Sam and Dean were on the road, sitting silently and listening to the wheels of the Impala on the asphalt. Dean kept his hands on the driving-wheel, but his mind was far away. Cas was lost to them. Taking in all those souls from Purgatory had driven him insane. He had declared himself the new God and demanded they'd kneel and worship him.
He still couldn't believe it now. Cas, straight-faced-baby-in-a-trench-coat Cas, had turned into a delusional angel with too much power. He hadn't fooled them of course; there was no way he was the new God. He was too prideful for that. Where had they gone wrong, Dean asked himself. How could they have avoided this? He had considered Cas family. Part of the crew. Him, Bobby, Sam and Cas. Dean felt for his angel friend – yes, he still considered him a friend somewhat. Why hadn't Cas come to them? They could have helped him, or they would have died trying.
Sam watched his big brother reasoning with himself. He sighed. He too had trouble accepting what had happened. Cas, going bad. Or insane. He didn't know which was worse. When Cas had demanded worship, they had refused. For a second, Sam had thought Cas would kill them, the anger in his eyes had flamed like holy fire. But he had disappeared from their midst. Just like that. Why had he done that? Why hadn't he smitten them? With all the souls from Purgatory he could have blasted them and the entire earth into oblivion.
Damn that Crowley for tricking Cas into believing he was righteous. He had righteous in a way, trying to stop Raphael to become the new sheriff in Heaven and beginning the Apocalypse all over again. But somewhere along the way, Cas –driven by despair and fearing the oncoming onslaught – had lost sight of his objective. He had searched not only for a way to stop the Archangel. He had tried to best him; to wrestle the title of God from his hands. And now he thought he was just that. God. Sam sighed again and stretched.
They drove into a small town and parked near a bar. "Let's get a drink," Dean said as he got out of the car. Sam slammed the car door shut and walked into the bar, behind his brother. They ordered the cheapest whiskey and sat down at a small table. Neither of them spoke, each content to leave the other sorting out his thoughts. Dean started to get annoyed, not because of the silence, but because of something disturbing the silence.
Ticking. Someone was ticking against a glass with their nails. It seemed to follow a preset rhythm that annoyed the crap out of him. "Sam." His younger brother looked up as he said: "Yeah?" "Do you hear that ticking? It's starting to piss me off."Sam cocked his head as he listened. He heard it too. But he heard more than his brother. This wasn't random ticking. This was Morse code. "Dean, it's Morse." Dean looked generally surprised. "How do you even know that? Dad never taught us Morse." Sam smirked. "I taught it to myself." Dean shook his head. "You are such a nerd."
Sam grabbed one of the many napkins lying around and fished a pen out of his pocket. He started to write down the letters he heard. E…S…T…E…R. Ester? He racked his brain. Did he know an Ester? That wasn't even the appropriate spelling for the name! Then he listened again. He had left out a part. The ticking started again. W….I…N…C…H…E…S…T…E…R. Winchester! He slowly turned the napkin so Dean could see what he had written.
Dean furrowed his brow. Carefully he looked around the bar, trying to find the person calling out to them. He saw Sam doing the same, and focused once more on his surroundings. His eye fell on a pretty blonde chick. He was watching her from behind. As she turned around, he looked away quickly. That's not a chick! Dude, not cool! He looked on. "Dean," Sam whispered, "over there." He glanced at the direction Sam was stealthily pointing to with his head.
A girl was sitting across him at the bar, holding a glass of beer. She seemed to be only a few years younger than them. And she had the most captivating eyes he'd ever seen. Lush green eyes, slanted and looking right at him. Her wavy black hair was tied in a messy ponytail, her bangs framing her face. She was wearing a pair of jeans, red sneakers and a form fitting red baseball jacket. She tilted her head slightly, as to beckon him. Then she got up and walked out the door. In a flash, Dean saw the dagger tucked behind her belt, before her jacket obscured it.
Sam had seen it too. "Do we follow her?" he asked. Sam looked thoughtful, but stood up anyways. Dean followed him out. They walked around the corner, where the girl was leaning against the wall, waiting for them. "Sam and Dean Winchester." It wasn't a question. She was stating a fact. Dean smirked. "That's us. I'm Dean and this giant here is Sammie." The girl seemed to be taken aback by this revelation. "You're Dean? Huh." "What huh?" Sam asked.
A crooked smile appeared on the girl's face as she slowly shook her head. "Nothing. I've got something for you." She reached inside her jacket. Before she had the chance to draw her hand back, Dean had grabbed his gun and Sam slammed her into the wall. A flicker of annoyance flew over her face but was gone in a second. "I'm not here to hurt you guys. I have better things to do. Just take it." She slowly moved her arm and pulled out a journal.
Sam accepted it and gave her a quick and embarrassed smile. Dean put his gun away. Sam looked through the journal, while Dean kept an eye on the girl. "So, how did you know who we were?" he asked. She shrugged. "I knew your dad. He was a friend of the family, so to speak." Dean frowned. "You're not a hunter then? Since you have a family." The crooked smile found a way on her face again. "Not that kind of family."
"Dean, look." Sam showed him an old picture. Dean took it and looked at it for a long time. It was his dad. He had been standing next to Bobby when the picture was taken, Rufus sitting on a chair behind them and a Native American man with his long hair in a ponytail listening to whatever they were saying. Dean looked up and asked: "Who's the Native American man?"
"He-who-kills-all-evil," the girl answered. A silence fell. Is she joking? "That's his Indian name," she added matter-of-factly. "I just called him The General." Sam frowned. "Is he your …father?" he asked, giving himself a mental face palm. Obviously the girl wasn't related to The General. He was Native American, she was of Asian descent. "He's…The General. That's pretty much it. Anyways, after he died the journal was supposed to go to John. I guess it's yours now."
Sam wanted to ask her more, when they were rudely disturbed by a thug-looking man and his lackeys. They walked up to them, confident with guns at the ready. Dean saw the girl roll with her eyes before smiling and saying: "Franky! Long time no see." The man named Franky sniffed and pointed his gun at her. "I've been hearing some stuff," he said. Dean watched the girl check all available exit points.
"Well, I guess that hearing problem of yours is fixed then. Good for you, Franky." Franky smiled. "Everything's always a joke to you, isn't it? But not this. We had a deal, you and I. And now I hear you've been selling those cars to Davey. Davey? You go to Davey but not to me?" The girl shrugged. "Davey pays more and faster. I needed the money. Sorry Franky, I'll bring you some pretty ones next time. But I need to go. I have to be back before dinner." Franky gestured his lackeys closer.
Sam was edging closer to Dean and Dean had half a mind to draw his gun. Whatever was happening, it wasn't pretty. And they were caught in the middle of it. "There won't be a next time. You betrayed my trust." The girl made a face which was supposed to look like he had hurt her feelings. "I didn't do it because I wanted to, you know? I was forced!" Franky frowned. "Forced? You? You, little hellcat, can't be forced to do anything."
"I was! By these guys," the girl said as she pointed at Sam and Dean. What? Sam made a sound like a yelp and Dean's jaw dropped. The lackeys turned their attention at them. "No, you've got it all wrong," Sam began. The girl hooked her fingers behind Dean's belt, showing off what he was packing. "He has a gun." Before they knew it, bullets were flying all over the place. Sam and Dean jumped for cover. The girl was hiding behind a car and her eyes caught Sam's. She shrugged and made an apologetic gesture. Then she was gone.
Dean pulled his own gun, but before he had to use it, the shooting stopped. The men shouted some obscenities and warned them to stay away, and then they walked off. The brothers waited for a while, before getting up. "What the hell was that?" Sam asked out loud, "that girl totally set us up!" "SON OF A BITCH!" Dean screamed. He wasn't going to let her get away with this. He'd almost been killed!
They walked back into the bar, looking for the bartender. They wanted some information. And they wanted it bad. The bartender, an elderly lady with a pleasant face, moved closer to them to ask them what they were having. "Whiskey," Dean said. He needed a drink. When they got their glasses, Sam got friendly with the bartender. "Don't mind me asking, but who was the girl who was sitting here before? The Asian girl with the prominent green eyes?"
"Ah, that would be Tyler. Good kid she turned out to be, considering," the bartender said. The brothers frowned. "Considering?" The bartender looked around, to see if there were people eavesdropping. Then she leaned in close, looking at the guys as if they were conspirators. "Well, let me tell you, it wasn't pretty when The General raced in here all those years ago, calling for the doctor." Now Sam's curiosity was peaked.
The bartender seemed to take their silence as a sign to go in. "I guess she was in a fire, poor little thing. Horribly burned she was. Not just her skin, but her mind too. Even as her wounds healed, she didn't speak for two years. She just looked at you, with those unsettling eyes. She always seemed to know what was happening, even though she said nothing."
"Gave us a whole lot of trouble too. Boy, did she like mischief. I don't know how The General kept her in line. But he did. And she grew up to be such a beautiful young woman. So wise for her age. She had to grow up too fast, I suppose. And ever since The General died…-" She seemed to realize she was gossiping to two strangers about one of her own. "Who did you say you were again?"
"Our father was a friend of The General," Dean said. He wasn't lying…completely. He guessed his father and this General guy had been friends. "Could you give us her address?" The bartender frowned and thought for a second. Sam and Dean put on their best smiles, trying to look as straight arrow-ish as they could. Hopefully they looked like the boy next door type. The one you take home to meet your mother…or daughter.
The bartender scribbled the address on a napkin. "Tell Tyler Betty said hi. And that she owes me the money for the beer." The brothers smiled. It was payback time.