At the Darrow home…
The three Winchesters walked up a set of wide, wooden stairs to the fourth floor of an apartment building.
Sam looked at Dean, "What's this guy's name again?"
"George Darrow. Apparently quite the regular at Lloyd's. Though this house probably ain't up next on MTV Cribs, is it?"
"So…" Angel shrugged, "We know he didn't make a deal for cash."
"Oh, who knows. Maybe this place is full of babes in Princess Leia bikinis." Sam sighed at him as Angel stared blankly, "I'm just saying, this guy's got one epic bill come due. Hope at least he asked for something fun."
"Dean…" Angel dismissed him with one look, "Can you just shut it off for ten minutes?:
They reached the landing and stopped in front of apartment 4C. The floor was dusted with a fine black powder earning Sam's attention.
"Look at that."
They all crouched down and ran their fingers through it.
"What is that, pepper?"
Angel pursed her lips, "Never seen this before…"
The door opened to reveal George, a middle-aged man with graying hair wearing a grimy t-shirt and open button-down, "Who the hell are you?"
They get up and Dean regards him, "George Darrow?"
"I'm not buying anything."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean stopped him from shutting the door, "Looks like you went for the wrong shaker there. Heh. Usually when you want to keep something evil out you go for the salt."
He glared, "I don't know what youre talkin' about."
"Talkin' about this." He held up the small picture, "Tell me. You seen that Hellhound yet?"
"We just wanna help." Angel offered a small smile, "Just give us five minutes."
George frowned but showed them in and poured himself a glass of whisky. The studio apartment was filled with paintings, completed and half-finished, and a table that held painting supplies.
"So…" Sam turned to him, "What's that stuff out front?"
"Goofer Dust." They look at him blankly, "What, you three think you know somethin' about somethin' but not Goofer dust?"
"Well, we know a little about a lot of things." He tossed Dean a brown sack that was tied closed with twine, "Just enough to make us dangerous."
"What is it?" Angel asked, "What's it used for?"
"Hoodoo. My grandma taught me. Keeps out demons."
"Demons we know."
"Well, then, maybe it'll do you some good." He walked over to a chair, "Four minutes left."
The boys glanced at Angel who cleared her throat and took the lead, "Mr. Darrow. We know you're in trouble."
Dean grumbled, "Yeah, that you got yourself into."
"But it's not hopeless, alright?" Sam half-directed that at Dean as Angel elbowed Dean in the ribs, "There's gotta be something we can do."
"Listen, I get that you three want to help, but sometimes a person makes their bed, they've just got to lie down in it. I'm the one called that demon in the first place."
Dean's voice nearly came out as a growl, "What'd you do it for?"
"I was weak. I mean, who don't want to be great? Who don't want their life to mean something? I just…" He frowned, "I just never thought about the price."
"Was it worth it?"
"Hell no." He scoffed, "'Course, I asked for talent. Shoulda gone for fame. I'm still broke, and lonely. Just now I got this pile of paintings don't nobody want, but that wasn't the worst."
Angel cocked her head, "Then what's the worst?"
"Demon didn't leave. I never counted on that. After our deal was done the damn thing stayed at Lloyd's for a week. Just chattin'. Makin' more deals. I tried to warn folks, but I mean, who's going' to listen to an old drunk?"
Sam leaned forward, "How many others are there?"
"Uh, the architect, that doctor lady- I kept up with them. They've been in the papers. Least they got famous."
"Who else, George?" Dean barked out again, "Come on, think."
"One more. Uh, nice guy too. Hudson. Evan, I think. I don't know what he asked for. Don't matter now. We're done for."
"Not if we can help it." Angel pressed, making him meet her eyes, "We'll find a way. There's always a way."
"You don't get it! I don't want a way!"
"Look, you don't-"
"I called that thing! I brought it on myself. I brought it on them. I'm going to hell, one way or another. All I want is to finish my last painting. Day or two, I'm done. I'm just trying to hold them off 'till then. Buy a little time." He motioned, "Okay, you three. Time you went, go help somebody that wants help."
Sam shook his head, "We can't just-"
"Get out! I got work to do."
"You don't really want to die."
"I don't? I'm…" His face became warn, sad, "I'm tired."
They left as George resumed his painting.
