"Shit," Dad muttered as they turned down the old service road in Lebanon, Kansas.
In the near distance, DJ could just make out the twins leaning against the Ranchero, the flare at their feet nearly burnt out. His dad flicked the switch for the high beams as they pulled up; Cass threw up one hand to shield his eyes, but Sam's tapeta reflected the light back eerily, glowing white embers in the pitch dark night. The effect was diminished somewhat when dad manually activated the cabin lights and put the car in park.
"Stay in the car," he said shortly, reaching across DJ's lap to pop the glove box open.
"Whoa," DJ objected as his dad rifled through the ammo in there, selecting a magazine marked with black paint. "Dad!"
"I mean it, Dean," Dad said, dropping the mag out of his Taurus to reload with the one he'd chosen. "Stay here."
He left the engine running and the keys in the ignition, sparing just a moment for a meaningful glance at DJ before slamming the driver's side door and stalking towards the twins.
"Oh, fuck that," DJ said quietly to himself, undoing his seatbelt.
Cass and Sam spread their hands wide the moment they realized dad had a gun on them; DJ's breath hitched involuntarily, and he gently squeezed the door handle, easing it silently open. Dad stopped just before the salt line and said something DJ couldn't quite make out, then reached into his pocket and produced a flask, tossing it to Cass.
"Drink. Both of you."
"Bottoms up," Cass said cheerfully, all false bravado, and took a hefty swig before passing the flask to Sam.
Dad relaxed infinitesimally, lowering the barrel of the gun; DJ straightened up and let the passenger door swing shut behind him, drawing his attention.
"Damn it, Dean," he swore softly, shaking his head.
"It's DJ," DJ said, ignoring the bitchface and stepping gingerly across the salt line to greet his friends. "Hey guys."
"Hey," Sam said, still eyeing dad nervously.
"Why are we freezing our asses off in the middle of nowhere?" Cass demanded, foregoing social niceties as per usual. "Somebody said something about a safehouse."
"Yeah; here," Dad said, thumbing the safety back on and pressing the mother-of-pearl grip into DJ's palm. "Keep an eye out; I've gotta go break a few wards."
He turned to go, tugging a leather cord up through the collar of his shirt as he went.
"Leave the lights on!" he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkness.
"Okay, dude," Cass rounded on DJ. "What is the deal with the freaking lights?"
DJ shrugged helplessly, clueless.
"All right," Sam said, leaning past DJ to untie one corner of the tarp in the back of the Ranchero. "We're out of flares, but I think we've got a couple of maglights in the toolbox."
"You guys stink," DJ said, wrinkling his nose and shuffling away from Sam.
"Thanks, DJ," Sam grumbled sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he got the box uncovered and started to dig through it. "Be glad you've got a regular, human nose, dude."
"Sam thought he was dying," Cass teased, smirking.
"Shut your mouth," Sam snapped, shoving a heavy flashlight at his brother's chest. "You're the one who told me to sniff it."
DJ accepted his own flashlight without comment, clicking it on and using it to scan the area beyond the swath illuminated by the headlights, with no earthly idea what he ought to be keeping an eye out for. It was late autumn, so he could catch glimpses of the abandoned nuclear power plant between the bare-boned trees on the other side of the road. He readjusted his grip on his dad's gun, closing his eyes briefly against the bizarre thought that he should have brought his own.
"Man," he sighed, breath misting in front of him. "I haven't been out here in a long time."
"Yeah?" Cass queried, leaving off ragging on his sibling. "And where exactly is 'here?'"
DJ didn't respond, rotating on the spot and directing the thin beam of light over the concrete barrier blocking in the cars and up the embankment. He didn't see his dad anywhere, but he could see the evidence of where he must have been, over the years. Nothing was in bloom, but he could identify the tall, slender brown stems and empty seedheads of boneset and St. John's Wort, the stubbornly green clumps of bristly fleabane, the dry and drooping yellowed leaves of Solomon's Seal, the spear-like cymes of pigweed half-stripped by wildlife, and the delicate plumes of angelica that put him in mind of snowflakes, bobbing gently in the breeze.
"Damn, Dad, you really went all out," he mumbled under his breath, taking a mental inventory of the powerful herbs for protection and concealment, arranged in a manner that only a practiced eye would recognize as cultivated rather than natural.
"Where did he go?" Sam asked, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. "He's been gone awhile."
The headlights went out and the engine cut off abruptly, startling all of them badly; spots danced in front of DJ's eyes and he dropped the flashlight in favor of getting both of his trembling hands around the pistol grip and bringing it up to shoulder height. Cass rumbled deep in his chest, and DJ could tell without looking that both of the werewolves had teeth and claws out, senses and strength heightened by the full moon.
"Come on," Dad called, seeming not to notice the reaction he'd provoked. "This way."
"Jesus Christ!" Cass snarled, shouldering past DJ. "Your dad is fucking crazy."
DJ was inclined to agree with him; his heart was still racing as he pointed the gun at the ground again and bent to collect the fallen flashlight. He stumbled a little as he tried to follow Cass, eyes still adjusting; Sam fisted a handful of his coat and propelled him in the right direction.
"Watch your step," Dad cautioned, leading them down a short flight of stairs—which had been all but invisible just moments before—and into the cavernous dark.
"Holy shit," Cass said softly, voice echoing as he stepped out onto the landing. "This is the bunker!"
"Yep," Dad confirmed, hinges screeching and metal groaning as he pulled both of the reinforced doors around and shot their respective bolts.
Sam whistled lowly, letting go of DJ to step up beside Cass.
"Wow," he said quietly, shining his flashlight around the war room and into the library beyond.
Unmoved by their awestruck wonder, dad ducked around the twins and started down the stairs, clapping DJ on the shoulder as he went.
"Dean, get the lights? I need to grab a few things."
He didn't wait for an answer, instead disappearing into the depths of the bunker. DJ let out a long, slow breath, tucked the Taurus into his waistband, and pushed his hair out of his face.
"Okay guys," he said to the twins, as he walked across to the breaker box. "You might want to close your eyes for a second."
He followed his own advice, closing his eyes as he threw first one switch and then the other. The bunker's systems stuttered back online, whirring and humming; distantly, DJ heard a few lightbulbs popping. He turned around to find Sam wide-eyed and staring, Cass with his mouth hanging slightly open, and he couldn't help but chuckle.
"Don't laugh at me," Cass barked. "This is really fucking cool!"
DJ just smiled and shook his head, tromping down the stairs and into the war room, the twins rubbernecking behind him, elbowing one another and pointing whenever one of them saw something of note. He left the pair to their unrestrained admiration and wandered into the library, running the tips of his fingers along the antique tables and tracing the initials carved there—including the set that matched his own. Just as he was about to pull out a chair, his dad emerged from one of the back hallways, his hands full and a harried expression on his face.
"All right," he said roughly, depositing his armful on the table in front of DJ. "These will have to do for now, until we can get you something more permanent."
DJ didn't dare touch the little pile of hex bags, but he did pick up one of the tiny charms, turning it over between his fingers like a coin. There was a devil's trap etched on one side, and a few markings he didn't recognize on the other.
"What is this stuff?" Sam asked as he and Cass joined them at the table.
"Demon-killing spells and anti-possession charms," Dad answered, abandoning the table in favor of the stacks. "Keep them on you at all times."
Cass reached first for one of the charms, then snatched his hand back, wincing and putting his fingers in his mouth.
"Ow," he whined. "Silver."
"Idjit," Sam said affectionately, filling his pockets with hex bags.
Cass stuck his tongue out at his brother and produced a bandana, using the cloth to cover his fingers as he picked the charm up once more. Then he folded it half and rolled it into a band, the charm tucked safely inside. He shrugged out of his coat, rucked the sleeve of his shirt up past his elbow, and wrapped the band around his forearm before extending it to DJ.
"Put a knot in that for me," he requested, and DJ complied.
"You got another one of those I can have?" DJ asked, holding up his own charm.
Cass shot a smug look at Sam as he whipped out a second bandana with a flourish.
"Okay fine," Sam conceded. "You're not a complete idjit. Do mine, next."
"Hey Dad," DJ ventured, flexing his arm a couple of times to test Cass' makeshift armband. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Yeah," Sam chimed in, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I thought you digitized the bunker's entire library like, ages ago."
Dad stuck his head out from behind the shelf he was practically disassembling in his haste.
"I don't remember giving you access to the database," he said, scowling.
"You didn't," Sam said easily. "We use dad's password."
"Garth gave you his password?" Dad demanded, narrowing his eyes.
"Mmm…" Sam gave a sheepish shrug. "Not exactly."
Dad gave Sam a measured look, mouth twisting, before snorting and returning to his search.
"I didn't digitize the whole collection," he explained as he pulled volumes off the shelf and sorted them into haphazard piles. "Some of this stuff is just too sensitive to be out there where anyone could find it. Remind me later to set you up with your own access."
Sam exchanged a surprised, pleased look with his brother, who indulged in a small fist pump. DJ rolled his eyes at their antics and walked over to where his dad was crouched down on his haunches, combing through a box of delicate-looking scrolls.
"What language is that?" he inquired, peering over his dad's shoulder.
"Languages," Dad corrected. "Avestan, Parthian, Scythian… and some very helpful notes in Sanskrit." He tapped the end of each scroll as he went, then held up something that looked an awful lot like a set of mini-blinds wrapped in twine, finishing his sentence with a sarcastic flourish.
"Oh," DJ said faintly, bemused. "I guess I'll leave you to it, then."
"Dean," Dad said quietly, stopping him in his tracks. "I'm shooting in the dark, here; I haven't seen that sigil in almost forty years, and the hunter who filled us in back then has been dead nearly as long."
"What's it for?" DJ asked, sotto voce, even though he knew the twins could hear them perfectly well from the table.
DJ watched as his dad took a deep breath, closing his eyes and passing a hand over the lower half of his face.
"It's used to summon and bind a type of… demonic shadow spirit," he said on the shuddery exhale. "They're called daeva."
"Daeva," DJ repeated, nodding slowly. "Okay; how do you gank 'em?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Dad replied grimly, tucking the box of scrolls under his arm as he straightened up. "If you boys want to help, you can start by pulling everything we have on Zoroastrianism."
Let me just say, the research for this fic is incredibly fun. Herbalism, ancient languages, and world religions, oh my!