undone and hit the floor. "Let's get her down," Dean ordered. He and Sam each took a side and lifted her as gently as they could. She cried out in pain, and then choked.
"It's ok," Dean whispered, even though he knew that was bullshit. Slowly, he and Sam lowered her to the floor and laid her down flat. She choked and gasped and whimpered all the way down as Sam cradled her neck, bringing her head to rest on the ground and whispering comforting nonsense the whole time.
She was struggling to breathe and Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the blood on her face. "A year," she panted. "It's been a year."
"Shh," Sam murmured. "Just take it easy."
Dean's stomach twisted inside him. He swallowed, hard, knowing Sam was right – the girl needed to lay still and rest quietly. But he couldn't let her.
"I've been awake for some of it," she choked out. "I… I couldn't move my own body. The… the things I've seen… it's… a nightmare."
"Was it telling us the truth about our Dad?" he asked.
Sam glared him. "Dean," he scolded.
"We have to know," Dean retorted.
"Yes," the girl whispered. "But… it wants… you to know. It… they want you to come for him."
He nodded. "If Dad's still alive, none of that matters."
Bobby rushed into the room just then, holding a water glass and some blankets. Dean took the glass and Sam took one of the blankets, tucking it under her neck like a pillow. Bobby shook out the other blanket and draped it over her. Dean brought the glass to her lips, and she took a small drink, choking again.
"Where is the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked, cradling her head in one hand.
"Not there," she replied breathlessly, still panting and choking. "Other ones. Awful ones."
Sam glanced at him. Dean swallowed, hating himself even as he continued to question the dying the girl. "Where are they keeping our Dad?"
"By… the river… Sunrise…"
That was it. She stopped talking abruptly, her eyes boring holes into his. Dean frowned down at her. "Sunrise?" he repeated. "What does that mean?"
She just stared at him, her eyes dull and empty. "What's that mean?" he asked again.
Still nothing. She didn't speak or move, she just kept staring at him with her glassy eyes. Sam made a pained face beside him, his lip trembling. Bobby stared helplessly down at the lifeless girl on his living room floor. The reality sank in fast. She was dead. She was dead, and her big, empty dead eyes were staring at him. It was like she was accusing him of something, the way her eyes bored relentlessly into his. Dean swallowed, knowing it was his fault. She was dead because they'd let her fall out of that building, because they'd failed to recognize what was really wrong with her, because he'd insisted on finishing that exorcism.
He didn't even have an exact location on his father to show for it.
For a long time, all three men sat on the floor, staring at Meg's lifeless body. After a bit, Bobby got to his feet and cleared his throat. Dean lifted his eyes and stared up at the older man. Slowly, he got to his feet too, Sam following behind them.
"You boys better beat it before the paramedics get here," Bobby said, walking them towards the exit.
Dean still couldn't quite wrap his head around everything that was happening. "What are you going to tell them?" he asked in concern.
"You think you guys invented lying to the cops?" Bobby retorted. "I'll figure something out. Here, take this." He handed the large book that diagramed the protective circles to Sam. "You might need it."
"Thanks," Sam murmured, taking the book.
"Thanks," Dean agreed, nodding. "For everything. You be careful, all right?"
"You boys just find your dad," Bobby replied. "And when you do? You bring him around, would you? I won't even try to shoot him this time."
They nodded at the weak joke. Sam led the way out of the house, and Dean followed on his heels. He spared Bobby one last grateful smile, and then shut the door behind him. As he headed for his Impala, parked next to the large tow truck, Dean dug his cell phone from his jeans and dialed Jayne's number.
It was the third time that morning he'd called her. And for the third time that morning, the call went straight to voicemail.
He swallowed hard, leaving a brief message and then hanging up. He slid behind the wheel of the car, slamming the door behind him. Meg's words were replaying in his mind… I'll bet they do Blondie last. Nice and slow…
Dean gave his head a shake, one hand gripping the steering wheel too tightly. Demons lie, he reminded himself, turning the key in the ignition. Sam, already seated in the car, stared at him. "Did you get her?" he asked, knowing instinctively who Dean had been trying to call.
Dean shook his head, steering the car out of the junkyard. "Nope."
They were silent all the way to the highway.
Jayne leaned on the passenger door of her brother's Superbird, staring out the window at the trees and farms that flew past. Steve's terrible rap music was still blasting on his stereo, and her brother was rapping right along with it, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Jayne rolled her eyes and sighed.
"His truck wasn't there," she spoke up. "Deedee said it had been abandoned by Trevor's place, but we couldn't find it."
"Nope," Steve agreed, eyes trained on the road. He went right back to rapping. She grimaced. He was terrible at it.
"Well, what the hell does that mean?" Jayne pressed. "Where's the truck? Did he come back for it? Is he ok? Or did whatever take him, take the truck too?"
Steve shrugged. "Maybe it got towed."
Jayne sighed harshly. "I don't feel like you're taking this seriously."
He smirked at her, and she glared back. Trevor's place had left a distinct impression on her, and Jayne was glad Lynn had stayed at the pub. The house had felt creepy the moment she'd walked through the door, and she'd found the sulfur Rufus had mentioned almost immediately. Worst of all, no one had cleaned the place up yet – it was still a crime scene, after all – and the evidence of Trevor's murder had been all over the kitchen. Blood spackled the white linoleum floor, and had even splashed on the cabinets. She could see the chair they'd found Trevor sitting in, left in exactly the same position. Yellow tape had hung everywhere.
"Well, so far we've got nothing," Steve announced, restarting the conversation. "The truck's gone, the house hasn't been touched since the murder, and there's nothing on the property. We've been driving around for hours, and nothing looks remotely suspicious. There's no sulfur, no omens, and I haven't heard a blip on the EMF. Let's head back to the bar because I need a fucking drink."
Jayne sighed. "Yeah, ok. Has it really been hours?"
Steve nodded. "Fuck," Jayne muttered. "Where's my phone? They should have called by now."
"Who?"
"Dean and Sam. Their Dad was still missing when we left, and I've been expecting to hear from them ever since we got on the road." Jayne began searching the car around her – in the seat, under the seat, in the pocket on the door…
"Hey," Steve said.
"I don't understand where my fucking phone is!" she growled, ignoring his attempt to get her attention. "Did I not bring the thing with me?"
"Wouldn't know," Steve said shortly. "Listen, about the…"
"I can't believe this," she grumbled, still rifling around the car. "Of all the days to lose my cell…"
"Would you forget about the goddamn phone for five fucking minutes!" Steve exclaimed. "I'm trying to ask you something."
Jayne sighed harshly and ceased in her search, glaring at him. "What?"
"What happened with the demon?"
Immediately, Jayne went from annoyed to uncomfortable. "I told you. It got away."
"You didn't give me the details," Steve retorted, shrugging. "What went down in Iowa, Jaynie?"
She really had no interest in talking about Iowa. Iowa had been nothing but a colossal failure that had ended in a very much alive demon, a missing John Winchester, and two young men who'd been counting on her getting seriously disappointed when she'd decided to bail on them in their time of need.
Damn self-inflicted guilt trip.
"Nothing went down," she said out loud. "We staked out the house in question, the demon showed up and we went in to kill it. Sam shot at it with the Colt, but it vanished. It didn't possess anyone – it was in its natural form. I don't know. It vanished, the nursery went up in flames, and we got out of there."
Steve nodded slowly, his eyes on the road. "I don't know what to say," Jayne went on quietly. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
She shrugged. "Letting you down. We should have killed that thing."
"I should have been there," Steve retorted. "Let's not start playing the blame game, because we'll both lose."
Jayne sighed and returned to searching for her phone. Steve didn't say another word. A few minutes later, the Superbird rolled to a stop in front of Hannigan's Pub. She still hadn't found her phone, and had to concede that it was probably in the bar with her things. Sighing again, she followed her brother into the building. Lynn's laptop was sitting on one of the tables by the counter, but neither Lynn nor Deedee were anywhere to be found.
"I'm going to look for everyone else," Steve announced.
"I'm going to look for my phone," Jayne replied tiredly.
Steve nodded and disappeared into the back. Jayne poked through her coat and her duffel bag, still sitting on the far end of the room, on a table by the jukebox. The harder she searched, the more furious she got. Where the hell was her goddamn phone?
She needed to find it. There was no telling what might have happened to Sam and Dean in the past few hours, or to their father. She's promised she was going to help them, and at the very least, she needed to know how things were going for them. This could not be happening.
Jayne fisted her hands in her hair, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally retracing her steps. Out of the truck, up to the bar, dropped her stuff at the back…
She opened her eyes and walked along the wall, eyes scanning the floor, and sidled up alongside the window. There she stopped sort. There was a pile of yellow dust on the windowsill, where the seam hit the wood. Frowning, Jayne poked her finger into the dust and lifted it to her nose. The unmistakable stench of rotten eggs filled her nostrils.
Sulfur.
Her stomach turned and she shook the sulfur frantically from her finger. She forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the anxious, somersaulting feeling in her gut.
"Looking for this?"
Jayne whirled at the voice, finding Deedee leaning on the front of the bar and waving her cell phone at her. Swallowing, Jayne forced an easygoing smile.
"Yeah," she said rather breathlessly. "Wondered where that got to. Thanks."
She held out her hand for the phone, but just as she feared, Deedee did not hand it over. Jayne shrugged, walking around the back of the counter, stopping near the register and holding out her hand again. "My phone?" she asked.
"It's not there," Deedee said.
Jayne's other hand was under the counter, searching for the holy water. Her fingers found nothing, and at Deedee's words she froze. There was an odd, sly smirk on Deedee's face, and her voice sounded slightly different.
"What's not there?" she asked casually.
"The holy water," Deedee returned. "I got rid of that first thing."
Jayne swallowed, forcing herself to seem confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Quit playing dumb," Deedee spat, and it was then that her whole demeanor changed. Jayne didn't see her childhood friend standing in front of her anymore – she looked like Deedee, but she was someone else entirely. "We both know what's going on here, Goldilocks."
She took a deep breath. "Deedee," she whispered.
"Deedee's not in right now," the redhead sneered. As Jayne stood there, staring, Deedee's light hazel eyes turned big, black and empty.
Jayne darted around the corner of the bar, but it didn't matter. Suddenly, an invisible force was propelling her into the back wall of the tavern and pinning her there, right beside the jukebox. She struggled against her confinement, but it was no use. She couldn't move.
Deedee was still smirking, sashaying towards her with a devilish glint in those big black demon eyes. She wagged the phone at her. "Someone's been missing you," she announced. "You've got a lot of missed calls on this thing."
Jayne swallowed. Deedee – the demon – whoever she was carelessly tossed the phone onto a nearby table. "It's been awhile, Barbie Doll," she drawled. "Got to say, it hurts that you don't recognize me."
She heard it again – the odd, off note to Deedee's voice. It was vaguely like a Southern accent. Jayne frowned as the demon sauntered closer, her smirk growing. "Then again, fair enough. I am wearing your childhood friend."
"Who the hell are you?" Jayne demanded, even though she had a sinking suspicion about the answer.
"Think, buttermilk. Think really hard."
"I sent you to Hell," Jayne retorted.
The demon shrugged. "And I clawed my way out."
"Faye," she said definitively.
"Aw, shucks," Faye grinned. "You remember my name."
"What the fuck did you do to Rufus?" Jayne spat.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I'm going to get off this wall eventually. And then I'm going to kill you."
"I don't think so," Faye returned, her voice turning airy and a little too quiet. "How are you to going kill me when my friends get their hands on the Colt?"
Jayne tensed up, swallowing hard. Faye grinned wider. "That's right, Barbie. Your friends are marching into a trap right now, as we speak. My friends are going to take that gun – and then they're going to kill every last Winchester on the planet."
The world tilted on it axis, just a little. Jayne felt sick to her stomach. She tried to leap off the wall, but nothing happened. Glowering at the demon in front of her, Jayne shook her head. "If you hurt them…"
"I ain't going to hurt them," Faye retorted. "Someone will, but it ain't going to be me."
"You fucking bitch."
"Hey, hey, hey," Faye wagged her finger. "Language."
She tried to move again, her head spinning with increasing frustration at every failed attempt. "I've been waiting a long time for this," Faye was saying now. "Getting you and your family alone. I begged to be the one who disposed of you. After what you three did to me – where you three sent me – killing you slow and painful is the least I can do."
"Where's your friend?" Jayne sneered. "Lurking around, I suppose?"
"Guess again," Faye replied. "Randy's standing guard over John Winchester. Any minute now, I bet he'll be ripping the spine out of your boyfriend's back."
Jayne fought harder to get off the wall, finally giving up and resting the back of the head against the wall, shaking her head. She tried to ignore the stinging in her eyes, glowering at the demon in front of her. "I'm going to kill you," she said again. "Just you wait. I'm going to kill you and all your little friends. I don't care what it takes."
Faye smirked again. But before she could make what Jayne was sure would be another smartass comment, a startled cry sounded from behind her. The sound of running footsteps came from the front of the bar. Jayne craned her neck, fighting against the invisible force pinning her to the wall, trying to see what was going on behind Deedee.
Suddenly, there was a loud thump! Lynn, who had appeared behind the bar mere moments earlier, was now up against the wall to the demon's right, struggling to free herself. Jayne grimaced, banging her head against the wall at the now twice as desperate situation.
"Jaynie?" Lynn asked.
"It's ok," Jayne said immediately, knowing that the words weren't true.
"Hey!"
Her brother's voice came from the back next. Steve came running out of the back room, rushing straight for Faye with a flask of holy water in his hand. Faye merely flicked her wrist, and the holy water went flying from his hand. Steve dodged the demon's grip, and sparks suddenly flew from the coffee machine behind the bar. A small fire started around the electric cord, and then Steve went flying into the wall, pinned between the front door and the window.
Faye snickered, glancing at the tiny, spluttering flames by the coffeemaker. "Fire?" she asked incredulously. "Really, Steve-O? I'm a demon. I can handle a little fire."
Jayne flinched, watching her brother struggle against the force keeping him pinned to the wall. "Do your worst, Pyro. Something tells me you don't want to light the little woman on fire."
Steve glared at her, falling silent. Lynn glanced at Jayne, her panicked eyes reflecting the hopelessness of the situation. Jayne wrenched her gaze away, turning another glower on the demon in the center of the room. Faye smiled big as she surveyed her handiwork.
"Looks like I caught all my rats in my trap," she announced, placing her hands on her hips. "This is shaping up to be an excellent afternoon."
Sam frowned out the windshield as Dean parked the Impala outside an abandoned construction site in Jefferson City. A large metal scaffolding several stories high loomed over the car, standing out starkly against the clear blue sky. Construction equipment lay scattered on the other side of a wire mesh fence, caked with mud. On the other side of the car, high overhead was the expressway they'd just exited. Dean shut down the engine and Sam sighed, glancing down at the book in his lap.
Dean dug his phone out of his jeans and dialed for what felt like the thousandth time since they'd pulled out of Sioux Falls. Sam had made a few calls himself, and left Lynn one voicemail, but he hadn't managed to get a hold of her.
It made him nauseous.
His brother must have gotten Jayne's voicemail yet again, because he barked into the receiver, "Damn it, Goldilocks, answer your fucking phone!"
Sam stared at his brother as Dean hung up violently and shoved the phone into his pocket. Then Dean flung open the car door, got out, and slammed the door shut behind him. The resounding bang echoed all through the construction site.
Sighing, Sam climbed out of the car too. Dust billowed around his sneakers as his feet hit the ground. Dean had popped the trunk and was selecting weapons for the impending battle.
They stood out in the deserted area, not talking. Sam leafed through the book Bobby had given him, and Dean began cleaning and loading his chosen guns.
When the silence became unbearable, Sam broke it. "You've been quiet."
Dean shrugged and didn't look at him. "Just getting ready."
Sam stared at him, but he still didn't look up. "He's going to be fine, Dean."
No answer. Sam shook his head, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. He looked back down at the book, and then sighed, digging his cell phone out of his coat. Maybe he'd accidentally left the thing on silent, he reasoned. Maybe he'd missed Lynn's call.
The phone was not on silent. It wasn't even on vibrate. And no one had called.
"What's the plan?" Sam asked suddenly.
"Go in," Dean retorted. "Get Dad. Get out."
"I meant after," Sam replied. "After we get Dad. You heard Meg, Dean. And they haven't been answering our calls…"
"They're fine!" Dean snapped, finally looking up from the bag he was loading with guns. Sam blinked, wincing slightly at the way his brother was glaring at him. "You hear me? Demons lie, Sam. They probably just… they're just looking for Rufus."
Sam nodded. Dean looked down into the trunk of the car again. Sam didn't buy it for a moment. He didn't care how busy Lynn was, or how difficult finding Rufus had turned out to be – she'd promised to help them. There was no way either stepsister would ignore their calls.
"We just have to get Dad," Dean spoke up suddenly. Sam frowned at him in surprise, but Dean was refusing to look at him again. "We get Dad and we get the hell out of Dodge. If we haven't heard from them by then, we head for the Hannigan place and we go get them too."
There was a long silence. Dean kept his head down, and Sam stared at him. Finally, Sam nodded again, even though Dean probably couldn't see him. "Ok," he agreed.
They lapsed back into silence. Sam continued scanning the book he'd balanced on the hood of the Impala. He could hear the sounds cars speeding down the expressway above his head, and the occasional honking of a truck horn. Sam flipped the page in the book. On the other side was another diagram. This one looked like a star inside of a circle inside of a triangle. Frowning, he read the description beside it, twirling the long white drawing pencil in his hand. Struck with sudden inspiration, he marched to the open trunk of the car, brushed the dirt off with his sleeve, and set about drawing the symbol onto the trunk.
Dean glanced up at him, and instantly marched to his side, glowering. "Dude, what are you drawing on my car?"
It figured this would be what snapped Dean out of his funk. Sam barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "It's called a devil's trap," he explained. "Demons can't get through it or inside it."
"So?"
"It basically turns the trunk into a lockbox."
Sam finished the drawing and headed for the other side of the trunk to draw another devil's trap on that end too. Dean rubbed at the symbol, and then glared at Sam again. "So?" he repeated.
"So, we have a place to hide the Colt while we go get Dad."
"What are you talking about?" Dean retorted. "We're taking the Colt with us."
"We can't, Dean," Sam returned. "We've only got three bullets left. We can't just use them on any demon; we've got to use them on the demon."
"No," Dean growled, coming around the bumper. "We have to save Dad, Sam. We're going to need all the help we can get."
"Do you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets? Dean, he wouldn't want us to bring the gun."
"I don't care, Sam!" Dean exploded. "I don't care what Dad wants! Ok? And since when do you care what Dad wants?"
"We want to kill this demon!" Sam exclaimed, both confused and furious with his brother. Why couldn't Dean see sense? "You used to want that too! Hell, I mean, you're the one who came and got me at school!"
Dean gave a bitter, scoffing laugh, hanging his head. "You're the one who dragged me back into this, Dean!" Sam pressed on. "I'm just trying to finish it!"
He finished his piece, breathing heavily. Dean shook his head, staring at the car, and Sam stared at him, his brow furrowed, waiting for him to explain himself. Finally, Dean looked up. "Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can't wait to sacrifice yourselves for this thing! But you know what? I'm going to be the one to bury you!"
Sam looked away. Dean didn't get it. Jessica was gone. The demon had to die, and if Sam had to sacrifice himself to bring that thing down…
"You're selfish, you know that?" Dean said. "You don't care about anything but revenge."
Sam shook his head. "That's not true, Dean."
Dean scoffed.
"I want Dad back," Sam insisted. "But they are expecting us to bring this gun. They get the gun, they will kill us all. That Colt is our only leverage, and you know it, Dean. We cannot bring that gun."
Dean shook his head. "We can't," Sam pressed.
"Fine."
"I'm serious, Dean!"
"I said fine, Sam!"
The two of them glared at one another for a moment. Then Dean made a production out of pulling the Colt from his jacket and putting it in the trunk. Sam stared at him, not amused, as Dean smirked at him. It was an angry smirk, and it faded back into a glower almost immediately. Still pissed, but satisfied that the Colt was safe, Sam stalked away to the front of the car to get the rest of the things they'd need.
Dean didn't have to like it, but the Colt had to be kept safe. They'd save their father first, but Sam wasn't giving up on killing that demon.
