CJ sat atop the tallest tower of busted cars, one leg swinging softly back and forth as she scanned the makes and models.
She prefered something smaller, but if it came down to it, she was up to remodeling a truck.
"Find anything?"
The voice below her didn't surprise her, though the level of covered concern it held, did.
"Just a couple bodies, the rest is easy findings," she called down calmly. She stayed perched on the bent hood, glaring down a bit when she noticed the elder Winchester eye the structure openly, probably judging how physically stable it was and looking back up to her expectantly. "You wanna come down here?"
"Not really," was the smooth answer.
"CJ," her name rolled off his tongue calmly, and he swallowed, before shaking his head, and reaching forward to grasp the nearest piece of metal, "Don't move."
"What the Hell do you think you're doing-?! Do you want tetanus-?!"
A thump on the ground sounded beside him and he saw the woman hurriedly righting her balance, shooting him a look of irritation and clear exhaustion. "Don't climb that. I did it because I am small and light, you are large and muscled, I do not advise that."
"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked calmly, his arms folding across his chest as he leaned back against the pile, one ankle kicking up so his toes dragged in the packed dirt, "Don't even deny it. Bobby's seen you pouring over books when he goes to bed, and you're still at it when he wakes up most nights."
"Sleeping makes me have visions, but you already knew that, didn't you?" she rolled her eyes, turning on her heel and plopping herself onto the dirt, her back facing him as she sat Indian-style on the ground. "What do you even care?"
"I don't, I just dont need you half-dead in a crucial moment where if we're not quick, we die."
"Who are you trying to convince, Dean Winchester?"
Her question was met with silence, and both adults closed their eyes, sitting in the silence broken only by the wind and the insects around them.
"Ask."
"What?" he broke out of his relaxed trance with a snap, turning his head down to see her dragging her fingers through the dirt slowly, making small trenches with the ends of her nails.
"Ask me what you want to," she rephrased her words slowly, not turning her head or even acknowledging that he stood towering behind her. "I know you want to ask."
"I don't."
The statement caught her off guard, and she managed to turn her head just enough to see him from the corner of her eye. Dean kept his eyes locked on the house in the distance, tracing the outline with his pale green eyes and chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"I don't know why you seem to think you're just a magic eight ball, but we, me, Sam and Bobby, we don't work like that.. This.. this is hard for you, just like it is for us.. And I know you're uncomfortable, you can't really hide that.."
"What are you trying to say, Winchester?" she asked quietly, leaning her arm back so he could see a better portion of her torso, the red flannel unbuttoned down the center, leaving her dark blue tank top in sight, the straps of her black bra peeking out into view. He almost smacked himself for glancing at her chest, reminding himself that this was a serious conversation, even if his eyes hadn't strayed any lower.
"Just.. I just wanted you to know that we're not going to use you, like you seem to think that we will."
"I'll believe that when you prove it," was the only thing she offered. Getting to her feet, she dusted off the back of her pants, holding out her forearm to him firmly, "Promise me you won't question my life choices and we'll be fine. I have an agenda, I've told you that. Plans that need seen through if I want to prevent a shit-ton of death."
"I thought you hated the big picture," he scoffed. She smiled, then, a grim twist of lips that had his stomach turning in similar unease, "I do." She nodded, lifting a hand to push the fringe of her bangs from her eyes, "But the death is only a blip in the credits, for all of this piling shit."
She stood, unmoving, as she held out her arm, and ever so slowly, he lifted his, tapping them together lightly and holding them there for a long, silent moment. When it was broken, by the sound of the eldest hunter calling for them, they lowered their arms, sharing a single, knowing glance, and moved to head back to the house.
"Where'd Sam go?" she asked quietly, sitting precariously on a stack of tires, eyeing the shining black Impala as it entered the yard with no small level of awe. It was the first time she'd actually taken a good look at it. Dean had taken one look at her expression and practically fluffed up with pride for his baby. "He went to get chips, we seemed to have ran out." He gave her a pointed look, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Have you ever had doritos? They are, like, the king of all chips."
"No, french onion and cheddar ruffles."
"Damn," she muttered, actually caught there as she gave him a slow, narrow-eyed nod, "Alright, I'll call truce."
Bobby came back out of the house with a worn grey duffel, tossing it to Dean so he could place it into the protected encasement of his Chevelle trunk.
The Impala finally rolled to a stop as it pulled up beside the Chevelle, and CJ's eyes poured over the beautiful machine with no small level of appreciation.
"Keep the engine running." Bobby was quick to walk over, leaning down to address the brunette behind the wheel.
"Why, what's going on?" Sam sounded a bit concerned, but also a bit on edge. Bobby didn't seem to notice. CJ, however, spot it like an emergency light. Looks like she needed to give Ruby a call..
Bobby leaned forward on the window ledge for a better vantage point, "I got a friend, one state over, Olivia Lowry. I've been trying to reach her for three days on this angel thing. It's not like her to ignore this many calls."
"Olivia Lowry- a hunter, right?" Sam confirmed. Bobby, nodded, letting out the quiet, nervous breath he'd been harboring, "We're gonna go check on her. You guys follow me."
CJ waved a bit when Dean walked over, basically claiming the drivers seat and dictating Sam to shotgun, with a silent, reverent sigh, she hopped down from the tires, and grabbed her bag, stepping over to Bobby's Chevelle and tapping on the glass. "Room for one more?"
"Hop in," he nodded his chin, and she smiled, tucking herself inside and closing the door carefully. She tucked her bag by her feet, and adjusted herself in her seat before flashing him a grin, "I don't mind whatever music you want to listen to, it's literally all older to me, anyway."
"You're a surprisingly easy shotgun," he gruffed, glancing over when a red bag was held out to him, and he accepted the small packet with a role of his eyes, "Do you eat anything but M&M's, girl?"
"My go-to for any and all of life's questions," she rolled her shoulders in a careless shrug, and settled in for a long ride.
"Olivia-?"
Bobby's voice echoed through the silent house, and CJ shut the door behind her quietly. Sam glanced back at her briefly at the sound, glancing from her recently-brushed hair, to the sawed off that had been unceremoniously shoved into her chest by Dean, and the rolled-up sleeves of her teal colored flanel.
She looked up at him when she'd felt his gaze, and as Bobby walked deeper into the house, Dean at his flank, they shared a silent, searching look, before moving to follow.
He would ask her, later.
Bobby seemed to have stopped cold at the opening to the next room, his gun hanging by his side as the brothers caught up to him and stared. There was a torso on the ground, female, judging by the length of hair, and her torso was torn from the inside outward.
CJ gulped a little, feeling the bile touch the back of her throat at the rotting, sick smell, and shoved herself out of the way as Bobby turned around and hurried to leave the house. She swallowed harshly, lifting a hand to cover her mouth and nose as she hurried to follow the boys inside. She looked around at the simplistic decor, flinching at the sight of the body again, before forcing her eyes away.
"Salt line," Sam's voice cut through her mantra of the Latin alphabet, and she tore her eyes from the ceiling to the doorway in question. Glancing up, she saw the closet, opened, with the weapons on display. Frowning, she tensed her shoulders, and lowered her hand, breathing through her mouth to stand the stench. "What do we do about the weapons? Someone is going to come to investigate, eventually, she can't be caught with them.."
"We should tell Bobby.." Dean murmured after a moment, glancing solemnly at the body before turning his gaze to CJ who stood huddled near the panel now, looking just a tad green. His eyebrows furrowed, watching her hands twist around her gun in a rhythmic motion. "You can wait outside, you know?" He jerked his chin toward the doorway when she barely looked up, for emphasis adding, "Maybe you should ask Bobby what our next move is.. Sam and I can finish up around here.."
A clatter came from behind them, and the object of their conversation strolled in, none too graceful, looking dazed. "I called some other hunters nearby.."
"Well that's good, we could use the help," Dean nodded.
"Yeah," Bobby nodded slowly, but the pure, unadulterated dread in his eyes was not missed by any of the adults, "Except they ain't answering their phones, either.."
"Somethin's up, huh?" Sam confirmed.
"You think?" Bobby scoffed. His eyes trailed back to the body and the ground, closed, then opened, and he turned around to resolutely leave the apartment once again.
"We've checked up on Carl Bates and R.C. Adams," Bobby's voice was loud compared to the silence of the Chevelle, and CJ sat in equal silence over the box in her arms. The trunk was loaded with the hunter gear they'd had to clean out, lest their previous owners be given bad names or placed fines on existing family. "They've redecorated. In red ."
CJ had held off the vomit for two houses, Olivias and Carl's, but when they'd gotten to Adam's she'd lost her stomach promptly in a trash can in a neighboring lot. Bobby had held back her hair, but said nothing, and they did there job in resolute, synchronized silence.
"I don't know," Bobby's voice continued after a few beats, Dean had most likely asked something, "But until we find out, you guys better get your asses to my place."
He clicked the phone shut, and no sooner had they pulled up to the house, CJ had rushed to his side of the car, and slammed his door shut. "Girl, what in the Hell are you-"
"Let me check the house, first," she demanded calmly, he took one look at her pale, gaunt face, and his features slowly hardened. "If there's a ghost in there-"
"It'll pick off a hunter," she finished firmly. "I'm not a hunter. I didn't piss it off."
He eyed her for a few seconds, seeing the pleading in her eyes grow with every second, and he let his head briefly fall back against the seat, before he jerked his chin toward the trunk, "Get the salt guns, iron, anything you need. Now. If you're not back out here in five minutes, I'm going in." "Give me ten," she shook her head, pursing her lips when he turned his disapproving look at her.
"..Fine."
The trunk, when it had been closed, let a resounding slam echo through the yard. She brandished the iron chains around her shoulder like a lasso, clutching the sawed off and loading the salt rounds into her belt as she ran quickly up the steps and slipped inside.
The second the door had closed, she'd rushed to the research room, tearing open the large bag of salt she'd gotten from Olyvia's, and lining the doorways. She'd lined the windows, as well, making a good circle around the desk and fireplace, as well as taking the chain and wrapping it around the window latches, barring the shutters together.
When she'd finished, she nodded quietly, the lights hadn't started flickering, but she was unwilling to let this happen any slower than it had. She ran for the upstairs in a burst of speed, forcing the doorway in the hall closet open and carting down the large, heavy red box so she could put it under the living room desk.
Hurrying outside, still holding her gun up and ready, she waited for Bobby to come inside, his own gun up and visible as he did the same and hurried up the steps. When he'd taken a good look at what she'd done to his living room, he opened his mouth, shut it, and gave her a long, serious look. When she merely blinked, not saying anything, he shook his head, and looked pointedly toward the handful of books left on the desk.
"Crap.." The power died around midnight, and the laughter of the little girls echoed loudly through the halls all throughout the night, Bobby sat awake, pouring over the books she'd picked out for him, letting the brunette sit as guard with the shotgun in her lap and a stony expression on her face. When the power had finally been cut off by the vindictive twin girls, she'd merely stood up, went beneath the couch, and pulled out a large case of candles in various lengths.
"What didn't you remember to pack for this little joyride?" he asked slowly, watching as she lit candle after candle and placed them pointedly at his desk, using small plates as saucers and lighting them with a worn grey zippo.
"Well," she sniffed, giving him a slow, calculating look, "I have no intention of using a bucket, so I hope you can hold it until about six.. That's around the time the boy's will be here."
" Great. "
"Bobby-?!"
"Living room-!"
The boys, who had entered the house, guns drawn and tense, jumped a bit at the call from just a room or two away. Keeping their guns level, they shared a look, hurrying past the corners and taking sweeps of the hallways before they reached the opening for the main library.
"Hello boys," the lone female nodded towards them, a british lilt to her voice that her grin meant she had quoted something, "How was your night?"
Dean and Sam stood in silence as they stared at the rings and lines of salt, iron chains hanging from the windows, locking them tightly together, a case of candles spread out over every available table surface, and what looked like several broken hula hoops piled in one corner. CJ currently had one in hand, a bag of salt slouching over her shoulder as she poured it into the hollowed tube.
"Sam got beat up in the men's bathroom and I almost had a heart-attack when I couldn't get ahold of Bobby. Speaking of, where is he?"
"Little boy's room," she shrugged. She continued with her task, weighing the hoop in her hands before setting it back down and continuing to pour the salt in the little funnel. Her voice was low now, calm, and she sounded almost relaxed as she asked, "Why does Sam's face look like it was introduced romantically with a semi?"
"A ghost appeared at a truck stop.. It was… His name was Henricksen, and he died.. Lilith killed him.." Sam had worked his jaw to let out the words, his eyebrows pinching together when she set down the salt, then twisted the hoop back together and stood up again, settling it around her waist and tossing it sharply before fixing it into a smooth twirl.
"What are you doing?" Dean couldn't help but ask as they stepped inside the salted room, careful not to break any of the lines as they eyed her up and down slowly, confusion and something else replacing anything else they may have been thinking.
"Making sure the hoop doesn't snap and send salt everywhere."
Her response was clipped, and after a minute more of silence, she seemed satisfied, and let it clatter to the ground. She kicked it up with the toe of her boot, and caught it with her hand, holding it out to Dean with a blank expression. "If you want to leave this room, you wear this. No exceptions."
"It's a hula hoop," Dean repeated immediately, staring at the sparkling green child's toy with more than a little bit of exasperation, "What will that possibly do to help in this situation?"
"Aside from being an unbroken ring of salt?"
Sam flicked his eyebrows up at the sassy comeback, watching his brother grimace in distaste, opening his mouth again, most likely to demand a better solution, but when a flush sounded from around the corner, and a door opened, the fight left him. All three adults looked up quickly when Bobby had rounded the corner, a shotgun over one shoulder and his free hand holding a sparkling blue hoop around him. Sam bit back the sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh, though Bobby seemed only mildly irritated, sending them a glare when Dean opened his mouth again, and once again shut it.
"You best listen to the girl tryin' to save your sorry asses.. Embarrassment be damned, I'd like to live to see the end of this."
"Atta boy, Bobby," CJ called out in casual encouragement, "Since the tweedles finally showed, how about we catch em up to speed?"
"No one's gonna ever get to your speed," Bobby huffed, shaking his head as he dropped the hoop to the hook by the fireplace and settled into his chair again, his back giving a mighty protest before he popped it out and relaxed. "The spirits are more than just that.. They're tied to certain people in a different way."
"So they're all people we know?" Sam mumbled.
"Not just know," Dean corrected him calmly, continuing to load his weapon, "People we couldn't save."
"I saved Dean an ass whooping from Meg Masters."
The pure smugness in her tone had earned her a glare from the aforementioned hunter, but she merely grinned and waved away his annoyance. "I prepped as much as I could in the ten minutes Bobby gave me, I've been building since then."
"Building what?" Sam couldn't help but ask, seeing the now obvious bag of childrens toys sitting directly beside the couch. Not only were there five hula hoops, three of them broken open, but there was a large number of colorful children's water guns.
"I'll explain after you sit your butt down," she stood up after her statement, brushing her hands briskly to rid them of the stray grains, and motioning for the two men to hurry up and get further into the room. "Come on, come on, we don't have all day.
"Sam, sit," she pointed sternly at the couch, where Dean had plopped down, and when he had merely stood there, looking from the toys, to her, and back again, she inhaled deeply, leaned forward, and snatched the collar of his shirt to jerk him eye-level with her. "Sit down before I start talking. We'll talk later, alone , but I am not going to sit on my ass and waste time while you get bruises and I get unnecessary facial pain, which, by the way, is already starting to throb. Sit. Down. "
When she had let him go, Sam hesitated for only a few seconds before doing as she said and plopping into the seat beside his brother, pointedly ignoring the knowing smirk the elder Winchester had shot at him and choosing to inspect the plastic bag at his feet.
"You went to a toy store? During this?"
"Like I said, I'm not sitting on my ass," she huffed, rolling her eyes as she walked into the unprotected kitchen, no weapon in sight. Dean, seeming to notice this, got to his feet in a rush, hurrying to the doorway just as she turned to glare at him. "What are you doing? At least take a salt-hoop or something-!"
"I was not involved in anyone's deaths," the female replied calmly, taking a large baking sheet from the cupboard while she was at it so she could place Sam's ice-pack and towel on a tray with beers and a few slices of pie. "Why would they hurt me. If they actually take a look at this, I'd look like a victim in their eyes. I'm not a hunter, and yet, I feel, and acquire, the physical injuries both of you seem to attain on a daily basis. Not only that, but I'm unable to be away from either of you too long or my body goes into a sort of numbing shock." She set the tray down on the desk with her last word, and wrapped the pack in the towel before moving over to be in front of Sam. "Now hold still. I need to make sure none of these broke skin."
Dean had gone for the pie a few seconds after he'd seen her set it down, carefully scooping a bite into his mouth as he looked between her, Sam and Bobby. "So what now," he spoke around the mouthful, licking his lips to catch stray bits of sugar-dressing, "we wait for these ghosts to show up and try to kill us?"
"That depends," Bobby asked calmly, flicking his eyes between the boys, "That Henricksen fella, did he have a mark, or brand on his skin?"
"Yes, yes he did," Sam moved to get up, but the hand on his shoulder pushed him sharply back down, the glare from the woman silencing his brief protest before he continued from his seat as he was treated. "Why, is that important? What does it mean?"
"Draw it out," Bobby held out a scrap of paper and a pencil, letting the younger Winchester grasp it before he pulled away to reach for his glass of whiskey. "When you're done with that, we've got to get a game plan sorted out."
"I saved us a couple hours and a trip to the panic room," CJ offered calmly, giving Sam a warning glare when he'd forgotten to put the ice back on his face. Seeing her pointed look, his hesitantly returned the towel to his temple, handing over the finished design to Bobby who settled back into his seat with a strained sigh. "I've seen this.. So we're not completely screwed.."
"Wait- you have a panic room?" Dean's question seemed to catch up to the forefront of his mind, and the three simultaneous bitch faces he received at the words had his hands flipping up in defense, "Jeez, alright, sorry.."
"Later, Cowboy," CJ amended softly, turning back to her nest of projects as she sat back into her large circle of salt. "Toss me my rosaries and the glue gun, would ya?"
The wires of the house began to fuze again, the lights gaining a quick, unnatural flicker. The boys tensed, reaching for their guns while Bobby merely reclined, flipping through the last few books CJ had plopped into his hands with a determined flip to his fingers.
"Will the two of you chill the Hell out?" the woman groused, seeing the younger men's eyes dart to her in frustrated confusion, "The both of you blind, as well as slow? This room is the second safest in the damn house. First being the panic room. It's about as ghost proof as we're gonna get it while still being in reach of the right tools."
"She's not wrong," Bobby huffed, not even glancing up from his tomb as he spoke, "Believe it or not, the iron chains double as locked doors. They can't get in the windows, and the salts held down heavy with how much she poured. We'll be fine for a good while."
Giggling echoed throughout the room, and it was followed by a whimsical, yet pained female one.
" Dean~ "
"Meg Masters, ladies and gentleman," CJ huffed, frowning deeply when she glanced to see the flickers outside of the open doorway, "The chick I saved Dean from getting his ass whooped by."
"She would not whoop my ass," Dean defended immediately.
"Would you really hurt a girl you know you played a part in killing?" she raised an eyebrow, but the sarcasm in her tone did not diminish his slight flinch, "It happened. Get over it." her eyes darted to Sam, his foggy-eyes almost puppy-like in grief as he most likely remembered Henricksen, and her own hazel orbs narrowed, " Both of you. People die. That's how the world works, so suck it up, " she cocked her sawed off loudly, loading the shells in place and absently aiming toward the doorway as the blonde haired female stepped into the light, looking frustrated and angry, ready to open her mouth to speak, "And do your job -!"
A shot rang out, and the woman disappeared with a yell. CJ reloaded the shot she'd used, and set the gun back down, holding her hand out impatiently for the glue gun that was held limply in Dean's hand. "Cowboy, I really don't have the patience to sit still while you hold that."
"Sorry.."
Deans murmur was quiet, and a bit raspy, but when she'd turned to look up at him, lifting her hand to grab the tool, she gave him a slow, shallow nod. "You've got nothing to apologize for. Not to me, at least."
It was quiet for two counts, before CJ took the gun, and pointed her finger toward the mess of empty shells on the end table and the bag of salt. "Alright boys, make yourselves useful, we need all the salt rounds we can get if this shit goes sideways."
"Who died and put you in charge..?" Sam muttered under his breath, ducking sharply out of reflex when a rosary went sailing toward his head, hitting the back of the couch and falling to the seat in the process. "Geez, I was kidding.."
"Kid with me after we put them to rest," she growled, but the teasing light in her eyes was clear to see, and the twitch at the corner of her mouth was too pressed to have been anger.